a jolly boat. Silently, Whitticombe and Davey Ten lifted the little vessel into the water, followed by Smitty, who sat down and quietly set the oars in the oarlocks.
“Happy hunting, Angus,” Able said. “I hope you find Jean Hubert.”
“I will if I have to dig him up to do it,” was Ogilvie’s cheerful reply, as he lowered himself into the boat.
If only you didn’t sound so eager to do that, Able thought. No wonder you make Meri uneasy. “See you in five days right here,” he said. “Two flashes, pause, two quick in succession from us. Three longs from you.”
He turned into the wind so the sails luffed and the Mercury slowed. He knew it was only a matter of minutes for Smitty to row one slightly overweight spy to shore, so why did it seem forever? When Smitty clambered back over the side, Able let out the breath he had been holding. The grin on Smitty’s face was ample evidence of his pleasure in a bit of derring-do.
After they stowed the boat, a tack and a turn sent them back to open waters, a far safer place to be. “Sir, I smelled what must be oranges,” Smitty said. “Have you ever eaten an orange?”
“Aye, lad. We should’ve asked Captain Ogilvie to procure some.”
“Are they good?”
Why should such a question make him struggle? “The best,” Able replied, which meant narrowing a mountain of emotions down to two words. When Able clambered aboard his first ship as a nine-year-old escapee from a Dumfries workhouse, the captain sailed to a Spain not under Napoleon’s thumb yet. The Royal Navy’s newest recruit ate oranges until he nearly foundered. Somehow, oranges turned into freedom. He probably shouldn’t tell that to Smitty. He probably should maintain his dignity as captain at sea and master instructor on land. Oh, hell no.
“Smitty, let me tell you about my first oranges,” he started. Those few words must have somehow beckoned the others to sit cross legged on the deck, with only the light of the moon for illumination. He watched their faces, saw the anticipation for an orange, and hoped there might be oranges for them someday. “There is a wonderful city called Valencia…”
Another day of sailing a prudent distance from shore along the southern coast of Spain led them through the Gut and past the Rock of Gibraltar, called anciently the Pillars of Hercules. They had passed and identified themselves to frigates and smaller craft blockading the Spanish coast and been ushered onward. Smitty helmed the Mercury as they sailed by the Rock and into the Mediterranean. For the only time so far, Smitty let go of the wheel, staring open-mouthed at the majesty of it all.
“Mind your helm, Mr. Smith,” Able said, enjoying all the Rats’ amazement at the famous sight.
His eyes wide, Tots probably expressed it best. “Gor, every cove and rascal in England would go to sea, if they knew what they were missing.”
Even better, it was a warm day, with North African winds ruffling the water and setting the waves dancing. Avon March lay on the deck, shirt off, eyes closed, bliss on his face. Able watched him, remembering a moment like that in the South Pacific, then toed Avon with his shoe. “Better turn over, lad, so you can burn equally on the other side.”
Avon sat up, took a look at himself and reached for his shirt, at the same time Whitticombe called out, “Royal Sovereign!”
“Very good, Mr. Whitticombe,” Able said. “Mr. March, if you please, signal “Permission to come aboard with dispatches. Mercury.”
“Aye, sir.” Avon raced to the flag locker and yanked it open. In remarkably few minutes, the flags snapped from the signal line.
They all watched as other flags soon fluttered. “’Permission granted,’ Captain Six,” Avon sang out.
“Bring her close, Smitty,” Able said. “I’ll be right beside you, if you need help.”
Smitty flashed him a grateful look, but took the Mercury in like the helmsman he was. Avon was young enough to watch the business with his mouth agape, as the relative sizes of the two two-decker and the yacht became obvious. Able smiled at the good-natured catcalls from the men on the Sovereign’s deck as they watched the whole business from high above the Mercury.
Able knew Smitty wanted to climb the chains with him, but he made no objection – in fact, stood taller – when Able said, “Master Smith, you are captain of the Mercury when I leave this ship.”