For My Country's Freedom (22 page)

The surgeon raised his eyebrows. “You 'ave met the famous
amiral
who is said to risk his reputation as much as his life?”

Beer shook his head.
I'm getting too old for this game.

He glanced at one of the cannons that shared this cabin when the drums beat the hands to quarters. It was still uncovered, the barrel and tackles heavily smoke-stained.

“No, I never have. But I will, as sure as fate.”

His head nodded with exhaustion, and the surgeon slipped away quietly through the replaced screen door.

Beer drifted, thinking of the young frigate captain, and the unknown girl named Zenoria. Next time he wrote to his wife in Newburyport he would tell her about them . . . With something like a groan he pulled himself from the chair.

But first, there were the ship's needs to attend to. Damage to assess, his men to be encouraged. Always, the ship must come first.

Captain Adam Bolitho had been ignorant of the declaration of war between the United States and England. With nothing but instinct and youthful experience, he had fought with a tenacity that might have turned the tables, despite
Unity
's superior artillery.

He picked up the glove and held it to the light. So small a thing, perhaps a mere gesture, without significance to the woman. But her loss had made Bolitho throw away caution, and prepare to fight his ship to the end.

In his mind's eye Beer could still see the beautiful, bare-breasted figurehead, when
Anemone
had finally given up the fight.

Because her captain had nothing left to live for.

12
W
ITNESS

L
IEUTENANT
George Avery hesitated by the screen door and knew that the Royal Marine sentry was watching him with an unmoving stare. Above his head he could hear the muffled bark of orders, the sounds of men hurrying to their stations for the last change of tack before entering English Harbour.

He had been wondering what might be waiting for them here, orders, or a new appraisal of American intentions, and the prospect of fresh fruit and the chance of stretching his legs on dry land had pleased him.

That had been before they had met with the convoy, and had received news of
Anemone.

Against orders, the little brig
Woodpecker
had returned under cover of darkness to the scene of the battle, but had found nothing. The brig's commander, Nicholas Eames, had come aboard
Indomitable
without delay to make his report.

Avery had known that Bolitho was tearing himself apart because of what had happened.

Eames had said, “
Anemone
came about and went into the attack, Sir Richard. No hesitation, no nothing—you'd have been proud of him!”

“I am.” It was all he had said.

From what the brig's commander had been able to tell them, there had been one main adversary, with perhaps other vessels in company.

“At first, Sir Richard, the gunfire was so heavy and fierce I imagined the enemy was a liner.” He had looked at their faces, Tyacke, Scarlett and his admiral, and had added sadly, “But
Anemone
could have run rings around one of those beauties, so I knew it must be one of the new Yankee frigates.”

No wreckage, or if there was, it had drifted fast away with the current. And then Eames had described the one small miracle. A survivor, one of the ship's boys. More dead than alive, he had been hauled aboard
Woodpecker.
It was a wonder he had lived.

Avery glanced at the sentry.

The marine tapped the deck with his musket and called, “Flag-lieutenant,
sir!
”

The survivor had been transferred immediately to the flag-ship. As Eames had said, “My brig doesn't have the space for a surgeon!”

Indomitable
's surgeon, Philip Beauclerk, had insisted that the youth be allowed to rest in order to recover from the nightmare he had endured. It was doubtful that one so young would ever completely get over it.

“Enter!”

Avery strode into the main cabin, his eyes taking in Bolitho's breakfast tray, scarcely touched, a half-finished letter on his table, an empty glass nearby.

“Captain Tyacke's respects, Sir Richard, and we shall be entering harbour within two hours.”

“I see. Is that
all?
”

Then Bolitho stood up abruptly and said, “That was uncalled for. I apologise. Abusing you when you cannot answer back is unforgivable.”

Avery was moved by the intensity of his words. He seemed to speak with his whole body, as if he could not bear to be still.

Bolitho said, “Two hours? Very well. I must speak to this youth. Send Allday—he has a way with youngsters. I have noticed that.” He rubbed his chin, the skin smoothly shaved. “I have no cause to treat him badly, either. The finest of men, a true friend.”

