“She is a fifth-rate,” Frank said low in my ear, “forty-eight guns, and new-built but six years ago: the frigate Stella Marts. I have seen her some once or twice, coming out of the Rock, or putting in at Malta. Perfect lines! Built for speed. So maneuverable and sure at coming about, that she has taken French prizes that ought to have out-gunned her. The better part of her seamen are rated Able, and she boasts some first-class gunnery.”.
A frigate. The very thing for Fly. Having served so long in a ship of the line, as Flag-Captain under an admiral, my brother, I thought, deserved to cut a dash. Every young buck of spirit craved a fast frigate. They were the eyes of the fleet—they fought the majority of single-vessel actions—they were despatched at a moment's notice to every corner of the globe. Frigate captains were the pirates of the Royal Navy: seizing enemy ships, flying into guarded ports on midnight raids, convoying merchantmen at the behest of the Honourable Company, and culling a share of Bombay profits as a result.
“On which station does she sail?” I enquired.
“The Channel. I should never be farther than a few days from home, should I be wanted.”
I raised my hands as though in applause—or prayer. I could no more suppress my delight than I could stifle hope. “The very thing! How could we wish for anything better! You shall make your fortune, Fly, as many a worse fellow has done before you!”
The sun shone briefly in my brother's countenance; then a shadow crossed his face once more, and all light was extinguished. “I have not told you the worst, Jane,” he informed me heavily. “There is the matter of Tom Seagrave.”
“Tom Seagrave?” I furled my brows with effort. “I do not recollect the name.”
“He is a post captain like myself,” Frank replied, “but well before our elevation, we shared a berth as Volunteers on the Perseverance. By the time I was made midshipman, Tom had already passed for lieutenant; I served under him on the Minerva. There is no one like the fellow for dash, and bravery—he has always been called 'Lucky Tom Seagrave' in the Navy for the number of prizes he has taken. But luck, Jane, has very little to do with Tom's career. He has more pluck at the bone than most squadrons put together, a fighting captain for whom the men would die.”
Frank had never been a man to flatter or praise where praise was not due; I must take it, then, that Captain Seagrave was a paragon of naval virtue. And yet I read trouble in my brother's looks.
“And what has your old friend to do with the Stella Marts, Fly?”
“He is her captain.”
“Her captain? But I thought the ship was to be given to you”
Frank's grey eyes were bleak. “And so it may. Tom Seagrave is presently in Portsmouth awaiting court-martial, Jane. He is charged under Article Nine of the Articles of War.”
I waited mutely for explanation.
“Article Nine states that no enemy officer or seaman is to be stripped of his possessions or abused in any way, when an enemy ship is taken,” Frank said carefully. “Some few weeks since, Seagrave fell in with the Manon, a French thirty-two-gun frigate, just off Corunna. He engaged her; the Manon returned his fire gallantly; but the sum of it is, her mainmast was carried away and she struck her colours after a matter of an hour.”
“Well, then!” I cried. “There can be nothing shameful in such a victory, surely!”
My brother's countenance remained set “The French captain suffered a mortal wound, Jane—after the Manon had struck and the fellow had surrendered his sword. Seagrave is charged with murder.”
“But why?” I gasped. “The Admiralty cannot believe he would kill a defenceless officer in cold blood! What reason could he find?”
The master of the hoy called harshly to his mate, and Frank's eyes shifted immediately to the sails. The canvas had slackened; the vessel had slowed. A massive three-decker, a first-rate by its gun-ports, was anchored to starboard with an admiral's white flag at the mizzen; we had achieved Portsmouth harbour.
“You see my dilemma, Jane.” Frank's voice was barely audible over the cries of sailors skimming across the water from ship to ship. “You see why I make no mention of my prospects at home. It is a damnable bargain! I may have my frigate with the Admiralty's blessing—”