Darkening Sea

by Kent, Alexander

  Captain Adam Bolitho came on deck and glanced first at the compass and then at the set of each individual sail. Anemone was making full use of a fine north-westerly wind that had whipped the blue-grey water into a million cruising white horses, and now filled the sails to the hardness of white metal. The deck was a scene of busy activity, for although it was not long after dawn the hands were washing down the main deck on the lee side where seas occasionally dashed through the open gunports to gurgle around their bare legs before surging into the scuppers. On the quarterdeck other seamen were busy with the heavy holystones, cleaning and smoothing the pale planking before the sun gained height and softened the seams to make such work impossible.

  To the new men Adam probably did not look much like a successful frigate captain. Hatless and without even his faded seagoing coat, his dark hair flying in the wind, he might appear more like a pirate.

  It had taken longer than he had anticipated to clear Spithead and put a small press-gang ashore. They returned with only three men, none of whom had ever been to sea. Off Portsmouth Point he had been more fortunate, when quite by chance Anemone had run down on a topsail cutter under the command of a notorious lieutenant who controlled the press-gangs there. The lieutenant had been so resourceful that he often followed home-bound merchant ships making for the Solent or Southampton Water. He had long ago discovered that the meaner ship masters often paid off all but the minimum of hands required, to save themselves money. Once paid off—and the lieutenant usually watched the proceedings through a huge signals telescope—the cutter would swoop alongside and the luckless sailors, some almost within sight of home, were snatched up by the press and taken to the guard-ship.

  Adam had obtained twelve hands, all seamen: still not enough, but it had eased the lot of his lieutenants and warrant officers. The delay had taken him off course, however, and when he had reached Gibraltar he discovered that his uncle and the other frigate had already sailed.

  The first lieutenant approached him and touched his forehead. “Sou’-west by south, sir. Steady as she goes.”

  Adam thought of his sealed orders, which he would eventually deliver to his uncle. Over six thousand miles, with a call at Freetown on the west coast of the African continent. It could have been to the moon: one small ship, his ship, free to act as she pleased and without anyone to say otherwise.

  Lieutenant Martin watched him anxiously. The captain had never been an easy one to serve when things went wrong. But his predecessor Sargeant, who had been sent to his own command, had managed very well despite his youth. He had stood between captain and company as any first lieutenant should, and out of it had come a friendship which Martin accepted was not yet his privilege to be offered.

  He said, “I was wondering, sir . . . shall we set the stuns’ls when the people have had their breakfast?”

  Adam glanced up at the tapering studding-sail booms, which were lashed beneath the yards. Once extended, with the extra sails giving even more power to the ship, Anemone might gain a few more knots.

  He noticed the greasy smell of cooking from the galley funnel and was suddenly aware of the uncertainty of his second-in-command. To Martin’s astonishment he clapped him on the arm and smiled. “I am bad company, Aubrey. Stand by me, for I am in irons at the moment.”

  Martin’s face flooded with relief but he was sensible enough not to ask the reason for his captain’s despair.

  Adam remarked, “I am in no hurry to catch up with the others, and that is the truth of it.”

  “But your uncle, sir?”

  Adam showed his teeth in a grin. “He is still the flag officer, and I never allow myself to forget it.” He swung round as the sailing-master appeared from the companion hatch. “Ah, Mr Partridge, I have a task for you.”

  The old master grunted. “I be ready, sir.”

  “If you lay a course to Madeira, allowing for the wind holding, what time will we anchor at Funchal?”

  Partridge did not even blink. “Why, sir, I thought it was to be a tiresome difficult question!” He beamed at his captain, who was less than half his age, although nobody was quite sure how old Partridge himself was.

  He said, “The masthead should be sighting land presently, sir. I’ll go and work on the chart.”

  He shambled away and Adam shook his head in admiration. “What a man. If I ordered him to take us to the Barrier Reef he would not flinch.”

  The first lieutenant, who had seen nothing in the sailing orders or Admiralty Instructions about calling at Madeira, asked, “May I ask why that place, sir?”

