For My Country’s Freedom

12. Witness

Lieutenant George Avery hesitated by the screen door and knew that the Royal Marine sentry was watching him with an unmov-ing stare. Above his head he could hear the muffled bark of orders, the sounds of men hurrying to their stations for the last change of tack before entering English Harbour.

He had been wondering what might be waiting for them here,

orders, or a new appraisal of American intentions, and the prospect of fresh fruit and the chance of stretching his legs on dry land had pleased him.

That had been before they had met with the convoy, and had received news of Anemone.

Against orders, the little brig Woodpecker had returned under cover of darkness to the scene of the battle, but had found nothing. The brig’s commander, Nicholas Eames, had come aboard Indomitable without delay to make his report.

Avery had known that Bolitho was tearing himself apart because of what had happened.

Eames had said, "Anemone came about and went into the attack, Sir Richard. No hesitation, no nothing-you’d have been proud of him!"

"I am." It was all he had said.

From what the brig’s commander had been able to tell them, there had been one main adversary, with perhaps other vessels in company.

"At first, Sir Richard, the gunfire was so heavy and fierce I imagined the enemy was a liner." He had looked at their faces, Tyacke, Scarlett and his admiral, and had added sadly, "But Anemone could have run rings around one of those beauties, so I knew it must be one of the new Yankee frigates."

No wreckage, or if there was, it had drifted fast away with the current. And then Eames had described the one small miracle. A survivor, one of the ship’s boys. More dead than alive, he had been hauled aboard Woodpecker. It was a wonder he had lived.

Avery glanced at the sentry.

The marine tapped the deck with his musket and called, "Flag-lieutenant, sir!"

The survivor had been transferred immediately to the flagship. As Eames had said, "My brig doesn’t have the space for a surgeon!"

Indomitable’s surgeon, Philip Beauclerk, had insisted that the youth be allowed to rest in order to recover from the nightmare he had endured. It was doubtful that one so young would ever completely get over it.

"Enter!"

Avery strode into the main cabin, his eyes taking in Bolitho’s breakfast tray, scarcely touched, a half-finished letter on his table, an empty glass nearby.

"Captain Tyacke’s respects, Sir Richard, and we shall be entering harbour within two hours."

"I see. Is that all?"

Then Bolitho stood up abruptly and said, "That was uncalled for. I apologise. Abusing you when you cannot answer back is unforgivable."

Avery was moved by the intensity of his words. He seemed to speak with his whole body, as if he could not bear to be still.

Bolitho said, "Two hours? Very well. I must speak to this youth. Send Allday-he has a way with youngsters. I have noticed that." He rubbed his chin, the skin smoothly shaved. "I have no cause to treat him badly, either. The finest of men, a true friend."

Ozzard appeared with fresh coffee and said, "I shall tell him, Sir Richard."

Bolitho slumped down again and pulled at his shirt as if it was choking him.

"My little crew. What am I without them?"

He began to slip out of his coat but Avery said, "No, sir. With respect, I think this may be important to the lad. Your rank will not frighten him. He has had enough terror, I imagine."

Bolitho said, "You are all surprises, George. Did I choose you, or was it the other way round?"

Avery watched his despair. Needing to help, but unable to ease the way. "I believe Lady Catherine decided for both of us, sir."

He saw Bolitho glance quickly at the unfinished letter, and

knew he had not yet been able to bring himself to tell her.

Outside the door Allday and the round-shouldered secretary Yovell stared down at the boy who had been snatched from the sea. From death. He was freshly clothed in a chequered shirt and white trousers, the smallest the purser’s store could produce.

The boy was very slight, with frightened brown eyes and wood-splinter scars, which had been cleaned by the sickbay.

Allday said sternly, "Now, listen to me, my lad. I’ll not be saying anything twice. You feel a bit sorry for yourself just now, and that ain’t too surprising."

The boy watched him, as a rabbit would stare at a fox. "What do they want of me, sir?"

"In this cabin is the finest admiral England’s ever had, though precious few says as much! He wants to ask you about what happened. You just tell him, son. As if he was your father."

He saw Yovell sigh as the boy began to sob.

"Me father’s drowned, sir."

Allday glared at Yovell. "This is no damned good, is it?"

Yovell put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. "Come with me." He sounded quite severe, which was almost unknown with him.

"Answer the questions," Allday said. "Tell it just as it was. It’s important to him, see?"

