Page 49 of Unlikely Heroes
Oh, my word did he ever. How to tell someone like Smitty? He could have described Sir B’s mentoring, or Captain Benjamin Hollowell’s willingness to take a chance, but that wasn’t the supreme stroke of luck. “I did, Smitty,” he said finally, and found himself hard put not to struggle. “I got lucky the day this half-pay bastard caught the eye of Meridee Bonfort. Since then, I don’t know a richer man than I.”
“A woman makes that big a difference?” Smitty asked, sounding younger than usual, which made Able feel surprisingly paternal toward this young-old Rat.
“She understands me,” Able said, unable to think of a better answer, and if truth be told, a little surprised that all the geniuses inhabiting his skull couldn’t suggest anything better. Perhaps he was right. “She’s pretty, too,” he added a bit feebly, which made Smitty laugh.
He regarded theMercury’s young sailing master, seeing Smitty as an equal as he saw Jamie MacGregor, an earlier St. Brendan alumnus now serving well in the fleet. “Smitty, the luckiest thing you have done so far is show up at St. Brendan unannounced and declare that you were meant to be here,” he said, “no matter how poorly Sir B’s rascal brother treated you and your mother. You took a chance. It’s making all the difference.”
Able watched a light come into Smitty’s eyes. He wondered if the normally taciturn lad would say something more, hoping he would, in fact. Smitty merely nodded, said “Aye, I did, sir,” and walked away. Smitty made a point before theMercurysailed to help Nick decide what should go in his duffel bag, as the younger boy prepared to ship out on theVictory. Bravo, Smitty.
But oh, the tug of domestic life, before shipping out again, with Ben to enjoy, and Meridee to tease and love. It was enough to make a seafaring man question if life on shorewasbetter. He had said as much to Meri one early morning. “You, my love, are a sailor,” she had reminded him seriously, or as serious as Meri could look with her hair a mess, and naked. “I’ve watched you stand at the window and stare out at the sound. You know you miss the ocean.”
“I miss you when I’m at sea,” he pointed out. They had had this conversation before.
“Then you are a total no-hoper…” When she hesitated, Euclid pointed out inside Able’s head that she was probably going to call him Durable about now. “Able,” she finished, which made Able chuckle. Even Euclid was wrong upon occasion. Come to think of it, what was Euclid doing in their bedroom? Maybe it was time for another stern talk with the mathematician, once he was alone and had the deck to himself on the way to Spain. Euclid knew better.
Meri had saved her best goodbye after Nick said he would run ahead to the Gunwharf, after Mrs. Perry had glared at him and threatened him to return in good shape, and after Ezekiel Bartleby had brought by his favorite sugared biscuits.
What a woman. She set his duffel outside the front door, told Ben to watch it for Papa in case of Barbary Pirates, closed the door, and hauled him in close for a kiss that left his knees weak. “There’s more when you return,” she said. She fluffed her hair, put on her bonnet, then smiled and patted the scurrilous locket he had left for her before the first voyage. Her long, slow wink nearly undid him.
“Come, my dear. Let us make our way to Gunwharf,” she said, her shoulders squared and her back straight. He knew she would cry later, but this magnificent lady awed him almost as much as Mrs. Perry, on occasion.
Davey Ten had nearly missed theMercury’s departure. “The surgeon showed me how to suture a wound,” he announced to the others as he threw himself aboard at the last moment. “He made me do one.”
Tots wrinkled his nose. “Eww!”
It was hard to remain dignified in a pile on the deck, tossed there by the sudden catch of wind in sail, but Davey tried, with surprising dignity. “Tottenham, be happy that I know a little more on this voyage,” he said, as he stood up, balanced himself and snatched a stray bandage roll rolling from his medical satchel.
“Belay that, both of you,” Able said, amused. “Take your duffel below, Mr. Ten.”
They sailed on a spanking breeze, with Smitty deliberately wheeling theMercurynearly over on her starboard beam to catch every puff of wind, knowing how beautiful Sir B’s yacht looked under all sail, dancing along. Able stood beside Smitty, feeling the wind on his face. Meri was right; these moments with the odor of tar, and the rumble underfoot that meant waves and water were of paramount importance to him.
The canvas-wrapped, tar-covered dispatches were stowed safely below, heading for Admiral Collinwood on theRoyal Sovereign, somewhere in the Gut, the strait of Gibraltar that beckoned into the Mediterranean Sea. Royal Navy blockaders had planted themselves firmly south of Cádiz to deny access to any of the Combined Fleet from sailing into that wide-open sea, where they could be hard to find.
Before that rendezvous with theRoyal Sovereign, theMercuryhad additional orders from Trinity House to sail under cover under darkness to Tarifa and drop off Captain Ogilvie. After that mail drop to theRoyal Sovereign, they were to pick him up in a week, this time with Jean Hubert, who had been observing the Combined Fleet in Cádiz harbor and who was hopefully still among the quick and not the dead.
Admiral Nelson also wanted him to effect a rendezvous with the HMSPickle, another message-bearer. “You and Captain Lapenotiere need to meet,” he had said after the banquet. “If you happen to be with the fleet when the Frogs and Dons in Cádiz come out to fight, you’ll be a repeater, too, along with thePickle.”
With that in mind, Able set Whitticombe, Tots, Davey and Avon Marsh to scanning the horizon for a schooner as fleet as theMercury. On the fourth day, sailing south by southeast, they found thePickle.
“Gor, what is she?” Tots asked. He and Whitticombe watched and Davey prepared to toss a line, as thePickletook the hint and slowed.
“She’s a lovely schooner, with two masts to our one. Look how that one mast is raked,” Able said. “Steady as she goes, Smitty.”
“Aye, Captain. Does she sail as close to the wind as we can?”
“As near as, considering her size. Her crew numbers about thirty.”
The others came closer, watching and listening. “Is she American-made?” Tots asked.
“The first schooners were,” Able said, enjoying the sight of the graceful ship with the incongruous name as much as his crew. “The speaking trumpet, Whitticombe, please.”
“Ahoy,Pickle,” Able called through the trumpet. “A moment of your time?”
“Toss your line. Come aboard, number Seven Two Six,” they heard.
Avon looked up from his code book and grinned at Able. “Master, we’re seven two six, under new and unnamed vessels!”
The line Davey tossed was grabbed handily and snugged tight. Little Avon tried twice to toss the line from theMercury’s stern, but the rope’s size defeated him. He frowned when one of thePicklecrew chuckled, but Able thought the smiles were friendly. Weren’t they all part of the same navy?