  Adam walked to the quarterdeck rail and watched the two helmsmen at the big double wheel. At times like these he could forget that his company was still short of hands, and all the other problems of command. But for the girl who haunted his thoughts he might even be happy.

  He said, “Madeira is an oasis, Aubrey, a water-hole for brave merchant captains as well as the predators like us. Where vessels of all flags pause to do repairs, to take on stores, to replenish their wine. Also, there are usually a few seasoned sailors who because of one mistake or t’other have been left behind by their ships!” He grinned, and was a boy again. “So send the watch below to their breakfast, the smell of which has already turned my stomach. After that, we will alter course for Funchal, the last land we shall touch until Sierra Leone.” They both looked up as the hail came down from the mainmast. “Deck there! Land on the lar-board bow!”

  Old Partridge reappeared, containing his satisfaction. “There, sir, what did I say?”

  His lieutenant ventured, “Suppose the authorities there object to our search for men?”

  Adam smiled. “We shall ask, for volunteers naturally!”

  They both laughed and some of the seamen glanced at each other as the pipe came for the watch below to dismiss to their messes.

  As Adam strode to the companion-way the old master grunted, “That’s more like it, Mr Martin. It’s put the sparkle back in his eye. Better for us too!”

  “What has been troubling him, do you think?”

  Old Partridge puffed out his weathered cheeks and answered scornfully, “A woman, o’ course! Officers should know about them things!”

  In his cabin where his servant waited to serve him breakfast, Adam thought suddenly of his uncle, and the great love he had envied so much. Bolitho had been in Madeira and had taken a fan and some lace to Catherine. Perhaps if he himself went ashore he might find a piece of silver, some jewellery maybe . . . He swung to the stern windows so that the servant should not see his face. She would never wear it, nor would she take it from him. After her stinging rebuff he was a madman even to consider it.

  From somewhere in the length of his command someone was playing a lively jig on a fiddle, and another was keeping him company on a whistle. They would be crossing the equator soon after Freetown, when King Neptune and his court would be welcomed aboard, and the uninitiated would be roughly handled in a ceremony that had been held in every King’s ship for as long as anybody could remember.

  Adam sat down and stared at the greasy pork on his plate as it moved with a life of its own to the ship’s steep motion.

  Officers were not exempt. He could recall when as a lieutenant he had been stripped naked and almost choked with the mess they had used to “shave” him. It was a simple thing, but sailors were simple men. It might help to draw his untried company together. He knew Old Partridge was to be Neptune. He pushed the food aside. He could not keep the girl out of his mind.

  Under shortened sail, the frigate Anemone changed tack yet again for the final approach. The island of Madeira was shining in afternoon sunlight, its towering, flower-covered hills like a place in a fable.

  “Deck there!” Some of the off-duty men looked up, but most of them stared hungrily at the land.

  The lookout sounded surprised even from his dizzy perch in the crosstrees.

  “Man-o’-war, sir! Ship o’ th’ line!”

  Lieutenant Martin asked, “One of ours, sir?”<
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  Adam stared at the distant island. “I can’t think what a liner would be doing here. I’ve no information about it. Where would she be from? The blockading squadron, on passage from the Caribbean? Most unlikely.” He picked up a telescope. “I’ll go aloft myself, Aubrey. You keep the ship on course unless I say otherwise.”

  He swung himself out and on to the ratlines, the telescope slung around his shoulder. Then he looked down at his first lieutenant and said quietly, “At least it will show the people they are not commanded by a cripple!”

  Heights had never troubled him, not even as a young midshipman, unlike his beloved uncle who had confided his youthful fears of being ordered aloft. Once he glanced down and saw the pale wave creaming back from the bows, the tiny figures on the quarterdeck and along the gangway nearest the island. Volunteers and pressed men, the good and the bad, and some who had barely escaped the hangman’s halter. There was only one thing to weld them together: they had to be tested, to make the ship the thing most worthwhile in their lives.

  He reached the main crosstrees and nodded to the lookout, an older seaman named Betts who had eyes like a skua.

