Alexander Kent - Bolitho 20 Darkening Sea

by Darkening Sea [lit]

  Avery waited, knowing that it was not merely important, but vital.

  "He's going blind, sir. Left eye. He was badly wounded. We have to watch him, like."

  "I thank you for your trust. I mean that most sincerely."

  Allday did not seem to hear. "Sir Richard used to have a flag lieutenant, the Honourable Oliver Browne, he was. A real gentleman, an' I means that in the only true way. Always spoke of We Happy Few, he did. Then he got himself killed." His eyes hardened. "Not in any sea-fight, neither."

  He moved away as Anemone's sails were backed and the gig dropped smartly alongside. Over his shoulder he said, "Now you're one of the few, sir!"

  Valkyrie came up into the wind, her sails like thunder in the fresh breeze. Avery stood by the hammock nettings while the side-party prepared to receive Anemone's captain.

  "So there you are!" Bolitho strode from the companion hatch and glanced at the compass before acknowledging the officer-of-the-watch.

  Avery watched him, and was moved by the easy way he could bridge the distance from quarterdeck to forecastle, from naval hero to ordinary pressed seaman; and something of his admiration and his sadness must have revealed itself on his face. Bolitho looked first at Anemone and then toward Allday, who was standing by one of the guns.

  Then he said quietly, "He told you, didn't he?"

  "A little, sir. You can trust me." He hesitated. "Can nothing be done?"

  "I believe not." He smiled. "Let us receive my nephew and find out what he knows!"

  It was astonishing. I believe not, he had said. But his tone implied the opposite.

  Avery looked at Allday and saw him give the briefest of nods. He was accepted.

  Bolitho stood just outside the door of the sickbay. Beyond the hull the sea would be in total darkness, with only the occasional glow of phosphorescence or a breaking crest to betray movement. The ship felt even quieter than usual, but for reasons other than fear of punishment.

  Just before darkness had closed in to conceal one ship from another, Larne had made one last signal. Tyacke had sighted several sail to the north-east. They could only be the enemy.

  Bolitho thought of Adam's brief visit to receive his orders and to describe the horror he had seen in the drifting Orcadia. He had the strongest feeling that, bad though it was, Adam had spared him the worst part. He had described how he felt about leaving his patrol area to join them, and how he had announced his approach by the single broadside the lookout had heard. He had sighted an Arab topsail-schooner, which must have been tracking the Anemone after she had left the Orcadia: one of Baratte's scouts, or a slaver who was still willing to risk capture. Either way there had been too little time to give chase with the added risk of losing her in an approaching rain squall. Adam had fired a broadside at extreme range and had left the vessel dismasted and adrift to fend for herself.

  The enemy's strength was unknown, but their own numbers were probably already listed in Baratte's mind like a plan of action.

  Whatever they were, they would not proceed further in the darkness. They would hold as close together as possible until first light.

  Bolitho could picture the Valkyrie's watch below, brooding over what they would perceive as inevitable, the land men and the youngsters asking the old Jacks what to expect. What is it like?

  He heard Avery walking very softly behind him. Leaving him to his thoughts, instantly ready if he was needed.

  How did he know Trevenen was a coward? There had certainly been no doubt in his voice. Something Sillitoe had told him, or had it been his father, who had died in battle?

  Trevenen's reward for lying under oath to save his captain from disgrace was no small thing. Just to be Valkyrie's captain now was privilege enough to ensure his promotion to flag rank, if he could stand clear of trouble or causing offence to Hamett-Parker. It was not cowardice in that case, but just as dangerous.

  Minchin loomed out of the shadows. "Yes, Sir Richard?"

  "How is he?"

  Minchin scratched his head. "Sleeping now. Been fretting a mite, but that's usual enough."

  He grinned as Herrick called, "Who is that?"

  Bolitho stepped into the light of a solitary lantern. "I am here, Thomas."

  Herrick gasped with pain as he tried to drag himself into a sitting position. Between his clenched teeth he exclaimed, "Hell's teeth! One arm is more trouble than two!" Then he lay still again, his eyes glowing in the flickering light.

  "We're to fight then?"

  "We have to win, Thomas."

  Herrick sipped from a mug which Lovelace held for him. "Always the same. Not enough ships where you need 'em. We've known it a few times, eh? They never learn, because they don't have to see it. To do it!"

  "Easy, Thomas."

  "I know, I know." He moved his head from side to side. "And I'm no use to you either!"

  Herrick saw Avery for the first time. "I abused you at Freetown, Mr. Avery." He looked away. "I heard about Jenour as well. No age to go."

  Bolitho paused by the door again. Try to sleep. I shall see that you are looked after if..."

  Herrick raised his left arm. "If. That has a chilling ring too."

