Stirling, as first lieutenant, had the watch, and was already facing aft, as if he had known the captain would choose this moment to come on deck. Instinct. Adam said, ”A quiet watch, Mr. Stirling.” He moved to the compass box and glanced at the card swaying easily in the small light. West by south. Nothing had changed. He peered up at the topsails, pale but still indistinct, moving occasionally to the thrust of the wind. ”A good man aloft?”
”Sir. I’ve two up, sir. Although .. .”
Adam turned to stare out at the sea. ”Although you think there’ll be nothing for them to see.”
Stirling stood his ground. ”It’s been a while, sir.”
”Yes.” He was right. Any pirate or unlawful trader would have spread every inch of canvas if they thought a King’s ship was close by.
He walked to the lee side of the quarterdeck and saw a long feather of spray burst from a patch of dark water. Like a fall of shot. A fish of some kind, a large one too.
He heard the hoarse voice of Henry Mudge, the boatswain. ”Put two good ‘ands on this splicin’ as soon as it’s light, Mr. Quinlan. I shouldn’t ‘ave to tell you these glarin’ faults, eh? If you wants to sit that exam one day, an’ Gawd ‘elp the rest of us if you does .. .” His voice faded on the sudden boom of canvas as the driver filled in a gust.
Another face. Quinlan was one of the youngest midshipmen. Feeling his way. Like David Napier.
The two helmsmen pulled down on the big double wheel, one leaning round to watch the compass card, the other staring aloft at the peak of the driver to gauge the wind’s strength, and that of the sea against the rudder far below his feet. He had a vivid tattoo on his muscular arm, a wild bird with spread wings, and what looked like a human skull beneath it.
Adam was suddenly alert, and wide awake. Just moments earlier, the sailor had been in complete darkness.
He strode to the rail and watched the sea gaining colour, light spilling from the horizon far astern, giving life to the topsails and driver, shining on spray-dappled planks and gangways. On upturned faces and those working on the yards, and a man in an apron carrying a bucket, pausing to note the wind’s direction before heaving its contents over the lee side.
Adam shaded his eyes and looked at the masthead pendant, licking out from the truck, brightly coloured as it caught the dawn and held it. The galley fire was rekindled and there was smoke in the air. The men of the forenoon watch would be going to breakfast, such as it was, probably some of the leavings from the unexpected supper their captain had arranged in a moment of kindness or madness, as the word had it on the mess decks
He walked slowly to the rail again and felt salt like dried sand under his fingers.
And down in his quarters Bethune would be smiling to himself. Shaking his head, wondering if he had made the right choice for his flag captain.
”Deck there!”
All caught like unfinished sketches. The man in his apron, his empty bucket poised in mid air. Two seamen listening to the young midshipman named Quinlan, others frozen as they stared up and through the mesh of rigging, to the invisible lookout in the cross trees
Stirling’s voice echoed above all other sounds.
”I hear you. Where away?”
It seemed an age before the lookout called down again.
”Fine on th’ starboard bow, sir! Wreckage!”
Adam snatched up a telescope and trained it beyond the forecastle, to a dark horizon still unwilling to cast the night aside.
”A good lookout indeed, Mr. Stirling. We could have missed it altogether in this light.”
He realized that Troubridge was beside him, wide-eyed, as if he had just been dragged out of his cot.
”Sir Graham heard the noise, sir.” He was almost apologetic. ”He sends his compliments .. .”
”Tell Sir Graham that we have found wreckage. We were right.”
Troubridge paused at the top of the ladder and turned to look back at him. Very young, like the night they had broken into the studio together.
”You were right, sir.” And he was gone.
Adam saw Jago watching from the poop ladder. At ease now. It was out of his hands.
The light was gaining strength every minute; faces became individuals and the sea on either beam reached away to its horizon. There were groups of seamen, jaws champing on the remains of their breakfast, when normally men strung it out until the last possible moment. Something different. Anything to break the monotony of routine and trimming sails.
The sea was still lively, something that had to be considered from Athena’s poop, high compared with that of a frigate.
