Stand Into Danger

by Alexander Kent

  Dumaresq waved his hand towards the small residency. “Here is a place of safety. I’ll not have Egmont on the run again with some mad scheme of his own. There are too many who might want him dead. After I have dealt with Garrick, he can do as he damn well pleases. The quicker the better.”

  “I see, sir.”

  Dumaresq signalled to his coxswain and then chuckled. “I doubt that. But keep your ears open, as I believe things will begin to move very shortly.”

  Bolitho watched him climb into the gig and then retraced his steps to the residency.

  Did Dumaresq care what happened to Egmont and his wife? Or, like the hunter he was, did he merely see them as bait for his trap?

  There were two or three small dwellings set well apart from the residency, and which were normally used for visiting officials or militia officers and their families.

  Bolitho assumed that these visitors were rare, and when they came were prepared to supply their own comforts. The building allotted to him was little more than the size of a room. The frames around the shutters were pitted with holes, made by a tireless army of insects, he thought. Palms tapped against the roof and walls, and he guessed that in any heavy rainstorm the whole place would leak like a sieve.

  He sat gingerly on a large, hand-carved bed and trimmed a lantern. More insects buzzed and threw themselves at the hot glass, and he pitied the less fortunate people on the island if the governor himself could be struck down by fever.

  Planks creaked outside the loosely fitting door and Stockdale peered in at him. With six other men, he had come ashore, to keep a weather-eye on things, as he put it.

  He wheezed, “All posted, sir. We’ll work watch an’ watch. Josh Little will take the first one.” He leaned against the door and Bolitho heard it groan in protest. “I’ve put two ’ands near the other place. It’s quiet enough.”

  Bolitho thought of the way she had looked at him as she and her husband had been hurried into the next dwelling by some of the governor’s servants. She had appeared worried, distressed by the sudden change of events. Egmont was said to have friends in Basseterre, but instead of being released to go to them, he was still a guest. A prisoner, more likely.

  Bolitho said, “Get some sleep.” He touched the scar and grimaced. “I feel as if it happened today.”

  Stockdale grinned. “Neat bit o’ work, sir. Lucky we’ve a good sawbones!”

  He strolled out of the door, and Bolitho heard him whistling softly as he found his own place to stretch out. Sailors could sleep anywhere.

  Bolitho lay back, his hands behind his head, as he stared up at the shadows above the lantern’s small glow.

  It was all a waste. Garrick had gone from the island, or that was what he had heard. He must be better informed than Dumaresq had believed. He would be laughing now, thinking of the frigate and her unwanted Spanish consort lying baffled at anchor while he . . .

  Bolitho sat up with a jerk, reaching out for his pistol, as the planks outside the door squeaked again.

  He watched the handle drop, and could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as he measured the distance across the room and wondered if he could get to his feet in time to defend himself.

  The door opened a few inches and he saw her small hand around its edge.

  He was off the bed in seconds, and as he opened the door he heard her gasp, “Please! Watch the light!”

  For a long, confused moment they clung together, the door tightly shut behind them. There was no sound but their breathing, and Bolitho was almost afraid to speak for fear of smashing this unbelievable dream.

  She said quietly, “I had to come. It was bad enough on the ship. But to know you were in here, while . . .” She looked up at him her eyes shining. “Do not despise me for my weakness.”

  Bolitho held her tightly, feeling her soft body through the long pale gown, knowing they were already lost. If the world fell apart around them, nothing could spoil this moment.

  How she had got past his sentries he could not understand, nor did he care. Then he thought of Stockdale. He should have guessed.

  His hands were shaking badly as he held her shoulders and kissed her hair, her face and her throat.

  She whispered, “I will help you.” She stood back from him and allowed the gown to fall to the floor. “Now hold me again.”

  In the darkness, somewhere between the two small buildings, Stockdale propped his cutlass against a tree and sat down on the ground. He watched the moonlight as it touched the door he had seen open and close just an hour ago and thought about the two of them together. It was probably the lieutenant’s first time, he thought comfortably. He could have no better teacher, that was certain.

  Long before dawn the girl named Aurora slipped quietly from the bed and pulled on her gown. For a while more she looked at the pale figure, now sleeping deeply, while she touched her breast as he had done. Then she stooped and kissed him lightly on the mouth. His lips tasted of salt, perhaps from her own tears. Without another glance she left the room and ran past Stockdale, seeing nothing.

  Bolitho walked slowly from the doorway and stepped down on to the sun-hardened ground as if he was walking on thin glass. Although he had donned his uniform he still felt naked, could imagine their embrace, the breathtaking demands of their passion which had left him spent.

  He stared at the early sunlight, at one of his guards who was watching him curiously as he leaned on a musket.

