For My Country’s Freedom

7. Like a Troubled Sea

Richard Bolitho sat on the long leather bench seat at the foot of the tall stern windows and watched the sea heaving and breaking astern. The ship was no longer quivering to the squeak and rumble of gun trucks, and he guessed that Lieutenant Scarlett had decided to discontinue yet another drill and await better weather while the crews recovered their strength. Sail and gun drill: Tyacke had exercised all hands within a day of leaving Falmouth. He had seen Tyacke glancing at him, as though to know his opinion, whenever he had taken a walk on the quarterdeck, but Bolitho had left him to his own devices. It was difficult enough for him as it was, without interfering or making suggestions.

He felt the timbers bite into his shoulder as the ship plunged into another long trough, every stay and spar creaking to the pressure. It was late afternoon and the watch would be changing soon. He glanced at the unfinished letter on his table, and imagined her face when she opened it, whenever that might be. Unless they met with a friendly homebound vessel, the letter was likely to be put ashore in Antigua.

He massaged his forehead and pictured her as she had gone down the side in Falmouth, that time in a boatswain’s chair as he had insisted. They had cheered her again when she had been assisted into his barge, with Allday and Avery to see her safely ashore.

Only she had known the pain their parting had given him. Equally, she had realised that by coming aboard into his world, no matter how briefly, she had made such a difference for all the men who were sailing into the unknown. Six days out from Falmouth, and a thousand miles already logged. This night they would pass the Azores and cross the 40th parallel of latitude, south-by-south-west, and further still.

He stared at the sea again, shark-blue with long ranks of yellow-toothed breakers. Indomitable was taking it well, and smashed over every obstacle with a kind of arrogance he had rarely seen before. Many of the new hands, raw to the navy and its brutal indifference, had either been seasick or knocked senseless when the pitching deck caught them unawares and flung them against unyielding guns or stanchions. But they would learn; they had no choice. Bolitho had noticed that Tyacke was always on deck whenever drills were being carried out, or some violent change of tack sent the topmen swarming aloft, leaving the landmen and marines to man the braces and trim the great yards while the wind roared around them.

He had heard Scarlett call after a particularly hard exercise at the larboard battery, "Better that time, sir!"

And Tyacke’s blunt reply. "Not good enough, Mr Scarlett! It took twelve minutes to clear for action. I want it done in eight!"

Six days. How different from those times when he had been so eager to get to grips with the enemy, any enemy that their lordships dictated.

He thought suddenly of the moment when Indomitable had weathered the headland to find open water in the Channel. Catherine had said nothing of her plans, but he had known she was watching him. He had snatched a telescope from the rack and steadied it carefully while the ship had leaned over stiffly in the offshore wind.

Below the point, where the cliffs dropped to the rocks and the

tiny beaches were then covered by the tide. She had been there, her hair blowing unheeded in the wind, one hand holding Tamara’s bridle while she levelled a small glass on the slow-moving ship. She would have seen Indomitable come to life, sails being freed from every yard and sheeted home so that they bulged like steel breastplates. She would have seen it all, would have watched the spray leaping beneath the snarling lion while Indomitable carried her man away, beyond touch, each denied to the other. In her own way she had given an example to Tyacke’s watching sailors. Showing that she knew how they felt, and that she shared the same pain of separation.

Then the land had crept out, and Bolitho had handed the telescope to a staring midshipman.

He had seen the boy’s awe and had said quietly, "Aye, Mr Arlington, mark it well. The other price of war."

The midshipman had not understood. But it must have made a good tale in the gunroom. How the admiral had confided in him.

Ozzard tapped at the door and entered silently. "May I lay for supper at seven bells, sir?"

"Thank you. Yes." Crossing the first bridge. He would dine with both Tyacke and Avery tonight.

He glanced around the cabin. At least here were familiar furnishings, the mahogany sideboard and dining table, tugging occasionally at their lashings whenever the tiller head gave a particularly violent jerk. Kate’s fine wine-cooler; and beyond in the smaller sleeping compartment he could just see the two new dressing-chests and mirror Catherine had insisted on buying for him.

Ozzard stood in his usual stooped position, his hands held mole-like in his apron. He seemed ill at ease, but these days that was nothing new. As he had with Allday Bolitho had offered him his freedom to stay behind in safety at the house in Falmouth. But Ozzard had always refused, apparently determined to remain as his trusted servant for as long as he was needed. Not that he

liked the sea; he was openly terrified whenever they had been called to battle. It was as if he served not out of duty or straightforward loyalty, but as some kind of penance.

He heard the sentry shout, "Captain, sir!"

