Page 31 of Unlikely Heroes
And information. “Sí señores, we saw a huge fleet only days ago, closer to Finistierra,” the captain of theSan Pedrosaid, as he happily clinked the coins Ogilvie gave him for one dozen of his freshestmerluzas. He shook his head. “They looked as if they had been on the sea for many weeks.”
Able stretched for more information. He knew his Spanish was far better than Ogilvie’s. “Did you get the feeling they were waiting for something?”
The captain shrugged and waggled his hand, palm down. “Asi asi. By the way, sir,yourSpanish is excellent.” He glanced at Ogilvie, who glared back. Even Spanish fishermen were polite and diplomatic, to Able’s amusement. “But you, sir, perhaps you should let this tall one do the talking?” He bowed to Ogilvie. “It is merely a suggestion.”
“Spanish is a language I enjoy,” Able replied with haste. “I have another favor to ask. Could you sell meuna capa y sombrero?”
That request brought a frown, and Able wondered if he had overplayed his hand. He waited, unwilling to say too much. Experience, or maybe that suspicious fellow Copernicus, had taught him that too much explanation sounded like the lie it generally was.
“I have a cloak,señor.”El pescadorheld up two fingers. “Dos pesos.”
It was highway robbery for the ragged, smelly cloak the fisherman produced. “Thank you no, but I’ll wait until I can get a better one back home.” Able rubbed at nonexistent pain in his shoulder. “Un dolor pequeño, nada más.”
The fisherman clucked his tongue in sympathy. “Rain and fog are enemies to shoulders, are they not?” He held up one finger, Able nodded, and the matter was concluded. TheSan Pedrowent on its way.
“Very well, Captain Six, no boarding,” Smitty said, recalling Able to the moment. “May I at least write that we hailed them and they complied quickly?”
“Aye. Mention the information we gathered, too.”
Smitty bent to his task. He looked up. “What is… is…Villy…”
“Villeneuve planning?”
“It’s a deep game.” Angus Ogilvie joined them in the cramped sitting area below deck and looked at the others, laid out in varying degrees of stupefaction after that meal. Whitticombe helmed theMercury. “Aye or nay, Captain Six?” he asked. “It’s your crew.”
“Aye, Angus,” Able said immediately. “We’re all sharing the danger. Might as well share the news.” He put a finger to his lips. “Pain of death, of course.”
The Gunwharf Rats nodded, faces serious, even in their comatose state.
He was still their teacher. Why not make a teaching moment? “Why would Villeneuve of the French fleet and Gravina of the Spanish fleet linger at Finisterre, if the Combined Fleet is as tired as we think it is, and probably still carrying men ill with fever from the Caribbean?”
Silence, then Davey Ten’s hand went up. Slowly to be sure, but Able was not surprised. Davey played the long game, too. What’s more, he probably listened to gossip among patients at Haslar Naval Hospital.
“Maybe Napoleon has greater plans in…” He gulped, realizing their destination. “…right here in coastal France?”
“And those plans might be…”
“A channel crossing of soldiers, protected by the Combined Fleet,” Davey finished. He looked around, not sure whether he had succeeded or failed. “I hear comments like that from the men I tend,” he said, half apologetically.
“I believe you are entirely correct, Davey,” Able said. He looked in each lad’s face. “We deliver messages. This message to Admiral Calder is of vital importance.” He saw their nods; they understood. “I think we will be asked to join Calder’s fleet and sail into battle against Villeneuve.”
Tots, ever practical, voiced what he knew they were all thinking. “Master…I mean, Captain, we have no guns, not even a carronade.”
More serious nods all around. “We have speed and maneuverability,” Able said quietly. “Never forget that. And we all know how to sail.”
“Was that too much?” he asked later of Angus, when it was just the two of them on deck and the others in their berths.
“It was perfect,” Ogilvie said. “You were born to teach.” He chuckled. “Well, among one or two other things.”
Flying Avon’s signal –Admiralty Dispatches – theMercurysailed alongsideHMS Prince of Wales, Admiral Calder’s flagship, the morning of July nineteenth. Able’s heart pounded as he handed the tarry bag to the admiral, Smitty standing beside him in the sumptuously furnished cabin. Captain Ogilvie had elected to remain aboard theMercury. “It’s not my moment,” he said in explanation. “You’re the captain commanding.”
Admiral Calder kept them standing and offered no refreshment. Able hadn’t expected any. Calder read the dispatch, read it again and sighed. “What new intelligence have you, concerning the whereabout of the Combined Fleet?” He tapped the dispatch. “This is dated six days ago.”
“Admiral, yesterday the captain of a fishing boat from Santander told me he had seen both French and Spanish warships heading north on a course for Cape Finisterre, the day previous,” Able said. “He counted twenty-seven ships.”
“To my fifteen ships of the line and two frigates,” Calder said. “Are you certain you understood his Spanish?”
“I speak proficient Spanish, sir.”
