The Mercury coasted for five days through the blockaders, delivering messages and mail, and even luxuries from one captain to another – including one dozen chickens and a seasick goat – all the while trending north toward Tarifa and the rendezvous with Captain Ogilvie and Jean Hubert.
The interesting thing about voyages such as this, Able decided, was the inescapable mashing of people together, which seemed to point out certain flaws, if flaws they were. Whitticombe continued to be upset by the non-shipshape appearance of the altered Mercury. Even the calm assurance from Captain Six that the yacht’s lovely white color and spanking clean sails would eventually be restored in Portsmouth still left him grouchy and shaking his head.
“It’s for the good of the service,” Able assured him, then went down to the galley for a quiet laugh.
The galley reminded him that Avon March might rule supreme as a signalman, but his culinary skills were not far behind. “What in the world smells so good?” he asked. “We have been at sea three weeks now, and I know our supplies are running low.”
Avon turned from the pot he stirred, but only a small turn, with one eye on the pot and the other on his captain, because he was a polite child. “Sir, it is dried apples and plums, with a touch of New England maple syrup.”
“Where did that come from?” Able asked, mystified. He had signed the lading bill, and such a delectable concoction was nowhere in sight. He knew quite well that some captains were wealthy enough to supply their officers’ wardroom with luxuries unimaginable to the crew that lived before the mast, but he was not one of them.
“Captain Six,” Able said most formally, “Lady St. Anthony slipped me a small package before we sailed. She made me promise not to cook it until late in the voyage.” Avon couldn’t help himself then and giggled, reminding Able that he was a mere eleven years old. “She said to wait until we were gut-foundered and heartily tired of porridge and weavily biscuits.”
“Lady St. Anthony never said gut-foundered,” Able said.
“Aye, sir, she did,” Avon contradicted, then exhibited his next delightful trait, a sense of humor. “She says she is an impressionable lady and our low origins are rubbing off on her, and more’s the pity.”
The two of them had a laugh over that.
In his own way, Davey Ten was equally remarkable. He had always been a quiet lad and nothing had changed. When he had no deck duties – Able made certain to include him in all the workings of the Mercury – he could invariably be found in his berth below deck, poring over his medical books. He had an endearing habit of nodding at the pages every time something seemed to agree with him.
Able gave Davey permission to enlist Tots and Whitticombe when he had to practice a particular bandage wrap, or splint. “You should be in medical school next year,” Able said, after watching an elaborate splint of Whitticombe’s healthy ankle. “Are you sixteen then?”
“Fourteen, sir; you know that, but fifteen is coming soon,” Davey reminded him, not a bit fooled. He knew that Able remembered his age precisely. “I would like that, above everything,” he added. Able heard all the longing.
“So would I. Let’s see what we can do,” Able said, knowing he had no pull with Haslar Hospital, but a man can dream, eh?
Denying every enemy ship entrance or exit, the Royal Navy’s blockading frigates moved back and forth about thirty miles west from Cádiz, where Spanish and French warships languished, trapped by the Royal Navy and not bold enough to venture out for the battle everyone knew was overdue.
One night on the dark of the moon, Able directed his crew to sail closer and tempt fate a little. He had no fears of surprise or shipboard error. By now he knew the Mercury as well as he knew Meri’s body, how she handled, how frisky she was, and how capable of twists and turns with the precise touch.
By great Zeus, you bastard, Euclid mildly scolded him as they sailed closer, Able at the helm. You’ve been at sea a mere three weeks and listen to you.
But that was the best part of his solitary sailing, the bliss and quiet to think all thoughts or none, or revisit other moments in his life. He had listened to Smitty singing, when he took his turn at the helm. The others took