Second to None (25 page)

He felt a growing warmth on his cheek, and the ship sway to a sudden gust of wind. He saw the helmsmen glance from the flapping driver to the masthead pendant, licking out now across the larboard bow, easing the spokes with care to allow for it.

It would be hot today, whatever the wind decided. The decks had been washed down at first light, and were now almost dry, and some of the boatswain's crew were filling the boats with water to prevent the seams opening when the sun rose to its zenith. His eye moved on. Hammocks neatly stowed, lines flaked down ready for instant use, without the danger of tangling and causing an infuriating delay.

A brief glance aloft told him that more men were out on the yards, searching for breaks and frayed ends, another daily task.

He saw the cabin servant, Napier, making his way aft, a covered dish balanced in one hand, and recalled the burial, Lovatt's body sliding over the side after the captain had spoken a few words. A seaman, one of Lovatt's, tugged off his tarred hat: respect or guilt, it was hard to tell. Napier had been there also, standing in the dying light beside Lovatt's son. As the body had been tipped on a grating Napier had put his arm around the other boy's shoulder.

Galbraith saw another gust crossing the heaving water, ruffling it like a cat's fur. The large ensign was standing out from the peak, and beyond the naked figurehead the hazy horizon tilted to a steeper angle.
In for a blow
 . . . He smiled. As the master had predicted. The wind had shifted, veered overnight, north-easterly across the starboard quarter.

He walked to the opposite side again and looked at the compass, the helmsman's eyes noting every move. Due west. Gibraltar in three days, less if the wind increased. He watched a seaman on the gundeck splicing a rope's end, his face stiff with concentration. Another, who had been applying grease to a gun truck, reached out and took it from him. The strong, tarred fingers moved like marlin spikes, there was a quick exchange of grins, and the job was done. One of the prisoners, helping a new hand still mystified by the intricacies of splicing and rope work.
If only they were not so undermanned.
He paced impatiently up the tilting deck. There was still half the morning watch to run, and a hundred things he needed to supervise.

The lookouts had sighted a few distant sails, doubtless fishermen. It was as well they were not hostile. What would happen if they could get no more men at Gibraltar? He looked towards the cabin skylight, imagining Captain Adam Bolitho down there, alone with his thoughts. No matter what orders the vice-admiral had given him, or any other flag officer for that matter, he had nothing with which to rebuke himself. So short a time in commission, and together they had welded a mixed collection of hands into one company, had cut out a frigate and had taken a supply ship. It could have gone against them if
Tetrarch
had fought to the finish; they might both have been destroyed. And yet, despite all this, Galbraith still found his captain impossible to know. Sometimes almost bursting with spirit and enthusiasm, and then suddenly remote, as if he were afraid to draw too close to any one person. He thought of Lovatt, and the captain's determination to extract all available intelligence, even though the man was dying. What
was
Lovatt after all? A traitor, most would say; an idealist at best. Yet there had been compassion in the captain's voice when he had buried that unhappy man.

He heard a step on the companion ladder and saw Lieutenant Avery staring at the sea and the sky.

‘No breakfast, then?'

Avery grimaced and joined him by the compass. ‘Too much wine last night. It was stupid of me.' He peered aft. ‘The captain about yet?'

Galbraith studied him. Avery sounded depressed, and he guessed it had nothing to do with the wine.

‘Once or twice. Sometimes I think he never sleeps.' Then, ‘Walk with me. Blow away the cobwebs, eh?'

They fell into step together. They were both tall men, and like most sea officers who cared to take regular exercise they were able to walk without difficulty among watchkeepers and working parties alike, their feet avoiding ringbolts and gun tackles without conscious effort, when any one of those obstacles would have sent a landsman sprawling.

Galbraith said, ‘You've known Captain Bolitho for a long time, I gather.'

Avery glanced covertly at him. ‘
Of
him. We have not met very often.'

Galbraith paused as a halliard snaked past his thigh. ‘I should think he'd be a hellish fine target for women, but he's not married.'