Ozzard, watching from the door, studied the small figure without expression. To Yovell he said, "You should have been a school teacher!"

Yovell smiled benignly. "I was. That, and other pursuits."

Avery waited for the others to leave and murmured to Allday, "That was well done." To the boy he said gently, "Sit here."

Bolitho made himself remain very still as the boy sat on a chair directly opposite his table. He looked terrified, barely able to drag his eyes from the gold epaulettes, and obviously overwhelmed by the vastness of an admiral’s quarters when compared with a frigate’s crowded messdeck.

"What is your name?"

"Whitmarsh, sir." He hesitated. "John Whitmarsh."

"And how old are you, John?"

The boy gaped at him, but his hands had stopped shaking, and his dark eyes were like saucers at being addressed by the admiral.

"Twelve, I think, sir." He screwed up his face in an effort to concentrate. "I bin in Anemone for eighteen months."

Bolitho glanced at the piece of paper Yovell had copied out for him.

"And you lost your father?"

"Aye, sir." He lifted his chin as if with pride at his memory. "He were a fisherman and got drowned off the Goodwins." Now he had started he could not stop. "My uncle took me to Plymouth and volunteered me for Anemone, they was recruiting, see." He hesitated nervously. "Sir."

Avery recognised the pain in Bolitho’s grey eyes. The boy must have been only about ten when his uncle put him in a King’s ship, if uncle he was. It was too common a story these days. Women left to fend for themselves, their men killed in battle or too badly wounded to return home. Or drowned, like this lad’s father. This boy had proved an obstacle to someone, and had therefore been removed.

Bolitho said, "Tell me about the battle. Where were you, what were you doing? Try to remember."

Again he screwed up his eyes. "We sighted the enemy when the watches changed. I heard old Mr Daniel the gunner say she were a big Yankee. There was another too, a little one, but the masthead couldn’t make her out ’cause of the sea mist. Me an’ my friend Billy was at the foremast, sir. The ship was that short of hands that even we was needed at the braces."

Bolitho asked quietly, "How old was your friend?"

"Same as me. We come aboard together."

"I see." It was clear to him now, as the Woodpeckers commander had described. Adam had believed he must hold off the enemy until it was dark enough for the merchantmen to escape, knowing that, by then, it would be too late for Anemone. He said, "So your ship came about to engage?" He saw the boy nod, his eyes clouding with memories. "Did you see your captain while all this was happening?"

"Oh yes, sir. He was always about. I went aft with a message an’ I heard him tell the first lieutenant to keep the marines hidden and not to rig the nets in case the Yankee guessed what we was doin’." Then he smiled; it was the nicest thing which had happened. He said, "Our captain was scared o’ nuthin!"

"Go on."

The boy opened and closed his tar-stained fingers. "Then the firin’ started, sir. We got the first shots off, but the big Yankee found the range and we was hit again an’ again! Spars an’ riggin’ was fallin’ all around, and men was dyin’, callin’ out-there was blood in th’ scuppers like I’ve never seen!"

Voices called overhead and bare feet thudded across the planking. Indomitable was changing tack, making for the harbour. But to this boy, it was like the battle being refought.

"The foremast was shot away, an’ the whole of the forecastle was covered in riggin’ and sails fallin’ on us like somethin’ terrible!" He turned and looked at Avery for the first time. "We couldn’t move, sir. Men was fightin’ to get out, others went over the side, caught like they was in a net. I was held fast. I tried, I tried…"

Bolitho held up his hand as Avery began to move forward. "Did you see the captain?"

"When he fell, sir." He repeated in a small voice, broken by sobs, "When he fell."

Bolitho waited, his muscles bunched like fists. Adam had fallen. And only this boy had survived to describe it.

He stared at him blindly as he continued, "Then the other ship was hard alongside, sir, the enemy was tramplin’ aboard. But our flag had been cut down. We was finished."

"You are doing very well." Bolitho glanced despairingly at the flag-lieutenant. "Did anyone help the captain?"

The boy nodded. "They carried him to the other ship." He nodded again. "I seen ’em." He looked at Bolitho, remembering where he was, what he was doing. "Then there was an explosion. We started to sink."

Bolitho stood up and walked to the stern windows. An explosion, after the colours had been cut down. Somebody unknown, acting as Adam would have done rather than surrender his beloved Anemone.

