The Darkening Sea

7. Confrontations

Bolitho was standing in the cabin's quarter gallery, shading his eyes from the reflected glare while he studied the impressive slab of the Rock of Gibraltar. Valkyrie had made a fast passage despite her size, only five days, and could have done it faster but for the need to stay in company with the captured French frigate, now renamed Laertes. He could just make her out through a lazy haze that floated above the busy anchorage like an artist's impression of gunsmoke. If he had been right about Baratte, would he already know of his old ship's departure from England under her new name? It seemed quite likely, he thought. Their lordships would probably have retained her original name but there was already a Triton on the Navy List, so that had settled it.

Bare feet moved about the deck above, and occasionally an authoritative voice called out an order which was always obeyed instantly. It was uncanny after the frigates he had known. Everything was done at the double and in silence. Failure to respond immediately, or walking rather than running to the call even of a lowly midshipman invited a starting at the hands of any boatswain's mate or petty officer on duty.

They had been at Gibraltar swinging to their anchor for seven days, the new hands staring longingly at the Rock's grim outline or at the passing throng of colourful traders, who were never allowed to venture alongside. The water casks had been refilled, the mail bags had gone ashore. He could not order Captain Trevenen to delay any further.

Bolitho knew him no better than when he had greeted him on board, and he wondered what his flag lieutenant thought of him. Even on the matter of discipline when Bolitho had mentioned the seaman who had died under the lash, he had not been able to read the man.

Trevenen had answered almost indifferently, "I reported his death in my despatches to the Admiralty." He had allowed a small hint of triumph into his voice. "I am the senior officer of this squadron, and was authorised to act accordingly. You were not here, Sir Richard, and in any case it was hardly a major crisis."

"A man's life, for instance?"

It had been a strange experience to meet Hyperion's old surgeon, still as defiantly independent, and obviously ill at ease under Trevenen's command. Bolitho had avoided mentioning the flogging, but had said, "I thought you might have quit the sea after we lost Hyperion."

"I pondered on it, Sir Richard. But they don't want me at home." Minchin had waved one powerful hand around the deck. "Besides, the rum's better in a King's ship! "

The man who had lived through the battle, unable to see what was happening while the timbers shook and cracked around him, had even proved a match for Sir Piers Blachford, the great surgeon from London who had been in Hyperion throughout the battle. A more unlikely pair it was hard to imagine.

Bolitho left the thick windows, their sills hot from the afternoon sun, and crossed to the small desk which had been provided for his and Yovell's use. Not like a ship-of-the-line but sufficient. In his mind's eye he could picture their weaving passage, first to Freetown then south again along the coast of Africa to Cape Town and Good Hope, where he had done and seen so much.

At Freetown there might be more information available, which he could digest before the Cape. If they still intended to invade Mauritius they would need many soldiers, horses, guns and supplies. As in the Caribbean these essentials had to be protected, and if he could not root out the island that was being used as a base for French vessels then their lordships would have to support him with more men-of-war, whether they liked it or not. And every mile of the way, through each change of watch and Trevenen's continuous drills, he was being carried further and further away from Catherine. In the past he had expected it and had been prepared for parting. It was his life, as it had been for every sea-officer past and present.

But with Catherine everything had changed. There had once been moments, up until the very day they had been reunited at Antigua, when he had cared very little if he lived or died. Only the reliance of the many men who had depended upon his skills, or lack of them, had held empty recklessness at bay.

Unlike Jenour, Avery was little help beyond their daily routine and duty. Bolitho had known officers like him before, able to stay remote even in a crowded man-of-war. He messed in the wardroom but spent most of his time either in his hutch-like cabin, or on deck right aft by the taffrail watching the sea's change of moods.

Bolitho had been invited to the wardroom just before they had left Plymouth: a pleasant collection of men, mostly young with the exception of the angry-eyed surgeon, the sailing master and the purser. An average wardroom in any such vessel: only a captain would know the strength and the weakness of these men and all the midshipmen and warrant ranks who supported them. They had been very curious about a vice-admiral being in their midst, but had been too polite to say much. If there were rebels against Trevenen's severity, apart from Minchin, they did not reveal themselves.

