Page 28 of Unlikely Heroes
With an audience, the Gunwharf Rats raised the sail on Smitty’s command.
“Kiss me quick, Mrs. Six,” Able said. “Ben, mind your mother.” As if to leave no doubt, he added, “Ben, obéissez à votre mère.” To be extra sure he added, “Obedece a tu madre.”
Ezekiel Barnaby stopped him next. “We will all watch over your loved ones,” he said. “Would that I could come along, too.” The baker handed him a pasteboard box. “In case someone gets peckish in the next few days.”
It was heavy. The baker must have stuffed in all of yesterday’s leftovers and then some. “Watch over my dear ones, too,” Able said.
“I already do,” the former deepwater man said, “plus I left some iced rout cakes at your front door for t’missus.”
Meri gave Able the sort of kiss that made him want to throw her down on the dock and have his way with her, but not before an audience. She did know how to send off a sailor, however. He took a step onto the yacht and nodded to Tots, who stood closest.
Lady St. Anthony herself, aided by Mr. Ferrier, untied the knot that held them to the dock. Mr. Ferrier tossed the line to Tots, who coiled it like an expert.
They set sail from Portsmouth into war.
Chapter Thirteen
Midsummer was the best time to sail across the English Channel. The sun was warm, the winds abundant but not overpowering. July provided days of suitable length to practice life aboard a sweet-sailing vessel with clean lines, a deep keel and impressive qualities unknown before a regular voyage. Sir B had known exactly what he wanted in a yacht. True, they had regularly sailed around Portsmouth harbor and the Isle of Wight, but the Channel was different. Sir B had built a seagoing yacht, nimble and powerful.
Predictably, as soon as the channel chop came into play, Able spotted Davey Ten kneeling by the railing, tossing up Mrs. Perry’s magnificent breakfast. No one teased him. They knew better, especially when Smitty spent his own quieter time on the opposite side, feeding unwary fish. No one was about to twit Smitty over seasickness.
His brain was often a burden, except in moments like this, when he helmed theMercuryin solitude and recalled every detail of last night’s General Merrymaking. He tried to wipe the silly smile off his face before Ogilvie came on deck, but the dratted man was wise to him. Feet braced apart, he stood next to Able at the wheel. “Either you prodigiously entertained the missus last night, or you’re damned happy to be at sea again,” he commented frankly.
Lord, but the man was vulgar. “Bit o’ both, sir,” he said, which made Ogilvie chuckle and say, “Touché.” Surprisingly, the captain also added, “From now on, belay thesir. You’re commanding theMercuryat sea and I am crew. I callyoucaptain. I thought we already discussed this.”
“I suppose we did. Very well, Angus. Smitty and I have set a course for Rochefort. We anticipate four days.”
Ogilvie nodded. “That should be true, with no surprises.”
As it turned out, there were two surprises on the first day, both of them pleasant, and both Avon March’s doing, the quiet little fellow recommended by Lady St. Anthony. She had urged him on Able at the last minute with no explanation, but with a smile in eyes that hadn’t done much smiling lately. He took her at her word.
The sun beamed on theMercuryas she bowled along, her sails catching every bit of wind, which was the secret weapon and glory of a yacht. Ogilvie took the wheel as Able summoned his young crew for a lesson in signaling.
“We’ll be flying our signals from the mainsail. That’s where the line and pulleys are and so is the flag locker. Refer to your signal books, if you please.”
For their seamanship class at St. Brendan’s, Able had insisted that every boy have his own book. Thaddeus Croker balked a bit at what seemed unnecessary expense for mere students, but Able knew better. The already much-used books came out, along with pencils and tablets. They looked at him, ready, even little Avon, who had joined Able’s course a few times when Lady St. Anthony cut him loose from plane geometry.
As it turned out, Avon startled them all. No signal threw him, even the more complicated, “’Lay alongside enemy,’ followed by ‘Fire on command.’”
Able noticed Tots and Whitticombe exchanging humorous glances. He fixed them with an inquiring eye, and Tots gestured to Avon, who sat there, all innocence, hand folded.
“Lord bless me,” Able said. “Avon, are you even looking up the signals?”
“Nossir. I know them.”
He did. Better test him at the mast. “Let’s see how fast you can string’um in proper order. Ready? I’ll give you random orders. Maybe throw in some names.”
Well, that was a revelation. Up they went at Able’s command, flying in a spanking breeze. Avon didn’t even forget the query flag when specified, or the answer flag, a common error of new signalmen.
Able looked around at the others, including Angus Ogilvie at the wheel, each as surprised as he was. “Good work, Avon. The best, in fact. Let’s try a few more just for fun.”
They did, with the same results. When Able finished, Avon folded the flags and put them away in their individual cubbies in the newly installed flag locker. Able rested a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. March, you are now signal officer on the HMSMercury.”
The other Rats cheered, and Avon bowed most formally, somehow touching in a lad of eleven. “Captain Six,” he said. “I can also cook.”
“D’ye cook as well as you signal?” Able asked, delighted by this crew member.
“Aye, sir.”
