Heart of Oak

10. Under Two Flags

Midshipman David Napier climbed steadily up the foremast ratlines, his hands and feet working in unison, the deck already far below him. He felt the sun on his neck and shoulders as the foretop loomed over him, and he arched his back to swing out and around it. He could still remember all those first attempts, when he had scrambled up the shrouds with the other boys and midshipmen. The sailor's way, around the futtock shrouds, all toes and fingers like a monkey. It still made him hold his breath until he was up and reaching for the next challenge.

The deck was angled beneath him, less crowded, only the duty watch standing by the braces and trimming the freshly set courses.

The first lieutenant had told him to join the masthead lookout. "And don't drop that glass, or you need not come down again!"

To break the tension, perhaps in the only way he knew.

The grating had been lowered, and two men were scrubbing it clean. The prisoner who had been flogged had already vanished below.

Napier had heard a marine say in an undertone, "His lucky day, I reckon."

He gripped the barricade of the foretop and stared across the blue water. The land appeared sharper now, with shadows marking inlets, and the harder wedge of headland beyond.

And he saw the Nautilus, apparently have to, sails loose and aback, poised above her own shadow.

He recalled hearing the third lieutenant, Monteith, remark, "This is where we part company, and good riddance!"

He took a deep breath and pulled himself on to the next stretch of ratlines. Don't look down. Don't count every step. It helped expunge the sound of the lash from his memory. The gasps of agony. He had witnessed floggings before, had sensed the hostility of those around him. Us and them. And it was still there: he had just passed a seaman coiling some halliards. The man had deliberately looked away.

He felt his ankle twist, his foot jerk sharply from the ratline.

He had almost forgotten the pain, the numbing shock that seemed to burn into his leg like fire, or the surgeon's knife.

His shirt was plastered to his back. Sweat, fear. Some one called out, but he could not speak or breathe.

"You all right down there? "Then again, more sharply, "Don't move! Don't even blink! I'm coming!"

He lost track of time; maybe he had fainted. He was lying on his back with some one kneeling beside him. Naked to the waist, skin tanned like leather: one of the topmen. He could see the heavy scabbard at his belt, the sort favoured by professional seamen for knife and marline spike. He felt him gripping his breeches, the cloth tearing like paper.

"Jesus! What did this to you?"

He had turned slightly, and Napier saw his face, young and open, in his twenties; he had been in the navy since he was twelve. Napier struggled to sit up, to clear his throat.

"Tucker. I thought for a minute.

"That's me. "He had his arm around his shoulders. "I'll fetch help."

Napier shook his head. "Not yet, David. I have to look at something. "It was like a fog lifting from his mind. They had first met when Tucker had asked him if he would read a letter he had received, as he could neither read nor write, and they had discovered they shared the same Christian name. Little enough, but it had been a bridge between the us and them.

Napier had written two or three letters for him after that, and in exchange Tucker had taught him the finer points of ropework and splicing. But most of all, they had talked. Tucker was an orphan, and had been signed into the navy by a relative of some kind. The easy escape. Something else they shared.

He was on his feet, gripping Tucker's arm, swaying with him like two drunks after a run ashore.

He said, "I must use the glass. Now, before it happens again!"

Tucker watched him doubtfully. "If you say so. Sir."

He glanced down to the foretop again: the other seaman had gone. He looked back at Tucker, who was unfastening the telescope. Would it have made a difference? Tucker said, "Fine piece of work, "and rolled it expertly in strong fingers. "What's this writing say? "and when Napier told him, "God Almighty, the same name as the Captain!"

"It belonged to his uncle. Did you know him?"

Tucker smiled, but there was sadness in it.

"Who didn't?"

Napier steadied himself against the barricade. "The Frenchman fired a signal, have to for a rendezvous. We're standing by in case of any local disputes. "He sucked in his breath; the pain was coming again. "That was how it was explained to us."

"Never thought I'd be asked to worry about them! A broadside's always done the talking before! "He crooked his elbow to train and steady the telescope like a musket: a true seaman. "There's Nautilus. No extra canvas set. "He shifted the glass. "And there's another sail, fine off the headland. "He did not take his eyes from it. "Is that what you saw, before you fell?"

Napier nodded, mind still grappling with it, as if it were a badly finished painting.