Tyacke entered, his lean body angled to the extreme slope of the deck.

"I hope I am not disturbing you, sir?"

Bolitho waved him to a chair. "Of course not. Is something wrong?"

Tyacke glanced around the cabin as if he were seeing it for the first time. "I can’t say for certain, sir."

Bolitho gave him time to assemble his thoughts. "You have been on deck for most of the day, James. Will you take a glass with me?"

Tyacke seemed about to refuse, then reconsidered and nodded. Perhaps the casual use of his Christian name had taken him by surprise.

"At noon, sir, when our young gentlemen were shooting the sun, one of them, Craigie, was skylarking. The master sent him aloft to mend his manners."

He took a glass of cognac from Ozzard and examined it thoughtfully. Bolitho watched him. Mastheading was a common enough punishment, used to curb a midshipman’s high spirits. He had endured it himself. For him it had been worse than for most, as he had always hated heights. The way Indomitable was leaning over on the starboard tack would be enough to teach anyone a lesson, but it was hardly something to concern the captain enough to bring him aft.

Tyacke looked at him and gave a slight smile. "I know, sir. We all went through it." The smile vanished. "Mr Craigie is not the brightest of stars, but he is blessed with good eyesight." He did not see, or seem to see, the flicker of emotion on Bolitho’s face. "There is a sail to the nor’-east, sir. When he told the officer-of-

the-watch a glass was sent aloft. It was a sail right enough." He lifted his goblet. "And the ship is still there. Maybe a trivial matter, but I thought you should know."

Bolitho rubbed his chin. "And on the same tack?"

"Never changes, sir."

"What d’you think, James?"

Tyacke seemed surprised that he should be asked. "Whoever it is might take us for a liner with our rig." He stroked the arm of his chair. "By God, he’d get a surprise if this lady turned on him!"

It was like hearing somebody else. The voice of pride. How Tyacke had spoken of his Larne.

"Could we catch him, d’you think?"

Bolitho watched Tyacke’s expression. Calculating, seeking conclusions. Strange that they had already given the unknown vessel a character of its own.

"I’ll need three days more, sir. Then, if the weather holds, we should be picking up the north-east trades. That’ll give us power to come about and catch him." He paused, almost hesitantly. "I know this is faster than any brig, sir, but I’ve done it with Larne when some crafty slaver tried to spy out our intentions."

Bolitho realised that it was the first time Tyacke had mentioned his last command since Indomitable had broken out his flag at the main. "What do you think of the people, James? Are they coming together as one company?"

Instead of answering, Tyacke stood up. "With your permission, sir?" Then he opened the big skylight, his hair ruffling in the sudden breeze. "They’re standing easy. I’ve worked them hard, day in day out since I took command in Plymouth. They may loathe me, fear me, I know not which, nor must I allow myself to care. Good men and scum side by side, gallows-bait and mothers’ boys." His mouth softened as he said, "Now, sir, you listen to them."

Bolitho joined him beneath the skylight and peered up at the straining mizzen topsail far above them.

They were singing. Men off-watch and idlers, resting on deck after a long hard day. It was one of Dibdin’s songs, sometimes used by shantymen when a ship was being hauled up to her anchor in readiness to weigh.

"This life is like a troubled sea- Wear helm or weather all a’lee, Wear helm or weather all a’lee, The ship will neither stay nor wear, But drive of every rock in fear, Of every rock in fear."

It was as though Catherine were here, as she had been in the longboat when she had urged Allday to sing to raise their spirits when all had seemed lost.

Tyacke was still watching him, his eyes very blue and steady. He said, "Your lady understood, sir." He closed the skylight and gave the lusty voices back to the sounds of sea and wind. "They will not let you down."

Bolitho touched the locket, which she had fastened around his neck before they had parted.

I shall take it from you when you come to me as my lover again…

He made up his mind. "So be it then, James. When the trades are good to us, we’ll go and snare that cunning fox and discover what he is about."

Tyacke picked up his hat. "I’ll see you at supper, sir. And thank you."

"For what?"

Tyacke shrugged. "Just-thank you, sir." Then he was gone.

Ozzard entered the cabin and glanced around without curiosity as Bolitho returned to the skylight and opened it.

They will not let you down.

"Nor I you." But the singing had stopped.

Captain Adam Bolitho strode through the dockyard, his hat tugged down on his forehead against the lively breeze from the Sound. He glanced past hurrying seamen and dockyard workers to the wall where Larne had been moored to complete her overhaul, and beyond to the glittering sea itself, now reflecting the afternoon sunlight like a million flashing mirrors.

