at sea, myself. At least for now. I can still be recalled to the fleet if necessary, but it is less likely.”
They had arrived back home, where Ben’s calm brilliance became more apparent every day; where nearly brand-new Mary Munro Six sucked contentedly at her mama’s breast; where Meri Six loved him without reservation; where Smitty still learned and observed so quietly; where Nick Bonfort-Six – ah, yes – was returning soon to the fleet as secretary’s assistant to Admiral Collingwood, now that Nick and Headmaster Ferrier had completed their manual of seamanship for not only St. Brendan’s, but also the Navy Board.
There was no need to tell Jamie that his own brain had quieted. The genius remained, but his spectral mentors had become observers. They did not clamor for attention, because he did not need them as he once had. Trafalgar had been his own proving ground, putting all his hard-won skills to work. Euclid was available for consultation, as always, but even his great Greek mentor wisely let him go about his business with a modest amount of commentary.
He had a new crop of boys to teach, among then veteran Avon March, who had moved into the upper level with his same good cheer. He hadn’t told Smitty yet, but there were two frigate captains competing as politely as determined men could, for his apprenticeship as sailing master on their vessels. The enigmatic man, for man Smitty was, would be leaving soon for the Channel Fleet. The new workhouse lads would turn into Gunwharf Rats, because it had become a title of excellence, and not of derision.
And I remain here, Euclid, no fame or fortune for me, he thought. I will teach and train and live with my wife and children. I doubt Mary Munro Carmichael and the Count of Quintanar would have wanted more for me than that I am happy. Do let them know, please, if you can, any of you. I am happy.
“Come inside, Jamie. Meri wants to see you. And please answer any questions the Rats might have for you tomorrow in our seamanship class at the stone basin.”
“With pleasure, Master Six, with pleasure.”
“It’s chaotic here,” Able warned, as he opened the door.
“As it should be.”
As it should be.
Historical Note
Lieutenant John Richards Lapenotiere of the schooner HMS Pickle was handed the dispatches for Admiralty in which Admiral Collingwood described the fleet action off Cape Trafalgar, the decisive battle which confirmed for more than a century the Royal Navy’s maritime superiority on all oceans.
Bearing only ten guns, and small ones at that, the Pickle played no belligerent role at Trafalgar, serving mainly as a rescue vessel, the same as my fictitious Mercury. Having suffered no battle damage, the nimble and swift Pickle was the ideal choice to carry the news of victory to England. Lapenotiere was a skilled navigator and not lacking in courage. He was the ideal commander for the Pickle, both at Trafalgar, and in carrying the message home.
Incidentally, Lapenotiere was descended from French Huguenots, Protestant exiles who had fled to England in 1688. In an era of imaginative spelling, his last name appears in Royal Navy records and logs using a variety of letter combinations. Hardly any scribe ever got it right.
The Pickle’s historic voyage to Great Britain was not an easy one. Following the battle of Trafalgar, a series of storms beset victors and vanquished, sinking several captured warships of the Combined Fleet, which had been severely mauled in the fight on October 21, 1805. Many Royal Navy vessels suffered greatly, too. The Pickle, in company (for a while at least) with the sloop of war Nautilus, clawed her way through a week of storms toward England.
This was the age of sail, with ships totally dependent upon the winds. The storms were of such magnitude and direction that Pickle was forced put in at Falmouth, located not far from Land’s End in Cornwall, rather than at Plymouth, the naval base farther east by northeast in Devonshire.
Docked in Falmouth on November 4, Lapenotiere wasted not a moment in engaging a post-chaise for the 271-mile journey to London on the route which is now called The Trafalgar Way. The journey took 37 hours, with 21 changes of horses at posting houses along the route.
At one a.m. on the morning of November 6, 1805, Lapenotiere delivered his dispatches to William Marsden, First Secretary of the Board of the Admiralty. Marsden had been working late in the board room and was on his way to