Alexander Kent - In the King`s Name

The deck tilted slightly and shuddered. In for a blow . He could almost hear Julyan saying it.

A seaman on his knees polishing some brass scrambled to his feet as his captain approached, hesitated, and then ventured, “Mornin’, sir.”

Adam nodded. “Looks good, Savage.” It was an easy name to remember, and the courtesy mattered. Some officers, even captains, never cared, until they were in trouble.

He saw Vincent waiting by the wardroom entrance. Perhaps he thought this meeting was a waste of time. He might be right.

The wardroom was unusually crowded. Apart from the officers and senior warrant officers, all the other warrants seemed to be present, the specialists or the “backbone,” as Adam had heard his uncle describe them. The bosun and the gunner; Tilley, the sailmaker; and the cooper; and of course Hall, the carpenter, bent almost double because of his height. The tallest man in the ship. Probably anywhere … And one midshipman, Hotham, the senior. That had been Vincent’s idea.

They were all seated. Adam was the visitor here.

Vincent said, “All present, sir, except the surgeon. He’s still ashore.”

“I knew that. But thank you.” He looked around at the array of faces. “I expect most of you know, or might have suspected, that Medusa , our flagship, is being paid off.” He saw a few quick, startled glances, but no real surprise. “She will lie in ordinary until her fate is decided.”

He noticed Lieutenant Squire shaking his head, perhaps thinking of some particular ship in the past. At the end of the line …

Adam continued, “Our patrols will proceed, as ordered. But more and smaller ships will be needed.” He paused. “And officers to command them.” He saw Devereux, their new Royal Marine, turn as Prior, the clerk, bent to recover a few pages of his carefully written notes, which had fallen to the floor like dried leaves.

Adam had met Devereux only briefly when Vincent had introduced him for what he called “the formalities,” and had liked what he saw. Keen, intelligent and open, even if he had been sent to Onward under something of a cloud. When he had asked Devereux if he were disturbed by the transfer from a seventy-four to a frigate, he had seemed unable to contain himself.

“On the contrary, sir, I feel alive again!”

Vincent had remarked with an odd sarcasm, “Thanks to your predecessor,” although minutes earlier he had been making the newcomer welcome.

Adam heard the brief rumble of trucks directly overhead in the great cabin, and could imagine Morgan anxiously watching every move as an eighteen-pounder was checked. At least here in the wardroom, one deck lower, they were spared the presence of guns.

He reached for his hat and said, “We have a fine ship!”

Someone gave a cheer but was drowned out as Harry Drummond, the bosun, lurched to his feet, sending his chair crashing behind him. “An’ we’ve got a fine captain!”

They were all standing now, some taking up the cheer as the door closed behind him. Adam stood quite still, for how long he did not know. The same seaman was nearby, now leaning on a broom. I should not have insisted on coming. These same men trusted me, and some have paid dearly for it .

A few minutes later Vincent joined him. It was quiet again. “I was wondering about cordage supplies, sir.”

Their eyes met, captain and first lieutenant once more. Adam thought of Vincent’s own words. The ship comes first . He was wrong.

“What the hell?” Vincent was staring at the ladder. There were muffled shouts and feet thudding on deck: a boat coming alongside, and making heavy weather of it. And here came Walker, their youngest midshipman, almost falling as he slithered to a halt.

“Officer of the guard, sir!” He held out a thick envelope. “For you, sir!”

Adam took it. The familiar buff colour, his own name and rank in perfect script. Walker puffed importantly, “It needs the captain’s signature!”

Vincent snapped, “We know that.”

Adam said, “Thank you, Mr. Walker,” and smiled at the boy. “You must take more exercise. Onward is too confined for you.”

The wardroom door was open, and Prior was waiting patiently with a pen and an ink container. Between his prominent teeth was a paper-knife. Nothing ever seemed to catch him unawares.

Like the burial service at sea or the Articles of War, Adam knew these words by heart. Being in all respects ready for sea …

Midshipman Walker, still panting, had brought a stool from somewhere, and was looking on wide-eyed as Adam leaned down with the pen and signed his name.

Vincent said, “I’ll give it to the officer of the guard, sir,” but it sounded like a question.

Adam blew on the ink to dry it. “Sailing orders.” He folded the main section and thrust it inside his coat. “The day after tomorrow, weather permitting.” He moved toward the ladder. “I shall give it to him myself.”

The wardroom door was still open, but there was not a sound to be heard.

Vincent repeated, “Day after tomorrow, sir?”

Adam wanted to smile. Jago, for one, would not be surprised. It was a Friday.

“We will talk soon.” He paused, with one foot on the ladder. “The flag captain will be sailing with us.”

Lieutenant James Squire stood by the forecastle in the eyes of the ship and gazed down at the anchor cable. He had done this too many times to remember, but the moment never failed to impress him, standing like this with his back turned on the remainder of the ship, sharing it only with the figurehead and his outthrust trident. Most people, even those who thought they knew him well, might be surprised by the intensity of his emotions.

He could feel the deck stirring under his feet, and the breeze was strong and steady, enough to create little waves beneath the stem as if Onward were eager and already under way. He should be used to it, but this time it felt different, and knowing why was no help.

He turned almost reluctantly and looked along the full length of the ship. Men being mustered in readiness for putting to sea. Senior hands checking names, others facing aft toward the quarterdeck. And the capstan, unmanned as yet. Twelve bars like the spokes of a wheel. Twelve men to each bar. He had known times when it had taken more, when wind and sea had joined to fight them before the anchor had broken free.

Squire saw the small knot of people near the big double wheel, Vincent pointing at something, and Julyan, the master, nodding as if in agreement. And along the upper deck and gangways a midshipman standing sturdily here and there, to relay messages or chase up stragglers if an order was not obeyed promptly.

He glanced over at his own two particular “young gentlemen,” Napier and Simon Huxley. They had become part of his team in more ways than one, like the seamen around them, who knew exactly how far they could go before Squire had to put an edge to his voice. All in all, a good crew to control, although Squire would never have told them so.

The captain was nowhere in sight: probably still in his cabin, making sure he had forgotten nothing before the flag captain came aboard. A senior officer and the admiral’s right hand … Squire had come up the hard way, and still nurtured many of the grudges and prejudices of the lower deck.

Onward had swung to her anchor and the flagship was almost hidden by canvas and rigging. Maybe the day of the “liner” had come to an end? The old Jacks scoffed about it, but when Medusa was paid off …

“Sir!” Midshipman Huxley was gesturing, interrupting the disturbing thoughts. “Boat leaving the flagship, sir!” He was a youth who rarely smiled, but he was a close friend of Napier’s, and Squire was oddly proud of them both.