”Ship’s company, uncoverV
Officers and seamen alike removed their hats, while others seemed to lean out and down from their various vantage points to watch each move, hear every word which would make this man their captain. The one man who held the power of life and death, misery and happiness, over every soul aboard.
Adam had removed his hat and tucked it beneath his arm. He took out the familiar roll of parchment and stared unseeingly at the beautiful copperplate script: some one else’s words, somebody else’s voice reading them.
It was addressed to Adam Bolitho, Esquire, the commission which appointed him to the Athena, willing and requiring you forthwith to go on board and take upon you the charge and command of captain in her accordingly .. .
Some he remembered from other ships. Some he knew almost by heart. Many of the men assembled here today would have heard the same words many times, if they had served long enough.
He cleared his throat, and knew that Stirling was gazing at him with scarcely a blink.
”...hereof, nor you nor any of you may fail as you will answer the contrary at your peril.”
Like Unrivalled, and Anemone. And like the little brig which had been his first command, and had been brought back to life by the hard handshake of Athena’s sailing master just minutes ago.
Stirling was nodding, but watching some of the assembled hands as if to discover the true feeling of the ship. His ship, for three years.
Troubridge murmured, ”I can take you to your quarters, sir. They are all but ready for use.” He was mentally ticking off his flag lieutenant’s ever-present list. ”A cabin servant has been appointed. He served the previous captain.” He frowned as somebody gave a cheer. ”He requested to remain on board.”
Adam turned as the lines of seamen and marines began to break up and separate into groups.
He said, ”An issue of rum would not come amiss, Mr. Stirling.”
Stirling bit his lip. ”I’m not sure that the purser has arranged it, sir.”
The purser. The man who usually counted every coffee bean and biscuit as if it were his own. He could vaguely recall a limp handshake, and an Irish name. It would come back to him.
He said, ”Then tell him, if you please.” He saw a barge full of dockyard workers poling abeam, some of the men giving another cheer as they passed.
A new beginning for the ship. He followed Troubridge aft and beneath the shadow of the poop. A bigger ship, but still he had to duck his head to avoid the first deck head beam.
There was no sentry at the screen door, and the air was heavy with fresh shipboard smells. The cabin seemed larger, unlived in. When he made to open one of the sloping stern windows, there was wet paint on his fingers.
A captain’s retreat. He looked at the new black and white checkered deck covering beneath his shoes. Except that Bethune and his staff would be right there, below him. A private ship no longer.
In a day or so Luke Jago would arrive with some of the things which had been taken to Falmouth. He eyed the space near the bench seat across the stern. The chair would be right there .. . He gazed at the harbour shimmering beyond the thick glass windows. Provided Jago had not changed his mind. Taken his bounty and prize money and swallowed the anchor.
He looked up at a skylight, then deliberately removed his dress coat and hung it from the latch, where it would swing to the harbour’s easy motion. Like that day when he had received his orders. When he had been told he was losing Unrivalled. Just like that.
Defiance; anger; he found it was neither.
He said abruptly, ”I would like a shave, and a bath of some sort.”
Troubridge exclaimed, ”I doubt if the ship is quite ready, sir.” The flag lieutenant was never far away. ”I could call away a boat, and have you in the George at Portsmouth Point in no time.”
Adam moved to the opposite side, and the screen across the sleeping cabin.
”Too many ghosts.” He did not explain. ”Find that servant you mentioned, and then .. .”
Troubridge was opening a cupboard and taking out a finely cut goblet.
He smiled, almost shyly. ”I did arrange a small welcome for you, sir.”
Feet stamped beyond the screen door, and Adam heard a corporal reading out the standing orders to the marine sentry. More stamping, then silence.
He sat on the bench seat and looked around the bare cabin.
”Then you will join me, eh?”
There was a muffled burst of cheering and Troubridge could not contain a grin. ”Ahah. The rum has been issued, sir.”