There had been another flogging this forenoon. The process had seemed so slow and relentless, the rattle of the drums broken only by the crack of the lash across the man's naked back. Even after Ozzard had closed the cabin skylight he had been unable to shut it out. The defaulter had apparently been found drinking rum in the hold when he should have been painting.

Two dozen lashes. The man had broken towards the end and had begun to whimper like a beaten animal.

He is the captain, with all the authority, including mine, to support him. I can do nothing. Trevenen must know exactly what he was doing, how far he could go without criticism from above.

But also he must surely know that Bolitho could ruin any hope of promotion to flag rank with only a few words in the right place. He must understand me better than I do him.

Bolitho heard the boats being hoisted up and over the gangway to be swayed down on to their tier. The same would be happening aboard Laertes. The French prize was a command any young officer would cherish. Originally of thirty-six guns and built in the renowned naval dockyard at Toulon, her main armament was reinforced by some heavy bow-chasers, which would prove invaluable if they ever ran the marauders to earth. Her captain was young and had been posted about the same time as Adam. His name was Peter Dawes, and as the son of an admiral he would seize any opportunity to prove his worth.

The thought of Adam troubled him greatly. Anemone had been due here at Gibraltar just after them, two days at the most, with a complete ship's company or not. Trevenen had hinted at it, but seemed to be watching and waiting for Bolitho's final decision. He had made it shortly after the latest flogging. They would sail in company with Laertes and continue on passage to Freetown.

Calls trilled, feet pattered along gangways and down ladders. Valkyrie stirred herself like an awakening beast.

He could hear the clink of the capstan pawls, the scrape of a fiddle as the seamen threw themselves on the bars to drag the big frigate slowly towards her anchor.

So many times. Leaving harbour had always roused him, enlivened his young mind as a midshipman or lieutenant. A ship coming to life, the hands ready to dash to their stations where every yard and mile of cordage had its proper place and use. An equal strain on all parts as one old sailing master had explained to him many times.

He heard feet in the passageway, heavy, authoritative steps. As expected, it was the captain.

"Ready to proceed, Sir Richard." His deepset eyes were questioning, bleak.

"I shall come up." It occurred to him that he had hardly been on deck since Valkyrie had weighed at Plymouth.

He glanced around the cabin and saw Ozzard's small shadow beyond the pantry door. "I hope that Anemone can make up some time along the way." It was only a thought spoken aloud as he might have done to Keen or Jenour.

"I expect he will have an explanation of sorts, Sir Richard. Anemone's captain is your nephew, I believe?"

That is so." He met Trevenen's cold stare. "Just as my flag lieutenant is the nephew of Sir Paul Sillitoe, the prime minister's adviser. I am constantly surprised by such connections."

He brushed past him, feeling stupidly childish that he had used Trevenen's own tactics against him. A challenge then? So be it.

"Hands aloft! Loose tops' is

Bolitho saw Allday by the nettings, his face grim as he watched the bare-backed seamen swarming up the ratlines like monkeys. Many of them had scars on their skin, some pale with age, others still livid from the cat.

"Anchor's hove short, sir! "

Trevenen said abruptly, "Start those laggards on the capstan bars, Mr. Urquhart! They are like old women today! "

As a boatswain's mate moved towards them with his rope starter, the men at the bars used every ounce of strength, their naked feet digging into the grips like claws.

"Anchor's aweigh, sir! "

Bolitho saw the first lieutenant's obvious relief. The men had been saved further beatings. This time.

Topsails and jib, then her great fore course filling out and hardening to the wind, Valkyrie turned her stern towards the Rock, her high lee side comfortably clear of the water.

Before she was out of the anchorage her pyramid of fair-weather canvas towered above her busy deck as an indication of the power which drove her through the water. Bolitho saw the other frigate tacking round to follow in their wake, a creature of beauty and challenge.

He stared across the taffrail and made out a low shadow of land. Spain. Some there were at peace under English protection; others would still be too terrified of Napoleon's regiments to surrender. Bolitho recalled those optimistic words at Hamett-Parker's reception: "The war is all but won." How many times had he seen these shores, knowing that many telescopes were trained on the ships leaving this great natural fortress. Fast horses ready to take their messengers at top speed to lookouts and coastal batteries. The English ships are out. He had known the Spanish as reluctant allies and then as enemies. He had felt safer with the latter.

