“God help me,” Sharpe muttered. He stood on a thwart, twisted the cutlass out of his way, and leaped for the ladder when the barge was heaved up by a wave. He clung on desperately, then climbed past the entryway’s gilded frame. A hand reached down from the weather deck and hauled him through the entry port where a line of bosun’s mates waited to welcome Chase with their whistles.
Chase was grinning as he scrambled up the side. A lieutenant, immaculately uniformed, saluted him, then inclined his head when Sharpe was introduced. “You’re most welcome, sir,” the lieutenant told Chase. “Another seventy-four today is a blessing from heaven.”
“It’s good of you to let me join the celebrations,” Chase said, removing his hat to salute the quarterdeck. Sharpe hurriedly followed suit as the bosun’s whistles made their strange twittering sound. The Victory’s upper decks were crowded with gunners, sail-handlers and marines who ignored the visitors, though one older man, a sailmaker, judging from the big needles thrust into his gray hair which was bundled on top of his head, did bob down as Chase was led toward the quarterdeck. Chase stopped, clicked his fingers. “Prout, isn’t it? You were on the Bellona with me.”
“I remembers you, sir,” Prout said, tugging the hair over his forehead, “and you was just a boy, sir.”
“We grow old, Prout,” Chase said. “We grow damned old! But not too old to give the Dons and Frenchmen a drubbing, eh?”
“We shall beat ‘em, sir,” Prout said.
Chase beamed at his old shipmate, then went to the quarterdeck, which was thickly crowded with officers who politely removed their hats as Chase and Sharpe were ushered aft past the great wheel and under the poop to the admiral’s quarters, which were guarded by a single marine in a short red jacket crossed by a pair of pipe-clayed belts. The lieutenant opened the door without knocking and led Chase and Sharpe through a small sleeping cabin which had been stripped of its furniture and then, again without knocking, into a massive cabin that stretched the whole width of the ship and was lit by the wide array of stern windows. This cabin had also been emptied of its furniture, so that only a single table was left on the black and white checkered canvas floor. Two massive guns, already equipped with their flintlocks, stood on either side of the table.
Sharpe was aware of two men silhouetted against the stern window, but he could not distinguish which was the admiral until Chase put his hat under his arm and offered a bow to the smaller man who was seated at the table. The light was bright behind the admiral and Sharpe still could not see him clearly and he hung back, not wanting to intrude, but Chase turned and gestured him forward. “Allow me to name my particular friend, my lord. Mister Richard Sharpe. He’s on his way to join the Rifles, but he paused long enough to save me from an embarrassment in Bombay and I’m monstrous grateful.”
“You, Chase? An embarrassment? Surely not?” Nelson laughed and gave Sharpe a smile. “I’m most grateful to you, Sharpe. I would not have my friends embarrassed. How long has it been, Chase?”
“Four years, my lord.”
“He was one of my frigate captains,” Nelson said to his companion, a post captain who stood at his shoulder. “He commanded the Spritely and took the Bouvines a week after leaving my command. I never had the chance to congratulate you, Chase, but I do now. It was a creditable action. You know Blackwood?”
“I’m honored to make your acquaintance,” Chase said, bowing to the Honorable Henry Blackwood who commanded the frigate Euryalus.
“Captain Blackwood has been hanging onto the enemy’s apron strings ever since they left Cadiz,” Nelson said warmly, “and you’ve drawn us together now, Blackwood, so your work’s done.”
“I trust I shall have the honor of doing more, my lord.”
“Doubtless you will, Blackwood,” Nelson said, then gestured at the chairs. “Sit, Chase, sit. And you, Mister Sharpe. Tepid coffee, hard bread, cold beef and fresh oranges, not much of a breakfast, I fear, but they tell me the galley’s been struck.” The table was set with plates and knives among which the admiral’s sword lay in its jeweled scabbard. “How are your supplies, Chase?”