nothing serious; he was laughing at something the coxswain, Jago, was telling him.
The captain had seen him.
'Mail, James? I saw the guardboat pulling away. I wondered.
Squire carried the canvas bag into the cabin. wondered, too. We always do. And hope.
They walked aft together. The stern windows were open and the shutters drawn, the wind warm but refreshing. There was haze closer inshore, and dust from the town. Everything else was dwarfed by the Rock.
'I had to sign for these, sir.'
But the captain had not heard him. Adam was not listening.
A heavy sealed envelope, the contents probably written or dictated weeks ago. am directed by my lords commissioners of Admiralty… And one bearing the familiar anchor and crossed swords, put aboard a courier in Plymouth. The admiral's seal was still bright in the filtered sunlight.
He put them on the bench seat and picked up an envelope uncluttered by seals or official sanctions.
As if the cabin was suddenly empty, the view astern from these windows quite still.
She was here, with him. Like coming alive, all tiredness gone. He touched it again. So many miles, days, weeks.
Always waiting.
Vicary the purser said, 'If you could just glance at these, sir.
They will require your approval before I take them ashore.'
Adam laid the letter on the bench seat and reached for the knife Morgan had placed where he could see it.
'A moment. 'He slit open the heavy envelope and glanced across each separate section. He could still recall his first command, and the introduction to documents like these; it had been like reading a foreign language. It seemed a long time ago.
He looked at the date, and the perfect script. Official, enclosing a shorter letter, its contents very much to the point.
He remembered the face behind the writing, one of the admiral's aides at Plymouth.
More voices. Vincent was here now; he had been occupied with a supply lighter when Adam had returned from Tenacious.
'I'm a bit adrift, sir. 'He hesitated. 'Is something wrong?'
Adam folded the letter.
'Midshipman Huxley. Where is he, d 'you know?'
'Lowering the jolly-boat, sirЦ I've watched him do it before. I thought.
'I want to see him immediately. This concerns his father.'
Vincent lowered his voice. 'The court martial, sir?'
'Not guilty. 'He wanted to hit out, smash something. Prevent this from happening. 'They were too late. He was found dead in his quarters. Hanged himself.'
Vincent said, 'I'll fetch him. I have always found him easy enough to talk to. 'He faltered. 'It's no use, is it, sir?'
Adam picked up the other letter. Her letter. Later…
'Thank you, Mark. But he is one of my officers. 'He turned and faced the others. 'If you will excuse me, the first lieutenant can deal with the issue of signatures.'
They filed out of the cabin and Vincent closed the door as they left. The surgeon had been the last to leave.
'If you need me? 'He knew, or guessed.
Morgan had been waiting by his pantry, sensing the change in atmosphere, wanting to do something. This was his place.
But he gathered up the empty glasses and headed for the screen. He would be ready when called. And the captain would know it.
Adam stood by the open stern window and saw another boat pulling slowly beneath the counter, some one holding up shawls or bright clothing, undeterred by shouts from the deck.
It was hot, and he was still wearing the dress uniform coat in which he had boarded the flagship.
He made to unfasten it, but something stopped him.
The slight tap on the grating.
'Mr. Midshipman Huxley, sir!'
'Enter!'
He was the Captain.
The two midshipmen sat side by side on the forecastle deck watching the lights on the shore; occasionally one moved, like a star fallen on the water. Overhead, if they looked, the converging pattern of shrouds and stays reached to the sky, yards and spars completely still, resting, like the ship.
There had been music, the lively sound of a violin, laughter and what sounded like feet stamping in a jig, but even that had gone silent. It would soon be time to pipe down; some of the hands were already in their hammocks.
Down by the entry port there was still a lantern burning, an intrusion in the darkness. The glint of metal and a moving shadow showed the duty watch was alert, waiting for one of the boats, or the Officer-of-the-Guard on his endless patrol around and between the anchored men-of-war.
David Napier glanced over his shoulder as a solitary figure walked past: one of the anchor watch doing his rounds, although he would hardly be able to see the cable where it reached down into the black water. They might have been completely alone, sitting where they were in the eyes of the ship. Even the figurehead was invisible, reaching out to another unknown horizon.
Soon they would have to return to the midshipmen's berth.
Nothing had been said, and the silence made it worse, if that were possible. They all knew. The whole ship seemed to know.
Once, he had said, 'Would it be better if I left you in peace, Simon?'
No words, but he had felt a hand on his arm and known he was shaking his head.
And then, quite suddenly, Simon Huxley had started to talk.
'I knew what had happened. When the Captain sent for me, I knew. I kept going over it, again and again, but I was thinking too much about my own future.
It had been dark, but not enough to hide the tears on his face.
He had shaken off any attempt to restrain or comfort him. Like a flood-gate giving way.
'When I saw him, that last time, in Plymouth, and every one was trying to make things seem better, I should have known.
My father had already condemned himself, no matter what any court martial might decide!'
Huxley had got up suddenly and leaned out across the water, and Napier had stood with him, hardly daring to hold him, afraid of what he would do. But in a calmer voice he said, 'Two of his men were drowned within sight of land, and he blamed himself. Even when he was told that the court would find him not guilty, he said, it won't bring them back to life.'
They had sat down again, sharing the stillness.
Then Napier had asked, as if he had no control over it, 'What did the Captain say?'
Huxley had said nothing, reliving it for a moment. Then he whispered, 'He treated me like a man, a friend. I knew he cared. It wasn't just words. 'He had been unable to continue.
Some one shouted, and another said, 'About bloody time!'
A boat was pulling out of the darkness, the oars trailing living serpents of phosphorescence.
Napier took his friend's arm gently. 'Shall we go below, Simon? 'and felt him nod.
'I'm ready.'
That was all. But enough.
Hugh Morgan was still in his pantry when the last boat came alongside. Here, down aft, you could not hear much of it, but there would be some curses and flying fists if they carried their high spirits down on to the messdeck. The ship's corporal would have to deal with it. Rowlatt, the master-at-arms, was still ashore, 'on special duty', they said. He had heard that Rowlatt had a woman in the town. He grinned. She must be blind, or
