Heart of Oak (16 page)

He stood up, swinging both legs from the chair, impatient with himself. There were stars above and below the Rock, and he knew he would fall asleep if he broached to now.

The skylight was partly open and he could hear a violin playing somewhere, then laughter and feet tapping in some lively jig. Were the French aboard
Nautilus
also enjoying some sailors’ dance, and yarning with their mates like these men?

We are at peace now.
With a stroke of the pen, and an ocean of blood. What was it like for the Frenchman’s ship? Hemmed in by all the old foes…

It took more than a pen to make peace.

He moved to the desk and touched the paper he would use for his next letter. How long had it been? He could see her holding it, opening it. Would it bring them closer, or would their still unreachable horizon withdraw even farther?

The door opened and Morgan padded into the cabin.

He said cheerfully, “I expect you can still find a space for something, sir?” and placed a tray carefully on the desk. “Does me good to see you back aboard, sir. We all wondered …”

Adam walked slowly through the cabin, the deck cool under his stockinged feet after the stairs and steep, cobbled streets, the hours of standing, the endless formalities. “Some wine, I think. The first lieutenant is coming shortly.”

Vincent had met him at the entry port on his return. Eager to know the news, and
Onward
’s fresh orders. Or was he?

Morgan opened his little pantry and pretended to examine some of the bottles he had selected earlier. The captain looked drained. What did they find to argue about, when all these top officers put their heads together?

Now, when I get ashore…
He was still smiling to himself when the sentry rapped on his grating and announced Vincent.

Adam sat by the desk and gestured to another chair. “Rest easy, Mark. You’ve been doing all the work in my absence.”

Vincent looked around the cabin. “It feels right now, sir.”

Adam nodded. Then, “I’d better tell you. We are sailing the day after tomorrow, in company with
Nautilus.
A matter of diplomacy, if you like.”

“Is that an order, sir? From the commodore?”

“Far higher than him, I’m afraid!”

Morgan was replacing the cognac with wine.

“Thank you. You can go and pipe down now.” Then he said, “When I was in
Unrivalled
and we took part in the Algiers attack under Lord Exmouth, we learned quite a lot about another enemy stronghold. Aboubakr, some two hundred miles further along the coast. The French have always had a lively interest in the place, to base their own ships for use against
us
, and to control the local rebels. And now we are to support them.” He shrugged. “Better the devil you know.”

He stood up and paced restlessly to the windows. “A show of solidarity, nothing more.”

Vincent said, “A dangerous game at the best of times.”

Adam looked at him keenly. “Is something wrong, Mark?”

Vincent took a book from his pocket and said, “A complaint has been made by Lieutenant Monteith, sir.”

Adam moved closer and touched his sleeve. “Tell me. This is our ship. What we
make
her.”

Vincent kept the book in his hand. “It was more than likely a simple misunderstanding. Squire countermanded an order after Monteith told one of the hands to reeve some new halliards.”

“And Monteith jumped to the wrong conclusion. Then it
was
a misunderstanding. Squire has a blunt way of doing things. It happens.” He smiled. “Whatever they say on the lower deck about their officers, we can
all
make mistakes in our haste.”

Vincent said stiffly, “It was a formal complaint, sir. I had no choice.”

“As first lieutenant, you did as you thought fit. Loyalty and obedience are yours by right. But respect is something else, and much harder to achieve.”

Vincent stood up. “If that is the end of the matter, sir?”

“In two days’ time we shall be at sea. Many will envy us. So let’s remember that, shall we?” He walked back to the desk. “We are the fortunate ones!”

But the door had closed. He knew he had failed.

Luke Jago nodded companionably to the sentry and pushed his way past the screen door. He was never questioned or refused entry. He could not even recall how or when it had begun; it remained something unspoken.

It was cool in the great cabin, or so it seemed after the dusty offshore wind. Even out in the anchorage, you could still taste sand in your teeth.

There had been all the usual bustle and argument of preparing for sea: the purser and his crew bringing aboard fresh stores and fruit from the harbour, with lists to be checked and a few clips with a rope’s end or starter to move things along. Now the working parties were resting, enjoying a stand-easy, with a welcome smell of rum in the air. And tomorrow…

Morgan was leaning inside his pantry, sipping something from a mug. They were comfortable with one another now.

