Page 53 of Unlikely Heroes
“It’s for the good of the service,” Able assured him, then went down to the galley for a quiet laugh.
The galley reminded him that Avon March might rule supreme as a signalman, but his culinary skills were not far behind. “What in the world smells so good?” he asked. “We have been at sea three weeks now, and I know our supplies are running low.”
Avon turned from the pot he stirred, but only a small turn, with one eye on the pot and the other on his captain, because he was a polite child. “Sir, it is dried apples and plums, with a touch of New England maple syrup.”
“Where did that come from?” Able asked, mystified. He had signed the lading bill, and such a delectable concoction was nowhere in sight. He knew quite well that some captains were wealthy enough to supply their officers’ wardroom with luxuries unimaginable to the crew that lived before the mast, but he was not one of them.
“Captain Six,” Able said most formally, “Lady St. Anthony slipped me a small package before we sailed. She made me promise not to cook it until late in the voyage.” Avon couldn’t help himself then and giggled, reminding Able that he was a mere eleven years old. “She said to wait until we were gut-foundered and heartily tired of porridge and weavily biscuits.”
“Lady St. Anthony never said gut-foundered,” Able said.
“Aye, sir, she did,” Avon contradicted, then exhibited his next delightful trait, a sense of humor. “She says she is an impressionable lady and our low origins are rubbing off on her, and more’s the pity.”
The two of them had a laugh over that.
In his own way, Davey Ten was equally remarkable. He had always been a quiet lad and nothing had changed. When he had no deck duties – Able made certain to include him in all the workings of theMercury– he could invariably be found in his berth below deck, poring over his medical books. He had an endearing habit of nodding at the pages every time something seemed to agree with him.
Able gave Davey permission to enlist Tots and Whitticombe when he had to practice a particular bandage wrap, or splint. “You should be in medical school next year,” Able said, after watching an elaborate splint of Whitticombe’s healthy ankle. “Are you sixteen then?”
“Fourteen, sir; you know that, but fifteen is coming soon,” Davey reminded him, not a bit fooled. He knew that Able remembered his age precisely. “Iwouldlike that, above everything,” he added. Able heard all the longing.
“So would I. Let’s see what we can do,” Able said, knowing he had no pull with Haslar Hospital, but a man can dream, eh?
Denying every enemy ship entrance or exit, the Royal Navy’s blockading frigates moved back and forth about thirty miles west from Cádiz, where Spanish and French warships languished, trapped by the Royal Navy and not bold enough to venture out for the battle everyone knew was overdue.
One night on the dark of the moon, Able directed his crew to sail closer and tempt fate a little. He had no fears of surprise or shipboard error. By now he knew theMercuryas well as he knew Meri’s body, how she handled, how frisky she was, and how capable of twists and turns with the precise touch.
By great Zeus, you bastard, Euclid mildly scolded him as they sailed closer, Able at the helm.You’ve been at sea a mere three weeks and listen to you.
But that was the best part of his solitary sailing, the bliss and quiet to think all thoughts or none, or revisit other moments in his life. He had listened to Smitty singing, when he took his turn at the helm. The others took their turn on deck, staring in silence across the water, in itself most pleasant, especially for workhouse lads who never enjoyed solitude unless it was as punishment. Jamie MacGregor had told him once that the lapping of water or the hiss of spindrift spray was soothing to the mind and heart. “I will always need it,” Jamie said simply. “It fills an empty space.”
Cádiz itself was on an inlet, with the Combined Fleet tucked in close to the mainland. Able sniffed the evening breeze, pleased with the odor of olive oil and fish frying in sometabernaalong the shore. He had lost his virginity in Cádiz at a precocious age – Meri refused to believe him – so the seaport had its own meaning.
An old crone told his fortune there, too, years ago now. His mates hadn’t believed him when he said he understood Spanish, but he did, even the hag’s half-Castilian, half-Roma dialect. She promised him sons and daughters and lovers in many ports. He smiled at the memory. Sons and daughters would do fine,muchas gracias. He needed no other lover than his own wife.
They were close enough to Cádiz; it was time to play off and return to the fold. A touch of the wheel, a swing of the boom, and theMercurysailed for the blockade like a son coming home from a party a little merry from spirits, but sober-enough to pass parental sniffs and inspection. He thought he saw Ben years from now in just such a predicament, and smiled into the future. Not everyone could do that, but he could.
Soon theMercurywas tucked in amongst the far-larger frigates, safe and sound, swinging on her anchor, a child beside strong parents. Another hour and he would wake Smitty for his turn on deck to stand the watch.
Making visits to each frigate in the morning, Able had informed the captains thatMercurywould sail inshore in two days to pick up two agents, and then heel with the wind immediately to Portsmouth, and then Admiralty in London.
The result of this news was two canvas bags filled with official correspondence and letters home. From tars who could read and write, to Royal Marines, to midshipmen and officers, letters poured in, destined for cities, villages and rural manors throughout England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. Able knew the mind-numbing duty of the blockade, completely without glamor but essential to keep the enemy at bay on the continent. He welcomed the personal letters more than the official mail, thinking to himself that before Meridee, he had never received any mail.
When darkness settled on that final evening, theMercuryswung out of line and beat for the coastline south of Cádiz, nearer to Tarifa where they had dropped off foul-smelling Captain Ogilvie.
“It’s so dark, Captain,” Whitticombe said. Able heard a touch of fear. “How will you know when we reach the coast?”
“Use your nose, son,” he said, unmindful of the endearment, until he heard Whitticombe draw in his breath. “Aye, son. You are all my boys,” he amended, as he felt a tightening in his chest. They were.Please, God, no tragedy in whatever battle comes our way, he thought, even though he wasn’t as religious as Meri would have liked.These are my sons and I cannot spare them. “You’ll smell land. Let me know when you do.”
Whitticombe went to the railing and sniffed. Able smiled in the darkness. Then, “Ew, the tide is out.”
“See there? Take a sounding, if you please. Tots, are you ready with the lantern?”
“Aye, sir.”
Able knew the fathoms precisely where they sailed so stealthily, because he had traveled this sea lane years ago. This was for the Rats’ education. Tots poised the lantern on the railing for the signal, when Able gave the word. The answer from shore would be three long flashes.
He looked around. All the Rats were on deck, silent and watchful, without even being requested. He knew the spy business seemed more exciting to impressible lads than it really was.