  Adam said, “You are troubled, Betts?” He opened the telescope and locked one leg around a stay.

  “I dunno, sir. She’s the look of a two-decker, but . . .”

  Adam levelled the telescope and waited for Anemone to rise from a lazy trough.

  “She’s a frigate, Betts. You were right to be confused.” He blinked to clear his vision. Perhaps she was the Valkyrie, of which he had heard so much. He dismissed it immediately. His uncle would have left word of any change of plans at Gibraltar. French, then? They would not dare; it would be as dangerous as lying on a lee shore if an English ship like Anemone hove into sight. He extended the glass once again and caught his breath as a small gust of wind lifted the flag at the other ship’s poop, the starred and striped colours of the new American navy.

  He snapped the glass shut and watched the scene that had been so clear fall into the distance. And yet this old seaman Betts had seen everything with his eyes alone, but for the flag.

  He slid down a backstay and joined his officers aft, aware of the curious stares of men who for the most part he barely knew. Yet.

  He faced the others. “She’s a Yankee. Big too.”

  Jervis Lewis, the newly-appointed third lieutenant, fresh from another ship’s gunroom, asked, “Shall we run out, sir?”

  Martin looked at him with scorn. “We’re not at war, you idiot!”

  The master mumbled unhelpfully, “Far as we knows, sir.”

  Adam smiled grimly. “There was no activity aboard her. She’s a visitor.” To the first lieutenant he added, “Remember? Predators.”

  He walked to the rail and glanced along the main deck at the long eighteen-pounders, so jet-black beneath each gangway. “Have the ship prepared to enter harbour, Mr Martin.” He looked round for the signals midshipman. “And, Mr Dunwoody, bend on a new ensign to show our good intentions and prepare your crew. Be ready to make and receive any formal signals!”

  The officers hurried away, glad to be doing something. Adam considered it. Glad to be told what to do.

  Lieutenant Martin watched his captain. She, whoever she was, if the master was right, would be proud to see her man like this.

  Adam said, “I shall go below and change. Tell that servant to find me a clean shirt.” He took a last glance at the island and thought he could smell flowers amongst the drift of salt. It was probably nothing, but some inner warning had roused him from his brooding thoughts like the touch of steel.

  The great anchor splashed into the clear water exactly as two bells chimed out from the forecastle.

  With the sun high over the spiralling mastheads Adam was soon aware of his heavy dress coat. His shirt, found by the servant who was certainly no Ozzard, was already moulded to his skin.

  There were plenty of ships at anchor and alongside the jetties. Flags of every kind, vessels as mixed as the men who served them.

  The American frigate towered above all of them. Across her broad counter and below the curling striped flag was her name in gold letters, Unity. When Anemone took the strain on her cable and swung sedately above her reflection Adam saw the ship’s beak-head, painted blue and decorated with bright gold stars. The figurehead was a citizen with a folded scroll in his outflung hand, probably a hero or a martyr of their revolt against King George.

  Lieutenant Martin lowered his speaking-trumpet as the last sail was furled and lashed tightly to its yard. They were getting better and faster, he thought, but not much.

  He said, “I’ve not heard of her, sir.”

  “Nor I. Very new by the cut of her, and look at her teeth. Twenty-four-pounders if I’m any judge!”

  Lewis the new third lieutenant said importantly, “I’d not want to tangle with her!” But he fell silent when Adam looked at him.

  “Ship secured, sir!”

  “Very well. Send away a guard-boat in case some reckless Jack tries to desert to our big friend over there, and to the land of the free!”

  He spoke bitterly and Martin wondered why.

  A boatswain’s mate called, “They’re sending a boat, sir! Officer on board!”

  “Man the side!”

  A tall lieutenant climbed up through the entry port, and after raising his hat casually to the quarterdeck said, “Do I have the honour of addressing the captain?”

