Free Heart of Oak by Alexander Kent Page A

Grenville gesturing toward another ship.
    “I served in her! Twelve, no, fifteen years back. I can’t believe it!” Jago saw him touch Bolitho’s arm, and recalled that unexpected gesture when Grenville had been accorded the honour of taking precedence over the captain. It never made much sense to Jago, but he had seen what it had done for a man who seemed all-important anyway, an intimate of their lordships. But he had witnessed it, shared it, and thought he understood it. This was Grenville’s real world.
Like the rest of us.
And he was going to lose it; and the captain knew, and he gave a damn.
    Grenville gripped Adam’s arm again.
    “There she is! Larboard bow! Isn’t she a beauty?” There could have been just the two of them in the launch, Jago thought. “They must have all worked watch-and-watch to have made her so!”
    The lieutenant signalled to the helmsman and the tiller went over. Jago saw figures on the maindeck, some running, and a little group already assembled by the entry port. How low and sleek she looked after
Athena…
There were barges alongside, deep in the water, and carefully fendered away from
Onward
’s new paintwork. Loaded with ballast which must have been removed when the new artillery had been hoisted aboard. Jago could remember all those other times: tackles, orders, backbreaking labour, the sweat and the curses.
Poor old Jack!
    Some of the gunports were open, black muzzles already visible.
Onward
was showing her teeth.
    Impossible to guess what the captain was thinking now. A new ship. The proudest, and perhaps the loneliest, responsibility any man could grasp.
    “Boat ahoy?”
They were still half a cable from the ship, but the challenge was clear enough.
    The helmsman looked over at Jago. “Yours, ’Swain!”
    Jago cupped his hands and shouted,
“Onward!”
    Adam saw the long bowsprit and tapering jib-boom sweep directly above their heads, and the figurehead, perfectly fashioned, a naked youth with one outstretched arm across a leaping dolphin, his other hand gripping a trident. A beautiful work of art. He felt a sudden sense of disloyalty,
Unrivalled
’s figurehead clear in his mind.
    “
Bows!”
Oars scraping across the thwarts, the bowmen on their feet, a boathook poised and ready.
    Onward
’s side loomed over the narrowing strip of lively water. “Oars,
up!
”
    Twin lines of blades, water running down over the seamen’s arms and legs. The moment they all hated. A tot of rum would put things right with them.
    Adam got to his feet as the hull lurched against fenders; two sideboys were already in position to ease the initial impact. He had never forgotten the story of the captain who had been tipped overboard when joining his first ship. It was probably true.
    Grenville had remained seated but was looking up, studying him.
    Adam reached for the hand-ropes and saw the entry port. He was shivering, but it was not the coldness of wind or sea. This was no time for doubt, or to lose your nerve. Like hearing his uncle’s voice, recalling all those other ships.
Remember this. They will be far more worried about their new captain.
    He took a deep breath and stepped clear of the launch, and on to the stairs that mounted the tumblehome. It seemed no distance at all after
Athena.
    The bark of commands and the piercing shrill of boatswain’s calls, and he felt his feet on the deck, careful to avoid the piles of cordage that awaited stowing as he faced aft, touching his hat. The ship seemed to rise up and around him, standing rigging like black glass, loosely brailed canvas stirring in the wind as if
Onward
were about to get under way.
    Seamen and a few Royal Marines at attention, facing the entry port. Beyond them, groups of riggers and dockyard workers standing amidst the litter and disorder of their efforts.
    A lieutenant had stepped forward, his hat in his hand. “Welcome aboard, sir. I’m Vincent, sir. I am the senior here.”
    The first contact: some said the most