Jago remarked, “The Cap’n’s in the chart room. Don’t want to make a bloody mess of things in front o’ the Frogs, do we?”

Morgan considered it. “Bit of a goer, isn’t he?” and Jago grinned.

“You won’t find him draggin’ his feet when a mob o’ forriners is watchin’ every move!”

Morgan judged the moment, and put a mug down in front of him: it was raw rum. “What about women? He’s a post captain, after all, and not married, is he?” He wagged a finger. “I’ve seen that painting he keeps so safely stowed in his sleeping quarters. Enough to make your hair curl!”

Jago took time to swallow his drink. “The Cap’n’s goin’ to tie the knot when they gets a minute.”

Morgan looked across the cabin and dropped his voice. “Not like some I’ve known. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but Richmond,” he jerked his head, “you know…he was a real woman-hunter and no mistake. And one lady in particular, I was told.”

“Local girl?”

“Not she. Her husband was always away. A shipbuilder.” He patted his counter. “Built this fine lady, for one.” There were voices from the skylight, and the marine sentry clearing his throat. “
She
got what she wanted, right enough.” He laughed coarsely. “In more ways than she bargained for!”

Then he hurried to the door and for a few seconds longer Jago was alone in the great cabin, remembering that first day aboard, when he had seen Richmond’s effects packed and ready to be sent home to his widow.

Dead man’s shoes.

He saw Bolitho walk into the cabin, and that he was limping slightly.

Also, that he was quite alone.

The morning was clear, with none of the haze which had obscured the Rock.
Onward
’s decks, swabbed clean at dawn, were already bone-dry, and the air was hot.

David Napier stood watching the hands being mustered beneath the mainmast truck, where the tackles and falls for hoisting boats were laid out in readiness. The twenty-eight foot cutter, their biggest boat, was about to be brought aboard for the last time before sailing.

Napier plucked at his heavy coat and wished he could strip off his uniform, like the men around him. He knew it was not so much the heat but something else in the air: excitement, the thrill of being part of it. Something he could still not explain.

He saw Huxley, the other midshipman stationed here, staring at the shore, perhaps hoping for some final boat to come with mail. Was his father still awaiting the court martial, or had its verdict been passed? He caught his eye and gave Napier a strained smile. Little enough, but it meant something to each of them.

He shivered, tasting the fat pork and biscuit crumbs from that early midshipman’s breakfast. Even that had been part of the adventure: their ship being ordered to some strange place named Aboubakr, of which nobody seemed to have heard and which nobody could spell, although Julyan the master had assured them they would all know it beyond endurance when he had made them memorize the charts. Deacon, the senior midshipman, had suggested Julyan was as much in the dark as any of them.

He could hear Guthrie the boatswain rapping out orders to the cutter’s crew alongside. Working parties and individuals seemed to revolve around him like the bars of a human capstan, although the bars themselves were still lying in ranks, waiting for the command.

Napier stared up at the braced yards, their sails still neatly furled as if trimmed to an invisible measure. He saw figures on the quarterdeck; they too were looking aloft, one gesturing as if to make a point. Vincent, the first lieutenant, seemed to be everywhere. Friendly enough with the midshipmen, and encouraging when it occured to him, but sometimes you had the feeling that he was never really listening. As Hotham, the clergyman’s son, had said, “You don’t need to listen when you’re next in command!”

He thought of the captain. The hardest part was getting used to the screen which was now a physical and figurative barrier between them. He was able to appreciate and accept it; it was necessary, for both their sakes.

He often thought of Falmouth, which he had been encouraged to regard as his new home, and of the girl who had helped him overcome his fear and the nightmare of
Audacity.
He thought, too, of Elizabeth, which was stupid of him, he had told himself often enough. But he did think of her.

“Ah, Mr Napier. Time on your hands? We’ll have to change that!”

It was Lieutenant Squire, big, powerful, and always apparently at ease. Old for his rank, but most officers were, who had made the longer passage by the lower deck. He looked like
somebody
, Napier thought, as if the solitary epaulette was perched on his shoulder by accident.

