SHARPE’S TRAFALGAR. Bernard Cornwell. Sharpe’s Trafalgar: Richard Sharpe and the Battle of Trafalgar, October 21, 1805

“I know, sir.” Sharpe was blushing.

“Not that I blame you,” Chase said. “Good Lord, don’t think that! I was a dog myself until I met Florence. A dear woman! A good marriage tends a man to steadiness, Sharpe.”

“Is that advice, sir?”

“No,” Chase smiled, “it’s a boast.” He paused, thinking now of his ship rather than of Sharpe and Lady Grace. “This thing isn’t going to explode, is it?”

“No,” Sharpe said.

“It’s just that ships are oddly fragile, Sharpe. You can have the people content and working hard, but it doesn’t take much to start dissent and rancor.”

“It won’t explode, sir.”

“Of course not. You said so. Well! Dear me! You do surprise me. Or maybe you don’t. She’s a beauty, I’ll say that, and he’s a very cold fish. I think, if I wasn’t so securely married, I’d be envious of you. Positively envious.”

“We’re just acquaintances,” Sharpe said.

“Of course you are, my dear fellow, of course you are!” Chase smiled. “But her husband might be affronted by a mere”—he paused—”acquaintanceship?”

“I think that’s safe to say, sir.”

“Then make sure nothing happens to him, for he’s my responsibility.” Chase spoke those words in a harsh voice, then smiled. “Other than that, Richard, enjoy yourself. But quietly, I beg you, quietly.” Chase said the last few words in a whisper, then stood and went back to the quarterdeck.

Sharpe waited a half hour before leaving the stern quarters, doing his best to allay any suspicions that Braithwaite must inevitably have, but the secretary had left the quarterdeck by the time Sharpe reappeared, and that perhaps was a good thing for Sharpe was in a cold fury.

And Malachi Braithwaite had made himself an enemy.

CHAPTER 7

The wind was still low the next morning and the Pucelle seemed hardly to be moving in a greasy sea that slid in long low swells from the west. It was hot again, so that the seamen went bare-chested, some showing the livid cross-hatching of scars where their backs had been subjected to the lash. “Some wear it as a badge of pride,” Chase told Sharpe, “though I hope not on this ship.”

“You don’t flog?”

“I must,” Chase said, “but rarely, rarely. Maybe twice since I took command? That’s twice in three years. The first was for theft and the other was for striking a petty officer who probably deserved to be struck, but discipline is discipline. Lieutenant Haskell would like me to flog more, he thinks it would make us more efficient, but I don’t think it needful.” He stared morosely at the sails. “No damn wind, no damn wind! What the hell does God think he’s doing?”

If God would not send a wind, Chase would practice the guns. Like many naval captains he carried extra powder and shot, bought at his own expense, so that his crew could practice. All morning he had the guns going, every port open, even the ones in his great cabin, so that the ship was constantly surrounded by a pungent white-gray smoke through which it moved with a painful slowness.

“This could mean bad luck,” Peel, the second lieutenant, told Sharpe. He was a friendly man, round-faced, round-waisted and invariably cheerful. He was also untidy, a fact that irritated the first lieutenant, and the bad blood between Peel and Haskell made the wardroom a tense and unhappy place. Sharpe sensed the unhappiness, knew that it upset Chase and was aware of the ship’s preference for Peel, who was far more easygoing than the tall, unsmiling Haskell.

“Why bad luck?”

“Guns lull the wind,” Peel explained seriously. He was wearing a blue uniform coat far more threadbare than Sharpe’s red jacket, though the second lieutenant was rumored to be wealthy. “It is an unexplained phenomenon,” Peel said, “that gunfire depletes wind.” He pointed at the vast red ensign at the gaff as proof and, sure enough, it hung limp. The flag was not hoisted every day, but at times like this, when the wind was lazily tired, Chase reckoned that an ensign served to show small variations in the breeze.

“Why is it red?” Sharpe asked. “That sloop we saw had a blue one.”

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