He said to Allday, "Come aft with me." He knew that the watch keepers on the quarterdeck were listening with astonishment and perhaps disbelief. Another part of the legend. The vice-admiral who could at the snap of his fingers sail them all to hell if he wished, a man so well-known in the navy, and yet there were few who had ever seen him, let alone served with him. Now he was going down the companion ladder with his burly coxswain as if they were old friends, shipmates like themselves.

They reached the comparatively cool air between decks and walked aft to where the marine sentry stood between the two doors of Trevenen's and his own quarters. A blank, ordinary face, a bayonetted musket at his side, his eyes looking straight past them.

Inside the cabin Ozzard was ready and waiting. Hock for the vice-admiral, rum for his coxswain.

Bolitho sat on the bench seat and stared at the creaming water bubbling up from the rudder.

"What is the matter with them, old friend?"

Allday held up the tankard and blinked in the sunlight. "I seen an old dog once, the way it cowered when its drunken master raised a stick to it." His voice was faraway, reliving it. "Then one day it went for him. That bugger never laid a hand on him again! " He swallowed a mouthful of rum and added reflectively, "An' there's more'n one dog in this ship! "

Captain Adam Bolitho came on deck and glanced first at the compass and then at the set of each individual sail. Anemone was making full use of a fine north-westerly wind that had whipped the blue-grey water into a million cruising white horses, and now filled the sails to the hardness of white metal.

The deck was a scene of busy activity, for although it was not long after dawn the hands were washing down the main deck on the lee side where seas occasionally dashed through the open gun ports to gurgle around their bare legs before surging into the scuppers. On the quarterdeck other seamen were busy with the heavy holystones, cleaning and smoothing the pale planking before the sun gained height and softened the seams to make such work impossible.

To the new men Adam probably did not look much like a successful frigate captain. Hatless and without even his faded sea-going coat, his dark hair flying in the wind, he might appear more like a pirate.

It had taken longer than he had anticipated to clear Spithead and put a small press-gang ashore. They returned with only three men, none of whom had ever been to sea. Off Portsmouth Point he had been more fortunate, when quite by chance Anemone had run down on a topsail cutter under the command of a notorious lieutenant who controlled the press-gangs there. The lieutenant had been so resourceful that he often followed home-bound merchant ships making for the Solent or Southampton Water. He had long ago discovered that the meaner ship masters often paid off all but the minimum of hands required, to save themselves money. Once paid off and the lieutenant usually watched the proceedings through a huge signals telescope the cutter would swoop alongside and the luckless sailors, some almost within sight of home, were snatched up by the press and taken to the guard ship

Adam had obtained twelve hands, all seamen: still not enough, but it had eased the lot of his lieutenants and warrant officers. The delay had taken him off course, however, and when he had reached Gibraltar he discovered that his uncle and the other frigate had already sailed.

The first lieutenant approached him and touched his forehead.

"Sou' west by south, sir. Steady as she goes."

Adam thought of his sealed orders, which he would eventually deliver to his uncle. Over six thousand miles, with a call at Freetown on the west coast of the African continent. It could have been to the moon: one small ship, his ship, free to act as she pleased and without anyone to say otherwise.

Lieutenant Martin watched him anxiously. The captain had never been an easy one to serve when things went wrong. But his predecessor Sargeant, who had been sent to his own command, had managed very well despite his youth. He had stood between captain and company as any first lieutenant should, and out of it had come a friendship which Martin accepted was not yet his privilege to be offered.

He said, "I was wondering, sir… shall we set the stuns' is when the people have had their breakfast?"

Adam glanced up at the tapering studding-sail booms, which were lashed beneath the yards. Once extended, with the extra sails giving even more power to the ship, Anemone might gain a few more knots.

He noticed the greasy smell of cooking from the galley funnel and was suddenly aware of the uncertainty of his second-in-command. To Martin's astonishment he clapped him on the arm and smiled. "I am bad company, Aubrey. Stand by me, for I am in irons at the moment."

Martin's face flooded with relief but he was sensible enough not to ask the reason for his captain's despair.

Adam remarked, "I am in no hurry to catch up with the others, and that is the truth of it."

"But your uncle, sir?"

Adam showed his teeth in a grin. "He is still the flag officer, and I never allow myself to forget it." He swung round as the sailing master appeared from the companion hatch. "Ah, Mr. Partridge, I have a task for you."

