Adam said, “Midshipman Hotham will go aloft and speak with the lookouts.” He saw Napier watching. “You, too,” and their eyes met. “Easy does it.”
Tyacke moved to the compass box and glanced up at the masthead pendant. “I suggest you carry on with your gunnery exercise.” He walked to the side. “If it’s proof we need, we’ll have it soon enough.”
David Napier climbed into the shrouds and steadied his feet on the ratlines to get his balance. The tar on the rough cordage, heated by the sun, felt as if it were still fresh. He began to climb, but not before he had seen more figures crowding on deck, some peering at the land, or the empty horizon to starboard. He had also seen his friend Simon Huxley beside the quartermaster on the quarterdeck, ready to pass any new orders along the gangway: a “walking speaking-trumpet,” a role all the midshipmen hated.
A ship had been blown up, how or why they must discover.
I am not afraid. The thought reassured him, like a hand on the shoulder.
Squire stood watching the two climbing midshipmen until they were hidden by the curve of the main topsail and those few seamen still working aloft. The wind had remained steady, and the motion seemed easier after the last alteration of course: they were now steering due south.
He walked to the quarterdeck rail and stared along the ship’s length, from the visible cathead where he had seen the anchor made fast, to the place where he now stood on watch and in command, unless anything else happened.
The captain had gone below to the chartroom with his senior officer, leaving Squire with just a nod: the words, “Call me,” had not needed to be spoken. Unlike some captains he had known, he thought.
He looked toward the land. Hard to believe anything had happened to rouse Onward to this state of tension and readiness. A few shots and then the flash, the explosion. It might have been something ashore, but his ears were trained to such things. But where? How?
He saw Vincent by the fore hatch, some seamen gathered nearby, gun captains and quarter gunners, who were each responsible for the responses and efficiency of four of the eighteen-pounders: Onward‘s teeth. Any moment now and they would exercise action. And this time it would have a stronger significance for all concerned.
Monteith was walking aft, apparently deep in thought. He had been below with Vincent when the first shots had been heard. Squire did not know the reason, but could guess. He closed his mind to it. Despite his age and seniority, he still felt like a stranger in the wardroom.
He walked to the side and gazed at the sea creaming away from the quarter. Except at times like this, when the ship was his.
He blinked as a bird seemed to drop from nowhere, hit the water and rise immediately, a catch in its beak like a sliver of silver.
“He’ll be eating that ashore while we’re still pounding along out here!”
Murray was so light on his feet Squire had not heard him crossing the deck. The surgeon was in uniform, but carrying one of his familiar smocks over his arm.
Squire said dryly, “Always prepared, aren’t you?”
The hawk-like profile was surveying the deck. “They say sound moves faster over water than land.” He faced Squire. “I’ve been wanting to talk with you, James. But I was ashore most of the time before we sailed.” He paused. “And I gave my word, you see.”
“You saw Claire. I had a feeling about it. Ever since …” He waited until a seaman coiling a halliard over his arm passed, without appearing to see them. “I’ve been thinking about her. Quite a lot.”
Murray repeated, “I gave my word.” He crossed himself with his free hand and gave a thin smile. “Until we sailed, at least. She didn’t want you to concern yourself.” Then, with a touch of impatience, “It’s for your own good, man. She’s still reliving her experiences. That’s only too common, in my experience, although in my profession we tend to underestimate the damage to the mind.” He fell silent as a bosun’s mate walked toward the fore hatch, moistening his silver call with his tongue. Then he said, “Am I wrong about this, Jamie?”
Squire said, staring at the sea, “I have nothing to offer her,” then looked steadily at Murray. “But I’ve never felt like this about any woman.” He shrugged, trying to dismiss it. “I’ll probably never see her again, anyway.”
Murray gripped his wrist with surprising strength. “I hope you do. For both your sakes.”
Whatever else he might have said was interrupted by the shrill of the calclass="underline" “All hands! All hands to exercise action!”
Murray turned to leave the quarterdeck, the white smock streaming from his arm. But he paused long enough to watch the gun crews running to their stations, each man no doubt thinking that the next time would be in deadly earnest.
He had seen too much of it, and there was always the bloody aftermath. He looked aft again but Squire was by the compass box, calling to the two helmsmen. Where he belonged, Murray thought.
Above all of them, David Napier climbed into the foretop and paused to regain his breath. He had already visited the maintop, and had left Midshipman Hotham with another lookout.
Tucker greeted him with a grin and a thumbs-up. “Too much good food, David,” and Napier loosened his shirt.
“Not as young as I was, David!”
They both laughed.
Napier looked across the larboard bow, balanced and shading his eyes against the fierce glare. It was an exciting sensation, this towering structure of masts, spars and canvas all quivering with power. He could recall when he had been too scared to release his grip, let alone dare to look down at the ship beneath him.
He asked, “Are you settled now?”
Tucker shrugged. “Now an’ then I find meself looking up at the t’gallant yards, an’ further!”
Napier felt the barricade press into his hip as the mast leaned over again, thinking of Hotham, who had already been appointed acting lieutenant more than once. He would be the next to confront the Inquisition. And at some time in the future, with luck, it would be his own turn. Once it had seemed impossible: he had not even dared to imagine it. He felt himself smile. Back in those days when Bolitho’s cousin Elizabeth had called him his captain’s servant.
He realised that Tucker had said something and must have repeated it: he was suddenly tense.
“Could I use your glass?” Tucker pushed some hair from his eyes, and seemed oblivious to the deck and the sea far beneath him.
Napier watched his profile as he adjusted the telescope with strong fingers, pausing only to murmur, “Not a patch on Sir Richard’s old glass, eh, Dave?” But he was not smiling.
Tucker handed the telescope back to Napier. “I wasn’t sure. It’s still too far.”
Napier steadied the glass and knew Tucker was waiting for his reaction. He could see nothing but the glare like metal on the water, and the constant change of colour and movement, the swell steep and angry in the steady wind. There was nothing solid, nothing you could describe or recognise. Only flotsam, fragments driven by wind and tide; it might have covered several miles.
But it had once been a living vessel.
“I’ll tell him!” He was halfway into the lubber’s hole when Tucker called out, “Slow down! We don’t want to lose you!”
Napier hesitated, one foot dangling in the air. “I want the captain to know you saw it first!”
He knew Tucker was still gazing after him as his feet found the first ratline.
He was not even breathless when he completed his descent and scrambled onto the starboard gangway. The picture in his mind was as vivid as the moment he had seen it.
The gun drill had stopped or been curtailed, but most of the crew were still at their stations. Those on the starboard side looked up as his shadow passed, and their upturned faces were full of questions. Napier knew the first lieutenant was there, but avoided him and kept his eyes on the quarterdeck at the end of the gangway, his pace steady and unhurried. Something he had learned from experience.