"I can’t remember much after that, sir. I called out, but nobody came. There was dead men all around, and even wounded who never reached the upper deck. I held on to Billy, an’ together we floated off with some spars when the ship went under."

Then the tears came and did not stop. He managed to gasp, "But Billy didn’t answer me. He just drifted away. I think he’d been dead all the time!"

Bolitho said abruptly, "Take him down to the sickbay and see that he gets a good meal before we anchor."

Then he changed his mind, and found himself crossing the cabin to the chair, pulling out one of the handkerchiefs Catherine had bought for him. He gave it to the boy.

Avery watched. It was like being under a spell, and he could not speak or interrupt.

Bolitho said, so softly that the boy had to stop his tears to listen, "Your captain is my nephew. He is very dear to me, as you were to your father. It does not bring back friends, but if it is any help, what you have told me has given me hope. Do you understand?"

He nodded, his streaming eyes never leaving Bolitho’s face.

Allday padded in silently and shook his head. When the boy looked up at him he said, "Well, let me tell you, matey, no admiral ever spoke to me like that, an’ that’s no error!" He seized him by the top of his shirt and added, "We’ll go an’ take a look at the pantry, eh?"

As the door closed, and Ozzard re-entered with two glasses on a tray, Bolitho sat down on the bench seat as if the deck had been cut from under him.

"That man really is a marvel!"

"I agree, sir." To himself Avery added, And so, as it happens, are you.

Bolitho drank from the glass without tasting it. "We shall go on deck, George. It is a sight I never tire of."

Avery asked carefully, "Where you met Lady Catherine, sir?"

Bolitho looked at him, the life, like hope, returning to his eyes. "Where I found her, when I thought I had lost her for ever."

Then he said over his shoulder, "I am not a fool. I know the odds as well as you do. But he was alive, right?"

Avery followed him up to the bright sunshine. Do not hope too much. He thought suddenly of Catherine and the endearment he had once overheard. Dearest of men.

It was all true. He had just seen him bring a twelve-year-old boy back from the dead. As a man.

Later, with the ship anchored and surrounded by lighters and dockyard boats, Avery sat propped in his hutch-like cabin while he sorted the despatches into coherent order. The courier brig had not only brought important intelligence for the admiral, but also some mail which seemed to have gone around the world before reaching its proper destination.

There was a tap at the door and Avery opened it with one foot without getting up. It was Allday.

He said, "Begging your pardon, Mr Avery, but I got a letter." He held it out, his face baffled and worried.

"Sit down. On that chest, if you like."

"You don’t mind, sir? But I knows you’ve been busy, what with young Captain Adam and everything."

"Of course not." He rather enjoyed it. It was as if he was getting a letter of his own. If there had been someone who cared enough to write.

He said, "Pour yourself a drink," and slit open the envelope. It was badly stained. Probably the vessel which had been carrying it had been damaged in the Atlantic gales, the mail transferred to another.

He could see her now. My dear John, it seems so long since I heard…

Allday waited, perched on the edge of the brass-bound chest. "What is it, sir? Is something wrong? Tell me, please!"

Avery leaned over and poured a glass of brandy.

He said, "Congratulations, John Allday."

Allday was frowning. "What’s happened?"

Avery held out the letter and pushed the glass towards him.

"You’ve become a father, that is what’s happened, man!"

Allday stared blindly at her round handwriting. "A baby! She’s had a baby."

Avery smiled. "You stay here and enjoy your wet. I’ll lay aft to the admiral. I think this news is just what he needs."

"But-but…" Allday waved the letter after him. "Boy or girl, sir?"

Avery thought of Lady Catherine clambering up Indomitable’s side while the sailors had cheered.

He replied simply, "A little girl. Your wife wants to call her Kate."

The door closed and then Allday did pick up the brandy.

"Well, I’ll be damned!" He grinned at the cabin. "Well, I’ll be double-damned!"

Bolitho looked up from his table as Tyacke entered the cabin, his hat tucked beneath his arm.

"With your permission, I’d like to weigh before noon. Mr York insists the wind is about to veer and freshen, although for the life of me I don’t know how he can tell."

Bolitho said, "I think we shall have to be guided, James. I have no wish to linger here in Antigua."

Three days since their return, and still no word of Anemones final moments, apart from the description offered by the boy John Whitmarsh. Anemone’s company had been taken prisoner, but there had been no official confirmation. Three days, and he had thought of little else save Adam’s fate. If badly wounded, then how badly? If he had survived, would he be exchanged for an American prisoner, if any of equal rank had been taken?

