‘Just think of the next watch, an’ the next horizon, see?’
Bolitho turned by the door and glanced back. He could be asleep. Waiting for the next watch.
He felt his lips move and heard himself speak, and the words were dry and controlled, and the voice unfamiliar.
‘I’m ready. When you are.’ He looked at the door again. ‘You’ll never know.’
The way ahead. Together.
Epilogue
Captain Beves Conway swung away from the stern windows of his day cabin and called, ‘Have him come aft directly, man!’
He had been watching the thirty-two gun frigate Condor enter harbour and drop anchor with a minimum of fuss and delay; it was what he would expect from a captain like Maude. Always busy, always in demand. He cocked his head to listen to his own ship’s routine, and almost sighed with relief. The disruption of overhaul was finished, until their lordships insisted on another; the constant comings and goings of working parties and dockyard experts and the noise, smells and personal discomfort were being inflicted on some other vessel, and His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Gorgon could now show even a frigate a thing or two if required. Freshly blackened standing rigging and gleaming paintwork were shining brightly, despite a morning so cold and misty that even the usually restless gulls seemed content to float upon the anchorage like discarded wreaths.
The screen door opened a few inches, and the lieutenant said, ‘Mr. Bolitho, sir. He has apologised for the state of his uniform.’ He said it without a smile, unlike Verling. It felt strange to have another officer standing in for him until his return from Guernsey. Verling would be fretting over the delay. He would have heard all the latest news from the colonies when Condor had called at St. Peter Port with the admiral’s despatches.
It would be good to have him back as first lieutenant. Although he might feel quite differently about it, after his brief but exciting flirtation with the schooner Hotspur.
Conway glanced at the letters lying open on his desk; they had been sent across from Condor within minutes of her anchor hitting the bottom.
One letter had been from his old friend’s son, Midshipman Andrew Sewell. He was still with Verling and the passage crew in Guernsey, but the short, simple note had seemed like a reward, something which had warmed him more than he would have believed, or hoped.
The door opened, and Richard Bolitho walked into the cabin. This was only just February, and much had happened since their last meeting, the Board held in the flagship, which was still moored in exactly the same position as the day when several ‘young gentlemen’ had been required to face their tormentors. They all had to endure it, and laughed about it afterwards. The fortunate ones, anyway.
He strode to meet him and clasped his hands.
‘So good to see you again, my boy! I want to hear all about the capture of the smugglers, and the contraband you helped to seize. It will carry some weight, I can tell you, with their lordships, and above!’
He guided him to a chair and the table where a servant had laid out some wine and his best goblets.
‘I arranged for you to take passage in Condor. I hope it was a pleasant, if uneventful one?’ He did not wait for a reply; he rarely did. ‘I know you will have a good deal to do, and I shall not delay you unnecessarily. My clerk will take care of the other matters.’
Bolitho leaned his back against the chair. The same ship; even the weather, cold and grey, had not changed. The houses of Plymouth, like the ranks of anchored ships, were still half-shrouded in mist. It had seemed to take an eternity for the frigate to make her entrance and anchor.
And yet only days had passed since it had begun. When they had climbed aboard Hotspur, a lifetime ago.
He glanced down at the breeches someone had loaned him, and at the makeshift patches on his coat. Reminders, like the cuts and bruises on his body.
The captain had poured the wine himself and was smiling down at him.
‘I am very proud of you, Richard. One of my midshipmen.’ He raised his glass. ‘No need for you to be delayed when it could be avoided. I had a word with the flag captain.’ He was refilling his glass, although Bolitho did not recall tasting the wine. ‘And I wanted to do it myself.’ He pulled open a drawer and took out an unsealed envelope. ‘You are free to leave the ship and complete your arrangements.’
He watched him take the envelope, the ‘scrap of parchment’ they all joked about. Afterwards.
‘Your commission, Richard. None better deserved!’
Bolitho saw his goblet being refilled. And still he could taste nothing.
It was here. The moment, the impossible step. He had seen some of the frigate’s midshipmen glancing over at him during their brief time together. All so young, like Sewell… although Sewell had seemed suddenly mature.
And his first appointment. You are herewith directed and commanded, upon receipt of these orders… The rest was blurred.
But it was a frigate, named Destiny.
Conway was saying, ‘I shall delay you no longer.’ He looked over at the desk. ‘Young Andrew Sewell has told me what you did for him. It helped him more than you can know. His father would have been obliged to you, had he been here himself to thank you.’
Bolitho stood up; there were voices in the outer cabin. He was grateful for the interruption, and so, possibly, was the captain.
He said, ‘Martyn Dancer was a great help to him, sir. They got on well together.’
Conway walked with him to the screen door, and impetuously put his arm around Bolitho’s shoulder. Afterwards, the cabin servant remarked that he had never seen Conway do anything like it, and it was never repeated.
Conway said, ‘Then my thanks are to you both.’ He looked again at the stern windows. ‘God be with you when you join Destiny,’ and he paused. ‘As a King’s officer.’
Out on the broad quarterdeck the air was still misty, but there was a gleam on the water, as if the sun were about to break through.
He would go to Falmouth and tell his mother and sister. It would have to be a brief visit, and he was glad of that also.
He looked around the familiar decks, and at the groups of seamen and marines.
This was the past. Ahead lay the new horizon.