Heart of Oak (19 page)

“Never thought I’d be asked to worry about
them!
A broadside’s always done the talking before!” He crooked his elbow to train and steady the telescope like a musket: a true seaman. “There’s
Nautilus.
No extra canvas set.” He shifted the glass. “And there’s another sail, fine off the headland.” He did not take his eyes from it. “Is that what you saw, before you fell?”

Napier nodded, mind still grappling with it, as if it were a badly finished painting.

Tucker murmured, “
Got you
, my beauty!” Then, “She’s a schooner. French colours. Some sort of signal hoisted.”

Napier took the weight on his leg once more. No pain now, but he knew it was weeping, like the first time he had walked without a crutch. He could hear the surgeon’s warning:
he’ll always have a limp.
He had beaten that, too…

“You can report to the quarterdeck…sir. It’ll be hours before they get close enough to talk. The schooner’s not under full sail, and the boat she’s towing will slow her down even more.” He closed the telescope with a snap. “Sailors—I’ve…” He did not finish. “They need more sail. Soon as the wind dropped, they should have done it.” He stared across the water, the telescope held loosely at his side. “I’ve spouted more than enough!”

Napier sensed his uncertainty, felt it, like a barrier.

“What is it? It might be important.”

Tucker looked down at the torn breeches, flapping open in the warm breeze. “Here, let me fix that before you present yourself to the gold lace, eh?” But he was gripping the telescope again, his fingers running over the engraving.

“It was a while back, four, maybe five years. I was with the prize crew in a schooner—she was a Frog, too. Lively little craft after a two-decker of eighty guns. But she needed all hands when the call came to make or shorten sail.” He unslung the glass and offered it abruptly, perhaps before he could change his mind. “This schooner don’t seem to be carrying enough men to do the job.”

Napier moved to the barricade and peered down at the deck, and the forecastle where he had listened and learned from Lieutenant Squire and felt the rough camaraderie of the men around him.

He heard Tucker call after him, “Watch that leg o’ yours!” And then, “They might not believe you!”

Napier turned stiffly and peered up at him. There was still no pain.

“
I
believe
you
, David!” He lowered himself on to the ratlines, which seemed to be vibrating, shivering in his hands. Like the sudden mutter of canvas. A note of urgency.

He swung himself through the shrouds and felt the deck beneath his feet. He could not believe he had moved so fast.

“Have you been relieved? I did not hear any such order!” It was Monteith, still wearing the sword and coat he had donned to witness punishment.

“I have to see the captain, sir.”

“Do you, indeed? By whose authority?” He was looking at the torn breeches, even smiling, as he rocked back on his heels. “And you hope to become a King’s officer!”

A shadow had loomed between them. Murray, the surgeon. “I’m going aft, Mr Napier.” But he was looking at the lieutenant. “We shall see the captain together.” He watched as Napier released his grip on the rigging, then added quietly, “And after
that
, you and I will have a little talk. That is an order.”

Monteith glared as some seamen paused to watch or listen. “I would have dealt with it!”

Murray put his hand under the midshipman’s arm. “I am glad to know it, Hector. And by whose authority?”

Napier could sense the animosity between them, but it meant nothing to him. He hesitated and turned to look up at the masthead, the long pendant whipping out and holding the wind. Suppose…He tried again. The topman named Tucker, another David, who had served aboard a schooner. A prize taken from the enemy…It was not making sense.

He stumbled, but some one else had taken his other arm.

“Easy, my son!” It was Jago.

“Where to?” Another voice.

“Cap’n’s quarters. It’ll save time.” A chair had come from somewhere. “Make things a bit easier as well.”

It was quieter now, and airless. Some one propping him up, another tugging away the torn breeches. A scarlet tunic moving to close a door, some one moistening his parched mouth.

“Nice and easy, David. You’re going to be all right. Be sure of that.”

Napier opened his eyes and stared into his face. The captain. Another voice in the background. The surgeon.

But the captain said, “Just now, David, you spoke of a ship. A schooner.” He felt the hand on his bare shoulder. Like that other time. His leg…

“Tell us what you saw.” The hand moved slightly. “Tell
me.
”

Lieutenant Vincent strode across the quarterdeck and touched his hat.

“No change, sir. The schooner’s holding the same course. No extra sails set.” He breathed deeply. It had been a long time since he had climbed to the masthead and down again, with so many eyes judging his progress.

He looked up, eyes slitted against the glare. “Wind’s serving us well enough at present.”

Adam glanced along the deck, at men off watch who would otherwise have been in their messes, in groups or wandering beneath the taut canvas and the criss-cross of rigging. All waiting. And the familiar figures, aft by the compass and wheel. The master and his mates, Midshipman Deacon with the signals party.

He said abruptly, “Did you speak with Tucker?”

“A good hand, sir. He recognized the schooner’s mood, something many would have missed.”

Adam looked up at the masthead pendant. “Send for the gunner. Time is running out.”

Vincent hesitated. “But
Nautilus
is making the rendezvous, sir. And she could outshoot and outsail that schooner, even if it were some kind of trick!” He looked away, then back. “Mr Maddock is standing by.”

Adam faced him. “The rendezvous is supposed to be at Aboubakr, not at sea, in open water. And yes,
Nautilus can
outshoot and outsail that schooner—she’d be a challenge even for us, if it came to that…” He broke off.
And if I am wrong?
He could see the doubt on Vincent’s face.

“You wanted me, sir?”

Onward
’s gunner held his head slightly to one side as if he were afraid of missing something; he was almost deaf in one ear as the result of his trade, although few would have guessed it. Short and squarely built, he had the brightest pair of eyes Adam had ever seen in any long-serving sailor.

