Success to the Brave (23 page)

It was early morning, the air cool and damp from a heavy overnight downpour. It was so typical of all the islands hereabouts, he thought. Drenching rain at night and yet within an hour or two of sunrise the place would be bone-dry again.

Lieutenant George Lemoine, who commanded the platoon of the Sixtieth Regiment of Foot, touched his hat and smiled.

“I heard you were up and about early, sir.”

Bolitho leaned on the parapet and stared down at the shining harbour. A lot of the anchorage was still in shadow, but soon the sun would appear around the old volcano and the ships, like the town beyond, would quiver in another morning haze. He could see the black and buff lines of
Achates
' gun-decks, and wondered if Keen was still fretting about mounting lists of needs for his command.

They were running short of fresh stores. Even drinking-water had to be man-handled in casks by the seamen. There was still no sign of cooperation from the islanders, who showed their resentment by pleading poverty even when it came to fresh fruit or juices for the sailors.

Bolitho had done all he could to get to know the islanders. As admiral in command, governor and in charge of the island's defences he had seen the hopelessness of the situation. The planters and traders resented the fact that they could not move their vessels in or out of the harbour, while ships which called at San Felipe to collect cargoes had to be checked before they could be allowed to anchor. It needed a full garrison and several ships to perform what Lemoine's soldiers and the marines had to carry out unaided.

Bolitho breathed in deeply. He saw his barge tied to the fortress's jetty where he had first met Rivers over three months ago. Down there too was the point where Rivers' men had fixed their boom, where
Achates
had burst through in pitch-darkness. Battles fought, men dead and wounded, probably a trifle to the planners in government and Admiralty.

Now it was late September, and Adam should be back at any moment. He thought of his purchase of
Vivid.
Reward or bribe? He still could not be sure of his own motives.

He thought too of Falmouth. Autumn. Red and brown leaves, the smell of wood smoke in the evenings. Resolute, cheerful people, now at peace because of ships like
Achates.

He had received no more letters from Belinda, but then there had been no news from any direction. The island seemed as if it were totally isolated, even though the lookouts had sighted the topsails of unidentified men-of-war on the horizon on several occasions.

Perhaps it was all over before it had begun?
Achates
' unexpected discovery of the hidden two-decker and putting her to the bottom within the hour might have killed all the ardour for an attack.

But uncertainty had made him restless and often unable to sleep. He had taken to riding around the island while it was still cool, or visiting the fortress if only to show the soldiers he had not forgotten them.

He wondered if the news of what had happened had reached the streets of London and the countryside. Would Belinda understand what was really happening? There would be those ready enough to describe his efforts as a reckless adventure to cover up the loss of Duncan's
Sparrowhawk.

A sentry shouted, “Gunfire, sir! To th' east'rd!”

Lemoine tensed. “By God, he's right.” He cupped his hands. “Corporal of the guard! Sound the alarm!”

Bolitho watched the red-coated soldiers running from their cave-like quarters below the battery walls.

It was probably nothing, or a show of impudence by some passing Spanish vessel. But they could not take chances.

He looked round and saw Midshipman Evans' shadowy figure below the watch-tower, already removing a telescope from its case.

It was uncanny how the boy followed him and seemed able to guess what he was going to need next.

But it was still too dark around the point to see anything. Or was it? There it was. A flash reflected on the belly of a low cloud. Then another. Not enough for a sea-fight. More likely a chase.

He said, “Mr Evans, pass word to the guard-boat. Warn the ship. And my compliments to Captain Keen, and tell him we may have company before the day's out.”

He saw Crocker,
Achates
' most senior gunner's mate, hurrying along the upper battery, some soldiers panting behind him.

Crocker was probably the oldest man in the ship, and with his white hair in a spiky pigtail, and strange, loping gait, he was quite a character. His left eye was almost sightless, he had been part-blinded by a splinter when he had been not much older than Adam. But his right one was as keen as steel, and he could manage, lay and train any gun better than a full crew. He also knew how to heat shot, and Bolitho thought he could already smell the acrid fumes from one of the ovens behind the parapet.

Crocker seemed surprised to see his vice-admiral on the wall. He knuckled his forehead and twisted his head round to get a better view. It made him look even more villainous, and Bolitho was able to appreciate why all the gun captains feared his wrath.

“Good mornin' fer a shoot, sir!”

Bolitho smiled. “Be ready.”

Lemoine watched the man lope away with his helpers.

“He's certainly kept my men on the bustle, sir!”

Somewhere in the town a church bell chimed. It sounded strangely sad on the damp air.

Bolitho trained his telescope towards the ship once more.

“What was that, Mr Lemoine?”

The lieutenant hid a yawn. He had been awake until the early hours playing cards unsuccessfully with his second in command.

“A lot of the islanders are Catholics, sir. The bell is for early mass.” When Bolitho remained silent he added helpfully, “An important celebration for them, sir. St Damiano's Day.”

Lemoine had not wasted his time in the regiment, Bolitho thought. Some would never bother their heads with matters outside their own ordered world.

There was another thud of gunfire. They must be trying to prevent a ship from entering harbour. He thought of Adam. No, not him. Tyrrell was too old a hand to be caught at this early hour.

He moved his glass again and saw the opposite headland shaking itself from the shadows. He could see the leap of surf around the reefs, and the further necklace of rocks by the point named Cape Despair, probably with some justification.

