Heart of Oak (8 page)

But there was only one sail moving today beyond the masts and crossed yards of anchored shipping. A heavy, low-hulled Dutchman, lee-boards lowered to hold steerage way in the lively breeze, her scuppers no doubt awash with the weight of her cargo. Carrying copper, clay, tin or local flint, and now heading for home; they were regular visitors to this southern coast, the war long forgotten.

He thought of the ragged figures on the Falmouth waterfront, the grip of her fingers on his arm. Only three, four days ago.
They
would never forget.

“Bless you, Bolitho! Up with the lark, eh? And I thought I was an early riser. You’ve taken everybody aback!”

He strode across the room and seized both of Adam’s hands in his. Hard and strong, despite their apparent frailness: exactly as Adam remembered him, heard him, when he had read his brief message to Lowenna.

“I must congratulate you, sir. I only just discovered—”

Grenville waved it aside. “They only thought fit to inform
me
a few days ago. Proud moment, of course.” He looked briefly toward the window and the telescope. “Another way of saying
you’ve run your course, we don’t need you any more.
Not unexpected, but all the same…” He faced him again, the momentary shadow gone from his face. “You must be tired out with this constant bustle. Eaten anything yet?”

He glared as the door opened. The clerk had returned.

“I don’t wish to be disturbed.” He gestured to the candle and the pile of envelopes. “They can wait, all day if need be. Pass the word to the piermaster.”

The clerk bobbed his head. “I must remind him about the boat, Sir John.”

Grenville retorted, “The boat will
be there.
” The door closed. “Many apologies, Bolitho, but time is an old enemy, pressing ever closer. I know that only too well.”

He smiled, and it transformed him. “I have been thinking about you. Wondering if your lady will ever forgive me for dragging you away from her after so brief a reunion. But on this occasion there was no choice.” He reached out and touched the telescope, without seeing it, Adam thought. So full of energy and enthusiasm. How could he himself contain his true feelings, say that it had been like having a door slammed in his face? Worse…

“She knows it was necessary, Sir John.”

The swift, penetrating glance again, which seemed to see and say so much. They had met only once, and his slight figure had been framed against another sky and the sprawling, smoky backdrop of London. And yet…

Grenville said, “All those ships lying out there, the flagship and other great liners. England’s ‘sure shield,’ or so many of our leaders still believe.” He tapped the telescope. “But times are changing, too fast for minds which will not progress. With the flagship’s people alone I could crew three frigates—a whole
squadron
of frigates if I spread my net a little wider.” He sighed, and allowed his hands to fall at his sides. “No more speeches, Bolitho. Do you know of the
Onward?
”

Adam shook his head. There was no point in pretending; Grenville could see right through you. Loved, admired or hated, his loss would be felt far beyond an empty desk at the Admiralty.

“I’m not surprised. You were too busy with your ‘skirmish,’ as you described it, to keep track of matters here.” He looked toward the sea, perhaps picturing her as he spoke. “
Onward
’s a new frigate, thirty-eight guns. Launched last year, private yard, brought here to Plymouth for completion, armament and—” He shook his head impatiently. “You know chapter and verse when a new ship is commissioned. And there are plenty I’d like to forget, believe me. Delay after delay, all with excuses to match them!” He regarded him steadily, as he would have watched an unknown ship, assessing her strength or ability.

“When Pellew, Lord Exmouth, carried out his attack on the Dey of Algiers, and when most people claimed he was attempting the impossible, ships against well-sited shore batteries, you were there with him in
Unrivalled.
Later, in his report to their lordships, Exmouth wrote of you, ‘Bolitho is a true frigate captain.’ Praise indeed from one of our greatest.”

He smiled. “
Onward
can be a ship to make us both proud.” Somewhere in the far distance a solitary cannon or coastguard signal disturbed the stillness, but his eyes remained fixed on Adam’s face. “
Take her
, Bolitho. She’s yours to command!”

Afterwards, Adam could not recall who spoke first, or if there were no words.

There were muffled voices beyond the door, some one giving a discreet cough.

