Page 52 of Unlikely Heroes
Able kept his two crew members close, Avon sufficiently awed, Tots with his eyes straight ahead, bearing the precious dispatches. Since the exaltedRoyal Sovereignsmelled worse below deck than their yacht, both boys relaxed a little.
When the Royal Marine sentries standing guard at the door to Admiral Cuthbert Collingwood’s cabin snapped to attention with a raise of their muskets and click of their shoes, Avon’s hand crept into Able’s hand and he leaned closer.
His eyes on the Marines, Able bent down and whispered, “No fears, Mr. March. They’re not here for you. Not now, not ever.” Grace St. Anthony had told Able and Meri one night of the boy’s terror when similarly armed men had shot at three workhouse lads who thought to run away, killing one.
“Here, Avon,” Tots said quietly and reached for the signalman’s hand. “T’captain needs his hands free. I’m with you.”
Admiral Collingwood, currently commanding the Mediterranean fleet, rose to greet them. Able saluted, wishing Captain Sir Belvedere St. Anthony were beside him to see this moment, as their Gunwharf Rats large and small did credit to St. Brendan the Navigator School with their own salutes. Bless Grace St. Anthony for making them practice.
“Captain Six of theMercuryreporting with Admiralty dispatches, Admiral,” Able said.
He stepped back.
“And these two crewman, Captain Six?” Collingwood said.
“Avon March, signalman and cook, and Tottenham, able seaman,” Able said with a gesture. “I left my sailing master in command on theMercury, sir.”
He had heard from others, Sir B certainly, of Admiral Collingwood’s firmness and his vast ability. Able saw kindness in the tall man’s eyes, too, but he didn’t expect what followed, not even slightly.
“Do be seated, gentlemen,” the admiral said. He gestured to a chair and two stools, then opened a door and leaned in, speaking to someone. “We’ll have refreshments in a moment, if you please. Don’t be in a hurry to rush off.”
“Thank you, sir,” Able said as he seated himself, feeling not much older than Avon and just as wide-eyed at this unexpected honor.
Collingwood’s steward brought cakes on a silver platter for the boys and watered down rum in silver cups. He smiled broadly the whole time, which warmed Able’s heart as nothing else could have. His own chilly reception by Admiral Calder off Cape Finisterre had been nothing like this. He couldn’t help the impish thought that perhaps Admiral Calder’s court martial was well-earned.
“Tots, hand over the dispatches before you get too deep in your cups,” Able said, which made the admiral chuckle.
With considerable dignity, Tots, the Gunwharf Rat found shivering in the rain near Tottenham Court, placed the tarry satchel on Collingwood’s desk and sat down. Collingwood patted the satchel. “Thank you, Tots, for getting these to me with no mishap.”
“Yer welcome, sir,” the boy said.
Admiral Collingwood leaned back in his chair. “Captain Six, let me first tell you how saddened we all were by the death of Sir B. Please convey my deepest sympathy to Lady St. Anthony. Tell her if I had been remotely nearby, I would have been there for his funeral.”
“I will, sir. She is still teaching at St. Brendan’s and currently sharing the house with my wife and child. Sir B’s mansion was too empty after he died.”
“I do understand that.” He leaned forward. “Is Admiral Nelson making his way to us here in Gibraltar?”
“He will be, as of September 12, sir. Well, tomorrow.”
“So it begins.”
“Sir?”
Admiral Collingwood leaned across the wide expanse of his desk. “Horatio will force out the Combined Fleet in Cádiz, mark my word, Captain Six.”
“Aye, sir, and high time,” Able said. Something in the saying of it made Able feel suddenly charged, like the key on the kite string of Dr. Benjamin Franklin’s experiment with lightning. He knew he wasn’t breathing any louder or faster than he ever did, but he heard the sounds of his spectator geniuses, breathing and murmuring among themselves. “We will fight, Admiral Collingwood?”
“To the death, Captain Six. It will be a battle like no other, because we have a leader like no other.”
The admiral raised his silver cup and nodded to the others. The Gunwharf Rats lifted their cups high, too.
“One word, gentleman,” Collingwood said. “Victory.”
Chapter Twenty-three
TheMercurycoasted for five days through the blockaders, delivering messages and mail, and even luxuries from one captain to another – including one dozen chickens and a seasick goat – all the while trending north toward Tarifa and the rendezvous with Captain Ogilvie and Jean Hubert.
The interesting thing about voyages such as this, Able decided, was the inescapable mashing of people together, which seemed to point out certain flaws, if flaws they were. Whitticombe continued to be upset by the non-shipshape appearance of the alteredMercury. Even the calm assurance from Captain Six that the yacht’s lovely white color and spanking clean sails would eventually be restored in Portsmouth still left him grouchy and shaking his head.
