It was like being on the outside of something. Orders were being shouted or relayed by the piercing twitter of Spithead Nightingales. Men stood back from their guns, while others clung to halliards and braces, the ship under command while they peered around, seeking special friends, or staring at the damage.
Bowles hurried past with a list of names, men who had been killed or were in the orlop being treated, or dying.
No great action this time, but the price was always too high.
Some were cheering, letting go, the blues and whites of officers and warrant ranks mixing with all the others. Some were looking aft, at the quarterdeck where their lives could be changed or ended without question or blame.
Bethune said, 'I must go below. Let me know when…' He did not end it.
He would find no peace or escape there. The admiral's quarters would still be cleared for action, like his own and the whole ship. He thought of her portrait. Waiting.
It was as if some one else had spoken. He said, 'I think you should stay a while, Sir Graham.' He glanced at the faces below the quarterdeck rail. 'They look to you. Trust, obedience, I'm never sure.'
Troubridge joined him by the ladder, and watched as Bethune made his way to the main deck and walked along the line of guns. Hesitant at first, the sailors jostled around him, some reaching out as if to touch him, others laughing and calling his name.
Adam was glad he could not see his face.
He knew people were waiting to see him: Stirling about casualties, and rearranging the watch bills, filling the gaps. The surgeon with his bill. Men to be buried. Repairs were already being carried out; sailors could not waste much time on regrets and tears.
But for a few moments longer… They look to you.
Troubridge said, 'When you need a lieutenant, I'd be obliged if you'd bear me in mind.'
Adam turned, his eyes cold. But it passed as quickly.
He touched his sleeve and said, 'I shall never see my own flag up there, my friend.' He saw Stirling looming through the seamen and strode to meet him. To escape.
Troubridge smiled. I would serve you in any capacity!
One hour later, with a different leadsman in the chains, Athena turned slowly into the wind again, and dropped anchor.
Her remaining boats were being warped alongside, crews called or pushed to the tackles for hoisting them inboard. The aftermath of battle. Any battle. Men putting their ship in order. Ready to fight if need be, to face a storm, to survive. There was a smell of rum in the air but there had been no time to open the spirit store. Hoarding rum was an offense, but today men drank to each other, and to absent friends whom they would never see again.
Stirling strode aft and touched his hat. 'Boat's ready, sir. The second cutter.' It sounded like an apology, but Adam doubted if Bethune would even notice. He glanced at the flag at the foremast truck. Perhaps Athena would never see an admiral's barge being hoisted aboard.
'Very well. Man the side.' He wondered if anything would or could move this unbreakable man. He saw smoke on the wind, but it was the galley funnel, the first priority after a fight. But the thought of food made him feel light- headed.
He followed Stirling to the entry port where a small squad of Royal Marines were already paraded and being inspected by their lieutenant. Two boatswain's mates waited with their silver calls to pipe Bethune into the boat.
While Athena swung to her cable the land remained invisible to the assembled side party. There was only the sea, bright now, almost blinding in the reflected glare.
Adam saw Hostile making her final approach, and even without a glass he could see her people clinging to shrouds and high on the yards. Here, Vincent was ready with his signals party, unsmiling as he watched flags being pulled from their locker.
Perhaps it was better, safer, to be like Vincent, or the lieutenant of marines. Or Stirling, secure in his strength and his loneliness, with only the ship to sustain him.
'Ere he comes, boys! '
That was the sailor named Grundy, who had once served under Bethune when he had been a captain. Whom he had pretended to remember, even recognize, when he had hoisted his flag over Athena. Another lie… Grundy raised a cheer which was taken up by others, working on repairs and hoisting new cordage aloft for the sail maker crew. The cheers were soon quelled by the master-at-arms.
And here was Bethune, brushing aside any one who attempted to assist him through the entry port. He looked strained, but nodded to the Royal Marines, some of whom carried the stains and scars of the morning. Adam saw that his uniform was perfect by comparison. As if, like that first day, he had just stepped aboard.
He said, 'I should like you to accompany me, Captain Bolitho.'
Clipped and formal.
Adam was deeply moved. Another lie, and he was unprepared for it. He climbed down into the cutter, Lieutenant Evelyn standing in the stern sheets to receive him.
Above the boat he heard the slap of muskets, and the trill of calls as Bethune climbed down to join him.
'Out oars! Give way together! '
Adam touched the thwart where a stray musket ball had scored its mark. The faces of the oarsmen, ones he had believed he would never know, watched the stroke, the blades dipping and rising together, the tension and the fear already draining away.
And all at once the schooner was looming over them. More faces he recognized, even some of Captain Souter's landing party, their scarlet coats at odds with the others, and some he assumed were the schooner's own men. Bethune clambered up the side, hardly waiting for the bowman to hook on.
And here was Jago, teeth bared in a grin as he seized Adam's hands and pulled him aboard.
He said, 'Made it as fast as I could, Cap'n! Them bastards boarded the schooner. It was touch an' go. I wanted to send the gig, but '
He turned as Bethune said, 'Where is she?'
Adam realized that two of the marines were guarding a tall man who, like Bethune, appeared unmarked by the events Jago had described.
Somehow he knew it was Sillitoe, the central figure whose name had featured in most of Bethune's despatches.
Captain Souter said, 'In the cabin, Sir Graham. There was nothing we could do.'
Adam said, 'Let me…' but Bethune pushed past him. Only for a few seconds he stared over the side toward the same sloping headland.
'Why?'
Jago said quietly, 'We'd just got aboard, y' see, Cap'n. They started shootin', so did we. Then I see her comin' on deck. I think she saw the ship.' He gazed over the water, remembering. 'Our ship.'
Adam heard something fall, the movement of boats alongside. And Bethune's voice.
Jago shook his head. 'There was blood, but she seemed to be smiling.' He shook himself. 'I ain't sure, Cap'n.'
Adam took his arm, like those other times. 'Try to remember, Luke. What she said.'
Jago looked at him fully, his unshaven features suddenly calm.
'She said, 'It's Richard! ' He looked away, toward the sea. 'Then she fell.'
Bethune had reappeared on the littered deck. He looked around, but seemed to see nothing.
Then he became aware of Adam, and said brokenly, 'I've lost her, Adam. Lost her…'
Sillitoe said, with great contempt, 'She was never yours to lose, damn your bloody eyes! '
Captain Souter snapped, 'Take that man across to Athena, Corporal, in irons if you see fit! '
Adam saw that Bethune was carrying a green shawl, and heard him murmur, 'She was always fond of this colour.'
He walked to the bulwark and stood staring down at the cutter.
'I want her taken to English Harbour, Adam. She was happy there, I believe.' He seemed to realize for the first time that Jago was beside him.
