Free Sails on the Horizon: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars by Jay Worrall Page A

light, then rose and stepped carefully out onto the landing, followed by Raven ’s commander.
    “Well, this is as far as I can take you, Commander Edgemont,” Turnbull said, extending his hand. “I’ve taken pleasure in your company and I wish you well.”
    “I thank you for both a pleasant and a speedy voyage,” Charles answered, shaking it. “I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed myself more.”
    “You have everything you need? Admiral Jervis’s reports?” Turnbull asked. Before he could respond, Turnbull continued, “Ah, here comes your escort.” He nodded toward a detachment of approaching marines.
    “Yes, everything,” Charles answered, patting the thick dispatch case under his cloak. “Wish me luck.”
    “Which of you is Lieutenant Edgemont?” the marine sergeant inquired while his men drew up in rigid attention. At the response, “I’m Edgemont,” Charles was unceremoniously marched directly across to the Admiralty courtyard and through the large double doors. He had never been inside the ornate, high-ceilinged building before and stood somewhat in awe to find himself at the very seat of British naval power. Clerks and messengers hurried around him, while senior captains and admirals standing in small clusters in the hallways paused in their conversations to look curiously at the young lieutenant with his bandaged head, weathered uniform, marine escort, and dispatch case.
    “St. Vincent?” one of the admirals, a short, pugnacious-looking man with the red sash of the Order of the Bath across his chest, spoke out, guessing at the subject of Charles’s dispatches.
    “Yes, sir,” Charles answered, touching his forehead as he was hurried past.
    “Damn good show, young man. Capital victory. That’ll teach those papish heathens who rules the seas,” the admiral called. There were echoed shouts of “Hear, hear” and “Well done, Lieutenant” and “A noble thrashing” from around the room. The marines halted with a loud stamp and handed him to a rather dowdy clerk, who walked him down a corridor and without knocking entered what must be the First Lord’s office. The First Lord of the Admiralty, George Spencer, the second earl of Spencer, rose from behind the largest desk Charles had ever seen to personally greet him and receive the reports he carried. Charles felt as though he were shaking hands with God.
    “Lieutenant Edgemont of the Argonaut, is that right?” Spencer asked.
    “Yes, your Lordship,” Charles answered.
    “Admiral Jervis indicated in his preliminary correspondence, directly after the victory, that he would be sending you along. Please sit down,” he said, gesturing toward a chair. “The sun is well over the yardarm; would you prefer port or sherry? And tell us of your experiences in the battle.”
     
    ___
     
    IN ALL, CHARLES spent a busy week in London, sharing a pair of rooms with Attwater in a boardinghouse in Haymarket. He visited an infinitely more competent physician than the Argonaut ’s to have his sutures removed and to have a smaller, less cumbersome dressing applied to replace the turbanlike winding employed by Argonaut ’s surgeon. A tailor who catered to naval officers measured him for two uniforms suitable for a newly made ship’s commander in His Majesty’s Navy, with a single gold-fringed epaulette proudly perched atop the left shoulder. During the evenings he was invited to so many dinners and gatherings to celebrate the victory that he had to refuse most of them. All the attention left him a little bewildered, and the repeated references to him as “the hero of St. Vincent” made him uncomfortable. On the other hand, he told himself, a free meal was a free meal, the food and drink were good, and he vastly enjoyed the attentions of young women in their fashionable gowns who hung on his every word as he described how the Argonaut had single-handedly forced three Spanish ships of the line to strike.
    Charles’s exposure to these women, though