Relentless Pursuit by Alexander Kent Read Free Book Online Page B

twin would be keeping time below decks. The fiddle was going, the shantyman beating time with his foot, his voice all but lost in the creak and rattle of blocks and rigging.
    They were all here, Cristie with his master’s mates, Galbraith by the rail, and young Bellairs at the foot of the towering main-mast. Here the marines, their coats very bright in the hazy light, waited with the afterguard to control the mizzen sheets and braces. The simplest mast in the ship, all they were any use for, as the old Jacks proclaimed. And right forward, one arm outstretched and dwarfed by the beautiful figurehead, was the new lieutenant, Varlo, watching the jerk of the incoming cable.
    And young Midshipman Cousens with the big signals telescope turned toward the land. He was Bellairs’ successor, and the next obvious candidate for promotion when the opportunity offered itself. If he was lucky.
    Adam nodded to Galbraith. “The wind’s steady. Stand by.” He even recalled his own words that day before the fight. Trust me. So many times.
    Another midshipman’s voice. That was Martyns, the one who had been with Jago in the gig.
    â€œAnchor’s hove short, sir!” Repeating Varlo’s call from the beakhead, his voice broke in a shrill squeak.
    Adam saw one of the helmsmen glance away from the flap-ping masthead pendant just long enough to grin at his companion.
    â€œStand by, the capstan!”
    More calls and running feet. “Loose th’ heads’ls!” Adam tensed. This was the moment.
    â€œHands aloft and loose tops’ls!”
    The cable was coming home, much faster now. Or was it his heart? He looked toward the shore, hardly another sail moving. But many eyes would be watching today. Some relieved, others already feeling the ache of separation.
    He thought of the crippled seaman who had served with him in Anemone, the ship which had begun so much, and had opened the way for him. A shattered man, who lived from day to day with his woman, two lost souls, each needing the other.
    They would be there today.
    Men scurried past him, one pausing to stare at him. The captain. What’s he like?
    The yell from forward. “Anchor’s aweigh, sir!”
    He felt the deck stagger, and dashed spray from his face as the ship appeared to ride her bowsprit up and over the timeless barrier of St Michael’s Mount.
    Small details stood out. Cristie’s hand gesturing at an extra man to throw his weight on the wheel as the helm went down. Hoarse cries from overhead as the sails broke free, then filled and bellied out to the wind. Blocks squeaking, men hauling on the braces to drag the great yards round still further, to capture the wind, so that the rudder-head sounded like a drumbeat.
    â€œSteady she goes!”
    Adam looked again. That would be Newlyn village over there as Unrivalled continued to pivot round, but it was lost in haze and drifting spray.
    â€œSou’-west by south, sir!”
    Galbraith, his hands cupped to make his voice carry. “More men on the weather forebrace, Mr Partridge! Lively there! ”
    Adam gripped the quarterdeck ladder rail, reminded of the night Napier had come to tell him of the girl who was lying just there.
    And what had happened later, in Malta . . . A dangerous madness, potentially no less lethal than a teak splinter, or the shots which had cut down so many over the months . . . the years.
    He pushed away from the rail and walked stiffly up to the weather side. He knew Jago was watching him, standing near the signals party in case he was needed, but careful not to show it. Perhaps that was his strength . . .
    He said, “Steer sou’-west until we weather the headland, Mr Cristie!” and saw his approval.
    To Galbraith he shouted, “We’ll get the fore and main courses on her directly!”
    The ship heeled still further, some bare feet sliding, a few men sprawling, too concerned with watching the land which was already fading