'Just pray!'
Luke Jago judged the moment and hurried across the deck, a mug balanced in his hand. It took some getting used to. He peered up at the straining canvas, topsails and courses like metal. Not since the Western Approaches had she moved like this; not since she had first tasted salt water. The men on watch were angled to the deck, and there were dark stains on the planking where spray had burst up and over the bulwark.
He saw the captain by the compass box, Vincent standing a few paces away. Two helmsmen on the wheel, the quartermaster loitering nearby in case he was needed.
'What is it? 'Then, 'Forgive me. No call to bite your head off, Luke.'
Jago held out the mug. 'Water, Cap'n.'
Adam sipped it. Warm and tasteless, from the cask on deck. It could have been anything.
Jago watched him. He knew him so well. The others around them only thought they did. Moaning all the time about extra work… What else would they be doing in this bloody place? Adam said quietly, 'Lady Luck seems to have deserted me this time, Luke. 'He half turned. 'Stand by to alter course. Two points to starboard.'
The quartermaster had been waiting for that. 'East-by-south, sir. Standing by.'
Vincent remarked, 'I think we'll need more hands aloft.'
Jago swore under his breath. Was that all it meant to him? Everybody hated the third lieutenant, but at least Monteith showed some guts. He felt his dry mouth fold into a humourless grin. Coming from me, of all Jacks! 'Deck there! Sail on th 'starboard bow!'
Adam stared aloft, the mug rattling unheeded across the deck.
'Well done! 'Although Tucker was unable to see or hear him up there amongst the thudding canvas and rigging. He stared across the sea until his eyes watered: lively crests now, not dead calm like all those other days and sleepless nights.
Vincent was saying, 'I'll go aloft myself, sir. This time I'llЦ 'and Jago heard the captain cut him off with a curt, 'I need you here. Young Tucker is doing well. Leave him to it.'
Jago stooped down to retrieve the mug from the scuppers. It gave him time.
Captain Bolitho would have to watch his back.
He touched his belt but the broad-bladed dirk was below, in the mess.
And so will you, matey! Adam gazed aft again. The same group around the wheel, leaning together as the deck tilted to another thrust of wind, and elsewhere men climbing into the shrouds in an attempt to see what was happening. He shut them from his mind. The lookout had sighted another vessel. Very soon some one would realize that Onward was heading toward them under full sail.
He thought of the shots. Small guns, but deadly. Probably swivels, which took longer to prime and reload than heavier cannons.
There had been no sound of any resistance. Maybe some luckless trader, caught unawares.
'Deck there! She's a schooner!'
Vincent muttered, 'What about the other one?'
Adam imagined Tucker in his lofty perch, training the telescope.
T 'other vessel is dismasted!'
'Bloody pirates. 'That was Meredith.
'Deck there! 'And then silence, as if he were feeling the sudden weight of responsibility. 'Schooner's steerin 'southeast!'
Jago said, 'Runnin 'for the shore, damn his eyes! 'But he swung round as Adam drove one fist into his palm and exclaimed, 'Gotyou!'
He looked up, gauging the wind. If the schooner had tacked up to windward, Onward would have lost her. This time there was nowhere to run, except to hide in one of those small coves or inlets which he and Julyan had marked so carefully on the chart. Vague and dangerous…
He looked over at Vincent.
'We'll hold this course until we're ready to change tack. We can outsail him now, whatever he does!'
He walked to the larboard side again, reaching for his telescope before remembering where it was.
'Here, sir! 'It was Napier with another.
Adam felt his mouth crack into a smile. 'You're not going to forget that, are you?'
He trained it across the opposite bow, blurred faces springing across the lens, a sailor shouting or laughing soundlessly, then out across the open sea. Then he found and held the tiny image until his eye felt raw. Stern-on, sails fully spread and filling, the dull shoreline like a far-off curtain beyond. He closed the glass with a snap.
'Too clever this time!'
Squire was the first to speak.
'The same schooner, sir? A pirate, maybe?'
Adam said, 'Bring Tucker down here, and put another good man in his place. 'He seemed to recall Squire's question. 'I intend to find out. 'He looked toward the bows again. 'But first, some people will need our help.'
Tucker came running aft, his bare feet thudding along the gangway like boots. He was not even breathless.
'Same one, sir! 'He looked around as if he expected an argument. 'Watched her all the way to GibraltarЦ not likely to forget!'
'And the other vessel?'
'Local craft, I reckon, sir, a big dhow of some kind.
Dismasted. But they're tryin 'to re-rig one of ‘em.'
Julyan said, 'Probably after the cargo. Otherwise.
Adam shut the speculation from his mind. The schooner might still take a chance and run for it, even though the wind was against her. Her master would know this stretch of coast like the back of his hand. But why run and risk capture, when you could shelter and be safe, until the next time? It could prove to be worthless, but the schooner might reveal something. He thought of the commodore: bad news rides a fast horse. Surely it was better than no news at all? Tucker said suddenly, 'The other vessel being 'a dhow, they're helpless when they tries to claw to wind'rd. No chance at all. 'He might have blushed under his deep tan. 'Sorry, sir.
Not my place to go on about it!'
Adam smiled briefly. 'Who better? 'He saw the surgeon and one of his assistants climbing to the quarterdeck. Murray must have sensed he might be needed.
Vincent said, 'I'll have the second cutter ready for lowering.'
'Jolly-boat, Mark. We shall need both cutters for sterner work.'
He saw the comprehension dawn in Vincent's face.
'You intend to cut out the schooner? Under their noses?'
'Too risky?'
'With respect, sir, it's better than waiting for our commodore to decide!'
They both laughed, then Adam said, 'So be it. Volunteers only. 'He turned his back on the misty shoreline, deliberately.
'But first, an act of mercy.'
Midshipman Napier jumped clear as more men threw their weight on the topsail braces, bodies angled to the deck as Onward turned into the wind. Nobody fell, unlike in those early days, and hardly an order had to be repeated. He peered up at the reefed topsails, each one fisted and kicked into submission, the boom of canvas drowning out the curses of the seamen spread along the yards. He could see the jolly-boat being manhandled from the tier and hoisted out, ready for lowering. He dashed spray from his face, surprised that it could feel so cold when his shirt was clinging to his skin with sweat.
The jolly-boat was smaller than a cutter or gig, a maid-of all-work, but he had seen the surgeon in his shapeless white smock, ready to be taken across to the drifting dhow. It would be a rough passage. He had already heard some one shout out to one of the boat's crew, 'Hang on to yer belly, Bert, or ye'11 lose yer pork!'
Busy though he was, Guthrie the boatswain found time to retort, 'You'll lose more than that, Barker, my lad, if I 'ears another peep out o 'you!'
But somebody laughed.
Napier stared across at the other vessel. One of the big lateen sails was already half hoisted again, but badly torn, the wind exploring the shot-holes. He could see some of the crew trying to hoist a second mast, some one