  Outside the sickbay the ship seemed at peace. Some midshipmen were crouched in a tight circle, their expressions revealed only by the light of their glims. Like some strict religious sect; but Bolitho knew they were asking one another questions on seamanship and navigation. Preparing like all 'young gentlemen' throughout the fleet for that magic day when they would be examined for lieutenant. To midshipmen it was the first, impossible rung on the ladder, and few could see any further beyond it.

  Lovelace left the sickbay carrying two books, and Bolitho recalled what the surgeon had told him.

  He asked, "Have you ever thought of taking the big step, Lovelace? To the College of Surgeons? Mr. Minchin speaks very highly of you."

  It was the first time he had seen him smile.

  "I too would like to own a carriage and pair, Sir Richard!" The smile vanished. "I beg your pardon, sir. I meant no offence."

  Avery watched, leaning against the curved timbers at his back. He saw Bolitho reach out for the young man's arm, heard him say quietly, "If we can break the enemy tomorrow, I will sponsor you."

  Avery almost held his breath, unwilling to miss any of it.

  Bolitho said, "My late flag lieutenant should have studied medicine, not war, like his father and uncle before him.

  Instead..." He turned aside. "But Fate decided otherwise, God bless him!"

  Lovelace was still staring after them as they climbed the companion ladder together.

  "That was a generous thing to have done, sir."

  "You reap only what you sow." He gripped a rope hand rail as the hull dipped heavily in a cross-swell. Then he said, "Sup with me tonight. I wish to discuss the signals for tomorrow. There may be little enough time later on."

  The meal was a simple one, washed down with some of Catherine's claret from St. James's Street. In Ozzard's capable hands it made a fitting end to the day.

  Even as, encouraged by the flag lieutenant, he reminisced, and spoke of men and campaigns he had known, Avery was aware that Bolitho was speaking of others like Jenour, who would be remembered only by the few who had shared those experiences.

  He saw Bolitho touch the locket beneath his shirt, his gaze faraway as he said, "I shall add a little more to my letter to Lady Catherine before I sleep. She was very fond of Stephen. He used to sketch her, like the daily scenes he saw around him."

  He would not have to tell her what to do when she received the news. She would go to Southampton herself and see Jenour's parents, to spare them at least the brutal formality of an Admiralty letter.

  The Secretary of the Admiralty regrets to inform you...

  Nobody should have to suffer that.

  He said almost abruptly, "If anything should happen..." He looked at Avery directly. There is a letter in my strongbox which you may deliver to..."

  "I would prefer that it n
ever need be read, Sir Richard."

  Bolitho smiled. That was well said." Without realising what he was doing he touched his eye with his fingertips, so he did not see the concern on the lieutenant's face. "Baratte is a devious man, a trickster who will use every ruse to overthrow us. Whoever loses will be a scapegoat, something too well known to you already. His father was denounced as a hated aristo during the Terror and was beheaded before those howling murderers. He was an honourable officer, and France has had cause to regret his death and the blood on their hands of so many others like him. Baratte has done all in his power to prove his skill and his worth to his country, perhaps to protect himself. It is a weakness that may make him reckless enough to play one trick too often."

  "And what of the Englishman Hannay, sir?"

  "He will fight as never before."

  "No weakness then?" Avery was fascinated as he watched the inner power of this man, the grey eyes full of intensity and emotions as he spoke of his enemies so lucidly that Avery could almost see them. It was impossible to know from his appearance that the vice-admiral was almost blind in one eye. Another secret.

  "Only that he is unused to taking orders." Bolitho shrugged. "Especially from a Frenchman!" It seemed to amuse him.

  He looked at Avery's serious face. "Mr. Yovell thought well of you from the start, that day in Falmouth. He was particularly impressed with your knowledge of Latin, although at the time I had no idea it would prove so useful!"

  "A good deal will depend on your nephew tomorrow, sir."

  "Yes. I am very proud of him. He is like a son to me."

  Avery did not press the point. "Mr. Yovell tells me that he met Nelson, who spoke warmly of him." He hesitated. "Did you never meet him, sir?"

  Bolitho shook his head, suddenly depressed. The same people who now sang the little admiral's praises had been the same ones who had tried to destroy him before he had fallen aboard Victory. And what of his dear Emma? What had become of her? How did those who had made promises to Nelson even as he lay dying manage to face themselves, he wondered?

  And Catherine. Who would care for her if the worst happened?

  He said, "Go and speak with the first lieutenant. He needs to be reassured."

  Avery stood up and felt the ship around him, shivering repeatedly as she thrust the ocean contemptuously from her flanks.

  Tomorrow then, sir."

  Bolitho nodded, then said, "What did you want to know about Nelson?"

  Avery rested his hand on the screen door. "Men who never knew or even saw him shed tears like women when they heard of his death." He opened the door. "I never thought to see it myself until I became your flag lieutenant, sir." Then he was gone.

  Bolitho smiled. Avery would think very differently if the day went against them.

