Bolitho explained what had happened from the moment the clerk had left the ship with his bag.
Dumaresq said, “Sergeant Barmouth is nobody’s fool. If the bag had been there he would have found it.”
He turned and said something to the courtly gentleman with the beard, and the latter showed a brief flash of alarm before regaining his original composure.
Bolitho pricked up his ears. Dumaresq’s host might live in Madeira, but the captain was speaking in Spanish, unless he was much mistaken.
Dumaresq said, “Return to the ship, Mr Bolitho. My compliments to the first lieutenant and ask him to recall the surgeon and any other shore party immediately. I intend to weigh before nightfall.”
Bolitho closed his mind to the obvious difficulties, to say nothing of the risk of leaving harbour in the dark. He sensed the sudden urgency, the apprehension which Lockyer’s murder had brought amongst them.
He nodded to the elderly man and then said to Dumaresq, “A lovely house, sir.”
The old man smiled and bowed his head.
Bolitho strode down the stairs with Jury in his shadow, sharing every moment without knowing what was happening.
Bolitho wondered if the captain had noticed. That his host had understood exactly what he had said about his fine house. So if Dumaresq had spoken to him in Spanish it was so that neither he nor Jury should understand.
He decided it was one part of the mystery he would hold to himself.
That night, as promised, Dumaresq took his ship to sea. In light airs, and with all but her topsails and jib brailed up, Destiny steered slowly between other anchored vessels, guided by the ship’s cutter with a lantern close to the water like a firefly to show her the way.
By dawn, Madeira was just a purple hump on the horizon far astern, and Bolitho was not certain if the mystery still remained there in the alley where Lockyer had drawn his last breath.
3 SPANISH GOLD
LIEUTENANT Charles Palliser closed the two outer screen doors of Dumaresq’s cabin and said, “All present, sir.”
In their various attitudes the Destiny’s lieutenants and senior warrant officers sat and watched Dumaresq expectantly. It was late afternoon, two days out of Madeira. The ship had a feeling of leisurely routine about her, as with a light north-easterly wind laying her on a starboard tack she cruised steadily into the Atlantic.
Dumaresq glanced up at the skylight as a shadow moved past it. Most likely the master’s mate of the watch.
“Shut that, too.”
Bolitho glanced at his companions, wondering if they were sharing his growing sense of curiosity.
This meeting had been inevitable, but Dumaresq had taken great pains to ensure it would come well after his ship had cleared the land.
Dumaresq waited for Palliser to sit down. Then he looked at each man in turn. From the marine officer, past the surgeon, the master and the purser, finally to his three lieutenants.
He said, “You all know about the death of my clerk. A reliable man, even if given to certain eccentricities. He will be hard to replace. However, his murder by some persons unknown means more than the loss of a companion. I have been under sealed orders, but the time is come to reveal some of the task we shall soon be facing. When two people know something it is no longer a secret. An even greater enemy in a small ship is rumour and what it can do to idle minds.”
Bolitho flinched as the wide, compelling eyes paused on him momentarily before passing to some other part of the cabin.
Dumaresq said, “Thirty years ago, before most of this ship’s company had drawn breath, one Commodore Anson took an expedition south around Cape Horn and into the Great South Sea. His purpose was to harry Spanish settlements for, as you should know, we were then at war with the Dons.” He nodded grimly. “Again.”
Bolitho thought of the courtly Spaniard in the house behind the harbour at Funchal, the secrecy, the missing bag for which a man had died.
Dumaresq continued, “One thing is certain. Commodore Anson may have been courageous, but his ideas of health and caring for his people were limited.” He looked at the rotund surgeon and allowed his features to soften. “Unlike us, maybe he had no proper doctors to advise him.”
There were several chuckles, and Bolitho guessed the remark had been made to put them more at their ease.
Dumaresq said, “Be that as it may, within three years Anson had lost all of his squadron but his own Centurion, and had left thirteen hundred of his people buried at sea with his various escapades. Most of them died from disease, scurvy and bad food. It is likely that if Anson had returned home without further incident he would have faced a court martial and worse.”
