O'Beirne was saying, half to himself, "A had wound, left hip, knife. Deep, and infected." lie laid one hand on Finlay's shoulder and said quietly, "Easy now, you're among friends." He nodded sharply to his men, and the uniform coat was removed.
Then Finlay spoke, his voice quite strong.
"Must tell the captain…"
O'Beirne was watching his senior assistant, the instruments gleaming in the swaying lantern light like something evil.
He said, "The captain is here now, as you speak!" He looked at Adam. "A few words, sir?"
Adam approached the table and saw the man trying to focus his eyes, fighting to retain his senses.
"My name is Bolitho. I command here." He put one hand on the arm. The skin was cold, clammy.
He was naked now, and Adam did not have to look around to know that the others had taken up their positions, ready to pin him down, to hold him still, no matter what. Only their shadows moved, leaping across the white-painted timbers like ghouls.
The other man murmured vaguely, "New out here." He tried again, pausing while a hand came out to dab his mouth with a wet cloth. "We ran down a slaver." He groaned and moved his head from side to side. "Three days back, I-I can't remember. The commodore was with us. We had struck it lucky!"
"What happened after that?"
"I took command. Boarding party, ten good hands, and young Mr Coles. His first attempt." He closed his eyes tightly. "Paradox had to leave us. Can't remember why. We were to make for Freetown as ordered."
O'Beirne remarked, "Not much longer, sir."
Adam glanced at him. "A minute."
Finlay said suddenly, "Then we saw this other vessel closing with us. A brig. Spanish colours. Nothing unusual about that." He was remembering, seeing it. "Then she ran up a black flag and ran out her guns. I had the slaver's crew locked up and under guard, but poor Coles must have got careless. They broke out and attacked my people. It was over in minutes."
Adam felt the men tense around him and saw O'Beirne reaching into his bag. He persisted, "The slaves, what happened to them?"
Finlay let his head fall back on the table, his eyes suddenly dull. Defeated.
"There were over two hundred of them. Most were in manacles, we couldn't spare the time to free them. But they knew they were saved. Some of them used to sing about it."
Adam realised that the eyes were now looking directly into his.
"They must have sighted your tops'ls, Captain Bolitho. I was helpless." He attempted to touch his side, and perhaps knew for the first time that he was being held motionless. "They slaughtered my lads there and then. Young Coles took longer. Even out there on that raft, I thought I could hear him screaming. Like a girl being tortured, I thought. They must have thought me dead. Then there was an explosion. They'd planted charges before abandoning her. Then I was in the water. I think somebody pulled me on to the raft. I-I can't remember. And there were sharks. As the slaver went down I heard them screaming. It's shallow there. The sharks would get them before they drowned, poor bastards!"
He did not speak again, or resist as a leather strap was forced between his teeth, and the knife showed itself for the first time.
Adam walked from the sickbay and thought of the unknown midshipman who had been tortured to death, and the seamen who had been killed like pigs in a slaughterhouse. And he thought of Midshipman Deighton, who had seen it. The great, spreading stain, to mark where over two hundred helpless captives had been torn apart.
They would never know who Finlay's unseen rescuer had been. He had probably been taken by the sharks too.
He heard Finlay's strangled cry, and wanted to go back to him. To tell him that he and his men would be avenged.
Instead he went on deck, his mouth raw, as if he had vomited like Deighton.
Everything was as before. A glance aloft told him that the yards were braced to hold the breeze, but the ensign was scarcely lifting.
Galbraith stood by the larboard ladder, but made ready to move when his captain appeared. Nobody looked at him, but Adam knew they saw his every emotion.
Napier, the cabin servant, was waiting with jago. The boy hesitated and then moved towards him, a tray held carefully in one hand, a clean cloth covering it.
"That was thoughtful, David." Ile did not notice Napier start at the use of his first name.
It was a glass of white wine, kept almost cool somewhere in the bilges. Until now.
He looked at Galbraith and shrugged. "They were all killed."
Then he tilted the glass, his eyes blinded by the sun, or something stronger which he could no longer control.
He saw O'Beirne's heavy figure climbing the quarterdeck ladder, peering around as he always did when he visited this place of command. Different from the man in the sickbay, with the strong and steady hand. His world apart.
O'Beirne said, almost casually, "Lost him, I'm afraid, sir. I don't know how he stayed alive as long as he did." He spat out the word. "Poisoned. Deliberately, if I'm any judge." He turned only briefly as the sailmaker and one of his loblolly boys crossed the main-deck together. A burial then. The corpse well weighted for a swift passage down into eternal darkness.
He added softly, "Just before the end he looked up at me." He smiled, and it made him appear intensely sad. "Right at me, and he asked, where were you?" He shook his head. "Then he died."
Who had he meant? His own captain? This ship? Adam turned abruptly and stared astern. The sea was smooth again. The stain was gone.
Perhaps he was speaking for them.
At dusk the masthead sighted a sail to the east. It was Paradox. At daylight tomorrow they would speak.
But before that, with the purple shadows of sunset suddenly upon them, they buried Lieutenant Finlay in the same ocean which had decided that he should remain the only witness.
As he closed the prayer book Adam heard instead those other words, and knew he would never forget them.
Where were you?
Commodore Arthur Turnbull walked easily across the black and white checkered deck covering, pausing only to touch one of the beams above his head.
"I relish the space, Bolitho, room to stand upright instead of ducking to save your skull! They become used to it in small vessels, I'm told." It seemed to amuse him. "The drawbacks outweigh the advantages, I'd say." He turned with his hack towards the stern windows, the movement light and without effort, like his walk. "You did well, Bolitho. We'd have been totally ignorant but for your prompt action."
Framed against the dancing reflection and the glare from astern it was impossible to see his face, gauge his attitude.
Turnbull was younger than Adam had expected, or so he seemed. But he was a senior post-captain, and Tyacke had told him that prior to being appointed to Freetown he had been in command of a big three-decker. He had done well. But even in the short time since he had arrived on board Adam had sensed a restlessness, an impatience which was at odds with his air of self-assurance.
Finlay, who had been buried the evening before, had been Paradox's first lieutenant, the same age and rank as the commanding officer. Turnbull had listened carefully to the account of his rescue and subsequent death but had said only, "Paradox's captain will miss the fellow. They were quite close, I believe. But there it is."
Adam had thought it strange that he had not been summoned to go aboard the topsail schooner, which was even now tacking slowly across Unrivalled's quarter. A smart, well-handled vessel, and he could well imagine how two officers could become close and dependent on one another. Perhaps Turnbull preferred that this interview should be here, away from the eyes and ears of the men among whom he had lived on this last patrol. Certainly the last for Finlay and his boarding party.
"The other ship, sir. A known slaver, perhaps?"
Turnbull shrugged. "Could be one of three which I have in mind." He did not elaborate. "Recaptured the prize and intended to take her inshore, where the cargo would be transferred to a larger vessel. As it is, nobody has gained anything, and we have lost a prize." He sat down in a chair and crossed his legs, his eyes moving around the cabin again as if seeking something. "Your arrival on the station will carry some weight, Bolitho. Endless patrols are not enough. We must hit the slavers on their home ground. Destroy them before they make our efforts look like a useless campaign to save face in London." He glanced at Napier as he walked carefully into the cabin with a tray and some glasses. The boy waited beside the desk, his eyes averted from the visitor.