Passage to Mutiny (34 page)

Bolitho said gently, “I loved her, too.” It took all his strength to keep his voice level. “As you did.”

But she shook her head and pressed her face against his hand.

Allday was at the foot of the stairs. “She can't believe it, Captain.” He gestured to a marine. “Take her to safety, but don't touch her.”

“I cannot believe it either.”

Bolitho stood in the blazing sun, his eyes smarting in the glare. He realized dully that Allday carried a bared cutlass. He must have drawn it as the girl had hurled herself from the shadows. To defend him.

He added simply, “Who will take care of
her,
Allday?”

“I dunno, Captain.” He fell in step beside him. “There should be a place for everybody.” He looked away, his voice suddenly husky. “The bloody world is big enough surely!” He sheathed his cutlass angrily. “I'm fair sorry about that, Captain. I forgot myself.”

Bolitho said nothing.
I would have it no other way.

Then he took the watch from his pocket, and found he could do so without hesitation. Her strength was still with him.

He said, “Come. We'll go round the defences and see for ourselves.”

Allday grinned, relieved and strangely moved. “Aye, Captain.”

As they walked towards the gates and a marine sentry stamped his boots together, Prideaux remarked, “God's teeth, Mr Swift, you would think they were on Plymouth Hoe!”

The youth nodded, aware he was seeing something fine, and yet unable to put a name to it.

Prideaux stared at him and exclaimed, “Not you, too! Be about your duties, sir, or acting-lieutenant or not, I'll set my sword to your rump, damme if I don't!”

For the remainder of the day, and all through the following one, boats plied busily between
Tempest
and the shore. Bolitho seemed to be everywhere, listening to ideas, which slow to come at first, grew and became more adventurous at the slightest encouragement.

Allday stayed with him the whole time, guarding and worrying, seeing the strain and determination laying firm hold in his captain. He did not care that even the shamefaced members of the Corps had returned to their duties at the settlement and had taken Prideaux's orders without a murmur. Nor did he find comfort in the fact that even the laziest and most unreliable seaman was working through each watch without a rest, and with little more than a grumble. He knew better than most that without Bolitho none of the plans would be worth more than a wet fuse.

As Bolitho stood on the hillside watching the seamen gathering bales of dried grass and palm leaves, or shoring up the battered palisade, Allday waited. He saw the way he seemed to grow more content with each new challenge. As if he was trying to please someone nobody else could see. And he knew well enough who that was.

Just before the darkness threw shadows over the bay the lookouts reported a sail to the east.

Bolitho returned to his ship, strangely calm and without any sort of tiredness.

The sand had run out, and he was glad. One way or the other, they would end it here.

17 A
S
TUBBORN MAN

H
ERRICK
hesitated by the screen door and watched Bolitho for several seconds. He must have fallen asleep at the desk, and as he lay with his face pillowed on his arms the lantern which swung from the deckhead threw his shadow from side to side, as if he and not the ship were moving.

“It's time, sir.”

Herrick laid his hand on Bolitho's shoulder. Through the shirt his skin felt hot. Burning. He hated disturbing him, but even Herrick would not risk his displeasure on this morning.

Bolitho looked up slowly and then massaged his eyes. “Thank you.” He stared around the dark cabin and then at the windows. They too were black and held only the cabin's reflections.

“It will be dawn in half an hour, sir. I've sent the hands to breakfast, like you said. A hot meal, and a tot to wash it down. The cook will douse the galley fires when I pass the word.”

He paused, annoyed at the interruption as Allday entered the cabin with a jug of steaming coffee.

Bolitho stretched and waited for the coffee to burn through his stomach. Strong and bitter. He imagined his men eating their extra ration of salt pork or beef, jesting with each other about the unexpected issue of rum. Yet he had slept like the dead, and had heard nothing when his ship had awakened to a new day. For some, if not all of them, it might well be the last.

“Will I fetch Hugoe, Captain?”

Allday poured some more coffee. He had been out of his hammock and down to the galley for Bolitho's shaving water much earlier, but showed little sign of fatigue.

“No.” Bolitho rubbed his hands vigorously up and down his arms. He felt cold, and yet his mind was crystal-clear, as if he had enjoyed a full night's sleep in his bed at Falmouth. “He'll be sorely needed in the wardroom.”

Allday showed his teeth, knowing that was not the reason at all. “Very well then. I'll get some breakfast for you.”

Bolitho stood up and walked to the windows. “I couldn't eat. Not today.”

“You must, sir.” Herrick gestured to Allday and he left the cabin. “It may be a while before we get another chance.”