Ozzard appeared with fresh coffee and said, “I shall tell him, Sir Richard.”

Bolitho slumped down again and pulled at his shirt as if it was choking him.

“My little crew. What am I without them?”

He began to slip out of his coat but Avery said, “No, sir. With respect, I think this may be important to the lad. Your rank will not frighten him. He has had enough terror, I imagine.”

Bolitho said, “You are all surprises, George. Did I choose you, or was it the other way round?”

Avery watched his despair. Needing to help, but unable to ease the way. “I believe Lady Catherine decided for both of us, sir.”

He saw Bolitho glance quickly at the unfinished letter, and knew he had not yet been able to bring himself to tell her.

Outside the door Allday and the round-shouldered secretary Yovell stared down at the boy who had been snatched from the sea. From death. He was freshly clothed in a chequered shirt and white trousers, the smallest the purser's store could produce.

The boy was very slight, with frightened brown eyes and wood-splinter scars, which had been cleaned by the sickbay.

Allday said sternly, “Now, listen to me, my lad. I'll not be saying anything twice. You feel a bit sorry for yourself just now, and that ain't too surprising.”

The boy watched him, as a rabbit would stare at a fox. “What do they want of me, sir?”

“In this cabin is the finest admiral England's ever had, though precious few says as much! He wants to ask you about what happened. You just tell him, son. As if he was your father.”

He saw Yovell sigh as the boy began to sob.

“Me father's drowned, sir.”

Allday glared at Yovell. “This is no damned good, is it?” Yovell put his hand on the boy's shoulder. “Come with me.” He sounded quite severe, which was almost unknown with him.

“Answer the questions,” Allday said. “Tell it just as it was. It's important to him, see?”

Ozzard, watching from the door, studied the small figure without expression. To Yovell he said, “You should have been a school teacher!”

Yovell smiled benignly. “I was. That, and other pursuits.”

Avery waited for the others to leave and murmured to Allday, “That was well done.” To the boy he said gently, “Sit here.”

Bolitho made himself remain very still as the boy sat on a chair directly opposite his table. He looked terrified, barely able to drag his eyes from the gold epaulettes, and obviously overwhelmed by the vastness of an admiral's quarters when compared with a frigate's crowded messdeck.

“What is your name?”

“Whitmarsh, sir.” He hesitated. “John Whitmarsh.”

“And how old are you, John?”

The boy gaped at him, but his hands had stopped shaking, and his dark eyes were like saucers at being addressed by the admiral.

“Twelve, I think, sir.” He screwed up his face in an effort to concentrate. “I bin in
Anemone
for eighteen months.”

Bolitho glanced at the piece of paper Yovell had copied out for him.

“And you lost your father?”

“Aye, sir.” He lifted his chin as if with pride at his memory. “He were a fisherman and got drowned off the Goodwins.” Now he had started he could not stop. “My uncle took me to Plymouth and volunteered me for
Anemone,
they was recruiting, see.” He hesitated nervously. “Sir.”

Avery recognised the pain in Bolitho's grey eyes. The boy must have been only about ten when his uncle put him in a King's ship, if uncle he was. It was too common a story these days. Women left to fend for themselves, their men killed in battle or too badly wounded to return home. Or drowned, like this lad's father. This boy had proved an obstacle to someone, and had therefore been removed.

Bolitho said, “Tell me about the battle. Where were you, what were you doing? Try to remember.”

Again he screwed up his eyes. “We sighted the enemy when the watches changed. I heard old Mr Daniel the gunner say she were a big Yankee. There was another too, a little one, but the masthead couldn't make her out 'cause of the sea mist. Me an' my friend Billy was at the foremast, sir. The ship was that short of hands that even we was needed at the braces.”

Bolitho asked quietly, “How old was your friend?”

“Same as me. We come aboard together.”

“I see.” It was clear to him now, as the
Woodpecker
's commander had described. Adam had believed he must hold off the enemy until it was dark enough for the merchantmen to escape, knowing that, by then, it would be too late for
Anemone.
He said, “So your ship came about to engage?” He saw the boy nod, his eyes clouding with memories. “Did you see your captain while all this was happening?”

