For My Country's Freedom (29 page)

Adam Bolitho lay in the gently swaying cot, listening to the groan and shiver of cordage and rudder, the occasional slap of spray against the quarter windows. The cabin was in darkness but for a solitary lantern, and he knew that his uncle was elsewhere expanding upon his instructions to his captains for the courier brig.

It was heavy and close between decks with all hatches and shutters sealed as though against some unseen enemy witness. He was sweating, and the ache in his side felt as if the wound had been re-opened.

It was still hard to accept that he was in
Indomitable,
that he would not be awakened by the one-legged man from Bristol, or the surly lieutenant of the guard.

They would be hunting for him. A needle in a haystack. He prayed that those who had aided his escape would remain safe and unknown.

He listened to the footsteps on deck and pictured the duty watch, the lieutenant and his midshipmen and master's mate, the helmsmen watching the dimly glowing compass card, their bare feet braced against the tug of the great rudder. Sounds and sensations so familiar and personal that he was even more aware of his sense of bereavement, of not belonging. He heard the scrape of boots and quick murmurs beyond the screen as the marine sentry was relieved. His world, and yet denied to him since
Anemone
's loss.

A door opened, and he thought he heard Ozzard's sharp voice. Another lantern threw more light around the sleeping-compartment and he saw a small figure with unruly hair and bare feet, treading carefully down the slope of the deck with a tray gripped in his hands like something precious.

Adam forced himself on to his elbow and opened the shutter of his lantern. “I know you, boy, you're John Whitmarsh. They told me what happened to you.”

The boy stared at him, almost afraid, shocked perhaps to see his captain lying like any wounded seaman.

“Aye, sir. 'Tis me. Mr Ozzard said for me to come to you. I've brought some wine. He said it belonged to some lady, though I didn't understand what he meant, sir.”

Adam reached out and took his arm. There was nothing of him. “Volunteered” by some relative who found his upkeep and care too inconvenient.

“You survived when so many fell, John Whitmarsh.” He tried to smile. “Or surrendered!”

“I
tried,
sir.” He did not explain. “Be you goin' to be all right, sir?”

Adam nodded. “When I get a ship. I'll be brave enough then.”

He realised that the boy was staring at him, his eyes filling his face. The realisation came starkly to him. The boy had nothing. Even his best friend had been lost.

He asked, “Will you come as my servant, John, when I get another ship? Will you do that?”

The boy nodded and began to sob quietly. “I'd be that proud, sir!”

“Can you read?”

“No, sir. But I could learn!”

Adam smiled. “I shall teach you. Who knows, you may wear the King's coat one day; then I shall be proud of
you,
eh?”

“I dunno what to say, sir!”

Adam sipped the wine. Lady Catherine's. Ozzard would understand. This poor, twelve-year-old youth probably imagined that he was offering him some kind of lifeline. He would never believe that it was the other way round.

The excitement, the emotion, and now the wine were making him drowsy again.

He said, “On days when we are sad, young John, we can restore ourselves by remembering our old ship, and our lost friends.” His eyes hardened in the flickering lights. “Our enemies, too, if it pleases you.”

The boy watched until he was asleep and then curled up near by. Without fear, without need.
He was somebody.

16 THE
S
TRENGTH OF A SHIP

B
OLITHO
walked up to the stern windows of the great cabin and watched the spray soaking the thick glass, hardening like ice rime in the south-westerly wind.

Captain James Tyacke watched him, noting each mood while half his mind clung to the sounds of wind and rigging. His responsibility to his ship.

“You still think I am wrong, James?”

“I'm more worried by the weather, sir. York claims it will remain the same for a few days yet, but I'm not so sure. If the Halifax-bound convoy is caught by wind and heavy seas it could be scattered, and that means they would be without whatever escorts their lordships have seen fit to provide.” He did not hide the contempt in his voice. “All those men, and horses and guns too. It would be slaughter.”

Bolitho walked to the chart on his table. It was noon, but gloomy enough for sunset.

He tried to picture his extended line of ships, with Captain Dawes' big
Valkyrie
in command, spread along the
45th
parallel while the rest of their patrol areas were left undefended. Beer's
Unity
was at Boston, and the
Baltimore,
another of the new American frigates, had been in Delaware Bay. Waiting for any rescue attempt? It seemed unlikely, although
Zest
's first lieutenant had reported sighting such a vessel when they had crossed swords with the smart little brig. Every captain would act as he thought fit if challenged, without hope of assistance and support.

Bolitho touched his eye. He had to be right. The convoy of soldiers, now said to be doubled in size, was a prize no commander could ignore.

But if I am wrong
. . .

