Sails on the Horizon: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars by Jay Worrall Page A
Authors: Jay Worrall
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can’t go to your lieutenant’s berth. You’re the captain now. I’ve made up the bed for you with fresh linens and a clean nightshirt. You can’t go back there with the others. It ain’t fitting.”
Charles opened his mouth to argue that if he was the captain he could sleep wherever he damn well pleased, decided he didn’t have the energy to prolong the argument, and said, “Fine.” He allowed the steward to help him out of his blood-caked clothes and into an oversized nightshirt—Captain Wood had been a man of rather generous girth. Attwater led him into the sleeping cabin with its soft bed, warmed by a pan of hot coals brought from the galley. It was a hanging bed, suspended from the ceiling and swaying with the roll of the ship. Charles climbed carefully in and lowered himself gratefully between the heated sheets. Before he could form a coherent worry about the state of his ship, he fell into bottomless sleep.
WHEN HE AWOKE to a pounding pain in his head, Charles was conscious of two things: He couldn’t recall where he was, and the Argonaut was under way. “Attwater!” he yelled, remembering that much.
“Yes, sir.” The door to the cabin opened and the steward carried in a basin of steaming water for him to wash in. “There’s shaving things on the dressing table. ’Ere’s a towel. Your breakfast will be ready as soon as you’ve dressed, sir. I took the liberty of sending for your uniforms from your old quarters.”
“Not now,” Charles said, hurrying past him. “The ship’s under way and I need to be on the quarterdeck.” Before Attwater’s mouth could find words, Charles hurried out the door, past the very startled marine sentry, and up onto the quarterdeck, where the wind instantly caught the tentlike nightshirt, billowing it around his thighs.
“Ah, Venus rises,” Bevan said to Winchester in an aside loud enough to be heard in any corner of the deck.
“I sent word to be woken at dawn,” Charles snapped, his face dark with anger. The effect was largely lost because most of those present were distracted by the sight of him fighting to keep the nightshirt from flying up over his waist.
“Never got it,” Bevan said, failing to suppress a smile. “But you’re just in time. Look what’s about to happen.”
Charles looked. He saw the Niger immediately ahead with all plain sail aloft, and the gracefully dipping arc of the fifteen-inch cable connecting the two ships. Argonaut herself had fore and mizzen staysails set, as well as the forecourse and a very peculiar-looking mizzen sail.
“Not that,” Bevan said, pointing to starboard—“that.” Charles looked over the lee rail. The entire fleet, Niger and Argonaut excepted, was in a perfect line-astern formation behind Victory, which was rapidly overhauling them. Each ship was flying Argonaut ’s number from her signal halyards, and their yards and shrouds were covered with sailors. As Victory came abreast, she fired a slow salute while her crew cheered and waved their hats and then she sailed past. The next in line, Blenheim, did the same, and then Orion, and so it went. Coincidental with the Orion, Attwater appeared with a clean uniform, which Charles hurriedly changed into on the deck. It didn’t occur to him till later that every glass in the fleet was probably trained on him while he dressed.
After Attwater buttoned his uniform jacket and was brushing some lint off his shoulders with a small whisk, Charles said sternly, “I told you to have me called at dawn.”
“Sorry, sir,” Attwater responded guilelessly. “I did call you, sir, but you didn’t seem like you wanted to get up just yet. I went and asked the lieutenant if you was needed on deck, and ’e said ’e didn’t see why. So I left you be.”
Charles didn’t know where to focus his anger, which quickly began to drain away.
“Actually,” Bevan said, “my words were, you’d never been any use on deck before, so I couldn’t see why we’d need you
Charles opened his mouth to argue that if he was the captain he could sleep wherever he damn well pleased, decided he didn’t have the energy to prolong the argument, and said, “Fine.” He allowed the steward to help him out of his blood-caked clothes and into an oversized nightshirt—Captain Wood had been a man of rather generous girth. Attwater led him into the sleeping cabin with its soft bed, warmed by a pan of hot coals brought from the galley. It was a hanging bed, suspended from the ceiling and swaying with the roll of the ship. Charles climbed carefully in and lowered himself gratefully between the heated sheets. Before he could form a coherent worry about the state of his ship, he fell into bottomless sleep.
WHEN HE AWOKE to a pounding pain in his head, Charles was conscious of two things: He couldn’t recall where he was, and the Argonaut was under way. “Attwater!” he yelled, remembering that much.
“Yes, sir.” The door to the cabin opened and the steward carried in a basin of steaming water for him to wash in. “There’s shaving things on the dressing table. ’Ere’s a towel. Your breakfast will be ready as soon as you’ve dressed, sir. I took the liberty of sending for your uniforms from your old quarters.”
“Not now,” Charles said, hurrying past him. “The ship’s under way and I need to be on the quarterdeck.” Before Attwater’s mouth could find words, Charles hurried out the door, past the very startled marine sentry, and up onto the quarterdeck, where the wind instantly caught the tentlike nightshirt, billowing it around his thighs.
“Ah, Venus rises,” Bevan said to Winchester in an aside loud enough to be heard in any corner of the deck.
“I sent word to be woken at dawn,” Charles snapped, his face dark with anger. The effect was largely lost because most of those present were distracted by the sight of him fighting to keep the nightshirt from flying up over his waist.
“Never got it,” Bevan said, failing to suppress a smile. “But you’re just in time. Look what’s about to happen.”
Charles looked. He saw the Niger immediately ahead with all plain sail aloft, and the gracefully dipping arc of the fifteen-inch cable connecting the two ships. Argonaut herself had fore and mizzen staysails set, as well as the forecourse and a very peculiar-looking mizzen sail.
“Not that,” Bevan said, pointing to starboard—“that.” Charles looked over the lee rail. The entire fleet, Niger and Argonaut excepted, was in a perfect line-astern formation behind Victory, which was rapidly overhauling them. Each ship was flying Argonaut ’s number from her signal halyards, and their yards and shrouds were covered with sailors. As Victory came abreast, she fired a slow salute while her crew cheered and waved their hats and then she sailed past. The next in line, Blenheim, did the same, and then Orion, and so it went. Coincidental with the Orion, Attwater appeared with a clean uniform, which Charles hurriedly changed into on the deck. It didn’t occur to him till later that every glass in the fleet was probably trained on him while he dressed.
After Attwater buttoned his uniform jacket and was brushing some lint off his shoulders with a small whisk, Charles said sternly, “I told you to have me called at dawn.”
“Sorry, sir,” Attwater responded guilelessly. “I did call you, sir, but you didn’t seem like you wanted to get up just yet. I went and asked the lieutenant if you was needed on deck, and ’e said ’e didn’t see why. So I left you be.”
Charles didn’t know where to focus his anger, which quickly began to drain away.
“Actually,” Bevan said, “my words were, you’d never been any use on deck before, so I couldn’t see why we’d need you
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