“Oh yes, sir. He was always about. I went aft with a message an' I heard him tell the first lieutenant to keep the marines hidden and not to rig the nets in case the Yankee guessed what we was doin'.” Then he smiled; it was the nicest thing which had happened. He said, “Our captain was scared o'
nuthin'!
”

“Go on.”

The boy opened and closed his tar-stained fingers. “Then the firin' started, sir. We got the first shots off, but the big Yankee found the range and we was hit again an' again! Spars an' riggin' was fallin' all around, and men was dyin', callin' out—there was blood in th' scuppers like I've never seen!”

Voices called overhead and bare feet thudded across the planking.
Indomitable
was changing tack, making for the harbour. But to this boy, it was like the battle being refought.

“The foremast was shot away, an' the whole of the forecastle was covered in riggin' and sails fallin' on us like somethin' terrible!” He turned and looked at Avery for the first time. “We couldn't move, sir. Men was fightin' to get out, others went over the side, caught like they was in a net. I was held fast. I tried, I tried . . .”

Bolitho held up his hand as Avery began to move forward. “Did you see the captain?”

“When he fell, sir.” He repeated in a small voice, broken by sobs, “When he fell.”

Bolitho waited, his muscles bunched like fists. Adam had fallen. And only this boy had survived to describe it.

He stared at him blindly as he continued, “Then the other ship was hard alongside, sir, the enemy was tramplin' aboard. But our flag had been cut down. We was finished.”

“You are doing very well.” Bolitho glanced despairingly at the flag-lieutenant. “Did anyone help the captain?”

The boy nodded. “They carried him to the other ship.” He nodded again. “I seen 'em.” He looked at Bolitho, remembering where he was, what he was doing. “Then there was an explosion. We started to sink.”

Bolitho stood up and walked to the stern windows. An explosion, after the colours had been cut down. Somebody unknown, acting as Adam would have done rather than surrender his beloved
Anemone.

“I can't remember much after that, sir. I called out, but nobody came. There was dead men all around, and even wounded who never reached the upper deck. I held on to Billy, an' together we floated off with some spars when the ship went under.”

Then the tears came and did not stop. He managed to gasp, “But Billy didn't answer me. He just drifted away. I think he'd been dead all the time!”

Bolitho said abruptly, “Take him down to the sickbay and see that he gets a good meal before we anchor.”

Then he changed his mind, and found himself crossing the cabin to the chair, pulling out one of the handkerchiefs Catherine had bought for him. He gave it to the boy.

Avery watched. It was like being under a spell, and he could not speak or interrupt.

Bolitho said, so softly that the boy had to stop his tears to listen, “Your captain is my nephew. He is very dear to me, as you were to your father. It does not bring back friends, but if it is any help, what you have told me has given me
hope.
Do you understand?”

He nodded, his streaming eyes never leaving Bolitho's face.

Allday padded in silently and shook his head. When the boy looked up at him he said, “Well, let me tell you, matey, no admiral ever spoke to
me
like that, an' that's no error!” He seized him by the top of his shirt and added, “We'll go an' take a look at the pantry, eh?”

As the door closed, and Ozzard re-entered with two glasses on a tray, Bolitho sat down on the bench seat as if the deck had been cut from under him.

“That man really is a marvel!”

“I agree, sir.” To himself Avery added,
And so, as it happens, are you.

Bolitho drank from the glass without tasting it. “We shall go on deck, George. It is a sight I never tire of.”

Avery asked carefully, “Where you met Lady Catherine, sir?”

Bolitho looked at him, the life, like hope, returning to his eyes. “Where I found her, when I thought I had lost her for ever.”

Then he said over his shoulder, “I am not a fool. I know the odds as well as you do. But he
was
alive, right?”

Avery followed him up to the bright sunshine.
Do not hope too much.
He thought suddenly of Catherine and the endearment he had once overheard.
Dearest of men.

It was all true. He had just seen him bring a twelve-year-old boy back from the dead. As a man.