The door opened and Adam entered the cabin. Three days since Allday's son had guided him to safety, and what a difference, except in his eyes. There was tension there, and strain around his mouth which Bolitho had not seen before
Anemone
's loss.

There was eagerness too, in marked contrast. Almost the midshipman again, or was it only wishful thinking?

“Well, Adam, you
look
the part at least!”

Adam glanced down at his various items of uniform clothing, which had been donated by
Indomitable
's officers and midshipmen.

Tyacke asked, “Did the first lieutenant have something to offer?”

Bolitho glanced at him. The sharpness in the question was very evident.

Adam said easily, “I expect he forgot. All first lieutenants have much to do on the eve of great matters!” He tried to grin, but it did not relieve the intensity in his eyes.

Bolitho asked, “You are so certain of that?”

Impulsively he put his hands on Adam's shoulders. “I have your commission for you. You will assume command of
Zest
immediately, in case the weather goes against us. But no risks, Adam—you are far from well as yet. Hold the people together and try to keep
Anemone
a kind memory, one that will not incite you to avenge her beyond what you know to be any chance of victory. You are my best frigate captain, so take heed.”

He squeezed his shoulders, and thought of the letter he had sent away in the schooner
Reynard.

My dearest Kate, I am loath to send him to
Zest
after what he went through. But he is the best I have, and he needs the command, as I once did.

Tyacke glanced at the salt stains on the leaning windows. He was eager to get it over with. In his heart he knew they all were. Like the last goodbyes; never the proper words when they were most needed.

He said, “Captain Dampier was a good leader, if a trifle reckless for my taste. But because he is dead he will suddenly become a martyr when anyone speaks of him.” He smiled briefly, as if touched by some memory. “His company may close ranks, regard you as an intruder, yes?”

Adam nodded, very conscious of the power of this tall figure with the ruined face. “I understand you.”

“Oh yes, they will curse their new captain and damn his eyes to the full, swear to God he can never hold a slow-match to their old one! But you
are
the captain. Allow nobody to forget it.” He held out his hand. “And you're taking the boy Whitmarsh with you?” He knew one of the reasons was because the boy had been the last one alive to leave
Anemone.

But all Adam said was, “He deserves it.”

A midshipman, his jacket black with spray, peered in at them.

“First lieutenant's respects, sir! Boat's ready alongside!” He fled.

Bolitho said, “There is one thing more.” He walked to the bulkhead and took down the old family sword. “Take this. It will be yours by right one day.”

Adam refused it gently, putting it back into his hands. “We'll not speak of that, Uncle. I shall find another when the need arises.”

They walked out into the passageway between the lines of officers' cabins, hutches which could be ripped down in minutes when the hands dashed to quarters and the drums stopped every man's heartbeat. Figures moved out like shadows: Allday with a handclasp, Yovell, even Ozzard, who rarely showed any emotion at all. And John Bankart, Allday's illegitimate son, unknown for so many years.

Perhaps Adam was thinking of his own upbringing, fatherless as he had then believed, his mother selling herself to feed and educate him.

Bolitho watched as Adam shook Bankart's hand. Never a youth, but now a man of thirty or so.

He heard Adam say, “Leave the sea, John. It is not for you and never was. I'll never forget what you did for me, nor will your father.” He smiled with genuine warmth. “Give him time. He is all aback because of you!”

The calls trilled and he was down the side, nimbly, and sure-footed despite his wound.

Bolitho shaded his eyes to stare over at
Zest,
showing her copper as she pitched violently in a quarter sea.

Her company were in for a surprise. It would do them good. He watched Adam turn just once to wave from the sternsheets, his borrowed hat pressed between his knees. It would do Adam good as well.

Tyacke had already put the event from his immediate thoughts. “I shall exercise the guns when the hands have eaten, Sir Richard. This is no time for slackness.”

Bolitho left him and went aft to his cabin. There he took out his unfinished letter and wondered when they would meet with the
Reynard
again, or some other courier who would take it on board.

He sat with the pages spread out on the table and laid her last letter beside them. She had written of the changing colours of Cornwall, of Falmouth. The coming of autumn, and the mists over Pendennis Point.

Each night I lie and await thee, dearest of men. I speak your name, and like that terrible day when they found Zenoria, I feel your hand on mine. Safe, safe, and oh so precious to me. I wrote to you before about Val Keen. He was grieved by his loss.
Bolitho had imagined that he had felt her hesitate as she had written it.
But he will get over it, I am certain, and he shall find another.

There are those who have no such escape
. . .

He looked up, annoyed at the interruption, but it was Allday.

Allday said, “I thought I'd stop them disturbing you, Sir Richard.
Reaper
has just sighted a sail to the east'rd. A brig.”