He watched Yovell’s pen scratching out the final copy of his orders to the captains of his over-stretched squadron.

He had sent off a plea to the Admiralty for another frigate to replace Anemone. He suspected there was little chance of getting one. He could almost hear his own words when he had spoken his thoughts aloud to the assembled powers there. The end of the fixed line of battle, the coming of age of a faster, more powerful frigate.

Commodore Nathan Beer-and in his heart Bolitho had never doubted it was Unity which had been after the Jamaica convoy- had more than proved that. How many more did the Americans have, or intend to build? Apart from Valkyrie and Indomitable, he had nothing that could stand against them. Determination and skilled seamanship had always been expected to succeed against odds, but the Americans’ massive firepower and impressive gunnery had already scattered several local convoys. It had put the Leeward Squadron on the defensive. No war could be won while their strength was divided by fruitless searches and hazy intelligence.

The Americans were obviously intent on attacking Canada, just as the British were determined to increase their military strength by every means available. The Admiralty had sent lists of possible routes and times of arrival of military convoys, all of which would eventually make their landfalls at Halifax. The Americans would know as much of these movements as the British: such activity was impossible to conceal.

It was also known that the Americans were mustering smaller men-of-war for use on the Great Lakes. To find them would be like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack. Bolitho had used Zest and Reaper to strengthen Dawes’ flotilla out of Halifax. Apart from the local patrols, mostly brigs and commandeered schooners, that left only Indomitable and the 26-gun frigate Attacker to liaise with the convoy escorts from Jamaica. These convoys had already been reduced to two a month because of the very real threat from the Americans, who had nothing to protect, and to whom every ship was a possible target and prize.

In a moment of frustration and anger Bolitho had exclaimed to Tyacke, "Our Nel was right, James! The best form of defence is attack. So let us find their lair and go for them, and to hell with the risk!"

Tyacke could see the logic of it. If they had to divide their small squadron after each enemy sortie, they would soon be too weak to offer any protection at all.

A week before the attack on Anemone they had stopped and questioned a Brazilian trader. Her master had reported sighting a force of American men-of-war, two large frigates and two other smaller vessels, steering south, possibly from Philadelphia. Fearing for his own safety the Brazilian had gone about to retrace his course to the Bermudas.

Two large frigates: could one of them have been the Unity? And if so, where were the others?

Bolitho said, "I am poor company today, James."

Tyacke regarded him impassively. "Suppose-I mean, just suppose.. ." His fingers played with the tarnished buttons of his faded seagoing coat.

Bolitho said sharply, "You have more experience of lonely command than any man I know. Speak out-this is the time."

Tyacke walked to the stern windows and watched a cutter being warped around the stern, ready to be hoisted aboard. In harbour it was usual to lower all boats, otherwise their seams opened in the relentless heat. At sea, it was sensible to keep them partly filled with water for the same reason.

"Everyone knows about us, sir, more especially about you. With Captain Bolitho taken prisoner, and many of his people, wouldn’t it seem obvious to the enemy that you would take some action? Direct action?"

Bolitho shrugged. "It is what I would like."

Tyacke rubbed his chin. "And they will expect it. With Indomitable gone, what chance would our ships stand?"

Bolitho stared at him. "You mean that this ship will be marked down as the next victim?" He saw it suddenly, his mind clearing. "That is good sense!" He stood up and leaned over the chart. Yovell continued to write without a pause, except to dip his nib.

"The Bermudas, a likely area for the Americans to gather. No English men-of-war there, they rely on their garrison and the reef."

Tyacke glanced at the chart curiously. "Why none of our ships, sir?"

"There is no water there. None. Apart from the seasonal rainfall they have to conserve it as best they can."

Tyacke gave a reluctant smile. "That I didn’t know, sir." It was as close to admiration as he could come.

"Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I am presuming too much, to base our strategy on the word of a sailing-master who sells fruit for a living!"

He tapped Yovell’s plump shoulder. "I want to send fresh instructions to Captain Dawes in Valkyrie. They can go in the schooner Reynard when she leaves."

Tyacke saw the animation and eagerness returning to his tanned features. "We shall muster a convoy, and the world shall know about it, and Indomitable shall sail to meet it."

