test. If some one slipped and fell overboard, it would still be possible for the quarter-boat to cast off and rescue the unfortunate seaman. But one false step a loft… He glanced at the maintop. There was no second chance.
'Standing by, sir!'
The capstan bars were revolving like a great human wheel.
And, yes, faster now, the pawls 'movement steady and unbroken. Then Lieutenant Squire's voice along the full length of the deck.
'Anchor's have short, sir! 'He had not even cupped his hands.
'Loose the heads'Is!'
Adam clenched his fist. Too soon. He listened to the capstan and imagined the ship thrusting above the anchor.
He looked directly ahead, at an old seventy-four which had arrived in Plymouth yesterday. Her shrouds were full of sailors, and he saw the glint of telescopes on her poop.
'Ready on the helm, Captain. 'Julyan the master, and beyond him one of his mates, with a book open in both hands.
All staring forward, their eyes on Squire. All but one. Luke Jago stood at the foot of the mizzen, arms folded, indifferent to the figures already high above him, some clawing their way out along the yards, dark shapes against the sky.
Adam saw him raise his hand, a gesture no more than a man would make brushing off a fragment of oakum. Then a nod, even as the cry came from forward. 'Anchor's aweigh!'
The capstan was moving quickly now, men running to join those already hauling the braces, taking the strain as the great yards began to swing, canvas spilling to the wind as Onward broke free from the land.
Another quick glance at the anchored two-decker. As if she were under way and altering course toward them. But no sails were set, and only the people in her shrouds were moving to observe the new frigate's departure.
Adam strode forward, stepping over the unshipped capstan bars, even as men ducked past and around him to clear the deck.
He studied the compass, his body leaning slightly with the ship, feeling it, living it. More hoarse shouts, the clatter of tackles and the stamp of running feet as others answered the demands of wind and rudder.
The topsails, free of their yards at last, were already hard bellied in the offshore wind, flinging down the night's rain like pellets. Onward was answering, her masthead pendant throwing a hard shadow across the topmen as they dragged and kicked their way to safety, calling to one another in a mixture of bravado and relief. Julyan watched the jib as it filled and shook, some of Squire's anchor party pausing to stare up even as they continued to make fast the great anchor to the cathead, the sea suddenly alive and breaking beneath them.
The land was sliding away across the quarter. Adam heard Guthrie again, voice like a trumpet, and could imagine him unmoving, his men running and weaving around him.
More hands to the braces now, some slipping, pushed or cursed by those who stumbled over them.
Adam sensed Julyan's eyes on him, covertly, not wanting to be seen.
'Meet her! 'He wiped some spray from his face and heard the wheel go over. The helmsman was angled to the deck, his head thrown back as he, too, watched the sails, the canvas slapping and refilling while the bows continued to swing.
Faces, voices intruded. Impatience, anger. 'Catch a turn there, Johnson! 'A muffled response, then, 'Well, do it, whatever your bloody name is!'
Some one's foot caught on a snaking length of rope; he fell, the breath knocked out of him, but was still able to offer a mocking bow to the man who pulled him upright.
Adam peered at the tilting compass.
'Steady! 'He rested his hand on the shining brasswork; he had seen a young sailor polishing it with great care at first light.
'Sou 'east by south, sir!'
He looked abeam and saw a fishing boat altering course to stand well clear, some small figures crouched beneath the tanned sails, one or two waving. Some of the anchor party were waving back. David Napier was standing beside the massive Squire, looking up at him and laughing. Still an adventure, then, even after the horror of Audacity.
'We could let her fall off a point, sir.'
Adam lifted the telescope and wiped the lens on his sleeve.
Julyan was a good master, and Onward was his ship also.
'Well spoken. 'He waited for the wheel to swing over once more, the fishing boat vanishing astern.
Vincent was beside him now. 'All secure, sir. 'He was looking up at the masthead pendant. 'Wind seems steady enough. 'He shaded his eyes and stared forward, then he raised his hand. 'The foc'sle party can fall out. The anchor's catted and secure for sea.'
Then he smiled, for the first time. 'A proud moment.'
Adam steadied his telescope and saw waves breaking on the rocks, harmless, almost delicate at this distance. But many a luckless sailor knew otherwise at close quarters. Penlee Point.
He moved the telescope, and the silent crests and the land fell away.
A few faces loomed in the glass, and then the quivering jib and staysails. And unseen beneath them the leaping dolphin, the youth with his outstretched trident.
He waited for the bows to lift. A beginning, and yet so final.
He could hear Vincent's words. A proud moment.
The open sea.
7. Written in Blood
David Napier reached out to steady himself but dropped his arm as the deck lifted beneath him. He was becoming accustomed to the motion of a ship again, and Onward's sudden changes of mood. Five days since they had weighed anchor and Plymouth had merged into the coastline and vanished. It was as if the elements had been waiting for them.
Strong winds and rough seas the further they drove into the Western Approaches had made rest a luxury, and sleep impossible, with the pipe for all hands to shorten sail or man the braces for yet another change of tack shrilling every hour, and Onward's people up and running.
Five days, and still no sight of land nor any other vessel. Sea and wind, and he was pleased that he had been able to ride both without fear. He did not allow himself to think much about Audacity, but she had been a smaller frigate. A good beginning for any young gentleman.
He looked at the door across the narrow passageway: Onward's wardroom. Only a few paces from the midshipmen's berth, but as one wag had remarked, it could take a lifetime to reach it.
Onward carried six midshipmen, and yet they scarcely knew one another. Learning their duties and their own parts of ship, and the foul weather, had made certain of that. Even off watch or in rare moments of peace, they were still strangers.
Deacon, the senior in the gunroom, spent most of his spare time reading manuals on navigation or gunnery and making notes in his log; he was also in charge of the signals crew. The prospect of the examination for promotion obviously weighed heavily on him.
At the other end of the scale, Midshipman Walker, who was twelve years old and in his first ship, seemed to be continually seasick or recovering over a bucket, as he was now. Napier swallowed. He had never suffered seasickness, but there was always a first time.
Simon Huxley had remained friendly, and helpful when they were allowed to work on charts together, but he was still reserved, thinking constantly of his father and always anticipating any slur or criticism, real or imagined.
The wardroom door opened to his knock, and a messman, some silver tankards gripped insecurely in one hand, regarded him impassively.
'Can I help? 'The merest pause. 'Sir?'
