Alexander Kent - Relentless Pursuit

"Sail on th' weather bow, sir!"

The link in the chain. It had to be. Everybody else would stay clear.

For a moment more he stared at the cloud-like outline of the distant coast. Maybe it was already over. He blinked to clear his vision and looked down at the main deck, the last traces of blood being washed into the scuppers.

It was not over. Fate, destiny, how could anyone know?

He thrust it aside. "Our best lookouts aloft, Mr Galbraith. We will alter course directly, and let her run down on us."

"I'll be ready, sir."

Bellairs had been watching them, and tried to relax as the ship slowly returned to routine, normality.

He liked to think that, had he been dealing with the seaman Bellamy, he could have managed to avoid a flogging, just as he knew that in a ship's tight world of discipline and purpose an officer's word had to be respected. Obeyed. He thought of the girl named Jane who lived in Dartmouth, imagined her face lighting up when he walked up to her one day as a captain. With a frigate of his own…

Cristie called wearily, "When you can spare a moment, Mr Bellairs, I would like to have the log witnessed and signed."

Bellairs shook himself out of it.

"At once, Mr Cristie!"

Beneath their feet, Adam walked right aft and slumped in the high-backed chair he had brought from Falmouth.

What thoughts must he have had, sitting here like this? Hopes too, before fate had marked him down. He touched the wound. He must ask O'Beirne to examine it again.

He listened to the sudden thud of feet, the muffled bark of commands, and knew he should go on deck once more.

And what of trust? He recalled Galbraith's face. The barrier again.

Yovell appeared, without letters or documents for once.

"Shall we fight, sir?"

As one man might ask another about the weather, in some country lane.

"I believe so, Daniel." He did not see the surprise at the casual use of his name.

Yovell said uncertainly, "I attended to the letter, sir. The legal one." His eyes rested briefly on the chair. Perhaps remembering.

Adam listened to the thud of the tiller-head and imagined the wheel going over, Cristie watching compass and helm, Rist or another master's mate waiting to lay the ship on her new course.

He heard the click-click-click of Napier's shoes. Preparing to go to the sickbay.

He said quietly, "If anything should happen, to me, for instance, that boy should be cared for. He reminds me of me." He smiled faintly. "As I believe I once was."

Yovell said, "The surgeon is a good man, sir."

"I am relying on it." He stood up, his hand running over the back of the chair. He could see them all in his mind. As he would describe them to her.

The men you lead.

The door opened and Jago stepped into the cabin.

"The sail is changin' tack, sir. A frigate. One of ours."

He recognised the strain and was angered by it. Any captain could decide if you lived or died. But this one cared. "Sullivan is at the main, sir."

Yovell adjusted his spectacles. He sensed the unlikely bond between them, although he did not fully understand it, yet. A man who scorned authority, and had been quick to say so. But one who had earned respect by giving his hand to Adam Bolitho. Yovell was not a seafarer, but he had noticed that when Jago entered the sentry had not even challenged him.

Adam said, "I'll come up presently." Their eyes met. "Call me."

He looked around the cabin again, trying to find the words to describe it to her in his mind. But the other voice intruded.

I want you in the van.

It had already been decided.

Midshipman Deighton wedged his book beneath one arm and levelled the telescope again. "She's Halcyon, twenty-eight, Captain Robert Christie, sir!" He peered quickly at the others, and seemed startled by the authority in his own voice.

Adam folded his arms and watched the other frigate, almost bows-on now, her sails in disarray as she changed tack to converge on Unrivalled.

Even now he could feel the shiver of memory, of instant recognition. As if he had known.

Was it only a year or so since they had last met? When Admiral Lord Rhodes had ordered Halcyon to chase and attack the big frigate Triton, the day so many faces had been wiped away. Outranged and outgunned, Halcyon had stood no chance, and Rhodes must have known it. But he had been so eager to prevent Unrivalled from giving chase that he had ordered her to remain on station. Adam had ignored the signal, and they had won the day. When Martinez, the Dey's agent and advisor, had died, shot down by Corporal Bloxham as he had been about to fire. The day young Napier had taken the great splinter in his leg.

And yet despite the pain and the hate, the rejoicing and the sadness, one picture always stood out in his mind. He glanced at Galbraith's strong profile; he would recall it, too. They had swept past the mauled Halcyon and he had seen her destruction, the thin threads of scarlet running from her scuppers, as if the ship were bleeding to death. Young Deighton had been there also. And he had heard Galbraith's voice, harsh with emotion. "They're cheering! Cheering us!"

Somehow Halcyon had survived, and her captain with her; James Tyacke had spoken of him when they had met in Freetown. He felt his lips crack into a smile. That seemed so long ago. Tyacke had been a lieutenant in the Majestic at the Battle of the Nile, and Christie had been a young midshipman. He thought of the medal now in his strongbox. The Nile. It had affected so many in this naval family. The Happy Few… Where Tyacke had had half his face blasted away. Just before it had happened, he had saved that young midshipman from breaking. When Christie had become a man. A better nzan, he had later said to Sir Richard. He wiped his mouth with his hand. Less than two years ago, in this same Mediterranean Sea.

"heave-to, if you please." He saw Galbraith's eyes. He had remembered.

Deighton called, "Ylave despatches on board, sir!"

He could almost feel the tension of those around and closest to him dissipate. The waiting and uncertainty were in the past. Jack always knew…

Cristie muttered, "Not wasting any time, is he?"

Unrivalled came round easily, her sails all aback, that same Corporal Bloxham, now a sergeant, shouting at some marines to form up at the entry port. The deck was still rising and falling heavily while the ship hove-to, so that they swayed in an untidy dance until they found their feet again.

Some of the seamen were grinning broadly. Sailor and "bullock" would never really mix.

Adam watched the frigate's gig pulling strongly across the dark blue water, a cocked hat in the sternsheets. Christie was coming in person.

Galbraith was observing Halcyon through a telescope. For some reason, it made him feel like an intruder. Even without the glass he had seen the scarred and blistered paintwork, her figurehead still unrepaired and partly shot away. He lowered the glass. Battered and hard-worked, with obviously little time spent in harbour, but a ship any man would give his right arm to call his own.

The calls trilled and Adam saw Christie climbing from his boat. Tall, a keen, intelligent face; probably posted a year or so after me. The sort of man who would catch any woman's eye. The frigate captain.

But when he raised his hat to the guard and quarterdeck Adam saw the legacy of that terrible day.

Above either ear his hair was not merely greying, it was white, as if it had been dyed. The touch of war.

The meeting in Unrivalled was brief, Adam sensing both the urgency and the relief of this rendezvous.

One of the wardroom messmen served refreshments, and he was surprised that Christie chose rum.

He said, "My supplies are all in chaos. His lordship has kept us busy indeed. I am glad the muddled thinking is over and done with."