“True.”

Bolitho peered down at the water below the counter. But there was only the merest glint to show the pull of the current. It still surprised him at the speed with which the dawn broke. Many throughout the ship would be wishing it might never come.

He said quietly, “If we fail today, Thomas.” He stopped, uncertain how to continue. He did not wish Herrick to accept a possibility of defeat, but he needed him to know how much his friendship meant, how it sustained him.

Herrick protested, “Bless you, sir, you mustn't talk like that!”

Bolitho turned and faced him. “There is a letter in the strong-box. For you.” He held up his hand. “If I fall, I want you to know that I have arranged some benefits for you.”

Herrick strode to him and exclaimed, “I'll hear no more, sir!

I—I'll not
have
it!”

Bolitho smiled. “So be it.” He walked up and down the cabin. “I would it were as cold as this for a whole day. A sea-fight is blistering enough without the sun's distractions!”

Herrick dropped his gaze. Bolitho was shivering badly. Lack of sleep, total exhaustion from the open boat, it was all starting to show.

He said, “I'll be off, sir.”

“Yes. We will go to quarters as soon as they have eaten.”

He saw Herrick's apparent satisfaction and waited for him to leave. Then he sat down and started to go over his plans again, searching for flaws, or improvements.

He poured another mug of coffee, picturing his ship as she lay in darkness. Two guard boats pulled around her at all times, while on shore Prideaux had mounted pickets to patrol the beach and headland. They would have to be withdrawn when it was light.
Tempest
was so shorthanded, whereas the enemy . . . he shivered and drained the last of the coffee.
Enemy.
How easily the word came. He recalled the French he had seen when he had visited
Narval.
With such cruel treatment they would probably have mutinied anyway, revolted against de Barras and his sadism. The uprising in France gave them even wider scope for vengeance. A battle would seem a small price to pay for their release.

Bolitho tried to form an image of Tuke, but the memory of the livid brand on Viola's shoulder made him close his mind to him. Instead he thought of her, hanging on to each detail, afraid something might be lost in his memory.

Allday brought his breakfast, but said nothing as Bolitho pushed it aside. In silence he shaved him, and brought a clean shirt from the chest as he had seen Noddall do so many times.

The ship felt very quiet, with just the sluggish motion and the creak of timbers to break the stillness.

Light filtered through the windows and across the chequered canvas of the deck.

Bolitho slipped into his coat and grimaced at himself in the bulkhead mirror. In the weak light he looked pale, so that his coat and breeches and the gold lace stood out in sharp contrast.

Allday said quietly, “We've stood like this a few times, Captain.” He glanced up at the skylight as feet moved restlessly overhead. “I never get used to it.”

Bolitho felt his coat, glad of it for once to hold the chill at bay until the sun rose above the islands once again.

“Nor I.”

The door opened slightly and Midshipman Fitzmaurice poked his pug-face around it.

“The first lieutenant's respects, sir, and he wishes to clear for action if it is convenient?”

Bolitho nodded, conscious of the youth's formality. “My compliments to Mr Herrick. Tell him I am ready.”

Moments later the stillness was broken by the twitter of calls, the stamp of running feet and all the preparation for battle which to a landsman would appear no better than chaos.

The staccato beat of the two drums on the quarterdeck echoed around the bay, reaching the settlement and further still to the village. To the tired sentries on the headland, and to the wounded marine called Billy-boy who had been given his own special task ashore.

And also to a wild-eyed girl who lay alone in her hut, her mind destroyed, but her memory hanging on to the one person who had helped and protected her.

As the sun found the
Tempest'
s main topgallant masthead, and made the whipping pendant change from white to copper, Herrick touched his hat and reported, “Cleared for action, sir.” He said it proudly, for despite his shortages, the operation had been completed in less than fifteen minutes.

Bolitho walked to the quarterdeck rail and looked down at the silent figures. He recalled Allday's remark.
We've stood like this a few times.
And his own response.

The shadowy figures below him, and crouched around the quarterdeck, would they understand when the call came? He wondered if de Barras was still alive, how it must have been for him when the latent hatred had exploded into mutiny.

“Deck there! Ship to the east'rd! At anchor, sir!”

Bolitho walked to the nettings, his hands behind his back. Still just the one. Bait perhaps to draw him into another trap. A watchdog, while others prepared a different form of attack. It was too early even to guess.

He saw Fitzmaurice speaking to the signals party, and considered the change which had affected all of them. Swift now walked the gundeck with Borlase, and Keen stood aft, watching over the quarterdeck six-pounders. He saw Pyper too, doubled up with pain from his burns and salt sores, standing with the carronade crews on the forecastle.

