Second to None by Alexander Kent Page A

starboard bow!’
    He heard Massie say irritably, ‘Could have been there for months!’
    Nobody answered, and he sensed that they were all looking at their captain.
    He turned to the sailing master. ‘What do
you
think, Mr Cristie?’
    Cristie shrugged. ‘Aye. In this sea it could have been drifting hereabouts for quite a while.’
    He was no doubt thinking,
why
? To investigate some useless wreckage would mean changing tack, and in this uncertain wind it might take half a day to resume their course.
    The master’s mate said, ‘Here’s Sullivan, sir.’
    Sullivan walked from the shrouds, gazing around the quarterdeck as if he had never seen it before.
    â€˜Well, Sullivan? A fool’s errand this time?’
    Surprisingly, the man did not respond. He said, ‘Somethin’s wrong, sir.’ He looked directly at his captain for the first time. Then he nodded, more certain, knowing that the captain would not dismiss his beliefs, his sailor’s instinct.
    He seemed to make up his mind. ‘Gulls, sir, circlin’ over the wreckage.’
    Adam heard the midshipman of the watch suppress a snigger, and the master’s mate’s angry rebuke.
    A shadow fell across the compass box. It was Galbraith, the first lieutenant.
    â€˜Trouble, sir? I heard what he said.’
    Gulls on the water meant pickings. Circling low above it meant they were afraid to go nearer. He thought of the boy John Whitmarsh, who had been found alive after
Anemone
had gone down.
    â€˜Call all hands, Mr Galbraith. We shall heave to and lower the gig.’ He heard the brief, almost curt orders being translated into trilling calls and the responding rush of feet.
What’s the bloody captain want this time?
    He raised his voice slightly. ‘Mr Bellairs, take charge of the gig.’ He turned to watch the hands rushing to halliards and braces. ‘Good experience for your examination!’ He saw the midshipman touch his hat and smile.
Was it so easy?
    He saw Jago by the nettings and beckoned him across. ‘Go with him. A weather eye.’
    Jago shrugged. ‘Aye, sir.’
    Galbraith watched the sails thundering in disorder as
Unrivalled
lurched unsteadily into the wind.
    He said, ‘I would have gone, sir. Mr Bellairs is not very experienced.’
    Adam looked at him. ‘And he never will be, if he is protected from such duties.’
    Galbraith hurried to the rail as the gig was swayed up and over the gangway.
    Did he take it as a slight because one so junior had been sent? Or as a lack of trust, because of what had happened in his past?
    Adam turned aside, angry that such things could still touch him.
    â€˜Gig’s away, sir!’
    The boat was pulling strongly from the side, oars rising and cutting into the water as one. A good boat’s crew. He could see Jago hunched by the tiller, remembered shaking hands with him on that littered deck after the American had broken off the action. And John Whitmarsh lay dead on the orlop.
    â€˜Glass, Mr Cousens!’ He reached out and took the telescope, not noticing that the name had come to him without effort.
    The gig loomed into view, up and down so that sometimes she appeared to be foundering. No wonder the frigate was rolling so badly. He thought of Cristie’s comment.
In this sea
.
    He saw the oars rise and stay motionless, a man standing in the bows with a boathook. Jago was on his feet too, but steadying the tiller-bar as if he was calming the boat and the movement. The hard man, and a true sailor, who hated officers and detested the navy. But he was still here.
With me
.
    Bellairs was trying to keep his footing, and was staring astern at
Unrivalled
. He held up his arms and crossed them.
    Massie grunted, ‘He’s found something.’
    Cristie barely spared him a glance. ‘Somebody, more like.’
    Adam lowered the glass. They were pulling a body from the sea, the bowman fending off the surrounding