Adam took a goblet and glanced at the breech of a twelve-pounder which shared his quarters, and would be one of the first in action if this ship was ever called upon to fight.
It was cognac. Probably some of Bethune’s.
He stood, and raised the goblet. ”To the ship!”
Troubridge was young but he was quick to learn, and he felt that he knew this captain better than he had expected he would ever do after so brief an acquaintance.
He lifted his own goblet and said simply, ”And to absent friends, sir.”
It was done.
Bryan Ferguson stood by the window of his cramped estate office and watched the horses being manoeuvred toward the carriage in the centre of the stable yard. The sky was a clear, pale blue, the air like ice, but it was likely to remain dry for the journey to Plymouth. Young Matthew and his lads had made a fine show with the carriage, he thought. You could see your face in it; even the harness shone like black glass.
A special day, but he was also saddened by it. He heard Yovell speaking to somebody in the passageway and was suddenly grateful that the portly secretary was coming back here when he returned from Plymouth. From his mission, as he had put it. Yovell was good company, and a great help with the never-ending work connected with the estate, and anyway, Ferguson had told him frankly, was too old for a seagoing existence.
He glanced down at his empty sleeve. He was grateful, something he had not been able to admit before, not even to his beloved Grace. He was the one who was getting too old for this work, the estate, the tenant-farmers and stock holders who knew his shortcomings. Yovell was a kindly soul, but nobody’s fool, and he had a mind like quicksilver. And in any case .. .
He turned as Yovell came in, carrying his heavy coat with its attached cape. He was rarely seen without it, and today he would need it.
”The tailor has gone, Daniel. At long last.”
Yovell studied him gravely. ”I shall deal with him when I’m in Plymouth. I have a few matters to attend to for Captain Adam. You have quite enough to do here.” He counted off points on his plump fingers. ”The Captain’s personal baggage has gone ahead.” He smiled gently. ”The chair also. It might take the edge off his new responsibilities. But knowing him as I do, I doubt it.”
Ferguson looked out at the carriage again. The horses were standing peacefully in the traces, harness adjusted, a stable boy giving them a last currying before departure. Local people would see the carriage and its familiar crest, and maybe they would wonder. Not a Bolitho this time; the old grey house was empty again.
He saw Luke Jago crossing the yard and knew he would miss him also. Jago had a strange, blunt way of making friends. A bad enemy if you crossed him, he thought.
Every landsman’s idea of the true sailor. In his fine jacket with its gilt buttons, flared neckerchief and nankeen breeches, he would give any one confidence. He thought of John Allday, and the moment when the two coxswains had met for the first time.
Allday was his best friend, and they shared an inseparable past, even though Ferguson’s seagoing life had ended when he had lost his arm in battle. Most people might envy the big, shambling man who had been Sir Richard’s coxswain, who had been with him at the end, and had held him as he died. Now Allday was happily married to his pretty Unis, and together they managed a successful inn, The Old Hyperion, over in the village of Fallowfield. They had a little daughter named Kate. Not many Jacks who had steppe
d ashore had found such satisfaction.
But Ferguson had seen the truth in those blue, honest eyes which could rarely hide a secret.
Allday envied Jago, because of the other life which had been taken away.
Jago pushed noisily through the door and dropped his chest on the floor.
Time to shove off, then?” He nodded to Yovell. ”Thanks for finding a place to lay my head.”
Ferguson swung round. ”Not visitors! Not now!”
Yovell patted his arm.
”Easy, Bryan. I think it’s Lady Roxby. I rather thought she might call.”
The other carriage turned in the yard and a boy ran to calm the horses.
Grace was here now, hurrying to greet her as she was assisted down. Ferguson saw that the girl Elizabeth was with her.
He heard Jago remark, ”Break somebody’s heart, that one will, if I’m any judge.”
Ferguson also noticed that his wife had been crying, as he had known she would.
But she was smiling now, gesturing to each of them in turn. ”Come into the house, will you? I only wish Captain Adam could be here!”
