Alexander Kent - For My Country’s Freedom

Suppose I am wrong? He was surprised to see the face in the glass smile back at him. So many times, different ships, other seas and oceans. He knew that he was not wrong. It was not merely the calculations on York’s charts, the estimated time of arrival of the convoy at Halifax; it went deeper, so much so. Like the minds of men dedicated to survival but condemned to danger, even death. So many times.

Allday knew it too, but had said very little on this chill morning on the great Western Ocean.

Bolitho had touched only briefly on the matter of his son, Bankart.

Allday had hesitated, the keen razor poised in the air. "I want to feel him as my son, Sir Richard. But something stands between us. We’re strangers, as we were when I first met him."

Bolitho touched the locket beneath his shirt. A clean, frilled shirt, one of Ozzard’s best. Why was it necessary to do this? All-day had told him that his son had confided that the largest American men-of-war had the pick of the navy’s sharpshooters, former backwoodsmen who lived or died by the success of their marksmanship. It was madness, surely, to present an admiral’s hat and epaulettes as a ready target, or even a captain’s. He had said as much to Tyacke, whose answer had been uncompromising and blunt, like the man.

"I’m proud of this ship, Sir Richard. She’s mine, and I know her better than I ever believed possible. And I want our people to see me-know I’m with them, even at the worst of times." He had given one of his attractive smiles. "I seem to have learned that, too, from somebody not so far away!"

Bolitho rubbed his eye and winced. But if I have miscalculated, then Beer will have joined his other ships to attack the convoy. Even Valkyrie and her smaller consorts could not withstand such an onslaught.

Ozzard came out of the shadows carrying the heavy dress coat.

Bolitho said, "If we are called to battle, you will go below."

"Thank you, Sir Richard." He hesitated. "I’ll be ready when you need me."

Bolitho smiled. Poor Ozzard. He always took refuge below the waterline whenever battle was joined, as he had in the old Hyperion when she had begun to founder. Allday had even hinted that it had been his intention to remain there and go down with the old ship, as so many had done that day. How Hyperion Cleared the Way: the ballad was still ever-popular in sailors’ taverns and ale-houses.

Too many ghosts, he thought, ships and men, men and ships. Too many lost, too many lives…

There was a tap at the door and Tyacke made his way aft, his single epaulette glinting in the spiralling lantern-light.

"The wind’s backed a piece, Sir Richard, more like sou’-west by south. Steady enough, though." He glanced at the deckhead as if he could see the yards and reefed sails. "She’ll fly when we give her the chance!"

Bolitho tried to clear his mind. "When we are able, James, signal the frigates to close on us. Woodpecker will remain well up to wind’rd." A lone witness if things went badly wrong.

Tyacke said, "I was wondering if we should signal Zest to change stations with Reaper, sir. A captain with a new ship, a ship with a new captain." He shrugged. "I’d suggest that Reaper would be better placed closer to the enemy."

So even Tyacke was coming round. He said, "That is what I intend, James. If I am right…"

Tyacke exclaimed, "You mean that Commodore Beer has anticipated this move, and has outsailed us during the night?"

Bolitho felt the locket again, warm against his skin. "Wouldn’t you? Take the wind-gage if you had the chance? And if we run, we will eventually be caught on a lee shore, yes?"

Tyacke said shortly, "Sometimes you have me in irons,

Sir Richard. But run? Never, while I draw breath!"

He listened to the feet overhead. Recognising every sound, knowing the qualities and the reliability of each man there.

"That was a fine thing you did, James. ‘The strength of a ship.’ It is a pity such moments never reach the pages of the Gazette."

"Well, I’m damned if I know how you know, but it gave him something more important than himself to think about."

Allday entered quietly. "Horizon’s losing its cloak, Sir Richard." He glanced at the sword-rack. "Can’t see nothing yet."

Tyacke smiled and left the cabin, saying over his shoulder, "That son of yours might still change his mind and sign on with us, Allday!"

Allday watched the door close. "It’s no joke, Sir Richard."

Bolitho touched his arm. "I know." It was no time to be thinking of such things. A man could die in a moment of distraction.

He said, "How do you feel, old friend?"

Allday seemed surprised by the question, then a lazy grin spread over his face and he said, "We’ve seen it all afore, Sir Richard." He shrugged. "Today or never…"

Bolitho nodded. There was a smell of rum in the cabin and again he was moved by Allday’s unbreakable faith and loyalty.

"Have another wet, old friend." He glanced around the spacious cabin. A place to think, to remember and to hide. In his bones, like Allday, he knew it was almost time.

He went out through the screen door and saw a squad of marines having their weapons checked by Sergeant Chaddock. They did not look up or see him as he passed, so intent were they on their inspection.

It made him feel invisible. Like one of the many ghosts this old ship must have in plenty

He stooped to peer through an open gunport, the twenty-four-pounder like ice under his fingers. Not for much longer.

Very dark, with only a few pale crests breaking away from the lower hull. Just a slight brush-stroke. The eastern horizon.

Oh dear Kate, think of me, of us!

Spray touched his skin, like an awakening, and he thought he heard her voice above the sounds of sea and ship.

Don’t leave me!

He rested his forehead on the weapon’s black breech and whispered, "Never!"

Captain James Tyacke paused outside Isaac York’s chartroom and glanced in at the sailing-master, who was crowded against his table with his three mates.

York smiled, his sharp eye taking in the dress coat and gleaming epaulette.

"You’re about early this day, sir."

Tyacke glanced over a master’s mate’s shoulder at the open log, and the date on the first page in York’s strong handwriting. September 12th 1812, with the time and date of today’s estimated position at the head of the column. Their eyes met. York had no doubts, either.

Tyacke nodded at the master’s mates. "Watch well today, gentlemen. You will learn something of your enemy."

Then he left the small space and walked towards the open deck. Silver, shark-blue, and lingering banks of shadow. Sea and sky. He could feel Scarlett walking closely behind him, could sense his uneasiness. But not fear, that was something at least.

He turned abruptly and said, "What is wrong, man? I told you when we met, I command Sir Richard’s flagship, but I am still your captain. Speak out. I nurse the notion that we will be too busy presently!"

Scarlett licked his lips, his eyes so listless that he seemed disinterested, in spite of what the day might bring.

Tyacke was growing impatient. "In truth I can’t help you if you remain dumb, sir. What is it, a woman? Have you fathered a child?"

Scarlett shook his head. "I wish it were that simple, sir."

"Money, then?" He saw the bolt strike home. "Cards?"

Scarlett nodded. "I am in debt, sir, serious debt!"

Tyacke regarded him without pity. "Then you are a fool. But we shall speak later. I may be able to help you." His tone hardened. "Give of your best today. I am relying on it. Indomitable will make this her day!"