Tucker murmured, "Got you, my beauty! "Then, "She's a schooner. French colours. Some sort of signal hoisted."

Napier took the weight on his leg once more. No pain now, but he knew it was weeping, like the first time he had walked without a crutch. He could hear the surgeon's warning: he'll always have a limp. He had beaten that, too…

"You can report to the quarterdeck… sir. It'll be hours before they get close enough to talk. The schooner's not under full sail, and the boat she's towing will slow her down even more. "He closed the telescope with a snap. "SailorsЦ I've…" He did not finish. "They need more sail. Soon as the wind dropped, they should have done it. "He stared across the water, the telescope held loosely at his side. "I've spouted more than enough!"

Napier sensed his uncertainty, felt it, like a barrier.

"What is it? It might be important."

Tucker looked down at the torn breeches, flapping open in the warm breeze.

"Here, let me fix that before you present yourself to the gold lace, eh?"

But he was gripping the telescope again, his fingers running over the engraving.

"It was a while back, four, maybe five years. I was with the prize crew in a schoonerЦ she was a Frog, too. Lively little craft after a two-decker of eighty guns. But she needed all hands when the call came to make or shorten sail. "He unslung the glass and offered it abruptly, perhaps before he could change his mind. "This schooner don't seem to be carrying enough men to do the job."

Napier moved to the barricade and peered down at the deck, and the forecastle where he had listened and learned from Lieutenant Squire and felt the rough camaraderie of the men around him.

He heard Tucker call after him, "Watch that leg o "yours!"

And then, "They might not believe you!"

Napier turned stiffly and peered up at him. There was still no pain.

7believe you, David! "He lowered himself on to the ratlines, which seemed to be vibrating, shivering in his hands. Like the sudden mutter of canvas. A note of urgency.

He swung himself through the shrouds and felt the deck beneath his feet. He could not believe he had moved so fast.

"Have you been relieved? I did not hear any such order!"

It was Monteith, still wearing the sword and coat he had donned to witness punishment.

"I have to see the captain, sir."

"Do you, indeed? By whose authority? "He was looking at the torn breeches, even smiling, as he rocked back on his heels.

"And you hope to become a King's officer!"

A shadow had loomed between them. Murray, the surgeon.

"I'm going aft, Mr. Napier. "But he was looking at the lieutenant. "We shall see the captain together. "He watched as Napier released his grip on the rigging, then added quietly, "And after that, you and I will have a little talk. That is an order."

Monteith glared as some seamen paused to watch or listen.

"I would have dealt with it!"

Murray put his hand under the midshipman's arm. "I am glad to know it, Hector. And by whose authority?"

Napier could sense the animosity between them, but it meant nothing to him. He hesitated and turned to look up at the masthead, the long pendant whipping out and holding the wind. Suppose… He tried again. The topman named Tucker, another David, who had served aboard a schooner. A prize taken from the enemy… It was not making sense.

He stumbled, but some one else had taken his other arm.

"Easy, my son! "It was Jago.

"Where to? "Another voice.

"Cap'n's quarters. It'll save time. "A chair had come from somewhere. "Make things a bit easier as well."

It was quieter now, and airless. Some one propping him up, another tugging away the torn breeches. A scarlet tunic moving to close a door, some one moistening his parched mouth.

"Nice and easy, David. You're going to be all right. Be sure of that."

Napier opened his eyes and stared into his face. The captain.

Another voice in the background. The surgeon.

But the captain said, "Just now, David, you spoke of a ship.

A schooner. "He felt the hand on his bare shoulder. Like that other time. His leg…

"Tell us what you saw. "The hand moved slightly. "Tell me."

Lieutenant Vincent strode across the quarterdeck and touched his hat.

"No change, sir. The schooner's holding the same course.

No extra sails set. "He breathed deeply. It had been a long time since he had climbed to the masthead and down again, with so many eyes judging his progress.

He looked up, eyes slitted against the glare. "Wind's serving us well enough at present."

Adam glanced along the deck, at men off watch who would otherwise have been in their messes, in groups or wandering beneath the taut canvas and the criss-cross of rigging. All waiting.

And the familiar figures, aft by the compass and wheel. The master and his mates, Midshipman Deacon with the signals party.

