For My Country's Freedom (23 page)

Later, with the ship anchored and surrounded by lighters and dockyard boats, Avery sat propped in his hutch-like cabin while he sorted the despatches into coherent order. The courier brig had not only brought important intelligence for the admiral, but also some mail which seemed to have gone around the world before reaching its proper destination.

There was a tap at the door and Avery opened it with one foot without getting up. It was Allday.

He said, “Begging your pardon, Mr Avery, but I got a letter.” He held it out, his face baffled and worried.

“Sit down. On that chest, if you like.”

“You don't mind, sir? But I knows you've been busy, what with young Captain Adam and everything.”

“Of course not.” He rather enjoyed it. It was as if he was getting a letter of his own. If there had been someone who cared enough to write.

He said, “Pour yourself a drink,” and slit open the envelope. It was badly stained. Probably the vessel which had been carrying it had been damaged in the Atlantic gales, the mail transferred to another.

He could see her now.
My dear John, it seems so long since I heard
. . .

Allday waited, perched on the edge of the brass-bound chest. “What is it, sir? Is something wrong? Tell me, please!”

Avery leaned over and poured a glass of brandy.

He said, “Congratulations, John Allday.”

Allday was frowning. “What's happened?”

Avery held out the letter and pushed the glass towards him.

“You've become a father, that is what's happened, man!”

Allday stared blindly at her round handwriting. “A baby!
She's had a baby.
”

Avery smiled. “You stay here and enjoy your wet. I'll lay aft to the admiral. I think this news is just what he needs.”

“But—but . . .” Allday waved the letter after him. “Boy or girl, sir?”

Avery thought of Lady Catherine clambering up
Indomitable
's side while the sailors had cheered.

He replied simply, “A little girl. Your wife wants to call her Kate.”

The door closed and then Allday did pick up the brandy.

“Well, I'll be damned!” He grinned at the cabin. “Well, I'll be
double
-damned!”

Bolitho looked up from his table as Tyacke entered the cabin, his hat tucked beneath his arm.

“With your permission, I'd like to weigh before noon. Mr York insists the wind is about to veer and freshen, although for the life of me I don't know how he can tell.”

Bolitho said, “I think we shall have to be guided, James. I have no wish to linger here in Antigua.”

Three days since their return, and still no word of
Anemone
's final moments, apart from the description offered by the boy John Whitmarsh.
Anemone
's company had been taken prisoner, but there had been no official confirmation. Three days, and he had thought of little else save Adam's fate. If badly wounded, then how badly? If he had survived, would he be exchanged for an American prisoner, if any of equal rank had been taken?

He watched Yovell's pen scratching out the final copy of his orders to the captains of his over-stretched squadron.

He had sent off a plea to the Admiralty for another frigate to replace
Anemone.
He suspected there was little chance of getting one. He could almost hear his own words when he had spoken his thoughts aloud to the assembled powers there. The end of the fixed line of battle, the coming of age of a faster, more powerful frigate.

Commodore Nathan Beer—and in his heart Bolitho had never doubted it was
Unity
which had been after the Jamaica convoy— had more than proved that. How many more did the Americans have, or intend to build? Apart from
Valkyrie
and
Indomitable,
he had nothing that could stand against them. Determination and skilled seamanship had always been expected to succeed against odds, but the Americans' massive firepower and impressive gunnery had already scattered several local convoys. It had put the Leeward Squadron on the defensive. No war could be won while their strength was divided by fruitless searches and hazy intelligence.

The Americans were obviously intent on attacking Canada, just as the British were determined to increase their military strength by every means available. The Admiralty had sent lists of possible routes and times of arrival of military convoys, all of which would eventually make their landfalls at Halifax. The Americans would know as much of these movements as the British: such activity was impossible to conceal.

It was also known that the Americans were mustering smaller men-of-war for use on the Great Lakes. To find them would be like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack. Bolitho had used
Zest
and
Reaper
to strengthen Dawes' flotilla out of Halifax. Apart from the local patrols, mostly brigs and commandeered schooners, that left only
Indomitable
and the
26
-gun frigate
Attacker
to liaise with the convoy escorts from Jamaica. These convoys had already been reduced to two a month because of the very real threat from the Americans, who had nothing to protect, and to whom every ship was a possible target and prize.

In a moment of frustration and anger Bolitho had exclaimed to Tyacke, “Our Nel was right, James! The best form of defence
is
attack. So let us find their lair and go for them, and to hell with the risk!”

Tyacke could see the logic of it. If they had to divide their small squadron after each enemy sortie, they would soon be too weak to offer any protection at all.

A week before the attack on
Anemone
they had stopped and questioned a Brazilian trader. Her master had reported sighting a force of American men-of-war, two large frigates and two other smaller vessels, steering south, possibly from Philadelphia. Fearing for his own safety the Brazilian had gone about to retrace his course to the Bermudas.