“The schooner that lies ahead is making for
Nautilus.
I believe she intends mischief of the worst kind. If the wind holds, and with your help, I will stop it.”

Maddock was nodding, his mind already busy. “Bowchasers, sir?”

Adam shook his head.
Like stamping a seal on my own court martial.

“No. We will begin as soon as we are within range.
You
will lay and fire each gun yourself, understood?” He turned to Vincent. There was no time left for argument. “In a moment you will clear for action. Have the hands piped to quarters, no drums or show of force. They’ll know soon enough.” Their eyes met. “This is what I intend.”

Luke Jago nodded to the Royal Marine sentry and walked past the screen door and into the great cabin. All these months, years even, and he still expected some one to dispute his right of entry.
The coxswain’s privilege.
Some tried, but they only did it once.

There seemed to be people on deck everywhere, unwilling to go to their messes, when usually one watch would be below, washing down the noon meal with a healthy wet or even a mug of the sour red wine called Black Strap. He could feel the tension like something solid. A fight was one thing, but…

He, at least, knew what was coming.

Morgan, the cabin servant, stood with his hands on his ample hips and exclaimed, “What say you, Luke? Fit for a post captain, isn’t it?”

The midshipman was standing by the broad stern windows, wearing a pair of seaman’s trousers and a clean shirt.

Morgan added, “Those breeks would almost fit
me
, but he can rest easy until this lot’s over and done with!”

Napier bent his knee and balanced on one leg. He smiled and said, “I’m all right!”

Jago breathed out. When he had seen the boy being brought aft, half carried, his face like chalk beneath its sunburn, he had thought the worst.

He glanced past him into the glare on the empty sea astern. It was unreal. Eerie, Prior the captain’s clerk had described it. It was a new term to Jago, but it suited.

Onward
was holding her course toward the two small shapes on the horizon, one motionless and the other barely moving. Except that they were closer now, the schooner on the starboard bow. As if they might eventually collide. He scowled. If they ever reached that far before the wind dropped completely.

It was five hours since the prisoner Dimmock had been released from the grating, and taken moaning below. Since Napier had climbed aloft with the captain’s telescope and collapsed. He had seen that cruel wound again when they had stripped him here: as bad as that first time when a few had turned away, and shaken their heads.

Five hours. They could have sailed from Plymouth to Falmouth Bay in that time.

Morgan looked in the direction of his pantry. “If you want something, Luke, have it now.” He made a mock bow. “No charge!” Then the mood changed. “They just gave the word to douse the galley stove. You know what that means.”

Jago pushed the thought aside and said roughly, “When all this is over, you can get some new middy’s breeches made up here on board, right?”

“Indeed, yes. Jeff Lloyd,” grinning, “another Welshman, see?”

“Him that patched up one of the Cap’n’s coats? He was well pleased.”

Morgan winked. “He’s a craftsman right enough. Did some work for our late and lamented Captain Richmond, God rest his soul.” He looked toward the screen door as if he were listening. “Jeff Lloyd’s good, right enough. But don’t trust him with your—”

There was a rap at the door.

“Ship’s corporal, sir!”

The man peered around the door, his eyes everywhere but on the occupants. Like most visitors to this sanctuary.

“Hands to quarters, sir,” he said to Napier. There was a bloodstain on his jacket; he had helped cut the prisoner from the gratings.

The door closed, and Morgan said softly, “So, now we know.”

Jago looked over at the midshipman. “Ready?” He heard the thump of feet, some running, and the muffled scrape of screens being lowered. They would be here soon, and this would be a cabin no more, but a part of the ship. This silent clearing for action, without the urgent rattle of drums and the shrill of calls deck to deck, somehow seemed more threatening.

Napier stood by the long, high-backed bergère, and touched its worn leather for a few more seconds.

I lay here.

He lifted his chin.

“Aye, ready!”

Adam Bolitho climbed on to the nettings and trained his telescope across the tightly packed hammocks; even through his sleeve, they felt hot in the strong sunlight. Behind him, the ship was quiet again, as if it had been only another drill or exercise. Waiting for a verdict, before being dismissed.

He gripped the telescope, so familiar to his hand now, like an old friend. He could sense Vincent standing nearby, had felt his disapproval when he had been told to clear for action. Perhaps they all shared his doubts about their captain’s judgment.

He took a deep breath, focusing it, and saw the schooner spring to life in the powerful lens. Scarred paint, and the patches which were different shades of canvas in her sails, hard-worked like the vessel herself. He blinked, waiting for the image to steady once more. There were some figures in a group, almost midships. And one in uniform further aft near a small deckhouse or companion. Probably the schooner’s helm. Her colours were vivid against the sky, but the signal, whatever it was, had been hauled down.

Vincent said, “Maybe they’ll lower a boat, sir. They can
hail
each other, if she stays on course.”

Adam lowered the glass. He had seen the boat towing from the schooner. Some kind of galley, probably a local craft. He had seen plenty of them at Algiers. It was closer to the schooner than before. Under her quarter…

The thought was like a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. The boat was not a threat. It was a means of escape.

He raised the telescope again.
They are watching us right now.

“Bring her up two points to larboard.” He dropped to the deck as the order was repeated, and the big double wheel began to respond. He stared forward, seeing the faces at each gun peering aft, and Maddock standing just inboard of the first eighteen-pounder. He was ready, no matter what he might be thinking.

“Nor’ east by east, sir.”

Adam watched the schooner slowly change her bearing as
Onward
responded to the rudder. His mind told him it was Julyan’s voice. Taking no chances.

“Open the ports!” He was at the quarterdeck rail but did not recall moving. There was no turning back.
My decision.