He raised the telescope which had appeared as if by magic at his elbow. Another midshipman ... his mind faltered ... Vicary, had been observing him and was ready.
Clearer this time. He squinted and tried again. A living, working ship. Was that all that remained of her?
The lookout was a good one. High above the deck, he had the benefit of the changing colours on the sea’s face in the first light of the dawn, and the unbroken crests and long, undulating troughs which were never completely absent in this great ocean.
”Have the jolly boat ready for lowering, Mr. Stirling. Volunteers.”
He felt his fingers tighten on the telescope. Like dust scattered across the blue-grey water. Hundreds of fragments widely spread over a mile or so, maybe more.
He did not see Jago move but heard him murmur, ”I’ll take the jolly boat, Cap’n. The gig’s still on the tier.” Calm, almost matter-of-fact.
Mudge the boatswain was shouting orders to his men on the main deck, his voice louder than usual in the damp air.
Stirling said, ”Boat’s crew mustered, sir.” No doubts this time. An order was an order, something he accepted without question.
He heard the young midshipman named Vicary suppress a gasp, and Adam saw that his eyes were wide and fixed, like saucers. And no wonder.
”What is all the excitement about?” It was Bethune, staring around the quarterdeck, then down toward the boat tier where tackles were already being manhandled into position. ”I see no need for further involvement.” The smile returned. ”We’ve both seen and weathered far worse, eh, Adam?”
Some of the watching seamen grinned like conspirators. They had not set eyes on their admiral since he had joined the ship at Plymouth.
Every available telescope was trained on the pathetic fragments which reached away on either bow, some with shape and meaning now. A mast, or part of it, with sodden canvas still attached, trailing cordage like weed, and a complete portion of grating drifting quite apart, clean in the hard light as if it had just been scrubbed.
”Well, if you need to discuss anything further .. .” Bethune paused, one hand on the rail, his head half turned as a voice yelled, ”Deck there! Larboard bow!” He seemed unable to continue, then, after a moment, shouted, ”Bodies, sir!”
Adam strode to the nettings and trained the telescope with great care. It gave him time, allowed his anger to subside. He heard himself say, ”I’m lowering a boat, Sir Graham.” The glass steadied as Athena’?” hull rode easily over another unending trough. Long enough to see it. Share it, before the picture dropped out of focus. A piece of timber, probably decking, blasted away by the explosion, with two figures clinging or stranded across it. One was all but naked, the other wore uniform, the same as some of those standing around him.
He heard Scollay, the master-at-arms, exclaim, ”Ours, by Jesus!”
He glanced across the deck. ”Heave to, Mr. Stirling.” He sought out the boatswain’s rotund figure. ”Lower the jolly boat as soon as we come about.” He saw Jago pause to stare up at him, then he was gone.
He realized that Bethune had not moved, and was standing with his hand still on the rail, his hair blowing in the wind, as if he could not grasp what was happening.
Adam raised the glass again, feeling the deeper pitch of the deck as, with sails thundering, Athena came heavily round and into the wind. Calls shrilled, and orde
rs were yelled to top men and those manning the braces, but Stirling’s booming voice overrode them all.
Adam looked for the jolly boat. One moment it was being swayed up and over the larboard gangway, then it vanished, only to reappear well clear of the side, pulling strongly for the nearest cluster of flotsam and the two corpses.
He said, There are other bodies close by.” He pressed the glass hard against his eye, so that he would not forget. Corpses, pieces of men, rising and dipping as if in some obscene dance.
He said, ”Fetch the surgeon.”
”Comin’, sir!”
Adam moved the glass very slightly and saw Jago’s face loom into life, eyes nearly closed against the early sunshine.
”I’m here, sir.”
He held the glass steady, waiting for the deck to rise again. He did not turn his head, but knew it was Crawford.
”Have your people ready.” He lowered the glass and handed it to Midshipman Vicary, but Jago’s face remained; he was standing in the tossing boat, managing to hold up and cross both hands above his head. ”There is a survivor. Warn the bosun to be ready. Use my quarters if you wish. It might save time and a life.”
