"Would you consider taking his place?"
Jago stared at him." Your cox'n, sir?" He glanced up as one of the top men yelled something to some hands working aloft.
"I'll be getting' discharged after this, sir. I've done my share, though some might say different." He shook his head. "I'm a gunner's mate. That'll do for me, sir." He looked at him in the same thoughtful manner. "But you done kindly by me for asking'."
Adam dismissed him and watched him rejoin his friends, and drag the damp shirt over his head, hiding the savage scars. No wonder he held Urquhart in such respect. He smiled. If not his captain.
Dyer murmured, The commodore, sir."
Deighton strode across to the weather side and stared at the men working on the tiered boats.
The sea and the wind are moderate, Captain. I think we shall lie-to tonight, and rejoin the squadron tomorrow." And, sharply, to the sailing master, "What time would you estimate, Mr. Ritchie, all things being even?"
Ritchie regarded him with a certain wariness. "During the dog watches we should make contact with Wildfire, sir."
Then make it so, Mr. Ritchie." He grinned. "We have done what we set out to do, eh?"
Adam saw some of the others looking over with the same caution. This relaxed, almost jovial mood was something new to them.
He said, "I do not think we should lie-to, sir." He kept his voice low, but he saw Ritchie nod in agreement.
Deighton said, "You disagree, Captain, is that it?"
"It is my duty to advise you, sir."
"It is not your duty, sir, to criticize me in the presence of the ship's company!" The joviality was gone.
"The enemy will call for reinforcements, sir. It would be their first reaction."
"And this is mine, Captain. We shall lie-to until the morning watch is mustered. Make a note of it in the log." He gave the fierce grin again. "Now!"
He walked away, and a few moments later a faint glow appeared at the cabin skylight.
Adam turned, and saw Lieutenant Monteith waiting for him. "Yes?"
The wounded man, Simpson. He died, sir."
There was blood on his sleeve, and Adam guessed that he had stayed with the wretched Simpson until the end. He could see it as clearly as if he had been there: Monteith, and the seaman he could not recall but for his courageous silence, and the surgeon, his face as red as the blood he spilled. And he thought of Deighton's indifference. His arrogance.
Jago was right. Leave it when you can. Walk away from it while you still have limbs, wipe it from your mind.
Perhaps he was too tired to think. No such thing as luck, good or bad. Was that really me? There was always a possibility that Deighton was right; he had been an experienced and senior captain before this appointment.
He touched Monteith's arm and said, "Dine with me tonight, Howard." He saw the lieutenant's surprise. "We shall drink to damnation and drown our sorrows… I fear we shall be busy men tomorrow."
Monteith said, "I would have liked nothing better, sir. But I have the middle watch."
He should have known. "Then rest while you can." He made his way down to his cabin, as the marine sentry was relieved outside the commodore's quarters.
John Whitmarsh was waiting for him, and the table had been carefully laid.
Adam shook his head. "I find that I cannot eat. Some cognac, please."
Then he sat down and dragged open his drawer. It was as well that Monteith had declined the invitation, he thought.
The cognac burned his throat, but it seemed to steady him.
He picked up a pen and began to write. Dear Catherine… When Whitmarsh entered the cabin again he removed the pen from Adam's out- thrust hand, and looked at the empty sheet of notepaper. Dear Catherine. The captain had even done that for him, taught him to read. Like so many things. Almost shyly, he reached out and touched the bright epaulette on the shoulder; Adam, deeply asleep, did not wake.
The captain was back. It was all that mattered. Tomorrow could wait.
When the hands were piped on deck with the morning watch, their captain was already in his customary place on the weather side of the quarterdeck.
Adam watched the familiar preparations, hammocks being stowed in the nettings, petty officers checking their lists and waiting to report to their lieutenants. He had had only a few hours' sleep, but a great deal of coffee and a change into clean clothing had made all the difference. He touched his chin. And a shave. He thought of Bolitho, and the restorative power of the customary shave from his faithful Allday. Impossible to think of them being separated. But it would come… Old Mister Allday. Young Whitmarsh had better not let him hear himself so described, he thought. Whitmarsh was very quiet these days, almost withdrawn, as he went about his duties. Another separation; but it would be for the best. His aunt would be more than willing to take care of the boy while he attended a local school. You could learn a lot in a man-of-war, but if Whitmarsh was to be sponsored as a midshipman he would need preparing for the other 'young gentlemen' he would eventually meet. As I did. It had been his Aunt Nancy then, another stranger who had become one of his own family, who had taught him to feel at ease in a world he had never known. But that was what was troubling Whitmarsh. Leaving the ship. Leaving me.
He turned as Ritchie called, "West by north, sir. Starboard tack. Wind's backed a piece overnight." He did not need to be able to see the masthead pendant. He knew. He could feel it.
Dyer was here, too. "Ready, sir!"
"Very well. Hands aloft, set tops' is and fore course He saw one eyebrow rise very slightly. "We shall save the t'gallants, Mr. Dyer, until we can see where we are going!" It brought a few grins from the helmsmen and the master's mate of the watch. All old hands, they knew what the captain meant. There was no sense in showing all your top canvas at first light, until you knew who else was about. He laid his hands on the quarterdeck rail, still ice-cold from the night. It would be a different story in a few hours' time.
He loved to hear a ship coming alive again; he had hardly ever given the order to lie-to, unlike some captains. Like Deighton… A ship should be moving. He recalled an old sailor's advice to him once. An equal strain on all parts, hull and spars, and she'll not let you down.
Valkyrie leaned over to the thrust of wind, spray glinting above the beak head as the darkness loosened its grip.
He thought about Deighton. Perhaps they were both at fault. It was not the first time he had served with a man he could scarcely tolerate. It was all too common. The cramped confines of a crowded hull made few allowances for personal dislikes.
They would receive new orders, either to continue their patrols and the stop- and-search tactics which had been so successful, or they might be returning to Halifax. All of the inshore squadron would need to be restocked with fresh water and, if possible, fruit. He turned it over in his mind. And if I should be offered another command? Because of Deighton, or because he needed a new beginning?
"West by north, sir. Steady as she goes!"
Dyer crossed the deck. "Dismiss the watch below, sir?"
Adam saw a tendril of smoke from the galley funnel, earlier than usual, but sailors could eat at any time.
"Very well." He looked for the sun. "D'you have some good eyes aloft?"
Dyer nodded, relieved. "I picked them myself, sir." He hesitated, sensing the barrier which still separated them. "Are we likely to meet with an enemy, sir?"
Adam smiled. "Well, we know where most of our friends are, Mr. Dyer!" Even the nearest ones would be further away by now because of the commodore's insistence on lying-to.
And it was getting lighter. He could see the pale outlines of the brigantine's sails against the heaving water, and thought of Borradaile's uncanny knack of obtaining information from any vessel he sighted… He heard a splash, and knew it was Deighton's strange servant flinging some water over the side. Perhaps he had been shaving his master.
He took a few paces across the deck, and back again. It was no use; he would have to make allowances, be ready to bend more easily, even if he never understood Deighton's sudden fits of anger and his inability to conceal it.