Page 77 of Unlikely Heroes
If the worst happened, there wouldn’t even be a grave for her and Ben to visit and leave flowers. Meri knew that sailors were buried at sea. He would never tell her what it looked like in battle, when corpses were simply tossed into the water to clear the decks, without the comfort of a prayer.
He steered his course, watched the stars, longed for his wife, and did his duty in the silence of that middle watch, when prime ministers dreamed of better worlds, and women and little ones at home slept in safety, because captains sailed to war.
The more immediate blessing was one he and his whole crew shared. Like him, they had become fond of the Count of Quintanar, courtly, gregarious and generous with his affections. Able marveled at his father’s sure touch with boys, even as he regretted that he had only come into this charming man’s orbit a scant month ago. The Count had a way of leaning forward and drawing all closer as he told stories of his life in Spain. What a father he would have made.
As theMercurycruised closer to Spain and their inevitable parting, Able found himself wanting to slow the yacht’s passage. He knew his father felt it, too. As the count took turns helming the yacht with Able through the middle watch, he told other stories. The count spoke of his love for Mary Carmichael that had never left him. “Son, when I returned to Spain so devastated, your grandfather nagged at me to find a wife among our own,” he said one night. “I tried, but no one came close to touching my heart as she did.”
“You’ve told me you have two sisters and no brothers,” Able said. “Who will inherit your land and title?”
“It should be you, but you see the impossibility of such a thing.”
“Por supuesto,” Able replied. “English law doesn’t allow bastards to inherit titles. I doubt you Spaniards are of a different mind. And besides, we are enemies, are we not?”
They both laughed at that. The count sobered first. “I have a nephew, a supercilioustonto, who will inherit.” He shrugged. “I am reconciled to the matter. I will be dead, after all.”
“It is enough to know you, Father,” Able said, and it was.
There was no slowing theMercury. In fact, the wind grew stronger when they rounded Cabo de São Vicente, Portugal’s furthermost point into the Atlantic, and turned more east by southeast toward the coast of Spain. The count secreted himself below when theMercuryhailed the frigateDiscovery,one of a line of vessels that like a barbed necklace kept Spanish and French ships prudently hugging their coastlines.
“Where away?” the captain asked through his speaking tube.
“Dispatches for the Mediterranean Fleet,” Able called back. “What news?”
“We’re hearing rumors,” the captain returned. “One of the fishing smacks from Rota near Cádiz said the tall ships are setting their yardarms.”
Able felt that familiar tightening of his gut, the one that every man in the Royal Navy probably understood, with news like that. He hadn’t felt it since the Treaty of Amiens turned to dust in 1803 and war came roaring back.
“We’ll mind our manners,” he shouted. “D’ye have dispatches for the fleet?”
TheDiscovery’s captain laughed. “Tell them to rescue us from boredom and let us join the fight!”
“Aye, sir.”
When he set down the speaking trumpet, he turned around to see all the Rats on deck, and the count. “Sounds to me like the Combined Fleet is coming out to play,” he said, trying to keep his tone conversational. “Count, we won’t be landing you a moment too soon, from the sound of it.”
The wind held that day as Able directed Smitty to edge closer to the Spanish coast. He kept Smitty with him through the middle watch that night, quietly instructing him what to do this time, when they arrived at the landing site. “I will row my father in, and you will hold a steady course.”
“Aye, sir,” Smitty said. He cleared his throat, and sounded surprisingly young when he continued. “Wi…will we be going into battle?”
“Hard to say. The Spaniards and Frogs constitute a huge fleet, and some have been bottled up in Cádiz for months. After we finish our business, we’ll sail immediately to England, as Mr. Pitt intended. We’re messengers, Smitty, that’s all, with not a gun on deck.”
Now was a good time to chivvy Smitty a bit, nothing major, but a reminder of his duty as sailing master. “When was the last time you wrote in the log? You know that’s a sailing master’s duty.”
Smitty showed him a wry face. “Two days ago?”
“I know it’s not your favorite task, lad, but duty is duty. Let’s see. We’ve turned the hour and it is October twenty-first. Tonight after we discharge the count, you will bring the log up to date. That is an order.”
“Aye, sir.”
They sailed on toward morning. The wind had dropped and Able felt that greasy swell underfoot, the one signifying a storm in a day or two. Whitticombe had remarked on it at breakfast. Able was impressed how the lad took an interest in the wind. There was every possibility he would be a fine sailing master, too.
Everything changed when Avon came up from below deck an hour later and proclaimed that the best fish strew ever prepared by the hand of man was ready below, and was that thunder he heard? Something was reverberating below deck.
“Avon, you don’t feel thunder in your feet,” Whitticombe said. He frowned, then looked at Able, the confidence gone. “Sir? Sir?”
Able raised his hand for silence. He tried to move casually to the lee side of theMercury, that side closest to land. He picked up his telescope from its hanger by the flag locker. Just a look. That was all.
“Bring us a point closer to the wind, Smitty,” he said as he steadied himself and raised the glass. He couldn’t be certain, because theMercurywas small and no three-decker, with masts reaching skyward that allowed a better view from the top. He clipped his telescope to his waist and climbed.
