Below deck it was very dark, and Adam was reminded of the meeting with Herrick. The thick shutters, the narrow strips of sunlight, the remaining hand drumming on the table beside the tray of ginger beer.
The cabin was small, the deckhead low enough to make him stoop. There was one skylight, so that Commodore Turnbull appeared to be on display in the shaft of dusty sunlight. He was, Adam saw, as immaculately dressed as if he were in a ship of the line.
"A fortunate rendezvous, Bolitho." He gestured to a bench seat; he even did that elegantly. "You came with all haste." The eyes moved only slightly, but seemed to take in Adam's threadbare coat and soiled shirt. "Captain Tyacke is in position by now." Without seeming to move he dragged a chart from another seat and laid it flat on the table. "Here, and here. As planned. Unrivalled will remain on station at the south-west approaches." He tapped the chart to emphasise each point. "The slavers are there, in the delta as reported. Three vessels, maybe more. It's a maze of channels and sandbars, safe for them, dangerous for a ship of any size." He smiled gently. "But then, you're aware of that?" He hurried on. "I intend to catch them before they can reach open water. They might try to withdraw upriver, of course. In which case it will take longer." 1 le looked around the dark cabin as if seeing it for the first time. "Hastilow's fellows know their work well. They can outsail most slavers, and can use carronades to settle the majority of arguments."
Adam bent across the chart, and studied the location where Unrivalled would mount guard, almost precisely as Cristie had described. A perilous place on a lee shore. Worse if you ran on to one of the sandbars.
Turnbull said, "You will anchor."
Adam studied the chart again, wondering why Hastilow had not been asked to join them, in his own command.
Turnbull might have taken his silence for doubt.
He said, "Slavers know these inlets and beaches far better than we do. But once at sea, it is a different story. My latest information is that these vessels are to transport slaves to St Thomas, as I anticipated. There they will be transferred to a larger ship. But we will take them before that. None will escape, no matter which way they run."
Adam leaned back, and felt the schooner moving around him. Eager to go.
He said, "They may sail at night." Why had he stated the obvious? Giving himself time. Turnbull's plan made sense. If the worst happened and they only seized one of the slavers, it would show others that the navy could and would take action on the doorstep, as Jago had put it.
Turnbull reached down and opened a cupboard. "I hope they do, but I doubt it. Hastilow thinks it will be at first light." He lifted a bottle and two goblets from somewhere and looked questioningly across the table.
"Not Madeira, I promise you!"
Adam watched him pour two large measures. Cognac. So what was wrong? Confident, pleasant enough. He saw the beautiful cuffs, the glittering lace on the coat. The new navy emerging? He was younger even than Hastilow.
"Provided nothing changes before we can act, I intend to make an attack as close to dawn as possible." He sipped his cognac. "At least we'll not have to depend on this damnable wind!"
For a second or two Adam thought he had misheard.
"Landing parties, sir?"
Turnbull poured himself another drink. "You surprise me in some ways, Bolitho. A fellow with your recordI'd have thought you would he fully aware of such tactics." Ile shook his head. "Direct action, that's my belief?" Ile pushed the chart aside. "Hastilow understands. I IC's cut out for the work, and he wants revenge."
"A boat action, sir?" It was like hearing someone else's voice.
Turnbull regarded him curiously. "You were hoping for something different, a sea-fight or a chase. A true frigate captain to the end!" Iie gave the soft chuckle again. "I shall need Unrivalled right enough, but the first blow will be dealt in amongst them. The brig Seven Sisters will be there, and Kittiwake in reserve." He looked up, his eyes very steady. "I shall lead the attack in Paradox. "
Adam heard voices somewhere on deck, and pictured Jago in the jollyboat, and the others in Unrivalled waiting and wondering at the outcome. Ile thought of the shoreline, closer now, somehow threatening, or was that only his imagination? Because of a boat action which even in the most favourable circumstances could end in disaster.
lie looked at the commodore again. It was already decided. You could almost feel it in the man.
Turnbull took out a large envelope. "For you, Bolitho." He smiled broadly. "In case anything unpleasant should happen to me." He was serious again. "I'll not come on deck just now. I've some last details to arrange. I am sure that our new Crown Agent will want to be fully informed."
It was a dismissal.
Hastilow was waiting to see him over the side; he could barely conceal his impatience. But he could not prevent his deepset eyes from settling on the bulky envelope under Adam's arm.
Then he said bluntly, "The commodore's told you then, sir?"
"Most of it."
Hastilow said, "We'll teach them a lesson they'll never forget!"
He seemed to contain his anger with a physical effort and stood aside to allow Adam to climb on to the bulwark.
Adam saw some of the schooner's company watching him leave. Defiant, contemptuous, glad he was going back to his own ship.
Perhaps Turnbull was right. It was their kind of action. But all he could think about was the one glaring flaw. Revenge. He thought of the renegade captain who had died of his wound in Unrivalled's great cabin. Perhaps he had been right after all. He had called it vanity.
After the shuttered lanterns in the chartroom, the quarterdeck seemed pitch black. But not for long. Adam walked to the rail and stared along the full length of the ship, his eyes eventually picking out shapes and small groups of seamen at their stations, bodies pale against the guns and the familiar rigging. For another long day they had remained clear of the land, using the light airs to tack this way and that, but never losing their mean course for a final rendezvous.
Apart from the occasional slap of canvas, or the creak of the wheel, you could believe the ship to be motionless. There were no lights anywhere on deck, so that the tiny glow of the compass lamp seemed like a beacon.
It was always the same, he told himself. You could feel the solid landmass creeping out on either bow, like some giant trap. But he held the image of the chart firmly in his mind. Most of the anonymous figures relied on trust. They would do what they were told when the time came. That hardly ever changed. But Cristie would know, and would be measuring his own doubts against his captain's skill, or lack of it.
Adam moved aft again and saw the white crossbelts of the marines, stark against the dark water alongside and beyond. Armed and ready, with others, the best marksmen, stationed in the fighting-tops somewhere overhead.
He turned quickly as a large fish broke surface and then splashed down into a trail of phosphorescence, like submerged fireflies.
His lips felt parched. He could smell rum; it was all they had found time for after the galley fire had been doused. He tried to think clearly. Two hours ago?
He heard Cristie murmuring to one of his mates, then he called, "Ready to begin sounding, sir."
"Carry on." He imagined the leadsman up forward in the chains, swinging the great lead, beyond and behind his perch, then up and over, the lead and line snaking well ahead of the ship's slow progress.
He walked to the rail again and rested his palms on it. Cool and wet. In another couple of hours it would be like a furnace bar.
He tensed as the splash came from ahead, like another leaping fish.
The leadsman's voice was clear and unhurried. "No bottom, sir!"
He sounded almost bored. Even Galbraith had seemed surprised by the precautions. Doubtless he thought his captain was overdoing it, had lost confidence in himself.
Adam gazed up at the topsails, which, with the jib, were the only canvas spread for this final approach. Some overnight fisherman might otherwise see the frigate. lie gritted his teeth. And do what? Turnbull was no fool, and would take no unnecessary risks. The horizon already seemed paler; in an hour Paradox and the others would begin their plan of attack.