The old master grunted. "I be ready, sir."

"If you lay a course to Madeira, allowing for the wind holding, what time will we anchor at Funchal?"

Partridge did not even blink. "Why, sir, I thought it was to be a tiresome difficult question! " He beamed at his captain, who was less than half his age, although nobody was quite sure how old Partridge himself was.

He said, The masthead should be sighting land presently, sir. I'll go and work on the chart."

He shambled away and Adam shook his head in admiration.

"What a man. If I ordered him to take us to the Barrier Reef he would not flinch."

The first lieutenant, who had seen nothing in the sailing orders or Admiralty Instructions about calling at Madeira, asked, "May I ask why that place, sir?"

Adam walked to the quarterdeck rail and watched the two helmsmen at the big double wheel. At times like these he could forget that his company was still short of hands, and all the other problems of command. But for the girl who haunted his thoughts he might even be happy.

He said, " Madeira is an oasis, Aubrey, a water-hole for brave merchant captains as well as the predators like us. Where vessels of all flags pause to do repairs, to take on stores, to replenish their wine. Also, there are usually a few seasoned sailors who because of one mistake or tother have been left behind by their ships! " He grinned, and was a boy again. "So send the watch below to their breakfast, the smell of which has already turned my stomach. After that, we will alter course for Funchal, the last land we shall touch until Sierra Leone." They both looked up as the hail came down from the mainmast. "Deck there! Land on the larboard bow! "

Old Partridge reappeared, containing his satisfaction. "There, sir, what did I say?"

His lieutenant ventured, "Suppose the authorities there object to our search for men?"

Adam smiled. "We shall ask, for volunteers naturally! "

They both laughed and some of the seamen glanced at each other as the pipe came for the watch below to dismiss to their messes.

As Adam strode to the companion-way the old master grunted, "That's more like it, Mr. Martin. It's put the sparkle back in his eye. Better for us too! "

"What has been troubling him, do you think?"

Old Partridge puffed out his weathered cheeks and answered scornfully, "A woman, o' course! Officers should know about them things! "

In his cabin where his servant waited to serve him breakfast, Adam thought suddenly of his uncle, and the great love he had envied so much. Bolitho had been in Madeira and had taken a fan and some lace to Catherine. Perhaps if he himself went ashore he might find a piece of silver, some jewellery maybe… He swung to the stern windows so that the servant should not see his face. She would never wear it, nor would she take it from him. After her stinging rebuff he was a madman even to consider it.

From somewhere in the length of his command someone was playing a lively jig on a fiddle, and another was keeping him company on a whistle. They would be crossing the equator soon after Freetown, when King Neptune and his court would be welcomed aboard, and the uninitiated would be roughly handled in a ceremony that had been held in every King's ship for as long as anybody could remember.

Adam sat down and stared at the greasy pork on his plate as it moved with a life of its own to the ship's steep motion.

Officers were not exempt. He could recall when as a lieutenant he had been stripped naked and almost choked with the mess they had used to 'shave' him. It was a simple thing, but sailors were simple men. It might help to draw his untried company together. He knew Old Partridge was to be Neptune. He pushed the food aside. He could not keep the girl out of his mind.

Under shortened sail, the frigate Anemone changed tack yet again for the final approach. The island of Madeira was shining in afternoon sunlight, its towering, flower-covered hills like a place in a fable.

"Deck there! " Some of the off-duty men looked up, but most of them stared hungrily at the land.

The lookout sounded surprised even from his dizzy perch in the cross trees

"Man-o'-war, sir! Ship-o'-th'-line! " Lieutenant Martin asked, "One of ours, sir?" Adam stared at the distant island. "I can't think what a liner would be doing here. I've no information about it. Where would she be from? The blockading squadron, on passage from the Caribbean? Most unlikely." He picked up a telescope. "I'll go aloft myself, Aubrey. You keep the ship on course unless I say otherwise."

He swung himself out and on to the ratlines, the telescope slung around his shoulder. Then he looked down at his first lieutenant and said quietly, "At least it will show the people they are not commanded by a cripple! "

Heights had never troubled him, not even as a young midshipman, unlike his beloved uncle who had confided his youthful fears of being ordered aloft. Once he glanced down and saw the pale wave creaming back from the bows, the tiny figures on the quarterdeck and along the gangway nearest the island. Volunteers and pressed men, the good and the bad, and some who had barely escaped the hangman's halter. There was only one thing to weld them together: they had to be tested, to make the ship the thing most worthwhile in their lives.