They walked up the broad steps and into the familiar hallway. The study door was open, a fire burning cheerfully. Almost as if one of those faces in the portraits would be there. Waiting.
They were a very mixed group, the one-armed steward and the plump Yovell, who had become so much a part of their lives. Jago, at ease but never relaxed, soon to join his captain, and questioning even that. The two women, and the slim, upright girl with the chestnut hair.
Nancy heard one of the servants give an excited hand clap and some one call out something from the broad landing. Very quickly, she made her decision.
She saw Jago turn and stare at her, his usual composure, sometimes hostility, gone as she grasped his hand in hers. It might be the worst thing she could do But she said abruptly, ”I know you, Luke Jago. My nephew trusts you, and so must I.”
She thrust an envelope into his fist and felt his fingers close round it like a trap. ”Give him this. Tell him .. .” She broke off as Ferguson called, ”Well done! Well done!”
Jago stared past the woman he knew to be Captain Bolitho’s aunt. He knew, too, that she was more than merely that. It was enough. The envelope was in his jacket pocket.
”Good as done, m’ lady.”
Nancy turned away, angry that tears might spoil this day.
She walked to the foot of the stairs and opened her arms, holding him as she had once held Adam, a lifetime ago.
The youth Elizabeth had described as ”the captain’s servant” had gone. In his new midshipman’s uniform, with the single-breasted tailed coat and white collar patches which still haunted her memory, he was some one else.
She embraced him and thought she heard Grace Ferguson sobbing, as if she, too, was losing somebody dear to her.
”He would be so proud of you, David.” His slight shoulders were rigid under the new blue coat, as if he were still trying to come to terms with it. ”It is what he wanted for you.”
David Napier swallowed hard and gazed past them at the big doors, standing open to the cold air. The wall, the curving drive, that line of trees. And the sea.
He was going to another ship; he could feel the stiff document folded inside the pocket of the coat. He stared at the gilt buttons on each sleeve and saw himself as he had just seen his reflection in the mirror on the landing.
He thought his hands were trembling, but when he held one out to the sunlight it was quite steady.
He had no right to think of this house as his home, but the feeling would not change, or go away. He looked at their faces, each one in turn, so that he should not forget: Grace, wiping her eyes and trying to smile, her husband, who had done all he could to make him feel welcome, and Yovell, the man who had shared so much with him in Unrivalled, and had taught him about things and deeds he would never otherwise have known. And the lady who had just hugged him. Part of a great family. How can I leave them now?
It was Luke Jago who cut the cable.
”Here now, Mister Napier, we’d better get a-moving if we’re to get you on board today!”
As he climbed into the carriage Napier paused to look at the house, and to wave, although he could see very little in the hard light.
But he thought of his mother. Might she have been proud, too?
4
”The Higher We Climb .. .”
The small working party of seamen had retreated from the cabin, and the screen door was closed once more.
Adam Bolitho stood by the stern windows and felt the sun warming his shoulders through the thick glass, although he knew it was still very cold on deck.
He ignored the litter of cases and bags which had just been delivered, each seaman darting a quick glance around the cabin, and at the man who had been their captain for almost four days.
He hestitated, then walked slowly to the high-backed chair which had received the particular attention of the boatswain’s mate in charge, a mahogany berg ere upholstered in brass-nailed dark green leather. A chair you could doze, even sleep in, and be readily on call. Where you could plan and think, somehow separated from the ship and her routine. There were a few scratches and a dark stain on one arm rest, but it was the same chair, the one she had wanted him to have after Sir Richard had been killed in Frobisher.
He gripped it and moved it very slightly. He had sat here many times himself. Feeling it. Sharing it with his own command, Unrivalled.
”May I suggest something, sir?”
Adam turned sharply; he had forgotten that he was not alone.
John Bowles had been Captain Ritchie’s servant for three years, and the previous captain’s for a shorter period, until he had been killed in a sharp engagement with a French blockade-runner.