He heard the American, Jenner, say something to another seaman, and half expected to see Orlando with him. He shivered. Boys into men. Men into oblivion.

The masthead again. “'Tis a schooner, sir!” He would have a perfect view. The strengthening glow directly behind the other vessel, while
Tempest
still lay in deep shadow.

Bolitho said, “We will know soon what to expect.”

“Aye, sir.” Herrick was on the opposite side of the deck, and raised his voice so that it would carry more easily. “Not really worth our while, is she, sir?”

It brought a few laughs, as both of them knew it would.

Bolitho turned and saw Ross watching him closely. “Get aloft with a glass, Mr Ross. I want you to take your time. Examine the schooner as you have never done before.”

He watched him thrust through the boarding nets and climb nimbly up the main shrouds, the telescope bobbing on his shoulder like a poacher's gun.

Then he looked at the masthead pendant. The wind had backed during the night, but was steady enough from the northwest. It was well sheltered in the bay, but the schooner would not venture inside the reef and risk being grounded, for she would be anchored right in the wind's path.

Everything must happen here. Hardacre had added his knowledge to Lakey's, and it was quite impossible for an attack to be launched overland from the other side of the island. There was no safe landing place, and the threat of attack from hostile natives, no matter what Tinah had promised, would need treble the force which Tuke and his men possessed.

Sunlight slipped gently across the upper yards and sails, and the hill above the settlement stood out from shadow as if detached from all else.

Ross, one-time master's mate, now acting-lieutenant, called sharply from his high perch, “They're lowering a boat, sir.”

More dragging minutes and then, “The boat's standing in towards the reef!” His Scottish voice was indignant as he added, “A flag o' truce, b'God!”

Bolitho looked at Herrick. The first move was about to begin.

The boat hoisted a small scrap of sail as soon as it was clear of the schooner's side, and as it gathered way Bolitho recognized their intention to pass through the reef and enter the bay.

“Gig, Allday!” Bolitho looked at Herrick as the gig's crew scampered from their various stations. “I don't want them to see how thin we are on the ground. Signal the shore party. They must act quicker than I had planned.”

He knew Herrick was forming a protest, but brushed him aside and almost tumbled into the gig in his haste to get away.

“Quick as you can!” He gripped the gunwale as the oars dug into the water and sent the boat over a trough like an excited dolphin.

Allday said, “God, look at them!” He chuckled. “They've just seen
Tempest!
”

The boat had certainly slowed its approach, but after a momentary pause started to move again towards the surging water between the reefs.

As it drew closer Bolitho saw it was crewed by a motley collection of men, mostly bearded and as dirty as their boat. But they were well armed, and the tattered white flag which flew from the mast made the contrast more evident.

Bolitho snapped, “Tell them to heave to. They're near enough.”

Allday's hail, and the fact the gig's crew were resting on their oars, made the other boat rock dangerously in the steep swell as she idled beam on to the nearest spur of reef.

A powerful, bearded figure with two crossbelts of pistols and pouches stood and cupped his hands. He sounded English, but was certainly not Tuke.

Bolitho wished he had brought a telescope, but knew it was doubtful if he would have been able to use it. The violent pitching of the gig and the rising nausea in his stomach would have seen to that.

The voice shouted harshly, “So you got here, Cap'n?”

Almost what Raymond had said. Bolitho raised one hand, his eyes watering in the pale sunlight.

The man continued, “The message stands as before. You carry your people away, an' be damned to ye! We are taking the island, an' you too, if you stay an' fight!”

His words brought growls of anger from the gig's crew.

Bolitho stood up carefully, his hand gripping Allday's shoulder.

Then he shouted, “Under what flag? Will you hoist your own cowardly rag, or shall you hide under French colours?”

Despite the boom of surf on the reef he heard the confusion of voices from the other boat.

Then the man called, “We have the
Narval!
You'll live to regret your bloody arrogance, Cap'n!” He waved his fist and another figure was hauled upright from the bottom of the boat.

For an instant Bolitho thought it might be de Barras, and then saw it was a young lieutenant, his arms pinioned, his face almost black with bruises.

Another visual proof of victory. Bolitho glanced at his oarsmen, seeing their mixed expressions of disbelief and horror.

Bolitho shouted, “Release him! None of this is his doing, and you know it!”

The man laughed, the sound distorted on the offshore wind. “D'you not know of the
Revolution,
Cap'n?” He waved his hand over the boat. “These lads do, an' with bloody good cause, eh?”