explain. I was that too, some years back.”
He called, “Come, Zenoria, I’ll fetch the horses!”
She paused by Jenour. “Is everything settled, Stephen?”
“I think so. It is rumoured that Rear-Admiral Herrick has been discharged, cleared of all the accusations. I still do not properly understand.”
She put her hand on his. “I am glad, if it is true—for Sir Richard’s sake especially. I know he was very disturbed about it.” She raised her riding crop and called, “I’m coming, Adam! You are all impatience, sir!”
Jenour watched them leave, his young mind busy on several matters at once. But one thing stood out like a navigation beacon on a cliff. He had not seen Keen’s wife so happy before.
Yovell appeared through a small door, his jaw working on something he had borrowed from the kitchen.
“Ah, there you are, Yovell …” The little vignette of the girl and the young captain vanished from his thoughts. A flag lieutenant never had enough time in any day to keep his admiral’s affairs in motion.
Allday paused on a narrow track and settled down with his back against a slate wall. When he was home from sea and had a spare moment he often came to this quiet place to be alone with his thoughts. He gave a tired grin. And with a good stone bottle of rum. He began to fill his pipe, and waited for the sea breeze to soften before lighting it. He could see the whole span of Falmouth Bay from here; it was not that far from the farm where he had been working as a sheep-minder when the press-gang from Bolitho’s ship Phalarope had eventually caught up with him, and, although he had had no way of knowing it, changed his life forever.
They had been back from Portsmouth for two days, and it was no surprise to find that the news of Herrick’s court martial was already common gossip. He swallowed some rum and wedged the bottle carefully between his legs. Now it was off to sea again. Strange to wake up each day without the squeal of calls, the Spithead Nightingales as the Jacks called them. No gun and sail drills to send the feet stamping and the topmen clambering aloft, one mast racing the next for the best performance. He would be a passenger this time. The thought might have amused him, but for the other sadness which hung heavily upon him. He had told Bryan Ferguson, his oldest friend, about it; but nobody else. It was strange, but he had had the feeling that Ferguson had been about to confide in him in turn about something, but had decided to let the matter drop.
Allday had seen his son John Bankart on his return from Portsmouth. He had once been so proud of the lad, especially as he had not even known of his existence for years. When his son had been appointed as Captain Adam’s coxswain, Allday’s pride had expanded even further.
Now Bankart was out of the navy, and Captain Adam had arranged it; he had said that he had known he would be killed if he remained with the fleet. But there was worse to come. His son had got himself married. They had not waited for Allday to come home. They had not even written to him. He could not read at all well, but Ozzard would have read a letter for him. Allday listened to the breeze as it hissed through the long grass, while some gulls wheeled and screamed against a clear sky. The spirits of dead sailormen, some said.
He had lost his temper when his son had added insult to injury by telling him that he and his bride had been offered work and security across the Western Ocean in America.
“Life’s fresher, different over there.” He had exclaimed angrily, “A new chance—somewhere we can raise a family without a war raging at our gates year in, year out!”
Allday swallowed another wet of rum and swore under his breath. “We had to fight them buggers once, my lad, and by God we’ll be doing it again one o’ these days, you just see!” He had left their cottage with one last shot. “You, a Yankee? An Englishman you was born, an Englishman you dies, an’
He called, “Come, Zenoria, I’ll fetch the horses!”
She paused by Jenour. “Is everything settled, Stephen?”
“I think so. It is rumoured that Rear-Admiral Herrick has been discharged, cleared of all the accusations. I still do not properly understand.”
She put her hand on his. “I am glad, if it is true—for Sir Richard’s sake especially. I know he was very disturbed about it.” She raised her riding crop and called, “I’m coming, Adam! You are all impatience, sir!”
Jenour watched them leave, his young mind busy on several matters at once. But one thing stood out like a navigation beacon on a cliff. He had not seen Keen’s wife so happy before.
Yovell appeared through a small door, his jaw working on something he had borrowed from the kitchen.
“Ah, there you are, Yovell …” The little vignette of the girl and the young captain vanished from his thoughts. A flag lieutenant never had enough time in any day to keep his admiral’s affairs in motion.
Allday paused on a narrow track and settled down with his back against a slate wall. When he was home from sea and had a spare moment he often came to this quiet place to be alone with his thoughts. He gave a tired grin. And with a good stone bottle of rum. He began to fill his pipe, and waited for the sea breeze to soften before lighting it. He could see the whole span of Falmouth Bay from here; it was not that far from the farm where he had been working as a sheep-minder when the press-gang from Bolitho’s ship Phalarope had eventually caught up with him, and, although he had had no way of knowing it, changed his life forever.
They had been back from Portsmouth for two days, and it was no surprise to find that the news of Herrick’s court martial was already common gossip. He swallowed some rum and wedged the bottle carefully between his legs. Now it was off to sea again. Strange to wake up each day without the squeal of calls, the Spithead Nightingales as the Jacks called them. No gun and sail drills to send the feet stamping and the topmen clambering aloft, one mast racing the next for the best performance. He would be a passenger this time. The thought might have amused him, but for the other sadness which hung heavily upon him. He had told Bryan Ferguson, his oldest friend, about it; but nobody else. It was strange, but he had had the feeling that Ferguson had been about to confide in him in turn about something, but had decided to let the matter drop.
Allday had seen his son John Bankart on his return from Portsmouth. He had once been so proud of the lad, especially as he had not even known of his existence for years. When his son had been appointed as Captain Adam’s coxswain, Allday’s pride had expanded even further.
Now Bankart was out of the navy, and Captain Adam had arranged it; he had said that he had known he would be killed if he remained with the fleet. But there was worse to come. His son had got himself married. They had not waited for Allday to come home. They had not even written to him. He could not read at all well, but Ozzard would have read a letter for him. Allday listened to the breeze as it hissed through the long grass, while some gulls wheeled and screamed against a clear sky. The spirits of dead sailormen, some said.
He had lost his temper when his son had added insult to injury by telling him that he and his bride had been offered work and security across the Western Ocean in America.
“Life’s fresher, different over there.” He had exclaimed angrily, “A new chance—somewhere we can raise a family without a war raging at our gates year in, year out!”
Allday swallowed another wet of rum and swore under his breath. “We had to fight them buggers once, my lad, and by God we’ll be doing it again one o’ these days, you just see!” He had left their cottage with one last shot. “You, a Yankee? An Englishman you was born, an Englishman you dies, an’
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