From this place Indomitable had weighed anchor for Falmouth. In his heart he knew he had wanted to go aboard before she had made sail, to wish Tyacke good fortune, but convention had held him back. Although Tyacke was older than he, he was still very junior in rank.

He was also aware that Tyacke might have misconstrued his visit, or considered it patronising. It was better to leave him to find his own way, and make his own mistakes without critical eyes or well-meaning advice. Adam admired Tyacke greatly. Next to his uncle he had encountered no greater strength of character, nor higher courage in any man.

He half smiled. Bolitho must have had a quiet word with the port admiral on his behalf. Anemone had been desperately short-handed; after her battle with the privateers, death and mutilation had taken a heavy toll. But when she quit Plymouth this time, her company would be almost complete again. Bolitho must have asked for more men. Scum they might be; many would otherwise have been hanged or deported, but firm discipline and fair treatment would soon change that. The hard men who would never break, Adam would take on himself to train. They often proved to be the best sailors, especially those who had never known anything but poverty and oppression. He tightened his jaw. But if they did not respond to training and example he would change them in other ways.

He thought of his three lieutenants. All had seen action before, but only one had ever served in a frigate. To Adam the navy was divided down the middle. There were frigates, and then there were all the rest.

The warrant officers were experienced, prime seamen of quality. Again, he suspected his uncle had some hand in their acquisition. But he did not know any of them, as he had his other company. Perhaps it was better that way. He thought of friends he had seen fall in that last sea-fight, of the midshipman for whom he had had such hopes of early promotion. The youth had died in his arms, his eyes staring up at him until they became fixed and unmoving.

Yes, it was better not to become too close. He had seen his uncle’s grief too many times when those dear friends he called his Happy Few had been killed, one by one.

Catherine would be alone now, waiting and wondering, not daring to hope that it might be over quickly that his uncle might come home safely once again.

He would put into Falmouth and pay his respects to her before taking Anemone to join the new squadron in Antigua.

He had no doubt at all that there would be war. He had never forgotten the American captain, Nathan Beer, now a commodore of his own squadron. An impressive man, a dangerous adversary.

He saw the port admiral’s house with its tower and fine gilded weathervane. His would be a quick visit for the sake of courtesy only, although it might be difficult to escape the admiral, who was known for his bounteous hospitality to the young captains who passed through the dockyard.

A carriage was just arriving at the house, and two others were waiting nearby.

Adam frowned, trying to think of some excuse that would allow him to leave.

The carriage rolled to a halt, the horses stamping noisily on

the stones as a Royal Marine ran to open the door and lower the step. Something fell on the ground, and Adam picked it up.

"Excuse me, ma’am. You dropped this."

He stared past her at the severe-looking man who was regarding him as he would an intruder.

Zenoria looked straight into his eyes, only a pulse in her throat betraying her outward composure.

"Why, Captain Bolitho. This is a surprise."

Adam waited for the rebuff, fearing she would turn away. He offered his hand, but she rested hers on the marine’s white glove instead. "Did you know I would be here?"

He said, "I did not, I swear it."

She frowned slightly, as though warning him. "This is Mr Petrie, from London." She turned to the sharp-faced man. "May I introduce Captain Adam Bolitho, of His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Anemone."

The man attempted to smile. It obviously did not come easily to him.

Zenoria added, "He is a lawyer, Captain, and he is under instruction to complete the purchase of a suitable house for us here in Plymouth."

Her poise and her self-confidence impressed and surprised him, but when she turned from the others he recognised the pain in her eyes. The girl with the moonlit eyes, Bolitho had called her. He controlled his own emotion with an effort.

A harassed-looking lieutenant hurried down the steps. I see you have introduced one another…" He shook his head. "I am all aback today, ma’am. I should have remembered your husband is a great friend of Sir Richard Bolitho." He turned to Adam. "I was going to send word to your ship, Captain, inviting you to sup with the admiral. But there was no time-you see, sir."

"I understand. I was once a flag-lieutenant myself."

Relieved, the lieutenant led the way up the steps but hesitated

when he realised that Adam had not followed.

Adam said, "I am not certain. I mean no offence to your admiral after what he has done for my ship…" He looked at her again. No contempt, no resentment. But there was something. "I have no desire to intrude."

She said quickly, "For my part, there is no intrusion. Do come, Captain Bolitho. I hope to see Lady Catherine while I am in the West Country…" She hesitated, "Again."