“Ready when you say the word, sir.”

“The cutter’s coming aboard now.” He waved his fist to the nearest party of men and grinned broadly. “You take charge. You have to begin some day!”

Napier did not move. He had watched the process several times, and he knew the order of things. But the cutter was a large boat, the maid of all work. It could load and carry stores, land parties of armed seamen and marines, shift a complete anchor for kedging the ship from one part of an anchorage to another. He found his brain was suddenly quite clear, and his nerves were steady.
Or carry a poor murdered sailor ashore for burial.

“
Haul taut
, lads! Marry the falls!” He could hear the slither of cordage, the slap of feet, blocks taking the strain. But his mouth was dry as dust.

Another voice. “Hoist away, handsomely, lads!” It was his own.

A hand brushed his arm as if in passing.

“Well done, young Napier. I’ve got it now!”

The great shadow, black against the sky, as the cutter swung evenly up and across the deck. He felt droplets of sea water splash his face and throat like shards of ice.

“Avast hauling! Secure those lines! Jump to it!”

Napier turned. The cutter’s crew were leaping down to the tier, lines hauled into position and secured. Even the boat’s coxswain, Fitzgerald, a tough seaman who hailed from Donegal Bay, was beaming with satisfaction, or relief.

Squire was already studying another list, but he looked up from it and said briefly, “Just remember. It gets harder!”

Napier saw Huxley grinning over at him and waving both fists in congratulation. Some one yelled, “The Frenchie’s shortenin’ ’er cable, sir!”

“Man the capstan, lively there!”

Napier saw the boatswain’s mate, Fowler, lash out with his starter at one of the young hands, then strike the man across the shoulder even as he threw his weight on the nearest bar. He could see blood on the bare skin from the force of the blow. He glanced uncertainly at Squire, but the lieutenant had turned to watch the French frigate.

Doesn’t he care?

Napier stared aloft, but the sun blinded him. He had seen the topmen spread out along those yards, canvas billowing and punching between them.

Squire had hurried to his station in the eyes of the ship, and when Napier joined him above the cathead the wet cable was already jerking inboard like some endless serpent. One of the forecastle hands paused for breath and shouted, “The Frenchie’s aweigh!
Onward
’ll show her a clean pair of heels when she makes a run for it, eh, lads?”

Pride and, Napier thought, animosity too. Maybe that was why they did not use the other frigate’s name. She might be a prize, but she was still one of their own.

The shrill of more calls, and Guthrie’s voice carrying above them all.

“Anchor’s aweigh!”

He saw Squire watching the glistening cable as it brought the anchor firmly to the cathead. He could feel the deck moving, and caught a glimpse of other ships, still at anchor, apparently shifting their bearings without a stitch of canvas spread.

Hotham had dragged off his hat and was waving it wildly in the wind, his voice lost in the din of canvas and rigging. If the clergyman could see his son now…

Squire was looking across at him. “My respects to the Captain. Tell him, all secure!”

Napier hurried aft, dodging braces, halliards and running figures aware of nothing but the task in hand. He saw Monteith shouting to some men clawing their way up the weather shrouds, still dwarfed against the Rock, although he knew
Onward
must be well clear of the anchorage.

Monteith exclaimed, “Are they damned well deaf?”

Guthrie ignored him and repeated the same order, which they heard without effort. Monteith swung away, gesturing irritably to some one else. Guthrie spared Napier a quick glance and muttered, “You’m learnin’ today!”

The ship was under way, upper deck already clearing of cordage and tackle, men still climbing aloft as more canvas was spread.

Napier waited below the quarterdeck rail as the marines of the afterguard clumped away from the mizzen braces, somehow keeping in step.

Lieutenant Vincent called to him,
“Speak up!”

“I—I was told to report to—”

Two men ran between them, and another limped past, a bloody rag tied around one knee.

Then, suddenly, the captain was there, looking down at him. “I saw the signal.” They could have been alone. “It was smartly done, and in half the time.” Some one was trying to attract his attention, and the big double wheel was going over again. How many times, how many decisions, until each link in the chain of command was answering as one? “You did well, David. I am proud of you.”