Admiral Nelson also wanted him to effect a rendezvous with the HMS Pickle, another message-bearer. “You and Captain Lapenotiere need to meet,” he had said after the banquet. “If you happen to be with the fleet when the Frogs and Dons in Cádiz come out to fight, you’ll be a repeater, too, along with the Pickle.”
With that in mind, Able set Whitticombe, Tots, Davey and Avon Marsh to scanning the horizon for a schooner as fleet as the Mercury. On the fourth day, sailing south by southeast, they found the Pickle.
“Gor, what is she?” Tots asked. He and Whitticombe watched and Davey prepared to toss a line, as the Pickle took the hint and slowed.
“She’s a lovely schooner, with two masts to our one. Look how that one mast is raked,” Able said. “Steady as she goes, Smitty.”
“Aye, Captain. Does she sail as close to the wind as we can?”
“As near as, considering her size. Her crew numbers about thirty.”
The others came closer, watching and listening. “Is she American-made?” Tots asked.
“The first schooners were,” Able said, enjoying the sight of the graceful ship with the incongruous name as much as his crew. “The speaking trumpet, Whitticombe, please.”
“Ahoy, Pickle,” Able called through the trumpet. “A moment of your time?”
“Toss your line. Come aboard, number Seven Two Six,” they heard.
Avon looked up from his code book and grinned at Able. “Master, we’re seven two six, under new and unnamed vessels!”
The line Davey tossed was grabbed handily and snugged tight. Little Avon tried twice to toss the line from the Mercury’s stern, but the rope’s size defeated him. He frowned when one of the Pickle crew chuckled, but Able thought the smiles were friendly. Weren’t they all part of the same navy?
Captain Ogilvie leant a hand and in a thrice, the vessels were bound together, floating as near as could be, considering a difference in size that made the decks unequal. A plank ended that problem.
“I’ll take the wheel, Able,” Ogilvie said. “Your crew should see the Pickle.”
“Come, crew, let’s pay a visit,” Able said. He ushered the Gunwharf Rats up and over the plank. To his inward delight, the Pickle’s bosun even twittered a welcome on his pipe. Able couldn’t help smiling to see his St. Brendan boys stand a little taller.
He didn’t know Captain Lapenotiere, but the serious-looking man with thinning hair appeared to be the only officer on board. He gave a slight bow, then held out his hand.
“Welcome aboard, Captain Six, is it?” he asked. “I’ve been told to expect a visit.”
“Captain Six, indeed, Captain Lapenotiere,” Able said. He decided quickly that he liked being called captain. He gestured to his crew, standing tall as they could. It touched his heart to see how proud his fellow rats and bastards looked, eyes ahead and serious. “We’re from St. Brendan the Navigator School, serving in the fleet as requested and required.”
Lapenotiere nodded. He relaxed and nodded to a crew member in nondescript uniform. “Master Johnson, my gunny, will show your lads around the Pickle. Let me invite you to my miniscule cabin for a drink.”
Smitty whispered to Able. “Captain, we would like to know the Pickle’s origin,” Able said. “They’ve never seen a schooner.”
“She’s Bermuda-built, on American lines,” Captain Lapenotiere said promptly, as if he heard that question often, and this one: “And no, I have no idea why she is called the Pickle.” The boys chuckled, and Able followed the captain below deck.
“Sir, it’s a regular palace, compared to my below deck accommodations,” Able said as he seated himself in Lapenotiere’s cramped space. “We share six berths and a galley in the Mercury. Luckily, only Captain Ogilvie snores.”
“Just John, please,” Lapenotiere. He poured something amber and looking highly contraband into a mostly clean glass. “Able Six, I believe?”
“Yes, indeed,” Able said and took a sip. “I can’t even remember my last madeira.” (Well, he did. It was in Lisbon on April 22, 1795.) He definitely couldn’t recall having been treated so well by Admiral Calder in his private cabin.
“Madeira is one of the perks along these shores,” John said, tapping his own glass. “Do you have a message for me?”
“Admiral Nelson specifically requested that we look for the Pickle, as we sail with dispatches for Admiral Cuthbert,” Able said. “He told me that if the Mercury happened to be in attendance during the fleet action which he thinks is imminent, I might consider the Mercury as operating at your behest.”