Grenville said quietly, “The Admiral wishes to see you, but he is human enough to take his turn.” He touched his arm. “Come, we will walk down to the boat together. The formalities can wait a while longer.”

The door was open: there were unknown faces, the glint of gold lace, somebody calling out congratulations, smiles, sharing the moment in their own way.

Adam took a grip on his emotions, distancing himself, regaining control, as if he were at the heart of a sudden squall or a call to arms.

Grenville was holding his arm, pausing only to greet or wave to some anonymous figure. As if it were his day. His ship.

He heard himself ask, “Do we meet the present captain, Sir John?” and Grenville turned and faced him as if surprised.

“His appointment was not confirmed.” He was waving somebody aside, his eyes on the stairway. “In your home county they have a saying, my friend, that bad news rides a fast horse. You will hear all about it soon enough. Captain Richmond is dead. You will appreciate why I…” He changed the subject abruptly. “You are
Onward
’s first captain. Don’t fail her.” The transforming smile again. “Or those who believe in you, eh?”

He felt the air now, like ice on his lips. Hands were offering him his cloak, but something made him wave it aside. He saw Grenville’s nod of approval.

“
Your
day, my friend!”

There was a launch waiting at the pier, a lieutenant raising his hat in salute, some spectators loitering expectantly.

Grenville said, “Do you have any one with you?” and then seemed to shrug. “I need not have asked!”

Adam saw Luke Jago already in the sternsheets, as if he belonged there. “My cox’n, Sir John. It was his wish to be here.”

Empty words. Jago had insisted.
My place, Cap’n.
And even though they had hardly spoken during that gruelling journey, he had been very aware of the tough, silent companionship.

Grenville was saying, “Backbone of any ship—mine was, anyway.”

Adam saw a young woman peering down from one of the windows, on the floor beneath the room with the telescope. She was waving, and at a distance she might have been…He looked away.

The hardest part begins now.

“Attention in the boat!” The lieutenant stood at the foot of the familiar stone steps, the launch lifting and dipping on the choppy swell below him. A well turned-out crew, arms folded and facing aft. For them this was mere routine.

The helmsman stood by the tiller bar, and beside him Jago was already on his feet. Grenville was moving briskly toward the boat, his face hidden, and it was then that Adam felt the full impact of what this moment must mean to him.

“Allow me, Sir John.” He stepped over the gunwale and into the sternsheets, barely able to keep his balance. He saw the helmsman’s surprise, and knew that the lieutenant had turned. It was one of the navy’s oldest customs. A captain always boarded any boat after every one else, and was the first to leave, so that he would never be unnecessarily delayed or inconvenienced.

He felt Jago reach out and steady him, and managed to grip his hand, and heard him mutter, “Well spoken, Cap’n.” He of all men would know what he had done, and the significance of his gesture.

Grenville was following now, and the lieutenant was stiffly at attention again.

For today, at this moment and with all honour, a captain was going out to his ship.

The launch pulled steadily and unhurriedly toward the spread of ships which lay across the main anchorage, oars rising and dipping like wings. Other boats going about their business were careful to keep clear, conscious of the passenger who wore a captain’s bright epaulettes, or of the crest on either bow signifying the admiral’s own authority.

Luke Jago gazed along the boat between the banks of oarsmen, all eyes astern, or watching the stroke. A smart enough crew, but how would they perform in open sea, in the teeth of half a gale? He looked away. It was force of habit.
A ship will be judged by her boats.
The hard way, or the easy way, the old Jacks always said. Or you’d feel the touch of a rope’s end, just to jog your memory.

He saw a big two-decker, a seventy-four, anchored apart from all the others. Waiting to be hulked, or for the breaker’s yard, mastless and stripped of rigging, gunports empty. He glanced at the captain’s shoulders and saw his head turn, as if remembering
Unrivalled
when they had returned here. Those same stone stairs…He could almost hear some one saying, “Never look back.” But he had. He could still feel the pain.

Now another two-decker, in stark contrast, standing rigging freshly blacked-down, ensign and jack streaming in the offshore wind, and men working about her decks, some pausing to watch as the launch pulled abeam. A seaman by the entry port, and an officer training his telescope to make sure that his ship was not about to receive an important and possibly unwelcome visitor.