“One of ours then, old friend.” His eyes moved to the letter. No, he would finish it
afterwards.
Why should that word hold such threat?

Allday said gruffly, “It's strange to have your own kin aboard. Better he were a stranger—I'd not feel so ill at ease!” His eyes crinkled. “Still, he was fair tickled when he heard about the baby.”

Bolitho smiled.
Kate.
He hoped it had not saddened his own Kate.

Two hours later,
Indomitable
was near enough to the newcomer to identify her as the brig
Weazel
of fourteen guns.

She had been ordered to patrol as close as was prudent to the southern approaches of Nantucket Sound. As laid down in his original instructions, her commander, a red-faced Devonian named John Mates, had left the sector to find either his admiral in person or one of the chain of vessels that made up this very mixed squadron.

Tyacke brought the news to Bolitho in his cabin.

“From
Weazel,
sir. The U.S.S.
Unity
has put to sea. She slipped out three nights ago.” He spread his strong hands. “Gone, just like that.” He saw Bolitho's mind working busily on the information, or the lack of it. He added, “I've repeated the signal to
Reaper
. . .” his blue eyes did not even blink, “. . . and
Zest.
”

Bolitho leaned over his chart again.
Not yet. Not yet. Two days more.
How could they know, be certain of anything? This was not warfare as it was expected to be fought. But then, those who made the rules of battle had too often never seen one. This was personal, cold-bloodedly personal. Either Beer must be destroyed,
or he must kill me.
Nothing else would make the vital difference.

Tyacke said quite suddenly, “I shall give you all I have, sir.”

Bolitho said, looking up at him, “Then we shall succeed.”

He glanced at the unfinished letter again.
Dearest Kate. Our love is greater even than duty.
Once he might have challenged such a sentiment, but that was in the past.

Tyacke had gone. He was like the strength of
Indomitable
herself, her great keel, her shining batteries of guns: strong enough to control landmen and seasoned sailors like the ship's rigging itself. He smiled. As an old hand who had once trained him had explained every mile of cordage.

“Equal strain on all parts, my young gennleman! That's the
strength
of it!” It certainly described Tyacke better than he knew himself.

On the weather side of the quarterdeck George Avery gripped a stay and watched the majesty of the ocean stretching away on either beam. It was hard to accept, until somebody like York showed you the chart and the pages of calculations, tides, depths and currents, that there was any danger. Land of any kind was beyond the sight of even the most keen-eyed lookout. Only the misty topsails of their two consorts, like linked hands, were visible on the horizons.

He thought of the letters he had read and written for Allday. Vignettes of rural England, small personal comments which he could not fathom, but he could see the true pleasure they gave in the coxswain's eyes. Bolitho had mentioned Rear-Admiral Keen again when he had received a letter from Lady Catherine. He gave it all a great deal of consideration, intrigued also by the glove, obviously cherished, which was all of his personal possessions that Adam Bolitho had been able to save in his captivity. What was honour when it came to love, no matter how secret the love?

“Is this all you have to do with yourself?”

It was Scarlett, swaying back and forth on his heels as the
Indomitable
thrust through every roller with disdain.

Avery answered calmly, “I am busy enough. I do not wish to argue, nor do I wish to be insulted.”

He might as well have stayed silent. “Oh no, not for you, eh! No hard struggle to gain advancement like the rest of us! Privilege, who-you-know, that is
your
navy, sir, but it is not mine!”

“Hold your noise, damn you! The watchkeepers will hear!”

“And that would never do, would it? Because he is a Bolitho he gets a new command, instantly, and I bloody well suggest it will be your turn next!”

“I'll hear no more.” He turned to go but Scarlett's fingers gripped his forearm like claws.

Avery said very quietly, “Remove your hand,
Mister
Scarlett, or . . .”

“Or what?”

“Do not try to provoke me, sir. You can have all the commands on the ocean for all I care. But I tell you this—” he saw Scarlett flinch under his tawny stare, “I do not believe you're fit to command anything!”

A midshipman called, “Captain's coming, sir!” But he dropped his eyes as Scarlett glared past him.

“Hold your noise, Mr Essex, or I'll have you mastheaded, all night if need be!”

He turned back to Avery. When he pondered over it later in his hutch, Avery thought it was like seeing an entirely different person. Scarlett merely said, “You mustn't be so hasty, man! So quick to burn a fuse, eh?” He even smiled. Like a stranger, and yet they had shared the same mess since Plymouth.

In two days or so they would fight, or so York the sailing-master had surmised. Suppose Tyacke should fall? He thought of the momentary wildness in Scarlett's eyes. Something was pulling the man apart. Drink, women, or money? It was usually one of the three. But a madman on the quarterdeck of a King's ship . . . who would carry the blame?