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 the Mercury, 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 the Mercury was 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.
Just a look, he thought, just a look, and raised the telescope to his eye. His gut tightened more. He knew it was too late for him to eat the best fish stew ever prepared by the hand of man. He never cared to eat before sailing into a fleet action.
Crowning the distant horizon was the entire Combined Fleet, freed from the harbor and fighting. He saw the Santísima Trinidad, largest ship in any navy and the pride of Spain, in the middle of a line that appeared to be breaking up. He steadied his hand on the glass and watched as two columns of Nelson’s Mediterranean Fleet sailed into the enemy line with majestic purpose, all flags flying, even more than usual. Sometimes that was the only way to tell friend from enemy, when the guns belched and the sky turned dark.
That was it: Nelson had decided to sail toward the enemy on the perpendicular in two columns and not the parallel, the better to divide the enemy line and fight ship to ship in a wild melee that was as brutal as it was effective. The Battle of the Nile had proved that point.
He was too late. He could not return his father to Spain yet, and he knew in his heart this was not a time to hang back, even if the Mercury was small. He was sailing his crew of school boys in an unarmed yacht toward danger of the worst sort. Able closed his eyes and saw the map of the coast, helpfully scrolled out for him by someone in his head. He knew there was a little outreach of land, nothing like Cabo São Vicente or even Finisterre far to the north. Trafalgar. That was it. Trafalgar.
Chapter Thirty-five
I believe the Rats would follow you into the jaws of hell. Master Ferrier had said it only days ago, and here they were. Thoughtful now, his fear in retreat, Able made his way down to the deck.
“Gather around, Rats,” he said, motioning to them. “Avon, call down for Davey. My father, too. This is a council of war.”
He waited, trying to keep his face expressionless, for those below to hurry topside. A glance at his father’s face told him the count fully understood that rumbling under foot. He gave Able a slight nod.
“We’re heading toward a fight, a big one,” Able said. He squatted on the deck by the wheel where Smitty stood and motioned the others to join him. He smiled to see a pencil behind Davey’s ear and plucked it out. He drew a series of dots on the deck, and then two perpendicular lines, moving them forward until they intersected the dots.
“Admiral