Feet clattered on the stairs and a runner barked out his report to Lemoine who in turn said, “Message from your flagship, sir. All boats lowered and patrols alerted.”

Bolitho could see them in his mind. Small pickets of marines, backed up by volunteers from the local militia. A puny enough force, but properly used it would prevent any attempt at landing men through the reefs. There was only one safe way, and that was the one which Keen had used. And old Crocker with his heated shot would do his best if the enemy tried to force the entrance.

Sunlight ran down the slopes and laid bare the water at the harbour mouth. Bolitho trained his glass again and saw the guard-boat moving slowly below the land, a midshipman in the sternsheets, probably enjoying his own freedom of command.

Lemoine said, “There she is, sir!”

The ship appeared around the headland, sails emptying and then refilling instantly as she changed tack. She was a large vessel, and Lemoine said, “Indiaman, sir, I know her, she's the
Royal James
and was in Antigua several months back.”

Men were leaning through the gun embrasures, and others ran along the jetty below to see what was happening.

Bolitho made up his mind. “I'm returning to the flagship, Mr Lemoine. You know what to do here.” He was halfway down the stairs before the lieutenant had time to reply.

The bargemen came to life, and Allday jumped to his feet as Bolitho appeared half-running through the gate.

“To the ship, Allday.”

He ignored their startled glances and tried to discover what was troubling him. The Indiaman should be able to reach safety unless her pursuers gained a lucky hit and brought down a vital spar or two. But with this powerful southeast wind the other ships would soon have to stand away from a lee shore or face the havoc of the guns. In broad daylight Crocker could not miss.

The oars rose and fell, and with each powerful stroke the barge seemed to fly across the water as if eager to lift over it.

Bolitho seized Allday's arm. “Alter course! Steer for the headland!” When Allday hesitated he shook it and shouted, “I must be blind! Lemoine told me without knowing it. This is a very holy day!”

Allday swung the tiller so that the barge heeled over, but not a man aboard missed his stroke.

“Aye, if you says so, sir.”

He thinks I'm mad.
Bolitho said urgently, “And yet on this St Damiano's Day there was not a single movement from the mission!”

Allday stared at him blankly.

Bolitho looked around for the guard-boat but it was too close inshore, near the entrance, and every eye would be watching and waiting for the
Royal James
to burst into view round the point.

Bolitho banged his hands together.
I should have seen it.

“Are the men armed?”

Allday nodded, his eyes slitted against the early sunlight.

“Aye, sir, cutlasses and three pistols.”

He darted a glance at Bolitho's face, knowing something was about to happen, yet held back from asking in front of the barge-men.

“It will have to suffice.” Bolitho pointed at a tiny patch of sand. “Beach her there.”

As the bargemen tossed their oars and the boat glided into the protection of a high slope of land it seemed suddenly peaceful.

“Clear the boat.” Bolitho climbed over the side and felt the sea tugging at his legs as he waded ashore. Cutlasses and three pistols against what? He said, “Send a man to fetch the patrol from the point. Tell him to stay out of sight.”

Allday watched him anxiously. “Is it an attack, sir?”

Bolitho took one of the pistols and then picked up a heavy cutlass from the pile of weapons on the beach. Now, of all times, he had come ashore unarmed.

“The mission. I feel there is something wrong.”

The men gathered up their weapons and followed him obediently up the steep slope and across the long piece of headland.

The wind was quite strong, and Bolitho felt the sand whipping from the rough gorse and scrub which always looked so inviting from seaward.

He saw the huddled buildings of the mission on the little islet, the deserted beach, the air of utter desolation. Not even any smoke to betray a fire or sign of life.

He heard far-off cheering, the voices thinned by the wind, like children at play. He paused and looked across the harbour entrance and the old fortress with the flag curling above it. The shouts were most likely from the guard-boat as the big Indiaman suddenly loomed above the headland and headed towards safety.

There was a large boat towing astern, but other than that few hands on deck to shorten sail once the ship had reached the anchorage. At that moment he saw the guard-boat sweep into view, the midshipman raising a speaking-trumpet to his lips as he shouted at the incoming ship.

Bolitho tore his eyes away and looked at his handful of seamen. Keen and the others could take care of the
Royal James
now. He had seen the raked sails of a frigate rounding-to as she stood away from the land as her quarry slipped beneath the fortress battery.

Allday said, “The boats have gone, sir.”

Bolitho stared at the little islet. It was true. The fishing boats had vanished. Perhaps that was the simple explanation for it. The monks or missionaries had gone fishing. Food must often come before prayer.

“
Look,
sir!”

Allday's cry made him turn towards the nearest line of rocks. They were no longer deserted but alive with scrambling, running figures, the sunlight glittering on swords and bayonets.

“Soldiers!” Allday raised a pistol, his chest heaving with alarm. “A hundred o' the buggers at least!”

There were a few shots, distant and without menace until the balls whined overhead or smacked into the hard sand.

“Take cover!”

Bolitho saw the bargeman with two marines from a patrol running along the edge of the land. One fell instantly, and the others vanished from sight.

Then there was a muffled explosion. It was more of a feeling than a sound. As if all the air had been sucked from your lungs.

As Bolitho rolled on to his side and looked back to where they had left the barge he saw the
Royal James
give a great convulsion. Then every gunport along her side burst open, but instead of muzzles he saw searing tongues of flame shooting out, then leaping above to lick and consume sails and spars with terrifying speed. The boat which had been towing astern had cast off and was being rowed back towards the entrance.