Two large frigates: could one of them have been the
Unity?
And if so, where were the others?

Bolitho said, “I am poor company today, James.”

Tyacke regarded him impassively. “Suppose—I mean, just
suppose
. . .” His fingers played with the tarnished buttons of his faded seagoing coat.

Bolitho said sharply, “You have more experience of lonely command than any man I know. Speak out—this is the time.”

Tyacke walked to the stern windows and watched a cutter being warped around the stern, ready to be hoisted aboard. In harbour it was usual to lower all boats, otherwise their seams opened in the relentless heat. At sea, it was sensible to keep them partly filled with water for the same reason.

“Everyone knows about us, sir, more especially about
you.
With Captain Bolitho taken prisoner, and many of his people, wouldn't it seem obvious to the enemy that you would take some action? Direct action?”

Bolitho shrugged. “It is what I would like.”

Tyacke rubbed his chin. “And they will expect it. With
Indomitable
gone, what chance would our ships stand?”

Bolitho stared at him. “You mean that
this
ship will be marked down as the next victim?” He saw it suddenly, his mind clearing. “That is good sense!” He stood up and leaned over the chart. Yovell continued to write without a pause, except to dip his nib.

“The Bermudas, a likely area for the Americans to gather. No English men-of-war there, they rely on their garrison and the reef.”

Tyacke glanced at the chart curiously. “Why none of our ships, sir?”

“There is no water there. None. Apart from the seasonal rainfall they have to conserve it as best they can.”

Tyacke gave a reluctant smile. “
That
I didn't know, sir.” It was as close to admiration as he could come.

“Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I am presuming too much, to base our strategy on the word of a sailing-master who sells fruit for a living!”

He tapped Yovell's plump shoulder. “I want to send fresh instructions to Captain Dawes in
Valkyrie.
They can go in the schooner
Reynard
when she leaves.”

Tyacke saw the animation and eagerness returning to his tanned features. “We shall muster a convoy, and the world shall know about it, and
Indomitable
shall sail to meet it.”

“It is not for me to say, but . . .”

“
But?
That word again? And it
is
for you to say what you think. You are my flag-captain, and we must share our views.”

Tyacke watched him warily. “Views, yes, and I am proud of that trust. But the responsibility lies with you.”

“Don't stop, James. Responsibility is something I am used to.”

Tyacke said, “Then speak my mind I will, sir.” He stabbed the chart with his finger. “Here, Halifax.” His finger moved down the coastline. “Boston, New York, and right here, Philadelphia. If I was the Yankee commander this is exactly the area I would choose, with Philadelphia to run to for repairs or protection if things went wrong.” He raised his eyes to Bolitho. “But
suppose,
in a manner of speaking, Captain Dawes in his big frigate decided not to act on your instructions without question? If a convoy of soldiers was the real target, and he left it without an escort for the final approach, he might feel that his head was the one on the block, not yours.”

“He is a resourceful captain, James, but you know that.”

Tyacke responded bluntly, “He is also ambitious, and the son of an admiral. The two together are dangerous bedfellows.”

“That was outspoken.” He smiled to soften it. “I like that. But Dawes is acting second-in-command. I have to rely on him.” He paused. “I have no choice, nor do I have justification to believe otherwise.”

Tyacke looked round sharply as the sentry announced the arrival of the first lieutenant.

“Yes, Mr Scarlett? Cannot it wait?”

Scarlett answered hesitantly, “The last fresh water is inboard, sir.” He glanced at Bolitho. “I am sorry for the intrusion, Sir Richard.”

As the door closed Tyacke snapped, “
I
apologise, Sir Richard. I shall have a gentle word with that one!”

He calmed himself. “Then I shall see that your despatches are put aboard the schooner.”

Indomitable
swung lightly to her cable. Perhaps York's prediction was already making itself felt. A shaft of strong sunlight probed through the quarter windows and Tyacke saw Bolitho flinch from it and turn away.

“Can I help, sir?”

Bolitho sat down and pulled out a handkerchief, reminding Tyacke poignantly of the one he had given to the boy. Tyacke turned the chair for him, so that he faced away from the glare.

Bolitho said quietly, “You know, don't you? Have known ever since you took command as my flag-captain.”

Tyacke met his gaze, equally unflinching. “Don't blame Avery, sir. He thought he was doing the right thing.”

“For me?”

“And the ship.” He turned aside, as if suddenly conscious of his terrible scars. “If you will excuse me, sir, I have much to do.”

Bolitho followed him and stopped him by the screen door.

“Do you regret it? Tell me the truth.”

“Well, I didn't do it out of pity, sir.” Surprisingly, he grinned. “Regret it? I'll speak my mind when we run that damned Yankee to earth!” He was still smiling as he shut the door behind him.

Bolitho touched his eye and waited for the pain, but there was none. He sat again, deeply moved by Tyacke's words, the very strength of his concern. A truly remarkable man.