Alexander Kent - Man of War

Adam knew Stirling was watching him, judging the moment, and the remaining time for Athena, his ship, to come about.

He walked swiftly to the rail and touched the sailing master's arm, but did not take his eyes from the upper yards and the masthead pendant.

"Remember what you said to me when I came to Athenal That she was a fine sailer even close to the wind?"

He saw Eraser stare at him, and then nod. "Good as any frigate, sir! " Determination, and perhaps relief that his captain had not cracked under the strain.

"Stand by to come about! " He saw Bethune walk across the deck, his eyes on the nearest land, the ground and hillside still smoking from their first broadside.

"Aim for the battery." He leaned on the rail. "Put the helm down! "

The spokes were spinning round; the helmsmen needed no urging.

"Helm a-lee, sir! "

Some one had loosened the awning across the empty boat tier, and some of the released water was surging across the deck where seamen were already forming a bucket chain.

"Off tacks and sheets! "

Still turning into the wind, a few boats pulling away as if they imagined they were the new target.

Adam felt the deck tilting, the land sliding past, the rounded hill suddenly standing like a marker on the opposite bow. The yards were as tightly braced as they could bear, the canvas almost aback as the ship came slowly into the wind. Small things stood out. The hole punched in the topsail had spread across the full breadth of canvas; torn rigging trailed down toward the deck like dead creeper. Then the tip of the headland itself, some crumbling fortifications clearly etched now against the sky. And directly beyond it, like water piled in a great dam, was the open sea.

"Steady as you go! "

He could see a tiny pyramid of sail, like pale shells in the strengthening sunlight as the frigate Hostile hurried to obey Athena's last signal, to close on the flagship.

He saw Bethune by the poop ladder, leaning across an unmanned swivel gun to stare at the small schooner. He wondered what Jago would think when he saw Athena sail past, heading once more for open water.

"East by north, sir! "

He saw Fraser watching him from the compass box. He knew. It was as close to the wind as Athena would come. Perhaps even better than he had promised.

Each gun captain was ready. Here a handspike moved to adjust the muzzle's elevation, or a tackle squeaked to train a gun a fraction more, until the eye over the breech was satisfied.

"Ready, sir! " That was Stirling again. The ship had come about and was on the opposite tack. The drills and careful selection of seamen known for their skill and reliability, in all weathers and in the face of death itself, had been his main concern, a first lieutenant's role, ship of the line or little sixth-rate like Audacity.

Adam knew that Bethune had joined him. Perhaps already trying to gauge the final outcome, perhaps the blame when the repercussions began, as they surely would. Renegades or not, this was Cuba, Spanish territory. Face would have to be saved, until the next time.

Bethune watched Adam raise his hand over his head.

He said, "After this, Adam. I have to know." His eyes were steady, even calm. "I must know! "

Adam saw the nearest gun captain testing his trigger line. It was taut. To him, nothing else mattered. He was right. Leave questions to others.

His arm sliced down. "Fire! "

It took even longer for the dust and smoke to settle. The hillside looked much as before the broadside, but merged now with the fallen walls and rooftops where the battery had been sited to command the approaches.

"Reload, sir?"

Adam shaded his eyes to stare along the foreshore, where he could just discern the scarlet coats of the marines. They would wait to ensure there was no further resistance while the slavers were seized by Pointer's prize crews, or scuttled where they lay.

"I think you should see this, sir." It was Troubridge, pale and tight-lipped. But somehow more mature, confident.

Adam trained the glass on the bearing Troubridge was indicating. Faces leaped into focus, vignettes of excitement, and pain. And pride. The sailor's lot.

He saw the little schooner, boats still tied or drifting alongside. His fingers tightened on the warm metal. And a flag. A smaller version of the one which Athena had flown since leaving English Harbour.

Jago had done it. As they had arranged. So he must be safe. He looked across the bay where they had seen the last of Audacity. If only…

"I propose to anchor directly, Sir Graham." For a moment he thought he had not heard, but Bethune said, "Do so. I shall see that your part in this affair does not pass unnoticed."

He knew Troubridge was watching, perhaps realizing for the first time that he knew his admiral better than he had thought.

Bethune said quietly, "I should like to go across, Adam."

He was not demanding. If anything, he was pleading.

It was like being on the outside of something. Orders were being shouted or relayed by the piercing twitter of Spithead Nightingales. Men stood back from their guns, while others clung to halliards and braces, the ship under command while they peered around, seeking special friends, or staring at the damage.

Bowles hurried past with a list of names, men who had been killed or were in the orlop being treated, or dying.

No great action this time, but the price was always too high.

Some were cheering, letting go, the blues and whites of officers and warrant ranks mixing with all the others. Some were looking aft, at the quarterdeck where their lives could be changed or ended without question or blame.

Bethune said, "I must go below. Let me know when…" He did not end it.

He would find no peace or escape there. The admiral's quarters would still be cleared for action, like his own and the whole ship. He thought of her portrait. Waiting.

It was as if some one else had spoken. He said, "I think you should stay a while, Sir Graham." He glanced at the faces below the quarterdeck rail. "They look to you. Trust, obedience, I'm never sure."

Troubridge joined him by the ladder, and watched as Bethune made his way to the main deck and walked along the line of guns. Hesitant at first, the sailors jostled around him, some reaching out as if to touch him, others laughing and calling his name.

Adam was glad he could not see his face.

He knew people were waiting to see him: Stirling about casualties, and rearranging the watch bills, filling the gaps. The surgeon with his bill. Men to be buried. Repairs were already being carried out; sailors could not waste much time on regrets and tears.

But for a few moments longer… They look to you.

Troubridge said, "When you need a lieutenant, I'd be obliged if you'd bear me in mind."

Adam turned, his eyes cold. But it passed as quickly.

He touched his sleeve and said, "I shall never see my own flag up there, my friend." He saw Stirling looming through the seamen and strode to meet him. To escape.

Troubridge smiled. I would serve you in any capacity!

One hour later, with a different leadsman in the chains, Athena turned slowly into the wind again, and dropped anchor.

Her remaining boats were being warped alongside, crews called or pushed to the tackles for hoisting them inboard. The aftermath of battle. Any battle. Men putting their ship in order. Ready to fight if need be, to face a storm, to survive. There was a smell of rum in the air but there had been no time to open the spirit store. Hoarding rum was an offense, but today men drank to each other, and to absent friends whom they would never see again.

Stirling strode aft and touched his hat. "Boat's ready, sir. The second cutter." It sounded like an apology, but Adam doubted if Bethune would even notice. He glanced at the flag at the foremast truck. Perhaps Athena would never see an admiral's barge being hoisted aboard.