"It is not for me to say, but…"

"But? That word again? And it is for you to say what you think. You are my flag-captain, and we must share our views."

Tyacke watched him warily. "Views, yes, and I am proud of that trust. But the responsibility lies with you."

"Don’t stop, James. Responsibility is something I am used to."

Tyacke said, "Then speak my mind I will, sir." He stabbed the chart with his finger. "Here, Halifax." His finger moved down the coastline. "Boston, New York, and right here, Philadelphia. If I was the Yankee commander this is exactly the area I would choose, with Philadelphia to run to for repairs or protection if things went wrong." He raised his eyes to Bolitho. "But suppose, in a manner of speaking, Captain Dawes in his big frigate decided not to act on your instructions without question? If a convoy of soldiers was the real target, and he left it without an escort for the final approach, he might feel that his head was the one on the block, not yours."

"He is a resourceful captain, James, but you know that."

Tyacke responded bluntly, "He is also ambitious, and the son of an admiral. The two together are dangerous bedfellows."

"That was outspoken." He smiled to soften it. "I like that. But Dawes is acting second-in-command. I have to rely on him." He paused. "I have no choice, nor do I have justification to believe otherwise."

Tyacke looked round sharply as the sentry announced the arrival of the first lieutenant.

"Yes, Mr Scarlett? Cannot it wait?"

Scarlett answered hesitantly, "The last fresh water is inboard, sir." He glanced at Bolitho. "I am sorry for the intrusion, Sir Richard."

As the door closed Tyacke snapped, "I apologise, Sir Richard. I shall have a gentle word with that one!"

He calmed himself. "Then I shall see that your despatches are put aboard the schooner."

Indomitable swung lightly to her cable. Perhaps York’s prediction was already making itself felt. A shaft of strong sunlight probed through the quarter windows and Tyacke saw Bolitho flinch from it and turn away.

"Can I help, sir?"

Bolitho sat down and pulled out a handkerchief, reminding Tyacke poignantly of the one he had given to the boy. Tyacke turned the chair for him, so that he faced away from the glare.

Bolitho said quietly, "You know, don’t you? Have known ever since you took command as my flag-captain."

Tyacke met his gaze, equally unflinching. "Don’t blame Avery, sir. He thought he was doing the right thing."

"For me?"

"And the ship." He turned aside, as if suddenly conscious of his terrible scars. "If you will excuse me, sir, I have much to do."

Bolitho followed him and stopped him by the screen door.

"Do you regret it? Tell me the truth."

"Well, I didn’t do it out of pity, sir." Surprisingly, he grinned. "Regret it? I’ll speak my mind when we run that damned Yankee to earth!" He was still smiling as he shut the door behind him.

Bolitho touched his eye and waited for the pain, but there was none. He sat again, deeply moved by Tyacke’s words, the very strength of his concern. A truly remarkable man.

That night while Indomitable thrust her heavy bows into open sea, Bolitho awoke with that same dream still fixed in his mind.

Carrick Roads and Pendennis Castle, the ships as clear and familiar as ever. Each one taking in her cable. Where bound? Who manned these phantom ships? There was an additional vessel this time, with the gilded figurehead he knew so well. Daughter of the Wind. And when she swung to her cable, he saw that it was Zenoria. Even then, as he fought his way out of the dream, he heard her last scream.

"All right, Sir Richard?" It was Allday, his powerful frame leaning over with the ship.

Bolitho held on to the cot as his feet touched the deck.

"Tell me something, old friend. Do you think he is still alive?"

Allday padded after him to the stern windows. The moon was making a ragged silver path on the lively crests. So that was what troubled him, he thought, as much or more than ever. All this time, with officials and officers coming and going with their offers or demands-mostly the latter, no doubt-planning what he should do, placing his ships where they would make the most difference, he had been fretting about Captain Adam. His nephew, but more of a son, a friend, than anyone else really knew.

Then he walked to the sword-rack, and waited for the moonlight to touch the old blade he had proudly buckled or clipped into place before so many fights, so many deeds, which he had shared.

"When we’re gone, Sir Richard…" He knew Bolitho was watching him in the eerie light, "An’ we can’t live for ever, nor have I a mind to… this old blade will be his. Must be."

He heard him say quietly, his voice suddenly calm again, "Aye, old friend. The last of the Bolithos."

Allday watched him climb into his cot. He seemed to fall asleep instantly.

Allday smiled. The squall was over; the storm still to come.