Avery thought of the girl who had killed herself. He sensed that Galbraith was not merely seeking gossip to pass it on elsewhere. He wanted to know his captain, perhaps to understand him.
But not from me
.

Galbraith continued to walk, aware of Avery's unwillingness to discuss it, and changed the subject.

‘When all this is over, what do you intend for yourself?'

Avery winced at the pain in his head. ‘On the beach. There will be too many officers in better positions than mine for me to compete any more.'
Like you
.

Galbraith said, ‘You have a very famous uncle, I hear. If I were in your shoes –'

Avery halted abruptly and faced him. ‘I hope you never are, my friend!' He thought of the locket the admiral had been wearing when he had been shot down, which he had given to Adam. What would become of Catherine?

Midshipman Fielding said, ‘The captain's on his way, sir.' He had been trying very hard not to look as if he had been eavesdropping.

Galbraith touched Avery's arm. ‘I did not mean to pry, George. but I need to understand this man. For all our sakes.'

Avery smiled, for the first time. ‘One day, when he is down there in his cabin, the
man
without the bright epaulettes, ask him. Just ask him. His uncle taught me that, and so much more.'

Adam Bolitho walked from the companion way and nodded to the master's mate of the watch.

‘A promising start to the day, Mr Woodthorpe.' He looked up at the braced yards, the canvas full-bellied now, cracking occasionally in the breeze. Seeing the ship as Galbraith had this morning, but viewing it so differently.

‘We shall set the maincourse directly, Mr Galbraith.' He shaded his eyes to look at the compass as it flashed in reflected sunlight. ‘Then bring her up a point. She can take it. Steer west-by-north.' He gestured at the midshipman. ‘And, Mr Fielding, after you have brushed the crumbs off your coat, you will note the change in the log and inform Mr Cristie!'

One of the helmsmen glanced at his mate and grinned. So little, Adam thought, and yet it was infectious. He walked to the rail and pressed his hands on it. Hot, bone-dry already. He looked at the boats on their tier, the trapped water slopping over the bottom boards as
Unrivalled
dipped her stem into a trough, and spray pitched over the bowsprit.

A wind. Please God, a wind.

He saw some seamen splicing, and one he did not recognise showing another how to twist and fashion the strands into shape. The man must have sensed it and stared up at the quarterdeck. Where might his loyalty lie? Perhaps like Jago, it was
just another officer
.

He said suddenly, ‘You have a key to the strongbox, Mr Galbraith?' He turned his back to watch a solitary bird, motionless above the mizzen truck. ‘Use it as you will. Any letters, documents and the like.'

Galbraith seemed uncertain, and shook his head.

‘None, sir.'

Adam saw the master's head and shoulders hesitate in the companion hatch. Cristie's eyes were already on the masthead pendant.

Adam joined Avery by the nettings, sensing his isolation from the others. Knowing the reason for it.

‘Think, George, it will be full summer when you walk ashore in England.'

Avery did not respond. He had thought of little else since his change of orders. He gazed at the working parties on deck, the sure-footed topmen moving like monkeys in the shrouds; even the greasy smell from the galley funnel was like a part of himself.

And the letters he had written for Allday, and the replies he had read from his wife.
Belonging
.

He tried to think of London, of the Admiralty, where there would be polite interest or indifference to what he had to say. And he did not care. That was almost the worst part.

Had he really lain in bed in that gracious house, with the tantalising Susanna Mildmay? Beautiful Susanna . . . beautiful and faithless.

Adam said, ‘Is there something I can do?'

Avery studied him, memories stirring and fading like ghosts.

‘When I reach England . . .'

They stared up as the lookout's voice turned every head.

‘Deck there! Sail, fine on the starboard bow!'

Galbraith shouted, ‘Mr Bellairs, aloft with you! Take your glass, man!'

Avery smiled, and reached out as if to take Adam's hand. ‘I shall think of you.' The rest was lost in the sudden rush of feet and another cry from the masthead.

He said softly, ‘No matter.'

The moment was past.

Midshipman Bellairs' voice carried easily above the sounds of sea and flapping canvas.