He reached the main cross trees and nodded to the lookout, an older seaman named Betts who had eyes like a skua.

Adam said, "You are troubled, Betts?" He opened the telescope and locked one leg around a stay.

"I dunno, sir. She's the look of a two-decker, but…"

Adam levelled the telescope and waited for Anemone to rise from a lazy trough.

"She's a frigate, Betts. You were right to be confused." He blinked to clear his vision. Perhaps she was the Valkyrie, of which he had heard so much. He dismissed it immediately. His uncle would have left word of any change of plans at Gibraltar. French, then? They would not dare; it would be as dangerous as lying on a lee shore if an English ship like Anemone hove into sight. He extended the glass once again and caught his breath as a small gust of wind lifted the flag at the other ship's poop, the starred and striped colours of the new American navy.

He snapped the glass shut and watched the scene that had been so clear fall into the distance. And yet this old seaman Betts had seen everything with his eyes alone, but for the flag.

He slid down a backstay and joined his officers aft, aware of the curious stares of men who for the most part he barely knew. Yet.

He faced the others. "She's a Yankee. Big too."

Jervis Lewis, the newly-appointed third lieutenant, fresh from another ship's gunroom, asked, "Shall we run out, sir?"

Martin looked at him with scorn. "We're not at war, you idiot! "

The master mumbled unhelpfully, "Far as we knows, sir."

Adam smiled grimly. "There was no activity aboard her. She's a visitor." To the first lieutenant he added, "Remember? Predators."

He walked to the rail and glanced along the main deck at the long eighteen-pounders, so jet-black beneath each gangway. "Have the ship prepared to enter harbour, Mr. Martin." He looked round for the signals midshipman. "And, Mr. Dun-woody, bend on a new ensign to show our good intentions and prepare your crew. Be ready to make and receive any formal signals! "

The officers hurried away, glad to be doing something. Adam considered it. Glad to be told what to do.

Lieutenant Martin watched his captain. She, whoever she was, if the master was right, would be proud to see her man like this.

Adam said, "I shall go below and change. Tell that servant to find me a clean shirt." He took a last glance at the island and thought he could smell flowers amongst the drift of salt. It was probably nothing, but some inner warning had roused him from his brooding thoughts like the touch of steel.

The great anchor splashed into the clear water exactly as two bells chimed out from the forecastle.

With the sun high over the spiralling mastheads Adam was soon aware of his heavy dress coat. His shirt, found by the servant who was certainly no Ozzard, was already moulded to his skin.

There were plenty of ships at anchor and alongside the jetties. Flags of every kind, vessels as mixed as the men who served them.

The American frigate towered above all of them. Across her broad counter and below the curling striped flag was her name in gold letters, Unity. When Anemone took the strain on her cable and swung sedately above her reflection Adam saw the ship's beak head painted blue and decorated with bright gold stars. The figurehead was a citizen with a folded scroll in his outilling hand, probably a hero or a martyr of their revolt against King George.

Lieutenant Martin lowered his speaking trumpet as the last sail was furled and lashed tightly to its yard. They were getting better and faster, he thought, but not much.

He said, "I've not heard of her, sir."

"Nor I. Very new by the cut of her, and look at her teeth. Twenty-four-pounders if I'm any judge! "

Lewis the new third lieutenant said importantly, "I'd not want to tangle with her! " But he fell silent when Adam looked at him.

"Ship secured, sir! "

"Very well. Send away a guard boat in case some reckless Jack tries to desert to our big friend over there, and to the land of the free! "

He spoke bitterly and Martin wondered why.

A boatswain's mate called, They're sending a boat, sir! Officer on board! "

"Man the side! "

A tall lieutenant climbed up through the entry port, and after raising his hat casually to the quarterdeck said, "Do I have the honour of addressing the captain?"

"Captain Adam Bolitho of His Britannic Majesty's Ship Anemone."

"Captain Nathan Beer of the Unity sends his compliments, and has ordered me to extend an invitation to you to visit him at dusk, sir. A boat will be sent for your convenience." His eyes moved briefly across the deck. "I see that you do not carry too many yourself, sir."