Rhodes shifted in his chair, his eyes shining as he whispered, “I thought as much, Dick.”
Dumaresq’s glance silenced whatever it was Rhodes had been about to impart.
The captain brushed some invisible dust from his red waistcoat and said, “Anson fell in with a Spanish treasure ship homeward bound with bullion in her holds valued at more than a million guineas.”
Bolitho vaguely remembered reading of the incident. Anson had seized the ship after a swift fight, had even broken off the action in order that the Spaniards could douse a fire which had broken out in their rigging. He had been that eager and desperate to take the treasure ship, Nuestra Senora de Covadonga, intact. Prize courts and the powers of Admiralty had long looked on such captures as of greater value than the lives lost to obtain them.
Dumaresq cocked his head, his calm attitude momentarily lost. Bolitho heard the hail from the masthead to report a sail far off to the north. They had already sighted it twice during the day, for it seemed unlikely there would be more than one vessel using this same lonely route.
The captain shrugged. “We shall see.” He did not elaborate but continued, “It was not known until recently that there was another treasure ship on passage to Spain. She was the Asturias, a larger vessel than Anson’s prize, and therefore more heavily laden.” He darted a glance at the surgeon. “I can see you have heard of her?”
Bulkley sat back and interlaced his fingers across his ample stomach. “Indeed I have, sir. She was attacked by an English privateer under the command of a young Dorset man, Captain Piers Garrick. His letter of marque saved him many times from the gallows as a common pirate, but today he is Sir Piers Garrick, well respected, and the past holder of several government posts in the Caribbean.”
Dumaresq smiled grimly. “True, but I suggest you confine your other suspicions to the limits of the wardroom! The Asturias was never found, and the privateer was so damaged by the engagement that she too had to be abandoned.”
He looked round, irritated as the sentry called through the door, “Midshipman of the watch, sir! ”
Bolitho could picture the anxiety on the quarterdeck. Should they disturb the meeting below their feet and risk Dumaresq’s displeasure? Or should they just note the strange sail in the log and hope for the best?
Dumaresq said, “Enter.” He did not seem to raise his voice and yet it carried to the outer cabin without effort.
It was Midshipman Cowdroy, a sixteen-year-old youth who Dumaresq had already punished for using unnecessary severity on members of his watch.
He said, “Mr Slade’s respects, sir, and that sail has been reported to the north’rd again.” He swallowed hard and seemed to shrink under the captain’s stare.
Dumaresq said eventually, “I see. We shall take no action.” As the door closed he added, “Although I fear that stranger is not astern of us by coincidence.”
A bell chimed from the forecastle and Dumaresq said, “Recent information has been found and sworn to that most of the treasure is intact. A million and a half in bullion.”
They stared at him as if he had uttered some terrible obscenity.
Then Rhodes exclaimed, “And we are to discover it, sir?”
Dumaresq smiled at him. “You make it sound very simple, Mr Rhodes, perhaps we shall find it so. But such a vast amount of
treasure will, and has already, aroused interest. The Dons will want it back as their rightful property. A prize court will argue that as the ship had already been seized by Garrick’s privateer before she managed to escape and hide, the bullion is the property of His Brittanic Majesty.” He lowered his voice, “And there are some who would seize it to further a cause which would do us nothing but harm. So, gentlemen, now you know. Our outward purpose is to complete the King’s business. But if the news of this treasure is allowed to run riot elsewhere, I will want to know who is responsible.”
Palliser rose to his feet, his head bowed uncomfortably between the deckhead beams. The rest followed suit.
Dumaresq turned his back and stared at the glittering water which stretched to the horizon astern.
“First we go to Rio de Janeiro. Then I shall know more.”
Bolitho caught his breath. The South Americas, and Rio was all of 5000 miles from his home at Falmouth. It would be the furthest he had yet sailed.
As they made to leave Dumaresq said, “Mr Palliser and Mr Gulliver, remain, if you please.”
