In the King`s Name

“Anchor’s aweigh!”

Adam Bolitho listened to the capstan and felt the deck shudder beneath his feet as the anchor broke free of the ground. Two helmsmen were at the wheel, and Donlevy, the quartermaster, was standing by, as he had been since all hands had been piped. Julyan, the master-”Old Jolly” as he was called behind his back-was not far away, one of his mates beside him, slate and pencil poised for anything that might need recording in the log, or on a chart.

The shrouds and stays trembled and rattled as the first canvas broke and filled at the yards, and again the deck quivered as if other hands were trying to control the rudder.

Adam was standing in the shadow of the mizzen, just paces abaft the wheel, and without the sun in his eyes could see the full length of the ship. Squire and his men in the bows watching for the first sign of the anchor-ring, the “Jews-harp” as it was known, breaking the surface, so that it could be catted and made secure. More men being sent to the braces to lend their strength, and heave the great yards further round until each sail was full-bellied and stiff in the wind. A few men slipping in the struggle with wind and sea. To the landsman or casual onlooker, it must appear utter confusion until order was finally restored, topsails set, and the unruly jib trimmed and sharp, like the fin of a shark.

Adam watched the shore moving now as Onward gathered way, and the two hills which had become familiar, essential landmarks for this final run to the headland, and beyond to the open sea.

He leaned back now, gazing at the spread of canvas above, the masthead pendant stiff as a lance in the wind. Some topmen were making a lashing secure, or waving to others on the foretop, apparently indifferent to the distance from the deck.

The shudder again: the rudder taking charge.

“Anchor’s secured, sir.” Vincent was watching critically as the capstan bars were stowed away.

Adam thought he heard Jago’s voice above the thud of canvas and the chorus of rigging. He was standing near the boat tier kicking a wedge like a gun-quoin into place, to make them more secure for sea. He seemed to feel Adam’s eyes on him and twisted round to give his little gesture, like a private signal. So many times.

“Fall out the anchor party!”

More voices now: the nippers, youngsters who would be joining others stowing the incoming cable after they had scrubbed every fathom of it. Adam beckoned to Midshipman Hotham, who was standing by the flag-locker, a telescope over his shoulder.

Hotham said, “No signal, sir. Only the acknowledgment to mine.” He almost blushed. “Ours, sir!”

Adam levelled the glass but regretted it: in the short time since they had up-anchored, the bearing and distance had completely changed. The flagship now seemed bows-on, her masts in line and her figurehead unusually bright in the sunlight. Her pendant was still flying, but her ensign was obscured by the high poop. No boats alongside, and nobody on deck as Onward had passed. A ship already dead. He thought of the flag lieutenant. Finished.

He handed back the telescope and wondered why he had left his own in the great cabin beneath his feet. He glanced at the skylight, covered now by a heavy grating as a precaution while getting under way, in case something should fall from aloft. Easier than cutting new glass, he had heard Hall, the carpenter, remark.

But he was thinking of Tyacke. They had scarcely spoken since he had climbed aboard. There had been only a quick, firm handshake and an apology for his abrupt arrival, then he had made a point of going straight below where Morgan would make certain he was not disturbed. If that was possible in any man-of-war preparing for sea.

Adam knew it was why he had left the old telescope there. Tyacke was probably focusing it even now, watching the harbour opening out, headlands sliding aside for their departure.

Or looking astern at Medusa?

“Southwest-by-south, sir!” Julyan was by the compass box, his lips pursed in a silent whistle. “Full an’ bye!”

Adam looked up at the yards, braced hard round, sails firm but not flapping or losing the wind. The ship was performing well. The topmen or those on the lee gangway could be looking down at their own reflections by now. And unless … He felt his mouth soften into a smile. Unless was every captain’s sheet- anchor.

He thought again of Tyacke, when they had last spoken. The only other sound had been the first clink of the capstan.

“We’re going to New Haven.” He had paused, regarding Adam searchingly. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

Adam had answered, “I guessed.”

Tyacke had shaken his head. “There’s a hell of a lot of Sir Richard in you, Adam, and I’m bloody glad of it!” He had still been smiling when the cabin door had closed.

But what was Tyacke thinking now, alone with his memories? A born sailor, and an officer of distinction. The devil with half a face.

He turned as he heard Monteith’s voice, not for the first time since the capstan had been manned: “What d’ you mean, you didn’t understand? Are you so stupid? Do I have to say everything twice?”

Adam knew Vincent was watching. So much had happened. Men had died and he had blamed himself, but he was proud, too. Of them.

The responsibility is mine.

He looked toward the land again and did not need a glass to see that the two hills were beginning to overlap. Soon now they would alter course, and with the wind in their favour make more sail. A lot of the canvas was still new, untried. He had heard Julyan say, “That’ll shake the gum out of ‘em!”

He saw the surgeon by one of the guns, pausing to speak with Squire, gesturing at the headland. Different worlds, but they seemed firm friends now.

Three bells rang out from the forecastle as Onward altered course. One and a half hours exactly since the anchor had been secured to Squire’s satisfaction. Into the deeper, stronger swell of open water, with a temporary stand-easy as a hasty meal was arranged for most of the ship’s company, the welcome aroma of rum reaching even the great cabin when Adam quit the quarterdeck for the first time.

After the sun and reflected glare, the cabin seemed almost dark. But the grating had been removed from the skylight and Tyacke was sitting at the table, a folio of papers and an enlarged section of chart pressed under one elbow.

He seemed about to stand but changed his mind as the deck tilted suddenly, in time with the shudder from the rudder. “Getting lively, eh?”

Adam sat opposite him and heard the pantry door creak. Hugh Morgan was on his toes, as always. “I’ll get the t’gallants on her when I have more sea-room, sir.”

Tyacke made to lift his hand but put it back down immediately as some of his papers began to follow Onward‘s motion. “No formality, Adam-not here, anyway.” His blue eyes moved briefly around the cabin, with an expression Adam could not determine. “I’m only a passenger this time. The admiral’s errand boy.” He had twisted round in his chair to look at the spray-dappled glass. “Nothing like it, is there?”

Adam noticed that the old telescope was wedged in the bench seat, within reach. He said quietly, “You could have stayed on deck with me,” and Tyacke shook his head, laughing.

“Not likely-it’s bad enough with one captain at a time. I should know!” He looked up as something fell on the deck overhead, and there was a shout, and the thud of bare feet as men ran to respond.

When he looked back at Adam he seemed calm, even relaxed. “As I’m sure you know, there is no love lost between Rear-Admiral Langley and Sir Duncan Ballantyne at New Haven. Your visit was overshadowed by that bloody business at the mission. But for your action, I don’t know how we would have found out the truth.”

He touched the papers. “The schooner you discovered and captured gave us a few clues. She was once a privateer, then she was taken by the French almost at the close of the war. Then sold, and bought by a yard in England. She ended up here in Africa. As a slaver.”

Adam remembered the hazardous passage in the Delfim. The warning maroon. He said, “New Haven is the key. Somebody must know.”

Tyacke smiled faintly, so that his scars seemed more livid. “The ‘carpet knight’?”