"My compliments to your captain…" He hesitated. He should perhaps have said respects, but that would imply that he thought himself subordinate to the American. "I will be honoured." He smiled. "But I will attend in my own boat."

More salutes, and the American was gone. Adam said, "I will go ashore to make peace with the authorities. Lower another boat for the surgeon, and the purser's convenience. Medicine for the one maybe, and fresh fruit for the sick-bay."

But his mind was on his visitor. So it was to be captain to captain and nothing less formal. Nathan Beer his name if not his ship seemed familiar. He saw his gig being warped around to the side. Smart enough, but the American lieutenant might have noticed their strength or lack of it. He turned to his first lieutenant. "Take charge in my absence. Any doubts, and send someone for me." He let his words sink in. "But I have every faith in you." He walked to the entry port, where a side party had re-formed. "If a deserter tries to swim from the ship, signal the guard boat But no shooting if he does not give up. I'd rather have him drowned than shot." He nodded his head toward the big frigate. They will be watching. Enemy or not, they will never be our friends, so do not forget it! "

Captain Nathan Beer was a big man in every way, and met Adam at the entry port of his frigate with a jovial informality to match. With his broad, weathered face and unruly hair barely touched by grey, and twinkling blue eyes, in England he would have passed easily for a gentleman farmer. Amongst frigate captains Adam was more used to younger men, although some had been on the ladder for far longer.

Adam glanced along the broad gundeck. They were indeed twenty-four-pounders, and he was reminded of the new lieutenant's tactless remark when they had entered the anchorage. Unity would be a formidable opponent. He knew Beer was watching him but was making no attempt to prevent his professional scrutiny. Perhaps it was meant as a warning.

"Come below and share some madeira. I thought I should taste the stuff, but it's a mite sweet for me."

The after part of the ship was very spacious too. Even so, Beer had to duck his head between some of the deck head beams.

A cabin servant took Adam's hat and studied him with open curiosity as he was pouring the wine.

Beer was much older than Adam had expected. Despite his glowing health he was close to sixty, maybe more. In his fist, the glass looked like a child's toy.

"May I ask your business here, Captain Bolitho?"

"You may, sir. I came to collect stores, and of course to see what ship had caught my eye."

Beer grinned, his eyes almost disappearing into the crinkles. "An honest answer! "

Adam swallowed some of the wine. A glance around told him quite a lot. The fittings were expensive, and there was a portrait of a woman and two girls on the bulkhead beside Beer's dress sword.

"Have you been in command long, sir?"

Beer eyed him keenly. "Since she first tasted salt water at Boston. It was very exciting to see her grow, even for an old sailor like me. My home is in Newburyport, not too far away…" He broke off. "You know it?"

"I have been there."

Beer did not press him. "I'm very proud to be Unity's captain. There's not a ship that can stand up to her, not a frigate anyway. To the rest I can show a clean pair of heels if needs be! "

Adam heard a voice call something, which was followed by a gust of laughter. A happy ship then. He could well imagine it under this remarkable captain.

Beer was saying, "Ours is a small navy as yet. We are feeling our way forward. Our officers must be men of zeal and conviction. I was privileged to visit France recently how things change. Like my country, France was reborn out of revolution, but the tyranny there remains. Your successes on the Peninsula may bring back the old spirit perhaps."

Adam said, "They will be beaten as they have been at sea and are now being trounced in Spain."

Beer regarded him gravely. "Heavy thoughts for one so young, if I dare to say as much?" He picked up a refilled glass and did not look at Adam as he said, "You will be sailing with despatches for your Sir Richard Bolitho. It is common knowledge around here, ships coming and going, only too glad to share information after months at sea. Are you his son, by any chance? The name is not familiar to me, except for one other."

"I am his nephew, sir."

"I see. The man I knew was a renegade who joined with us against the British to win our independence."

"Did he command a frigate named AndironT

"He was your father? I knew it! The same eyes, his manner. I did not know him well but I knew his reputation enough to be saddened by news of his death."

Then you have a privilege which I did not share." A warning voice was telling him to say nothing. Perhaps the secret had been bottled up too long, but the truth of how his father had really died he would never release.

Beer said, "He was not a happy man, I think. The trouble with renegades is that nobody ever trusts them." He forced a grin. "Take John Paul Jones, for instance! " But the humour would not come.