Palliser called, “Mr Bolitho, take over my watch until I relieve you.”
They left the cabin, each immersed in his own thoughts. The far-off destination would mean little to the ordinary sailor. The sea was always there, wherever he was, and the ship went with him. Sails had to be trimmed and reset at all hours, no matter what, and a seaman’s life was hard whether the final landfall was in England or the Arctic. But let the rumour of treasure run through the ship and things might be very different.
As he climbed to the quarterdeck Bolitho saw the men assembling for the first-watch looking at him curiously, then turning away as he met their eyes, as if they already knew.
Mr Slade touched his hat. “The watch is aft, sir.”
He was a hard master’s mate and unpopular with many of the people, especially those who did not rise to his impressive standards of seamanship.
Bolitho waited for the helmsmen to be relieved, the usual handing over from one watch to the next. A glance aloft at the set of the yards and sails, examine the compass and the chalked notes on the slate made by the midshipman on duty.
Gulliver came on deck, banging his palms together as he did when he was worried.
Slade asked, “Trouble, sir?”
Gulliver eyed him warily. He had been in Slade’s position too recently to take any comment as casual. Seeking favours perhaps? Or a way of suggesting that he was out of his depth with the ward-room officers aft?
He snapped, “At the next turn of the glass we will alter course.” He peered at the tilting compass, “Sou’-west by west. The captain intends to see the t’gan’sls, though with these light winds under our coat-tails I doubt if we can coax another knot out of her.”
Slade squinted up at the masthead lookout. “So the strange sail means something.”
Palliser’s voice preceded him up the companion ladder. “It means, Mr Slade, that if that sail is still there tomorrow morning she is indeed following us.”
Bolitho saw the worry in Gulliver’s eyes and guessed what Dumaresq must have said to him and Palliser.
“Surely there is nothing we can do about that, sir? We are not at war.”
Palliser regarded him calmly. “There is quite a lot we can do about it.” He nodded to emphasize the point. “So be ready.”
As Bolitho made to leave the quarterdeck in his care Palliser called after him, “And I shall be timing those laggards of yours when all hands are piped to make more sail.”
Bolitho touched his hat. “I am honoured, sir.”
Rhodes was waiting for him on the gun-deck. “Well done, Dick. He’ll respect you if you stand up to him.”
They walked aft to the wardroom and Rhodes said, “The lord and master is going to take that other vessel, you know that, don’t you, Dick?”
Bolitho threw his hat on to one of the guns and sat down at the wardroom table.
“I suppose so.” His mind drifted back again, to the coves and cliffs of Cornwall. “Last year, Stephen, I was doing temporary duty aboard a revenue cutter.”
Rhodes was about to make a joke of it but saw the sudden pain in Bolitho’s eyes.
Bolitho said, “There was a man then, a big and respected landowner. He died trying to flee the country. It was proved he had been smuggling arms for an uprising in America. Maybe the captain thinks this is similar, and all this time that gold has been waiting for the right use.” He grimaced, surprised at his own gravity. “But let’s talk about Rio. I am looking forward to that.”
Colpoys strolled into the wardroom and arranged himself carefully in a chair.
To Rhodes he said, “The first lieutenant says you are to select a midshipman to assist with the clerical duties in the cabin.” He crossed his legs and remarked, “Didn’t know the young fellas could write!”
Their laughter died as the surgeon, unusually grim-faced, entered, and after a quick glance around to make certain they were undisturbed, said, “The gunner’s just told me something interesting. He was asked by one of his mates if they would need to move some of the twelve-pounder shot forward to make room for the bullion.” He let his words sink in. “How long has it been? Fifteen minutes? Ten? It must be the shortest secret of any day!”
Bolitho listened to the regular creak and clatter of rigging and spars, the movement of the watch on deck overhead.
So be ready, Palliser had said. It had suddenly adopted another meaning altogether.
The morning after Dumaresq’s disclosures about the treasure ship found the strange sail still lying far astern.
Bolitho had the morning-watch, and had sensed the growing tension as the light hardened across the horizon and faces around him took on shape and personality.