‘Deck there! Square-rigger, sir!'

Adam folded his arms and looked along the length of his command. The forenoon watch had not been piped, but the deck and gangways seemed to be crowded with men. And yet there was hardly a sound. Some stared ahead to the darker line of the horizon, others inboard at the ship, at one another.

Cristie muttered, ‘No fisherman this time, then.'

Adam waited, feeling the uncertainty. The doubt.

He said, ‘Frigate.'

Galbraith was peering up at the mainmast crosstrees, as if willing Bellairs to confirm or deny it.

‘Beat to quarters, sir?' Even his voice seemed hushed.

‘Not yet.' Adam held out his hand, remembering Avery's despair. ‘There'll be another out there somewhere.' He watched the low banks of cloud. ‘They will have had plenty of time to prepare. We've had the sun behind us since first light – a blind man could see us.'

Galbraith moved closer, excluding all the others.

‘We still have time, too, sir.'

Adam looked at him.

‘To run?'

‘We shall be hard put to stand and fight.'

Adam touched his arm, and felt it tense as if he had been expecting a blow.

‘That was well said, Leigh. I respect you for it.'

He could see the two ships in his mind, as if they were within range instead of miles distant, visible only to the masthead lookout and Bellairs. He would learn something today. If he lived through it.

‘How many extra hands do we have aboard?'

‘Fifty-five, and two injured. I'll clap the whole lot in irons if you think –'

What had Lovatt called it?
A gesture. But too late
.

He said suddenly, ‘Clear lower deck, and have all hands lay aft.' He attempted to smile, but his mouth refused. ‘Though it would seem they are already here!'

He walked to the compass once more, hearing the sound of his shoes on the deck, like that day at his court martial at Portsmouth. So impossibly long ago. He heard the trill of calls below decks, and a few idlers running to join the mass of figures already on deck.

Galbraith said, ‘Lower deck cleared, sir.'

Adam touched the compass box, remembering the brief moments of clarity before Lovatt had died.

I could not offer them a reason for dying.

He could have been speaking at this very moment.

Adam turned and strode to the quarterdeck rail and looked out across the sea of upturned faces. The others he had already
seen, the afterguard, and the swarthy Lieutenant Massie who was responsible for the gunnery of this ship. And young Wynter, whose father was a member of Parliament. And the two scarlet-coated marine officers, standing a little apart from the others; the midshipmen and the master's mates; men and faces which had become so familiar within six months.

‘You will know by now that two ships are standing to the west'rd of us.'

There were some quick, uncertain glances, and he sensed the sudden understanding as Bellairs' clear voice called, ‘Second ship, starboard bow! Square-rigged, sir!'

‘They are not there by accident. It is their intention to engage, seize, or destroy
Unrivalled
.'

He saw some of them looking at the black eighteen-pounders, perhaps already considering the hazards – the older men would call it folly – of engaging two frigates at once. Heeling to the wind, it would require brute force to haul the guns back to their ports on the weather side once they had been fired.

‘The war with Napoleon has likely been over for some time. We shall be told eventually.
I hope
.'

He saw old Stranace, the gunner, offer a dour grin. It was little enough, but it was all he had.

Adam pointed at the empty sea.

‘These ships will respect no treaty, no pieces of paper applauded by old men in government. They are already outlaws!' He let his arm drop and recalled Lovatt's words.
We are all mercenaries in war
.

He laid both hands on the rail and said deliberately, ‘I need trained men today.' He saw some of
Unrivalled
's people looking at those who had been thrust amongst them. None had forgotten the days, so recently passed, when men had been seized and dragged aboard King's ships by the hated press gangs with no less severity.

‘I can promise you nothing, but I can offer the chance of a new beginning. If we lose the day, our fate at the hands of the enemy will be prolonged and terrible. If we win, there is the possibility of freedom.' He thought of Avery, and said, ‘Of England. You have my word upon it.' What he had said to Lovatt . . .

Galbraith pointed. ‘That man! Speak up!'

It was a seaman who would not have seemed out of place in any ship, any port.