He said abruptly, "Did you speak with Tucker?"

"A good hand, sir. He recognized the schooner's mood, something many would have missed."

Adam looked up at the masthead pendant.

"Send for the gunner. Time is running out."

Vincent hesitated. "But Nautilus is making the rendezvous, sir. And she could outshoot and outsail that schooner, even if it were some kind of trick! "He looked away, then back. "Mr.

Maddock is standing by."

Adam faced him. "The rendezvous is supposed to be at Aboubakr, not at sea, in open water. And yes, Nautilus can outshoot and outsail that schoonerЦ she'd be a challenge even for us, if it came to that…" He broke off. And if I am wrong? He could see the doubt on Vincent's face.

"You wanted me, sir?"

Onward's gunner held his head slightly to one side as if he were afraid of missing something; he was almost deaf in one ear as the result of his trade, although few would have guessed it. Short and squarely built, he had the brightest pair of eyes Adam had ever seen in any long-serving sailor.

"The schooner that lies ahead is making for Nautilus. I believe she intends mischief of the worst kind. If the wind holds, and with your help, I will stop it."

Maddock was nodding, his mind already busy. "Bow chasers, sir?"

Adam shook his head. Like stamping a seal on my own court martial.

"No. We will begin as soon as we are within range. You will lay and fire each gun yourself, understood? "He turned to Vincent. There was no time left for argument. "In a moment you will clear for action. Have the hands piped to quarters, no drums or show of force. They'll know soon enough. "Their eyes met. "This is what I intend."

Luke Jago nodded to the Royal Marine sentry and walked past the screen door and into the great cabin. All these months, years even, and he still expected some one to dispute his right of entry. The coxswain's privilege. Some tried, but they only did it once.

There seemed to be people on deck everywhere, unwilling to go to their messes, when usually one watch would be below, washing down the noon meal with a healthy wet or even a mug of the sour red wine called Black Strap. He could feel the tension like something solid. A fight was one thing, but…

He, at least, knew what was coming.

Morgan, the cabin servant, stood with his hands on his ample hips and exclaimed, "What say you, Luke? Fit for a post captain, isn't it?"

The midshipman was standing by the broad stern windows, wearing a pair of seaman's trousers and a clean shirt.

Morgan added, "Those breeks would almost fit me, but he can rest easy until this lot's over and done with!"

Napier bent his knee and balanced on one leg. He smiled and said, "I'm all right!"

Jago breathed out. When he had seen the boy being brought aft, half carried, his face like chalk beneath its sunburn, he had thought the worst.

He glanced past him into the glare on the empty sea astern.

It was unreal. Eerie, Prior the captain's clerk had described it.

It was a new term to Jago, but it suited.

Onward was holding her course toward the two small shapes on the horizon, one motionless and the other barely moving.

Except that they were closer now, the schooner on the starboard bow. As if they might eventually collide. He scowled. If they ever reached that far before the wind dropped completely.

It was five hours since the prisoner Dimmock had been released from the grating, and taken moaning below. Since Napier had climbed aloft with the captain's telescope and collapsed. He had seen that cruel wound again when they had stripped him here: as bad as that first time when a few had turned away, and shaken their heads.

Five hours. They could have sailed from Plymouth to Falmouth Bay in that time.

Morgan looked in the direction of his pantry. "If you want something, Luke, have it now. "He made a mock bow. "No charge! "Then the mood changed. "They just gave the word to douse the galley stove. You know what that means."

Jago pushed the thought aside and said roughly, "When all this is over, you can get some new middy's breeches made up here on board, right?"

"Indeed, yes. Jeff Lloyd, "grinning, "another Welshman, see?"

"Him that patched up one of the Cap'n's coats? He was well pleased."

Morgan winked. "He's a craftsman right enough. Did some work for our late and lamented Captain Richmond, God rest his soul. "He looked toward the screen door as if he were listening. "Jeff Lloyd's good, right enough. But don't trust him with yourЦ"

There was a rap at the door.

"Ship's corporal, sir!"

The man peered around the door, his eyes everywhere but on the occupants. Like most visitors to this sanctuary.

"Hands to quarters, sir, "he said to Napier. There was a bloodstain on his jacket; he had helped cut the prisoner from the gratings.

