Adam touched the charts, and his own rough plan laid across them.
"Marchand is an experienced captain, supposedly due for promotion when the war ended. No stranger to English ships.
He was serving in Swiftsure after she was taken from us, and again at Trafalgar, "he grinned, "when we recaptured her."
Julyan nodded. "I remember Swiftsure. Third-rate. Put up quite a fight against us. "He spoke almost proudly.
Adam waited, then said, "Does that help?"
Vincent shrugged. "I doubt he'll ever forget the past."
The door squeaked open a few inches and a pair of eyes sought Julyan. Nothing was said, but the master seized his hat and swore under his breath.
"Seems they need me on deck, sir!"
He would not leave without good reason, but Adam sensed that he was relieved to have been called away.
He said, "A good time to end our discussion. You may carry on with your duties."
Vincent remained by the table as the others departed.
"I understand that there is a seaman listed for punishment? I read your report before this meeting. Asleep on watch and insubordinate. Tell me about it."
Overhead, the gun trucks began to move again. Closer this time: Maddock was about to exercise his next division.
Vincent said, "His name is Dimmock. Foretop, long serviceЦ over twenty years. Never had any trouble with him before. "He paused as though surprised by his own words, as if they were some excuse or admission. "We were hard-pressed for trained, experienced hands when we were commissioning.
Landsmen and young boys were the first to come forward. "He added with something like defiance, "I trusted him."
Adam listened to the drill, the creak of tackle, an ironic cheer as something miscarried. Like another world.
"Dimmock. "He spoke the name, but no face came to his mind. "He was never rated for promotion. "It meant nothing; there were many like him in the King's service. The old hands, content or resigned, and the hard men who steered their own course, if they were offered the chance.
Vincent said suddenly, "A stand-over could be ordered, sir."
Adam recalled Thomas Herrick, his uncle's oldest and most loyal friend; could hear his words. Discipline is a duty, not a convenience.
"It happened during your watch and you feel responsible, as he was a man you trusted. But it could have been at any time, with some one else left to take action. "Vincent seemed about to protest. "He had been drinking beforehand, I gather."
"He was not drunk, sir."
It was common enough through the fleet. The only crime was being caught. And Vincent was an experienced officer; he did not need to be told. The old Jacks could even joke about getting a checked shirt at the gangway. Few ever remembered the reason. But afterwards, the blame always lay with the captain.
He raised his eyes from the charts.
"You gain nothing by delaying it. Tomorrow forenoon, all hands to witness punishment. Inform the surgeon, will you?"
"Right away, sir. "He half turned as if to listen. "The gun drill has stopped. I hope it's achieving results!"
Adam watched him leave and heard him call a greeting to some one as he passed, as if uninvolved. Like those first days.
Still a stranger.
Several hours later, at the end of the first dog watch, as predicted, the masthead lookout sighted land. On deck every telescope was trained across water like blue glass, ruffled occasionally by an uncertain wind. The French Nautilus seemed to hold the last of the sun on her topsails and rigging, her hull almost hidden in shadow.
A fine landfall. Even Julyan could not hide his satisfaction.
But as he watched the captain walk to the quarterdeck rail and press both hands against it, he wondered what he was thinking.
Planning for some future command with no admiral breathing down his neck to torment? Meredith, one of his master's mates, was calling to him and he turned to give his full attention. But not before he made a careful observation. The quarterdeck was busy with hands on watch, and others waiting to man the braces and change tack.
And in the midst of it at the quarterdeck rail, their captain, who wanted for nothing, was completely alone.
Midshipman John Deacon laid his dirk and folded crossbelt on top of his chest and relocked it. He glanced at the others.
"A formality, so do it."
David Napier thought about it. It was every midshipman's dream and nightmare, even if he managed to conceal it. That first real step, the King's commission… But the examination before a selected Board came first. Deacon already spoke like a lieutenant, without even knowing it.
He saw the messman murmuring instructions in the ear of his young assistant, a boy. As I was. Gesturing to the canvas that concealed cleaning gear and the bucket, in case their youngest midshipman might need it. Walker had been luckier of late, but wind and sea had been more considerate.
He sat down at the mess table opposite Simon Huxley.
"What are you studying at this early hour?"
Huxley frowned at him, then seemed less defensive. "I made some notes about this place we've been plotting on the chart through every watch, thanks to our Mr. Julyan. "He smiled, and it made him a different person. "Aboubakr seems to have changed hands many times in the last fifty years alone. Slavers, missionaries, pirates, and invaders under a whole fistful of flags. So who's next, I wonder?"
Napier remembered the first hint of land, then the darker outline, hills and deeper shadows linking where there had been only the edge of the sea.
"I heard them say it's a good anchorage. That's what gave it value. Prosperity, too."
Huxley murmured, "For some, anyway."
Deacon had joined them.
"We shall show ourselves and pay our respects. "He slapped his palm on the table. "Then back to Gibraltar for new orders."
Then he turned and said unexpectedly, "Captain Bolitho sponsored you, David. When the day comes for you to face up to the Inquisition, his name and reputation should carry some weight. "Napier considered it, surprised by this revelation.
"That was wrong of me. But every day now I ask myself… if I shall be… ready."
Another shadow moved across the table: Charles Hotham, usually a bright spirit in the gunroom, and popular on deck with most of the hands despite glaring mistakes during gun drill and work aloft. Guthrie the boatswain had been heard to forcefully comment, "Better for all of us if you'd followed the Church instead of Neptune, Mister "Otham, sir!"
He said in an undertone, "How long now?"
Napier patted his arm. What they were all thinking.
Avoiding it.
"I was the one who found him, you see? I wanted to settle it somehow, but he.
"All hands, clear lower deck! Hands lay aft to witness punishment!"
Huxley said kindly, "You did your best."
Deacon was already at the door, clearly recovered from his moment of self-doubt.
"Lively, now! It's not the end of the world!"
The upper deck was already crowded. It was rare to see both watches and all the special dutymen gathered at once. Some stood together, messmates, or because they shared a hazardous perch aloft strung out along the yards, making or shortening sail when a firm grip and a timely shout could save a limb or a life. Some of the forenoon watch were in the shrouds or ratlines, framed against the sea or sky as if trapped in a giant web. Others were grouped between the eighteen-pounders, those stripped to the waist showing scarred, tanned or sunburned skin commensurate with their service.
The Royal Marines were lined across the quarterdeck, in full uniform, facing forward, swaying in unison as Onward ploughed unhurriedly through reflected glare and infrequent bursts of spray.
Vincent, the first lieutenant, stood on the larboard side of the quarterdeck by the gangway, one hand shading his eyes as he received reports from each division and section. It was still early, but like the marines he wore full uniform, and was beginning to sweat in the heat.
Despite all those present it seemed unusually quiet, only the sounds of cordage and canvas, the creak of timber or spar, breaking the stillness.