Heart of Oak by Alexander Kent

search abruptly through her keys. There was no value in looking back.
    Adam held Lowenna’s arm while some fishermen trundled a barrow loaded with tangled nets along the jetty. It was always busy here, boats being unloaded by hand under the sharp eye of local buyers, and a few larger craft using tackle to shift their cargoes directly ashore. Not very different from when he had first seen it as a youth, and he had always remembered it.
    She smiled, face fresh in the cold salt breeze, eyes bright with interest and excitement. Sharing it with him, unconcerned or unaware of the attention from idlers and labourers alike.
    But he tightened his grip as two men with arms linked, obviously full to the scuppers, as Luke Jago would have said, lurched aside with elaborate respect as they passed.
    “Greetin’s, Captain, an’ yer lovely lady!”
    Lowenna said, “The deck looks very lively today.”
    The two seamen stared at her and then fell laughing in each other’s arms. There were grins and nods throughout the crowd.
    Adam murmured, “You are wonderful. For a second, I thought…”
    But she was shading her eyes against the hard light, the moment already past as she watched a vessel moving slowly clear of others moored close by. “Your world, Adam. And I want to be part of it.” She laughed as some gulls swooped down on a few fishheads thrown on the water. “Look, they’re happy, too.”
    When she looked at him again her face was serious. “I saw you watching that ship. A brig, isn’t she?”
    “Yes, she is. Clever of you. Most people would not know.”
    But she did not smile. “I saw it in your eyes. An understanding. Almost…a hunger.” She thrust some of her hair under her cloak. “Am I right?”
    He stared across the choppy water. The brig was already under way, topsails and jib filling slightly to the brisk offshore wind. Too far out to hear the sounds of a vessel coming alive, the squeal and clatter of blocks, the measured stamp of bare feet. But he could have been there on her deck.
    He said, “Small and handy, fourteen guns. Very like
Firefly
, my first command. She taught me all I know.” He took her arm again, unconsciously. “And you
are
a part of it. Since that day…” A great chorus of laughter mixed with jeers scattered his thoughts, and he saw a group of onlookers pointing or gesturing toward the brig, shaking their heads in disgust.
    “What is it, Adam?”
    I should have known. Been prepared.
The time of year did not matter, nor the weather. There were always the old hands, men who had once served in ships of war, and now were unable to stay away from the life which had brutally rejected them. Missing an arm or a leg, permanently scarred, there was not a whole man amongst them.
    There was a distant squawk from the brig’s speaking trumpet, doubtless her first lieutenant yelling threats at a small boat carelessly pulling across the bows. It was common enough in confined waters. But somehow a necessary reminder to survivors like these.
    “That showed ’em, eh, Cap’n?” More laughs, and hostility too. It was different at sea. So different. The risk and the danger were ever present. The toast to “absent friends” was supposed to soften the harsh reality.
    He could feel her hand on his arm, very still, like a small creature, listening, waiting.
    He said, “We’ll walk to the end of the jetty now that we’ve come this far.” Suppose they all stood firm. To prove something, take some cheap revenge.
    “Everything in order, Captain Bolitho?”
    Adam had not even seen them approach. Two uniforms, gilt buttons; one was wearing a sword. Authority, from the revenue cutter he had seen earlier when they had reached the waterfront.
    “Thank you, yes.” He touched his hat and saw the other man respond. He felt her fingers tighten on his arm as he added, “We are amongst friends here.”
    They walked on, the way suddenly cleared. Nothing was said; there was only a smile or a brief nod of recognition