The door closed, and Morgan said softly, "So, now we know."

Jago looked over at the midshipman. "Ready? "He heard the thump of feet, some running, and the muffled scrape of screens being lowered. They would be here soon, and this would be a cabin no more, but a part of the ship. This silent clearing for action, without the urgent rattle of drums and the shrill of calls deck to deck, somehow seemed more threatening.

Napier stood by the long, high-backed bergere, and touched its worn leather for a few more seconds. lay here.

He lifted his chin.

"Aye, ready!"

Adam Bolitho climbed on to the nettings and trained his telescope across the tightly packed hammocks; even through his sleeve, they felt hot in the strong sunlight. Behind him, the ship was quiet again, as if it had been only another drill or exercise. Waiting for a verdict, before being dismissed.

He gripped the telescope, so familiar to his hand now, like an old friend. He could sense Vincent standing nearby, had felt his disapproval when he had been told to clear for action.

Perhaps they all shared his doubts about their captain's judgment.

He took a deep breath, focusing it, and saw the schooner spring to life in the powerful lens. Scarred paint, and the patches which were different shades of canvas in her sails, hard-worked like the vessel herself. He blinked, waiting for the image to steady once more. There were some figures in a group, almost midships. And one in uniform further aft near a small deckhouse or companion. Probably the schooner's helm.

Her colours were vivid against the sky, but the signal, whatever it was, had been hauled down.

Vincent said, "Maybe they'll lower a boat, sir. They can hail each other, if she stays on course."

Adam lowered the glass. He had seen the boat towing from the schooner. Some kind of galley, probably a local craft. He had seen plenty of them at Algiers. It was closer to the schooner than before. Under her quarter…

The thought was like a hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

The boat was not a threat. It was a means of escape.

He raised the telescope again. They are watching us right now.

"Bring her up two points to larboard. "He dropped to the deck as the order was repeated, and the big double wheel began to respond. He stared forward, seeing the faces at each gun peering aft, and Maddock standing just inboard of the first eighteen-pounder. He was ready, no matter what he might be thinking.

"Nor "east by east, sir."

Adam watched the schooner slowly change her bearing as Onward responded to the rudder. His mind told him it was July an's voice. Taking no chances.

'open the ports! "He was at the quarterdeck rail but did not recall moving. There was no turning back. My decision.

"Runout!"

Maddock's drills had not been in vain. Along Onward''s starboard side, the eighteen-pounders thudded against their ports. Showing her teeth…

Maddock was staring aft, one hand raised against the pitiless glare, the other on the shoulder of his senior gun captain.

Adam watched the schooner, almost abeam now as Onward settled on her new course. It was as if Nautilus, and the headland, did not exist.

"On the uproll! "Like counting the seconds. "Fire!"

The forward gun recoiled, its crew leaping aside, handspikes and sponge ready, as if they had been doing it all their lives.

The crash of gunfire was still echoing over the water. A jagged burst of spray showed the fall of shot, directly across the schooner's bows.

Vincent said sharply, "Nautilus is making more sail!"

"That woke ‘em up! "Jago's voice. Adam scarcely heard them. Men were running along the schooner's deck, and some were already down in the boat alongside.

He raised the telescope, cursing the time it took to focus. The schooner was still under way. The solitary figure in uniform was standing where he had last seen him. Closer now, but partly obscured by drifting gunsmoke.

The image seemed to hold him in a vise. The man by the helm had not moved because he was tied upright, helpless.

Probably dead. And it could not be gunsmoke at that range.

He leaned on the rail and saw Maddock turn.

"Fire!"

Maddock might have hesitated, but only for a few seconds.

Then he was stooping at the second gun, gesturing almost unhurriedly to his crew, until he was satisfied.

Some one gave a wild cheer as the ball slammed into the schooner's side. More smoke, and Maddock's voice, strong and clear.

"Lay for the foremast an' fire on the uproll! Ready!"

Adam did not hear the order to fire. It was as if the sea had exploded in his face. But the picture remained starkly before his eyes, as it had been when the telescope was jolted from his hands.

Men in the boat, struggling, fighting to cast off from the schooner's side, knocked over by others leaping down to join them in a panic which distance could not hide. One figure running in the last moment of sanity before bursting into a human torch, arms and legs flailing as he pitched into the sea alongside.