Then came the cry, “Deck there! Sail to th’ nor’-east!”
Dumaresq must have been ready for it, expecting it. He came on deck within minutes, and after a cursory glance at the compass and the flapping sails, observed, “Wind’s dropping off.” He looked at Bolitho. “This is a damnable business.” He recovered himself instantly. “I shall have breakfast now. Send Mr Slade aloft when he comes on watch. He has an eye for most craft. Tell him to study that stranger, though God knows she is cunning enough to keep her distance and still not lose us.”
Bolitho watched him until he had disappeared below and then looked along Destiny’s full length. It was the ship’s busiest time, with seamen at work with holy-stones on the deck planking, others cleaning guns and checking running and standing rigging under Mr Timbrell’s critical eye. The marines were going through one of their many, seemingly complicated drills with muskets and fixed bayonets, while Colpoys kept at a distance, leaving the work to his sergeant.
Beckett, the carpenter, was already directing some of his crew to begin repairs on the larboard gangway which had been damaged when a purchase had collapsed under the weight of some incoming stores. The upper deck with its double line of twelve-pounders was like a busy street and a market-place all in one. A place for hard work and gossip, for avoiding authority or seeking favour.
Later, with the decks cleaned up, the hands were piped to sail drill with Palliser at his place on the quarterdeck to watch their frantic efforts to knock seconds off the time it took to reef or make more sail.
And all the while as they lived through the daily routine of a man-of-war, that other sail never left them. Like a tiny moth on the horizon it was always there. When Destiny shortened sail and the way fell from beneath her beakhead, the stranger too would follow suit. Spread more canvas and the lookout would immediately report a responding action by the stranger.
Dumaresq came on deck as Gulliver was just completing his supervision of the midshipman’s efforts as they took the noon sights to fix the ship’s position.
Bolitho was close enough to hear him ask, “Well, Mr Gulliver, how will the weather favour us tonight?” He sounded impatient, even angry that Gulliver should be doing his normal duties.
T
he sailing master glanced at the sky and the red masthead pendant. “Wind’s backed a piece, sir. But the strength is the same. Be no stars tonight, too much cloud in the offing.
Dumaresq bit his lip. “Good. So be it.” He swung round and called, “Pass the word for Mr Palliser.” He saw Bolitho and said, “You have the dog-watches today. Make certain you gather plenty of lanterns near the mizzen. I want our ‘friend’ to see our lights later on. They will give him confidence.”
Bolitho watched the change in the man, the power running through him like a rising wave, a need to crush this impudent follower.
Palliser came striding aft, his eyes questioning again as he saw Dumaresq speaking with his junior lieutenant.
“Ah, Mr Palliser, I have work for you.”
Dumaresq smiled, but Bolitho could see from the way a nerve was jumping at the corner of his jaw, the stiffness in his back and broad shoulders, that his mind was less relaxed.
Dumaresq made a sweeping gesture. “I shall require the launch ready for lowering at dusk, earlier if the light is poor. A good man in charge, if you please, and extra hands to get her mast stepped and sails set as soon as they are cast off.” He watched Palliser’s inscrutable face and added lightly, “I want them to carry several of the large lanterns, too. We shall douse ours and darken ship completely as soon as the launch is clear. Then I intend to beat hard to wind’rd, come about and wait. ”
Bolitho turned to look at Palliser. To tackle another vessel in the dark was not to be taken flippantly.
Dumaresq added, “I shall flog any man aboard who shows so much as a glow-worm!”
Palliser touched his hat. “I’ll attend to it, sir. Mr Slade can take charge of the boat. He’s so keen on promotion it’ll do him good.”
Bolitho was astounded to see Dumaresq and the first lieutenant laughing together like a pair of schoolboys, as if this was an everyday occurrence.
Dumaresq looked at the sky and then turned to stare astern. Only from the masthead could you see the other vessel, but it was as if he was able to reach beyond the horizon itself. He was calm again, in control of his feelings.
Stand Into Danger Page 6