Then they were in the large reception room, with its vast paintings of sea-battles and memorabilia in glass cases; a great house where admirals had lived for many years, which had never become a home. The port admiral, a small, energetic man with an old-fashioned queue, bounced to greet them. There were several other officers present, and a solitary scarlet-coated marine. Women too, with the uncomplaining faces of service wives.

The admiral took Zenoria’s arm and Adam heard him say, "I hear you’re buying Boscawen House, m’dear? A fine old place- the views are breathtaking. Hunting’s good around there too."

She replied, "Rear-Admiral Keen’s father suggested Mr Petrie should deal with the matter." She glanced at the solemn Petrie. "He knows more than I about such things."

The admiral nodded, his eyes running over her like an invisible hand. "Quite so, m’dear. A man of the City he would know. Not something to trouble your pretty head about."

She looked across the room until she found Adam, and her gaze seemed to say, Help me.

It was suddenly obvious to him. Like the house in Hampshire and the stifling kindness of Keen’s family, nobody had even asked her for her opinion.

The admiral was saying to the room at large, "I’ll be hauling down my flag next year-a quieter appointment for me at the Admiralty" He gave his short barking laugh. "I think Boscawen House would make the perfect residence for my successor, what?"

The others laughed and raised their glasses.

Adam saw her looking nervously around, imagining how it might be when Valentine Keen came home again. His father had made no secret of his resentment that Keen should prefer the hazardous life of the navy to power and success in the City Any more than he would want his grandson to follow Keen into the world of sea and ships.

Adam was surprised he had not heard some mention of this appointment. He glanced at her slight figure again. Like a little girl amongst all these people who knew and wanted no other life. Lost. Completely lost.

Suppose somebody knew or even suspected the truth? He strode to the admiral’s side, caution gone like the wind from a shot-riddled sail.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but may I show Rear-Admiral Keen’s wife the beautiful garden you have here?"

"So long as you behave yourself, m’lad! I know about young frigate captains!" His barking laugh followed them to the French windows that opened on to a wide terrace, which was decorated with large urns of plants.

As soon as it was possible to speak, Adam said, "I am so sorry about this, Zenoria-I really did not know you were here." She said nothing, and he continued more urgently, "My ship sails in three days. You have nothing to fear from me. I wronged you… I will never forget. I would never have harmed you, because…"

Her eyes were misty. He dared not think there might be kindness in them for him. "Because?" One word, so gently said.

"I have no right."

She put her hand on his sleeve. "We should walk, but remain in view of the house. I know from Lady Catherine’s experience how cruel are those who know nothing but envy."

They walked slowly by the wall, her gown touching the salt-roughened grass, his sword slapping against his thigh.

Then she asked abruptly, "Can you see me with all these clever, worldly people?" She turned to look up at him. "In truth, Adam, can you?"

He placed his hand over hers and they walked on. "You will captivate them, as you do me." He waited, expecting her to react angrily, reject him as she had in Hampshire, the last time he had seen her.

But she said, "When Val returns he will rightly expect me to be proud of his achievements, and I want to be equal to his expectations. I am proud of him, and I have never forgotten what I owe him."

He said, holding her hand against his arm, "And what about you, little mermaid, are you owed nothing? What if others care?"

She glanced up at him. "I know you care. Of course I know. I remember…"

"What do you remember?" She was faltering, pulling away.

"When I found you in tears, Adam, grieving for Sir Richard. And then…"

"I loved you, Zenoria. I shall always love you. I want no other."

She stared at him, her eyes frightened. "Stop! You must not say such things!"

They halted at the end of the wall and looked at one another for a long moment. An old gardener carrying a rake passed them; they neither saw nor heard him.

Adam said quietly, "I am not proud of what I am, Zenoria. But if I could take you from your husband, a man I like and greatly admire, then I would do it." He saw her agitation but did not release his grip. "I would not hesitate."

"Please, somebody is coming!"

It was the flag-lieutenant. "The admiral desires you to join the others for refreshments. Afterwards, there will be a recital." His eyes moved between them but were without curiosity.

Adam offered his arm and they walked slowly back towards the house.

"Shall I leave, Zenoria?"

She shook her head, her profile suddenly very determined. "No. Talk to me about your ship-anything, d’you understand? But do not reveal your heart again like that."

He said, "I still have your glove." Something to say, to control his need of her.

"Keep it for me." Her voice was husky. "Think of me sometimes, will you?"

"Always. I love you, Zenoria." They re-entered the house in silence.

The admiral raised his eyebrows. "God swamp you, Captain Bolitho, I thought you had spirited her away!"

She curtsied as if to conceal the colour in her cheeks.

"Only little mermaids can do that, sir!"

Their eyes met across the table. Nothing could ever be the same again.