And then the explosion, bursting through the schooner's deck: a giant fireball blasting masts and sails into ashes, the heat enough to sear the skin at a cable's distance.

Fragments were splashing around the stricken vessel, some ablaze and breaking up, burning on the water so that the sea became a final torment for those still alive.

Men stood by their guns staring at the smoke, the debris still falling so near. Some one cried out as another explosion rebounded against the hull, like a ship running aground. Final.

But muffled this time, no searing glare.

The schooner, or what remained of her, was on her way to the bottom. And through it all the wind was holding, cool after the inferno.

Adam picked up his telescope and cradled it in his arm.

"We will heave to, Mr. Vincent. "He rubbed his forehead with the back of his wrist. "Fall out guns "crews. "To his own ears, he sounded like a stranger. Calm. Dispassionate.

"Boat's crew, sir? "Guthrie, the boatswain.

Adam licked his lips. They tasted of smoke and sudden death.

"Have them standing by. "He raised the glass with both hands, knowing that others were watching him. "But there's little chance."

He felt the deck tilt uneasily as Onward turned into the wind, headsails flapping and filling again in confusion.

He moved the telescope slowly, giving himself time, allowing his hand to steady. And there was Nautilus, topsails braced and full on a fresh tack, gangway and lower shrouds alive with tiny figures. Gunports still closed, as Maddock and his crews would notice. The silent witness.

He thought of the French captain, Marchand. How he must be feeling even as he watched the ever-spreading litter of charred remains and ashes. Seeing again the fireball which would have been Nautilus. His ship, his men. Himself.

Vincent was beside him. "No survivors, sir. "His voice seemed hushed, as if he were dazed by the swiftness of near disaster. Treachery. Perhaps the commodore was right. "But for you…"

He said nothing more.

"There's your answer, Mark. "He did not trust himself to raise the telescope.

Midshipman Deacon shouted, "Nautilus is dipping her ensign, sir! "He was staring around at the others. "The Frenchman's saluting us!"

There were cheers from the upper deck. Adam turned deliberately toward the other frigate and raised his hat in acknowledgment. Marchand would see, and understand.

Vincent asked, "Shall we go ahead?"

Adam held the hat to shade his eyes. Or hide them.

"As ordered. Under two flags."

Lieutenant James Squire reached the quarterdeck and paused to stare abeam at the land: no longer lines and figures on a chart, but real and alive. He prided himself on his vision, and even without a glass could see the shades and depths of colour of the coastal waters, spray shining on a spur of rock or fallen cliff which marked the entrance to the bay; tiny figures by the water's edge; a track or rough road leading inland, and a lone horseman raising a trail of yellow dust, soon lost from view over a ridge or bare hillside.

Local people, caught in the crossfire of war or revolution, and hardened enough to gather and watch a vessel blowing apart, destroyed in its own trap.

He glanced across the deck where the marines of the afterguard, some by the hammock nettings, were leaning on their muskets. Grim-faced after what they had witnessed, contemplating the fate they might have shared. The senior midshipman by the flag-locker, silent and unsmiling: the same one who had shouted with such wild excitement to the deck at large when Nautilus had dipped her ensign in salute.

And the young topman who had been sent for by the captain, cornered now by some of his mates, grinning, but still mystified by whatever he had said which had proved so significant. He looked aft again, and saw the captain with the master and his crew by the compass box, and another midshipman writing on a slate, teeth gritted against the sound of the squeaking pencil. He saw the land moving aside, the bay slowly opening beyond the bows. Some small houses, white and hazy in the sunlight. He pictured the chart, and the captain's own rough map; how he had made light of the possible inaccuracies and flaws in their information, even if it had come from the admiral. And all the time he must have been confronting the real danger, which only at the last minute they had all glimpsed for themselves. And he had still found time to thank a common seaman. For doing his duty, many would say.

Squire heard some one laugh and thought, And we are alive.

"Boat's crew musteredЦ sir."

It was Fowler, boatswain's mate, tough, experienced, and ruthless. Years had passed since they had served together, yet it was all so clear. Even just glancing around, here and now.