Adam asked, "And what of you? Is it your mission to carry despatches also?"

Beer answered levelly, "We are spreading our wings. The British Navy commands the high seas, but such awesome power has taken a heavy toll. The French could still have another trick to play. Napoleon has too much to lose to bow down in submission."

"So have we, sir."

Beer went off at a tangent. "This news about American ships being stopped by your patrols and searched for contraband -in my view it is to seize seamen for your fleet. Our President has twice made his strong displeasure known and has received promises of a sort from His Majesty's government. I hope it is true."

Adam smiled for the first time. "Would you join with France against us again?"

Beer stared at him and then grinned hugely. "You are much as I was at your age! "

"We speak the same language, sir. I think it is the only similarity."

Beer tugged out his watch. "I am sailing on the tide, Captain Bolitho. Next time we meet I hope we can sup together."

As if to a signal they both picked up their hats and went out into the cool gloom of the upper deck.

Adam thought of the crowded anchorage and twisting course Beer would have to steer. No one but the best captain and seamen could do it in the dark.

"Give my regards to your uncle, Captain. Now he is a man I would gladly meet! "

The side lanterns were playing across Anemone's gig as it loitered on the swell, its hull outlined by twisting streamers of phosphorescence. Dunwoody, the senior midshipman at sixteen years old, was at the tiller.

Beer rested one big hand on the breech of the nearest gun.

"Let that meeting not be over the muzzle of those beauties! "

They doffed their hats and Adam climbed down into the boat. He could hear the capstan working busily, and some of the sails had been freed from their yards and were billowing and cracking against the great ceiling of stars.

The boat pulled clear and Unity became an anonymous shadow like the others. Another coincidence? Or had Beer kept him aboard so that Anemone would have no time to up anchor and go after him? He gave an unexpected smile. Just as well with such a new company.

He asked, "What news, Mr. Dunwoody?"

The boy was smart and alert, an obvious choice for the important world of fleet signals. If the war dragged on he might be a lieutenant in a year. Dunwoody would be more than aware of that.

The boats brought ten more seamen on board, sir. They all have protection, as they are of the Honourable East India Company." The boy leaned forward to watch a passing fishing boat. "The first lieutenant says they are all prime seamen, sir."

They would be. John Company prided itself on its sailors. Good conditions, fair pay, and the ships were well-armed enough to drive off even a man-of-war. Everything the navy should be. Could be. These ten extra hands were a godsend. They had probably been drunk and had missed their ship's departure.

Adam asked, "Did they think we are sailing for England?"

The boy frowned, recalling Lieutenant Martin's wry smile, and repeated what he had said. "He told them we were, but that they would work ship until we got there."

Adam smiled in the darkness. Martin was learning fast.

"Well, we are returning to England. Eventually! "

ill

He heard shouts from the big American frigate and thought about her impressive captain.

And he knew my father. He glanced at the midshipman, afraid for an instant that he had spoken out loud. But the boy was peering across the glittering black water at Anemone's riding light floating above it.

"Boat ahoy! "

The midshipman cupped his hands. "Anemone! "

For his dead father or for his ship he did not know, but all Adam could feel was pride.

Back aboard the big frigate men were spread out on the yards, while others worked steadily at the capstan as the cable grew tighter and steeper. The senior lieutenant watched his massive captain.

He asked quietly, "That Cap'n Bolitho. He going to give us any trouble?"

Beer smiled. "His uncle maybe, but not him, I think."

"Anchor's aweigh, sir! "

All else was forgotten as the ship heeled to the wind's thrust. Free of the ground, away from the land to her proper element.

Once clear of the anchorage the same lieutenant made his report to the quarterdeck.

"Man the braces." Beer looked at the swinging compass. "We'll alter course again in about ten minutes. Pass the word."

The lieutenant hesitated. "And you knew his father in the war, sir?"

"Yes." He thought of the young captain's grave features, driven by something he could barely suppress. How could he tell him the truth? It no longer mattered. The war, as his second-in-command had called it, was over long ago. "Yes, I knew him. He was a bastard but that is between us alone."

The lieutenant strode away, surprised and yet pleased that his formidable captain had taken him into his confidence.

By midnight under all plain sail, Unity was steering due south, with the ocean to herself.