They greeted each other like old friends rather than men who had been sharing the watches with barely a break.
Adam asked, "Can't you sleep either, Aubrey?"
Martin tried to contain a yawn. "I have the morning watch, sir." He too listened to the ship around and above them.
Then he followed Adam aft into the cabin and the sentry lapsed into a doze once more.
Adam held out his hand. "Happy Christmas, Aubrey." It sounded so solemn that he wanted to laugh.
Martin sat down. "I cannot believe it."
Adam took a bottle from his cupboard and then two glasses. It gave him more time to think. There was nobody he could ask. If he revealed even a hint of uncertainty he would lose their confidence. The margin between life and death.
It was claret but it could have been anything.
Martin looked at him. "Sweethearts and wives, sir! "
They both drank and Adam thought of the letter again. If only you knew.
He said, "I want a good hand at the masthead, Aubrey. Tell Jorston to do it when we start the final approach. He's a first-class seaman, due for sailing-master whenever he can be spared. Knows the state of the sea-bed, the run of the tide just by looking at it."
Martin watched the captain refilling the glasses, fascinated. It was like seeing his mind at work.
Adam said, "Both anchors cat ted and ready to let go."
Martin waited, then asked, "You really think we'll fight, sir?" Adam seemed far away. "I know it."
He was suddenly wide awake. "Fetch the prisoner, the boatswain Richie, isn't it?"
Martin stared at him. How could he remember such details?
Adam smiled. "Send for the master-at-arms and tell him. I want you here with me." He should have said need, he thought.
They said little as they drank their wine and listened to the ship and the sea, each one of them elsewhere in his thoughts, each with somebody else.
The doors were opened and the bosun, accompanied by the master-at-arms and the ship's corporal, lurched across the tilting deck. Richie wore leg-irons and each step was slow and painful.
He stood quite still, staring down at the young captain he had once thought to be a mere lieutenant.
"I've nothin' more to say."
The master-at-arms snapped, "Sir! "
Adam said, "A chair, Corporal." As the man struggled into it he added, "Wait outside, Master-at-Arms." The two representatives of the ship's discipline left, obviously mystified.
Adam said, "I have to know certain things. First, what part did you play in the loss of the Maid of RyeT
The man seemed taken aback, as if he had been expecting something else.
"Nothin', sir! " He saw Adam turn as if to call the master-at-arms back into the cabin and said vehemently, "I swear to God, sir, it's the truth! "
Adam watched him. "I'm listening."
Richie looked at Martin as if to gain his support. "She was already run ashore, sir, in the Gulf of Guinea it was. There was a terrible blow o' wind and we lost some of our canvas before we could claw clear! "
"Why did you call your captain a coward? Was it because he did not stand up for you when we boarded EagletT
Richie looked at his leg-irons as if shocked at what he saw.
"He wouldn't go to the schooner's rescue. Some of 'er people had managed to get ashore not many, I think. We didn't know she were a man-o'-war at that time. The men who managed to reach the beach were set upon by natives. Hacked 'em to pieces. Even above the wind we could hear 'em screamin'! " He gave a great shudder. "Probably thought she was a bloody blackbirder! "
Adam reached down and gripped the cutlass, the new short-bladed one which Dunwoody had helped load into the ill-fated schooner. Richie stared at it dully. "We picked up just the one man, sir. He'd gone outboard when the vessel struck. I went over the side after him even though the Cap'n was shoutin' for me to stop! He was afraid he'd follow the schooner on to the beach! "
Adam found time to wonder how many of Anemone's company could swim. Very few probably.
He looked at the cutlass. The man could be lying. Some of the others from Eaglet might confirm or refute his story. But that would take too long. They might never know now.
Richie said thickly, "The man lived for an hour or so. It was then that we knew she was a King's ship. He was a seaman, like I was once." He sounded beaten, as if he had already seen the sentence of death.
"Where you got those scars on your back? A striped shirt at the gangway?"
"Yes sir."
Adam stood up and crossed to the cabinet again. He could feel the man's eyes following every move, as if he expected to be taunted, despised.
He said slowly, "You know this island of Lorraine, Richie." He saw him watching the cognac as it mounted the side of the glass while the deck went down again. "You've visited it many times?"
"Once, sir. Just the once."
Adam glanced at Martin's anxious face. "Once." He held out the glass. "Get this into you, man."
Richie almost choked on it and did not stop until it was empty.
Adam said, This is not a game of cards, Richie. My ship and your life are too high for mere stakes. You deserted from the navy?" He saw him give a despairing nod. "Helping the enemy, being in possession of a cutlass which may or may not have come your way by accident." He poured some more cognac. "Not just a hanging, is it?" He forced himself to add, "Have you ever seen a flogging through the fleet? The rope is a relief after that! " He said sharply so that even Martin jumped, "What ship were you in? And I want the truth."
Richie's red-rimmed eyes looked down. "Last one was the Linnet, sloop-of-war. I was a maintop man sir. I ran from her, I couldn't take no more of it."
Adam watched him. The man's scars spoke for themselves. Perhaps he deserved them. He held his breath as the man lifted his chin and looked him straight in the eyes. It was like seeing somebody else.
He said quietly, "Afore that I was in the old Superb, sir. Cap'n Keats. Now there was a man."
Adam glanced at Martin. "Yes, I know."
Feet moved overhead and somebody laughed. Adam looked around the cabin, soon to be stripped and laid bare like the rest of the ship. Ready for battle, and battle there was going to be. He knew it: could feel it like a sickness. And yet someone had laughed. It was Christmas.
He said, "Will you trust me, Richie, as you once did Captain Keats? I promise I will do my best for you afterwards." The word seemed to hang in the air.
The man looked at him gravely. He seemed stronger because of it, and not merely because of a promise that might not be honoured.
"Yes, sir." He nodded slowly, then asked, The irons, sir?"
Adam looked at Martin. He probably thinks me insane. "Have them struck off."
The escort re-entered and Richie was led away.
Did I do right to trust him? But all he said was, "Leave me, Aubrey." As Martin turned to go he added, "I shall see you at dawn."
As the door was closed he sat and looked at the empty chair. It was strange to accept that he knew more about the man called Richie than he did about most of his ship's company.
He was surging forward through the darkness on the word of a deserter, reliant upon the skills of seamen many of whom had never set foot aboard ship until the press gangs had dragged them from their streets and farms. It was little enough.
He was surprised that he could feel no misgivings or doubts. They were committed. I have committed them.
He dragged some paper on to his table and after a moment began to write.
My dear Zenoria. On this Christmas day 1809 we are sailing into a battle. I know not what outcome we may expect, but my heart is brave because of you…
He stood up and crushed the paper into a ball before pushing it out of the quarter window.
An hour later he climbed to the quarterdeck and saw them watching him. His shirt was clean, and in the gloom his breeches and stockings were like snow.
To the deck at large he said, "May Christmas be good to us all! " He turned to the first lieutenant. "Send the hands to breakfast early and tell the purser I am expecting some generosity from his stores! "