Stowing hammocks together. Hauling on the braces or lying back with all their strength to run out a gun, like today. Then he had taken the irrevocable step from messdeck to wardroom, and even fame in a minor way when he had been chosen to join the voyage of exploration under Sir Alfred Bishop. And then Onward, a new frigate when so many shipyards were empty, and men crying out for work. And a captain of repute: who would not envy him? When Bolitho had assigned their duties upon arrival here, and given him charge of the cutter as guardboat and liaison with the French, Squire had been pleased and surprised.

But Fowler couldn't leave it at that. Gave it to you to spare his precious first lieutenant, or one of his favourites. Can't you see that? Their eyes met, and Squire said, "I didn't know you were coming."

Fowler looked over at some seamen by the boat-tier.

"I "volunteered". Need somebody to keep an eye on you!"

And he laughed.

"You watch what you're saying. Or one of these daysЦ"

"You'll whatT "Bosun wants you! "A seaman was peering up from the gangway.

Fowler grunted. "Tell "im I'm with the second lieutenant!"

Squire walked to the side again as more of the bay opened out across the bow. The fortress above the anchorage reminded him more of an old monastery than a place fought over for more than a hundred years. Nautilus was turning into the wind, her anchor catted and ready to let go.

There were people on and above an embrasured wall. The battery. The captain had been right, and brave to follow his instinct.

He heard Fowler threatening some one who was too slow for his taste.

It went through his mind yet again.

He saved me from disgrace. I was a coward, and others paid for it.

"Ready below, Mr. Squire!"

He raised his hand and smiled, outwardly at ease.

But the other voice persisted.

I want him dead.

Lights were already burning in the great cabin, although it had been daylight when he left the upper deck. Adam rubbed his eyes and threw his hat on to a chair. Men were still working throughout the ship, replacing screens, dragging chests and furniture from the holds. The cook was trying to rekindle his galley fire; the anchor was down and there were lights across the water, above the ancient fortress and its battery.

Just in time.

He had passed a party of seamen restoring hammocks to the messdecks. Some had grinned, and one had called after him, "You showed ‘em, Cap'n!"

And yet, only hours ago, he had seen the cold hostility in their eyes as one of their number had been flogged.

Morgan was here, as if he had never moved.

"Visitor, sir."

It was Murray, the surgeon, come to make his own report.

"No injuries, sir. A few cuts and bruises, but only from preparing for the worst. "The keen eyes were assessing him.

"Dare I suggest that our captain find time to rest his limbs? Richly deserved, if I may say so."

Adam knew that Morgan was already nodding on his feet. If I close my eyes…

"I have to visit Nautilus before nightfall. I don't want to be fired on by one of the guardboats, especially ours!"

He heard the clink of glass. Morgan had roused himself and was preparing his own remedy. But if he gave in to it now…

"How isЦ "He had to grope for the name; he was in worse condition than he thought. "Dimmock?"

"He'll live. "Murray might have smiled; it was difficult to see in the half light. "Slept like a log throughout the whole episode, too full of grog to know or care."

Adam heard voices, Jago talking to the sentry. What did he think about being called at this hour to take the gig across to Nautilus! He had not left his side all day, except when he had been here with young David.

"Midshipman Napier.

Murray was ready for that. "I'm satisfied. Surprised, too, I must confess. A word of advice for some one, however. If a masthead lookout is required urgently, let young Napier wait a while before he puts up his hand again."

Adam felt his dry lips break into a smile.

"I'm grateful. For all you've done."

Murray looked toward the stern windows. The sea was flat and unmoving, molten gold in the dying light.

"I keep thinking of those poor devils today. My trade requires of me both impartiality and compassion. "He turned back, his face in shadow. "But I thank God for our survival, and the quick wit of the man who kept us alive. "He thrust out his hand. "Be proud!"

Adam could still feel the palm, as rough as any seaman's, long after the door had closed behind him.

The cabin seemed to swim in the dimness. What of tomorrow? And the next decision? He could see his small desk, replaced exactly where it had stood; Morgan might have measured it. The blank sheet of paper was lying in the centre as before. He could almost see the words flowing from his pen.

My darling Lowenna…

The door opened and he turned away, abandoning her once more.

"Are you ready, Luke?"

"Gig's alongside, Cap'n."

Proud.