Breathe easy, matey!
Jago saw the captain’s hand shifting his sword away from his leg, unconsciously, his mind miles away, probably still in Cornwall with the woman he was going to wed. And no wonder. Or was he troubled by the speed of this new appointment? He had hardly uttered a word on the journey to Plymouth, even when they had stopped at some poxy inn for a piss and a glass of grog. More like a burial vault…

He almost smiled. The captain had felt it badly.
Forgive my poor company, Luke.
How could you turn on some one like that? Like the handshake as he had stepped, and as a result all but fallen, into this launch. Jago had seen them staring. He was still getting used to it himself, and to his own response. Just a little while ago, he would have said it was impossible to change.
Bloody officers.

He saw the one called Grenville gesturing toward another ship.

“I served in her! Twelve, no, fifteen years back. I can’t believe it!” Jago saw him touch Bolitho’s arm, and recalled that unexpected gesture when Grenville had been accorded the honour of taking precedence over the captain. It never made much sense to Jago, but he had seen what it had done for a man who seemed all-important anyway, an intimate of their lordships. But he had witnessed it, shared it, and thought he understood it. This was Grenville’s real world.
Like the rest of us.
And he was going to lose it; and the captain knew, and he gave a damn.

Grenville gripped Adam’s arm again.

“There she is! Larboard bow! Isn’t she a beauty?” There could have been just the two of them in the launch, Jago thought. “They must have all worked watch-and-watch to have made her so!”

The lieutenant signalled to the helmsman and the tiller went over. Jago saw figures on the maindeck, some running, and a little group already assembled by the entry port. How low and sleek she looked after
Athena…
There were barges alongside, deep in the water, and carefully fendered away from
Onward
’s new paintwork. Loaded with ballast which must have been removed when the new artillery had been hoisted aboard. Jago could remember all those other times: tackles, orders, backbreaking labour, the sweat and the curses.
Poor old Jack!

Some of the gunports were open, black muzzles already visible.
Onward
was showing her teeth.

Impossible to guess what the captain was thinking now. A new ship. The proudest, and perhaps the loneliest, responsibility any man could grasp.

“Boat ahoy?”
They were still half a cable from the ship, but the challenge was clear enough.

The helmsman looked over at Jago. “Yours, ’Swain!”

Jago cupped his hands and shouted,
“Onward!”

Adam saw the long bowsprit and tapering jib-boom sweep directly above their heads, and the figurehead, perfectly fashioned, a naked youth with one outstretched arm across a leaping dolphin, his other hand gripping a trident. A beautiful work of art. He felt a sudden sense of disloyalty,
Unrivalled
’s figurehead clear in his mind.

“
Bows!”
Oars scraping across the thwarts, the bowmen on their feet, a boathook poised and ready.

Onward
’s side loomed over the narrowing strip of lively water. “Oars,
up!
”

Twin lines of blades, water running down over the seamen’s arms and legs. The moment they all hated. A tot of rum would put things right with them.

Adam got to his feet as the hull lurched against fenders; two sideboys were already in position to ease the initial impact. He had never forgotten the story of the captain who had been tipped overboard when joining his first ship. It was probably true.

Grenville had remained seated but was looking up, studying him.

Adam reached for the hand-ropes and saw the entry port. He was shivering, but it was not the coldness of wind or sea. This was no time for doubt, or to lose your nerve. Like hearing his uncle’s voice, recalling all those other ships.
Remember this. They will be far more worried about their new captain.

He took a deep breath and stepped clear of the launch, and on to the stairs that mounted the tumblehome. It seemed no distance at all after
Athena.

The bark of commands and the piercing shrill of boatswain’s calls, and he felt his feet on the deck, careful to avoid the piles of cordage that awaited stowing as he faced aft, touching his hat. The ship seemed to rise up and around him, standing rigging like black glass, loosely brailed canvas stirring in the wind as if
Onward
were about to get under way.

Seamen and a few Royal Marines at attention, facing the entry port. Beyond them, groups of riggers and dockyard workers standing amidst the litter and disorder of their efforts.