At first meeting Bowles seemed an unlikely candidate to fill the role of cabin servant. He was tall, slightly stooping because of the lack of headroom, with greying hair trained into an old-style queue, and long sideburns. His was a grave, rather melancholy face, dominated by a large, hooked nose, so that his surprisingly bright eyes seemed almost incidental.
Not a young man, and listed as forty years old on the ship’s books, he was light-footed and unobtrusive, unusual for one so tall.
Adam said, ”Yes?” thinking again of Napier and his clicking shoes, his earnest and often deadly serious eagerness. We take care of each other.
Bowles moved around the chair, careful not to touch it, or so it appeared. He stopped suddenly and lifted up a small flap in the deck covering.
”Just ‘ere, sir.” He indicated a brass ringbolt. ”The chair can be shackled, nice an’ safe, if the sea gets up.” He looked directly at Adam for the first time. ”Athena can be a lively lady in alfa gale if she feels like it.” He almost smiled.
He had a London accent, and Stirling the first lieutenant had told Adam that he had been working in a riverside tavern when he had become involved in some kind of brawl at the very moment that a press gang had been passing. The rest was a familiar story in those times; the lieutenant in command of the press gang had been thankful just to lay hands on a few more men, sailors or not.
It was strange that Bowles had apparently made no attempt to quit the navy when the war with France and her allies had at last come to an end. Adam found that he was touching the chair. When my uncle was cut down.
”That sounds a sensible plan.” He gestured to the other pieces of baggage but before he could speak Bowles said, ”I can ‘ave it all stowed by the dog watches. I am instructed that you are dining with the wardroom, so I will make sure that everything is right, sir.”
Once Adam would have preferred a younger man, but it seemed unimportant now. Bowles belonged to the ship. A part of her. And I am his third captain.
Bowles said suddenly, ”That is a fine old sword, sir. I ‘ave some special oil that might suit.” He was thinking aloud. ”Though
I doubt we’ll be doing much cut-an’-thrust on this commission.
” He bared his uneven teeth in a grin. ”Us bein’ a flagship an’ all!”
Adam heard the sentry tap his musket on the grating outside the screen door.
”Midshipman o’ the watch, sir!”
Bowles was across the cabin before Adam had seen him move, but he turned just briefly, like a conspirator, and said, ”Mr. Vincent, sir.”
Adam faced the door. He had met Vincent, Athena’s senior ‘young gentleman’, but he doubted if he would have remembered his name after only four days. Almost due for examination for lieutenant. The first major step from warrant rank to quarterdeck. A King’s officer.
The midshipman stepped smartly into the cabin, his hat beneath his arm. He was almost eighteen, but looked older, and very self-confident. He was in charge of Athena’s signals, and Adam had seen him shouting at one of his men only a few feet away, as if he were stone deaf or a complete fool. Stirling had been nearby but had said nothing. Adam thought of the much-hated midshipman in Unrivalled, Sandell, who had gone missing over the side one night.
”Yes, Mr. Vincent, what is it?”
”There is a man who wishes to see you, sir.” He had narrow nostrils which were flared now with obvious anger. ”Insists, sir!”
Adam looked past him and saw Jago waiting by an open gun port a bag swinging back and forth in his hand.
”My coxswain, Mr. Vincent. He has access to me whenever so required.”
Vincent was not the sort to make stupid mistakes. Jago’s expected time of arrival had been in the order book almost since Adam had read himself in to the ship’s company.
He said, ”But only officers were allowed free access, sir.”
Adam smiled, disliking him, and hoped it was convincing. ”That was then, Mr. Vincent. You may return to your duties.”
The door was shut again and they stood facing one another, awkward despite what they had shared. Separated, perhaps, by the ship, a stranger to them both.
Adam gripped his hand. ”It is very good to see you, Luke.” He felt the smile breaking through and realized just how acute the loneliness had been. In the night watches, lying in his cot,
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