"When Pellew, Lord Exmouth, carried out his attack on the Dey of Algiers, and when most people claimed he was attempting the impossible, ships against well-sited shore batteries, you were there with him in Unrivalled. Later, in his report to their lordships, Exmouth wrote of you, "Bolitho is a true frigate captain". Praise indeed from one of our greatest."
He smiled. "Onward can be a ship to make us both proud."
Somewhere in the far distance a solitary cannon or coastguard signal disturbed the stillness, but his eyes remained fixed on Adam's face. "Take her, Bolitho. She's yours to command!"
Afterwards, Adam could not recall who spoke first, or if there were no words.
There were muffled voices beyond the door, some one giving a discreet cough.
Grenville said quietly, "The Admiral wishes to see you, but he is human enough to take his turn. "He touched his arm.
"Come, we will walk down to the boat together. The formalities can wait a while longer."
The door was open: there were unknown faces, the glint of gold lace, somebody calling out congratulations, smiles, sharing the moment in their own way.
Adam took a grip on his emotions, distancing himself, regaining control, as if he were at the heart of a sudden squall or a call to arms.
Grenville was holding his arm, pausing only to greet or wave to some anonymous figure. As if it were his day. His ship.
He heard himself ask, "Do we meet the present captain, Sir John? "and Grenville turned and faced him as if surprised.
"His appointment was not confirmed. "He was waving somebody aside, his eyes on the stairway. "In your home county they have a saying, my friend, that bad news rides a fast horse. You will hear all about it soon enough. Captain Richmond is dead. You will appreciate why I…" He changed the subject abruptly. "You are Onward's first captain. Don't fail her. "The transforming smile again. "Or those who believe in you, eh?"
He felt the air now, like ice on his lips. Hands were offering him his cloak, but something made him wave it aside. He saw Grenville's nod of approval.
"Your day, my friend!"
There was a launch waiting at the pier, a lieutenant raising his hat in salute, some spectators loitering expectantly.
Grenville said, "Do you have any one with you? "and then seemed to shrug. "I need not have asked!"
Adam saw Luke Jago already in the sternsheets, as if he belonged there.
"My cox'n, Sir John. It was his wish to be here."
Empty words. Jago had insisted. My place, Cap'n. And even though they had hardly spoken during that gruelling journey, he had been very aware of the tough, silent companionship.
Grenville was saying, "Backbone of any shipЦ mine was, anyway."
Adam saw a young woman peering down from one of the windows, on the floor beneath the room with the telescope.
She was waving, and at a distance she might have been… He looked away.
The hardest part begins now.
"Attention in the boat! "The lieutenant stood at the foot of the familiar stone steps, the launch lifting and dipping on the choppy swell below him. A well turned-out crew, arms folded and facing aft. For them this was mere routine.
The helmsman stood by the tiller bar, and beside him Jago was already on his feet. Grenville was moving briskly toward the boat, his face hidden, and it was then that Adam felt the full impact of what this moment must mean to him.
"Allow me, Sir John. "He stepped over the gunwale and into the sternsheets, barely able to keep his balance. He saw the helmsman's surprise, and knew that the lieutenant had turned.
It was one of the navy's oldest customs. A captain always boarded any boat after every one else, and was the first to leave, so that he would never be unnecessarily delayed or inconvenienced.
He felt Jago reach out and steady him, and managed to grip his hand, and heard him mutter, "Well spoken, Cap'n. "He of all men would know what he had done, and the significance of his gesture.
Grenville was following now, and the lieutenant was stiffly at attention again.
For today, at this moment and with all honour, a captain was going out to his ship.
The launch pulled steadily and unhurriedly toward the spread of ships which lay across the main anchorage, oars rising and dipping like wings. Other boats going about their business were careful to keep clear, conscious of the passenger who wore a captain's bright epaulettes, or of the crest on either bow signifying the admiral's own authority.
Luke Jago gazed along the boat between the banks of oarsmen, all eyes astern, or watching the stroke. A smart enough crew, but how would they perform in open sea, in the teeth of half a gale? He looked away. It was force of habit. A ship will be judged by her boats. The hard way, or the easy way, the old Jacks always said. Or you'd feel the touch of a rope's end, just to jog your memory.
He saw a big two-decker, a seventy-four, anchored apart from all the others. Waiting to be hulked, or for the breaker's yard, mastless and stripped of rigging, gunports empty. He glanced at the captain's shoulders and saw his head turn, as if remembering Unrivalled when they had returned here. Those same stone stairs… He could almost hear some one saying, "Never look back. "But he had. He could still feel the pain.
Now another two-decker, in stark contrast, standing rigging freshly blacked-down, ensign and jack streaming in the offshore wind, and men working about her decks, some pausing to watch as the launch pulled abeam. A seaman by the entry port, and an officer training his telescope to make sure that his ship was not about to receive an important and possibly unwelcome visitor.
Breathe easy, matey! Jago saw the captain's hand shifting his sword away from his leg, unconsciously, his mind miles away, probably still in Cornwall with the woman he was going to wed. And no wonder. Or was he troubled by the speed of this new appointment? He had hardly uttered a word on the journey to Plymouth, even when they had stopped at some poxy inn for a piss and a glass of grog. More like a burial vault…
He almost smiled. The captain had felt it badly. Forgive my poor company, Luke. How could you turn on some one like that? Like the handshake as he had stepped, and as a result all but fallen, into this launch. Jago had seen them staring. He was still getting used to it himself, and to his own response. Just a little while ago, he would have said it was impossible to change. Bloody officers.
He saw the one called Grenville gesturing toward another ship.
"I served in her! Twelve, no, fifteen years back. I can't believe it! "Jago saw him touch Bolitho's arm, and recalled that unexpected gesture when Grenville had been accorded the honour of taking precedence over the captain. It never made much sense to Jago, but he had seen what it had done for a man who seemed all-important anyway, an intimate of their lordships. But he had witnessed it, shared it, and thought he understood it. This was Grenville's real world. Like the rest of us. And he was going to lose it; and the captain knew, and he gave a damn.
Grenville gripped Adam's arm again.
"There she is! Larboard bow! Isn't she a beauty? "There could have been just the two of them in the launch, Jago thought. "They must have all worked watch-and-watch to have made her so!"
The lieutenant signalled to the helmsman and the tiller went over. Jago saw figures on the maindeck, some running, and a little group already assembled by the entry port. How low and sleek she looked after Athena… There were barges alongside, deep in the water, and carefully fendered away from Onward's new paintwork. Loaded with ballast which must have been removed when the new artillery had been hoisted aboard. Jago could remember all those other times: tackles, orders, backbreaking labour, the sweat and the curses. Poor old Jack!
Some of the gunports were open, black muzzles already visible. Onward was showing her teeth.