Bethune said, ”I should not have questioned your judgment, Adam.”
Adam had not even seen him move from the rail. ”I had a feeling.” He shrugged. ”I can’t explain it, even to myself.” He watched the light returning to Bethune’s eyes, some of the familiar confidence. But for just that short while he had seen it broken down, as if he had lost control.
Bethune looked up, perhaps at his flag, streaming from the fore.
”Call me if you discover anything. But get under way as soon as possible.” Again the slight hesitation. ”When you think fit.” He strode to the companion without another look at the sea, or the pitching jolly boat floating amongst the thinning carpet of flotsam and death.
Lieutenant Francis Troubridge held the screen door open and tried to summon a smile of greeting as Athena’s, captain walked into the admiral’s day cabin. As the door closed he heard the bell chime briefly before it separated this world from the rest of the ship.
”Sir Graham is waiting for you, sir.” He wanted to say so much more, to share some small part of what had happened. The ship hove to, the tension on deck, all eyes on the jolly boat and the captain’s coxswain giving his signals, then returning on board with the one survivor.
And all the while, Captain Bolitho had been on deck, watching, passing orders while he brought the ship under command again, his voice calm enough, but his eyes telling a different story.
Adam glanced around the cabin, with its elegant furniture and fittings. It seemed unreal, but in some peculiar way it helped to steady his nerves. In a ship it was always a matter of time and distance: it began with those simple lessons, grouped around the sailing master; he had seen the midshipmen listening to Eraser. He rubbed his forehead. Only yesterday? How could that be? Shooting the sun, and later, much later, perhaps a star in the heavens. Fixing a ship’s position by taking a compass bearing of a landmark, a church tower perhaps. He let his mind wander. Or perhaps St. Anthony’s light at Falmouth .. .
Yesterday. And now it was the last dog watch again, when Bethune had been eating his chicken at that desk.
The servant Tolan appeared out of the shadows, a tray with one goblet balanced on it.
”Cognac, sir.”
Troubridge said quickly, ”I hope you don’t mind, sir. I thought you might care for it.”
Adam felt the strain draining away, like sand from the glass.
”Thank you.” And to Tolan, ”And you, too.”
Then he sat down in a chair which had already been prepared for him, like the mariner’s eternal puzzle. Time and distance. Bethune was offering him both.
Darkness was already falling over the heaving water, with a few stars pale and clear now that the clouds had dispersed. Athena was on course once more, making good the time lost in their rescue attempt.
The cognac was good. Very good. Probably from that shop in St. James’s Street in London where his uncle had often bought wine, and his Catherine had ordered it for him when he was away at sea. And for me ... He rubbed his eyes again, trying to clear his thoughts, to see the events in order, neat and helpful. He felt his mouth crack. Like Fraser’s log book and his careful notes, day by day. Hour by hour.
The vessel was, had been, the Celeste, a naval courier brig, one of the many which served every fleet and base wherever the Union flag was flown. Overworked and taken very much for granted, these small vessels were the vital link between their lordships at the Admiralty and virtually every captain afloat.
Adam had seen Celeste mentioned several times, in despatches and once or twice in the Gazette. The fleet’s apron strings, but never in the vanguard of battle, amid the seeds of glory.
The survivor was the Celeste’?” acting master, a prime seaman named William Rose, who had come originally from the seaport of Hull. Not young, and he had served at sea most of his life, first in a merchantman, but mainly in the navy.
Adam could still hear his hoarse voice, recounting vague fragments about himself. Up there in his own cabin hours ago, watching, listening. The surgeon had been doubtful; he had seen too many men go under. But Rose had great strength, and a determination to match it.
Adam had known sailors plead to be left to die after being wounded in a sea fight, anything but be taken below to the dreaded orlop and the surgeon’s saw and knife. He himself had grown to hate the very smell of a sick bay, and the terrors it could hold, even for the bravest. Which was why he had told the surgeon to have Rose taken to his own quarters.