  After Ozzard had tidied the cabin and had departed thoughtfully to his pantry, Bolitho took a small book from his trunk and turned it over in his hands: not one of Catherine's gifts of Shakespearean sonnets in their immaculate green leather binding, but a much older book, stained by salt air and much handling, one of his few possessions which had actually been carried by his father. It was Paradise Lost. Like Captain James Bolitho, he had read it beneath the scorching tropical sun, or riding out a storm on blockade duty off Brest and Lorient, and in the calm of some unspoiled anchorage.

  With great care he covered his left eye with his hand and held the page close to a cabin lantern.

  What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield.

  Bolitho closed the book and walked across the cabin to the table where his chart still lay.

  Perhaps it had already been decided, and there was nothing he could do to change what Fate had decreed.

  The ship swayed again and the lantern's yellow glare touched momentarily on the sword that hung on the bulkhead. It seemed to bring the steel to life.

  Aloud he said, "All is not lost."

  He stared at the stern windows, but saw only his reflection against the darkness of the sea. Like a ghost, or the portraits on the walls at Falmouth.

  He felt suddenly calm, as if something had been resolved. It had so often been like this in the past when all that had stood between a victory and disaster had been the courage of individuals on either side or beneath different flags.

  He sat down again and took the unfinished letter from a drawer. It would be summer in Cornwall, the air full of farm noises, sheep and cattle, the bustle of bees. The scent of roses. Her roses...

  He touched the locket as he read the last lines of this lengthy letter. She might never see it.

  I have some unhappy news to tell you about Stephen Jenour...

  He wrote with great care, as if he were talking with her, or she were watching him at this table.

  I feel certain that we shall fight tomorrow. He looked up at the deck head as feet moved purposefully aft. The middle watch was about to begin. He smiled gravely and crossed out the last word and replaced it with today.

  He pictured his few captains lost out there in the darkness, each as different as one man could be from the others. Young Adam, who might be thinking of the girl who could never be his. Peter Dawes, the admiral's son, who thought a little too much of taking prizes and making certain that he was never found wanting when it came to a fight: a keen young officer, who was not hampered by either imagination or doubt. James Tyacke, totally alone and yet so much a part of all that had happened. And of course the senior captain, Aaron Trevenen, hostile, resentful and in matters of discipline, completely unbending.

  He heard some of the hands being dismissed to their messes. There would be little sleep for many of them.

  He thought too of Nelson and Avery's surprising comparison. Nelson had written a letter to his beloved Emma even as the combined enemy fleets had left port.

  He had ended it by saying, "I hope that I shall live to finish my letter after the battle."

  Bolitho folded the letter but did not seal it. I shall finish it later.

  EIGHTEEN

  The Most Dangerous Frenchman

  Lieutenant George Avery peered around the confines of his small, hutch-like cabin. Soon now, the cabin would be torn down and the various screens that partitioned many parts of the hull to offer a small privacy would follow to be stowed in the frigate's hold. Sea-chests, clothing, souvenirs, portraits of loved ones, all would be gathered into Valkyrie'?" belly. This was a ship of war, and it would be cleared from bow to stern so that every gun could work unhindered until the fight was won. The alternative was rarely considered.

  Avery dressed with care, knowing that Bolitho would expect it. His stomach had shied away from the thought of food, and the smell of grease from the galley funnel had been enough to make him retch. He looked at his face in the small mirror propped on his chest. He had shaved and put on a clean shirt and stockings. He watched the face smile back at him. The last rites. He never doubted that there would be a battle: Bolitho had convinced him.

  Avery had known other sea officers who had this gift, if it could be called that, but none like him. Avery, still unsure of himself with the vice-admiral, had thought he had gone too far when he had spoken of Nelson. If anything, Bolitho had seemed amused by his sincerity, as if he himself thought it absurd that he should be compared to his hero.

  He tugged out his watch, all that had survived from his father's possessions after Copenhagen, and held it beside the lantern. He would call the admiral. How quiet the ship was,

  and there was no light when he walked past the companion ladder that led to the quarterdeck.

  He heard Trevenen's harsh voice berating somebody up there. A man who had been unable to sleep like most of his crew. Avery smiled wryly. Like me.

  The ship's corporal was speaking with the marine sentry; both of them looked grim, Avery thought. The sentry would be receiving his orders. If battle was joined, he would prevent any man from running below to hide, on pain of death.
r />   The screen door opened and Allday came out carrying a jug of used shaving water.

  Avery stared at him. "Is Sir Richard about so soon?"

  Allday eyed him curiously and replied, "We thought you was goin' to lie abed till after the fight, sir!"

  Avery shook his head. The humour was more unnerving than the grim preparations all around him.

  It was very bright in the cabin, with several lanterns swinging from their brackets, and shutters across the stern windows to make it unusually private. He glanced at an eighteen-pounder, still tethered by its breeching rope and covered with canvas to make the cabin seem less war-like. Even this place would not be spared.