  “Captain Adam Bolitho of His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Anemone. ”

  “Captain Nathan Beer of the Unity sends his compliments, and has ordered me to extend an invitation to you to visit him at dusk, sir. A boat will be sent for your convenience.” His eyes moved briefly across the deck. “I see that you do not carry too many yourself, sir.”

  “My compliments to your captain . . .” He hesitated. He should perhaps have said respects, but that would imply that he thought himself subordinate to the American. “I will be honoured.” He smiled. “But I will attend in my own boat.”

  More salutes, and the American was gone. Adam said, “I will go ashore to make peace with the authorities. Lower another boat for the surgeon, and the purser’s convenience. Medicine for the one maybe, and fresh fruit for the sick-bay.”

  But his mind was on his visitor. So it was to be captain to captain and nothing less formal. Nathan Beer—his name if not his ship seemed familiar. He saw his gig being warped around to the side. Smart enough, but the American lieutenant might have noticed their strength or lack of it. He turned to his first lieutenant. “Take charge in my absence. Any doubts, and send someone for me.” He let his words sink in. “But I have every faith in you.” He walked to the entry port, where a side party had reformed. “If a deserter tries to swim from the ship, signal the guard-boat. But no shooting if he does not give up. I’d rather have him drowned than shot.” He nodded his head toward the big frigate. “They will be watching. Enemy or not, they will never be our friends, so do not forget it!”

  Captain Nathan Beer was a big man in every way, and met Adam at the entry port of his frigate with a jovial informality to match. With his broad, weathered face and unruly hair barely touched by grey, and twinkling blue eyes, in England he would have passed easily for a gentleman farmer. Amongst frigate captains Adam was more used to younger men, although some had been on the ladder for far longer.

  Adam glanced along the broad gun deck. They were indeed twenty-four-pounders, and he was reminded of the new lieutenant’s tactless remark when they had entered the anchorage. Unity would be a formidable opponent. He knew Beer was watching him but was making no attempt to prevent his professional scrutiny. Perhaps it was meant as a warning.

  “Come below and share some madeira. I thought I should taste the stuff, but it’s a mite sweet for me.”

  The after part of the ship was very spacious too. Even so, Beer had to duck his head between some of the deckhead beams.

  A cabin servant took Adam’s hat and studied him with open curiosity as he was
pouring the wine.

  Beer was much older than Adam had expected. Despite his glowing health he was close to sixty, maybe more. In his fist, the glass looked like a child’s toy.

  “May I ask your business here, Captain Bolitho?”

  “You may, sir. I came to collect stores, and of course to see what ship had caught my eye.”

  Beer grinned, his eyes almost disappearing into the crinkles. “An honest answer!”

  Adam swallowed some of the wine. A glance around told him quite a lot. The fittings were expensive, and there was a portrait of a woman and two girls on the bulkhead beside Beer’s dress sword.

  “Have you been in command long, sir?”

  Beer eyed him keenly. “Since she first tasted salt water at Boston. It was very exciting to see her grow, even for an old sailor like me. My home is in Newburyport, not too far away . . .” He broke off. “You know it?”

  “I have been there.”

  Beer did not press him. “I’m very proud to be Unity ’s captain. There’s not a ship that can stand up to her, not a frigate anyway. To the rest I can show a clean pair of heels if needs be!”

  Adam heard a voice call something, which was followed by a gust of laughter. A happy ship then. He could well imagine it under this remarkable captain.

  Beer was saying, “Ours is a small navy as yet. We are feeling our way forward. Our officers must be men of zeal and conviction. I was privileged to visit France recently—how things change. Like my country, France was reborn out of revolution, but the tyranny there remains. Your successes on the Peninsula may bring back the old spirit perhaps.”

  Adam said, “They will be beaten as they have been at sea and are now being trounced in Spain.”

  Beer regarded him gravely. “Heavy thoughts for one so young, if I dare to say as much?” He picked up a refilled glass and did not look at Adam as he said, “You will be sailing with despatches for your Sir Richard Bolitho. It is common knowledge around here, ships coming and going, only too glad to share information after months at sea. Are you his son, by any chance? The name is not familiar to me, except for one other.”