He raised the goblet, and stared at it. It had been refilled; he had not even noticed.
The Celeste had been on the same route as Athena, to Antigua; she had even sailed from Plymouth, two whole days before Athena had weighed. No wonder Bethune had become so agitated when he had been told the vessel’s name. She had sailed under his orders, confident that she would reach English Harbour far ahead of any two-decker.
It was like hearing Rose speak again, one strong, rough hand grasped around his own. Describing it. Recalling it, piece by piece. He would occasionally stray from the exact sequence of things, speaking of Hull, and of his father, who had been a sail-maker. Then the hand had tightened, as he had described the sudden squall which had hit them without warning. / told the captain what I thought about it, but he wouldn’t listen. Knew it all, he did. Anyways, he was under strict orders to complete a fast passage. Adam had seen a tear at the corner of his eye; pain or despair, who could say? Y’see, our old Celeste could always do better than any other courier!
And pride was there, too.
They had lost the fore topmast, and had been drifting to sea and wind while they had fought to carry out repairs. And then another sail had come in sight. A big barque, and she had stood off the disabled Celeste until they were close enough to exchange signals. A Yankee, she was. Our captain asked if she had a doctor on board, as one of our lads was badly injured by a falling spar.
Adam stared through the salt-caked stern windows. No courier brig should ever heave to or converse with a stranger. It had all been planned, although how and when was impossible to imagine at this stage.
The barque had drawn closer to Celeste and all pretence had ended. He could still feel the grip around his fingers, losing its strength as Rose had gasped, They ran out their guns and fired into us at point-blank range, double-shot ted by th feel of it. His voice had cracked with disbelief, reliving the moment. Our captain was the first to fall, damn his eyes! There had been another tear. But it weren’t his fault. They boarded us and cut down every man-jack they could find. The rest of us was driven below while the bastards ransacked the captain’s cabin.
There had been a long pause, the silence broken only by Rose’s laboured breathing.
Crawford had whispered, ”Severe stab wounds. Poisoned, but I can do nothing. He’s going.”
Rose had spoken once
more, his voice easier, perhaps beyond pain.
There was an explosion, sir. A magazine. Don’t remember any more. Until ... He had stared suddenly at Adam. Tell ‘em .. .
It was over for the only survivor.
He looked up as Bethune entered the cabin and stood, seeming to study him for several seconds.
”So you see, Adam, it was no accidental skirmish. It was prearranged. Some one knew full well what Celeste was carrying: my orders and Admiralty instructions which were to be acted upon without delay. Her commander should have known, damn him!” The mood changed again, and he half smiled. ”But you know what they say about the ones who command brigs, like frigates, eh? Faster than anything bigger. Bigger than anything faster!”
He looked around the cabin, as if he were remembering something. ”In a moment we shall have a meal together. Just the two of us. The ship can manage her own affairs, for a while, anyway.” He seemed to come to a decision. ”I wanted this appointment, and I intend to make it succeed to good purpose, come what may.” He eyed him calmly. ”I have no intention of becoming a scapegoat because of others at this point in my life. We are committed, Adam. Together remember that!”
Tolan and the two cabin servants pulled a screen aside to reveal a candlelit table and two chairs.
Bethune was speaking to Tolan, smiling and gesturing. But his words still hung in the air.
Like a threat.
9
A Death in the Family
Nancy, Lady Roxby, leaned forward in her seat and reached up to tap the carriage window with her parasol.
”This is far enough, Francis. You may wait here for us.” She did not turn to look at the girl beside her. ”It will do us good to stretch our legs now that the rain has passed over.” Something to say, to break the tension. She looked across the lane, past the overgrown and untended shrubs, to the Old Glebe House, occasional home of Sir Gregory Montagu, the great painter. She rested her hand on the door. ”If you change your mind, Lowenna, we can leave right now. Go back to Falmouth .. .” Then she turned to her companion, feeling her uncertainty, the sudden distress. ”I just want you to be happy, with me.”
Alexander Kent - Bolitho 26 Page 15