  If only he had been awake when she had left him. Then they would never have parted.

  Stockdale strolled to meet him. “Nothin’ to report, sir.”

  He eyed Bolitho’s uncertainty with quiet satisfaction. The lieutenant was different. Lost, but alive. Confused too, but in time he would feel the strength she had given him.

  Bolitho nodded. “Muster the hands.”

  He went to raise his hat to his head and remembered the scar which throbbed and burned at the slightest touch. She had even made him forget about that.

  Stockdale stooped down and picked up a small piece of paper which had dropped from inside the hat. He handed it over, his face expressionless.

  “Can’t read meself, sir.”

  Bolitho opened the paper, his eyes misty as he read her few brief words.

  Dearest, I could not wait. Think of me sometimes and how it was.

  Beneath it she had written, The place your captain wants is Fougeaux Island.

  She had not signed her name, but he could almost hear her speaking aloud.

  “You feelin’ weak, sir?”

  “No.”

  He re-read the small message once again. She must have carried it with her, knowing she was going to give herself to him. Knowing too that it was ending there.

  Feet grated on sand and he saw Palliser striding along the path, Midshipman Merrett trotting in his wake and hard put to keep up with the lanky lieutenant.

  He saw Bolitho and snapped, “All done.” He waited, his eyes wary.

  Bolitho asked, “Egmont and his wife, sir. What’s happened?”

  “Oh, didn’t you know? They’ve just boarded a vessel in the bay. We sent their luggage across during the night. I’d have thought you would be better informed.”

  Bolitho hesitated. Then very carefully he folded the paper and removed the lower half, with the island’s name written on it.

  Palliser examined it and said, “It’ll be the one.”

  He refolded the paper and handed it to Merrett. “Back to the ship, my lad, and present this with my respects to the captain. Lose it, and I promise you a hideous death!” The youth fled down the path and Palliser said, “The captain was right after all.” He smiled at Bolitho’s grave features. “Come, I’ll walk back with you.”

  “You say they’ve already boarded a vessel, sir?” He could not accept it. “Where bound?”

  “I forget. Is it important?”

  Bolitho fell in step beside him. She had provided the information as repayment, perhaps for saving her life, or for sharing his love w
ith her. Dumaresq had used both of them. He felt his face sting with anger. A place of safety, he had called it. More likely one of deceit.

  When he reached the ship he found the hands turned-to, the sails loosely brailed and ready to set at short notice.

  As instructed, Bolitho presented himself in the cabin where Dumaresq and Gulliver were studying some charts with elaborate care.

  Dumaresq told the master to wait outside and then said bluntly, “In order to avoid my having to punish you for insubordination, let me speak first. Our mission in these waters is an important one for so small a vessel. I have always believed it, and now with that final piece of intelligence I know where Garrick has made his headquarters, his storehouse for arms, unlawful supplies and vessels to disperse them. It is important.”

  Bolitho met his gaze. “I should have been told, sir.”

  “You enjoyed it, did you not?” His voice softened. “I know what it’s like to be in love with a dream, and that is all it could have been. You are a King’s officer, and may amount to being a fair one, given time and a bit of common sense.”

  Bolitho looked past him towards the windows, at the moored vessels there, and wondered which, if any of them, was Aurora’s.

  He asked, “Is that all, sir?”

  “Yes. Take charge of your division. I intend to weigh as soon as my quill-pusher has made copies of my despatches for the authorities and for London.” He was lost in his thoughts, the hundred and one things he must do.

  Bolitho blundered from the cabin and into the wardroom. It was impossible to picture the cabin as it had been. Her clothes hung neatly to dry, the young maidservant always near in case she was needed. Perhaps Dumaresq’s way was the best, but need it be so brutal and without feeling?

  Rhodes and Colpoys rose to greet him, and they solemnly shook hands.

  Bolitho touched the piece of paper in his pocket and felt stronger. Whatever Dumaresq and the others thought, they could never be certain, or really know how it was.

  Bulkley entered the wardroom, saw Bolitho and was about to ask him how his wound was progressing, but Rhodes gave a slight shake of his head and the surgeon called Poad for some coffee instead.

  Bolitho would get over it. But it would take time.

  “Anchor’s aweigh, sir!”

  Dumaresq walked to the rail and stared across at the Spaniard, as with her sails booming in a lively breeze Destiny tacked round towards the open sea.

  He said, “That will rile the Don. He’s half of his people ashore gathering supplies and will not be able to follow us for hours!” He threw back his head and laughed. “Damn you, Garrick! Make the most of your freedom!”

  Bolitho watched his men setting the main-topgallant sail, calling to each other as if they too were infected by Dumaresq’s excitement. Death, prize-money, a different landfall, it was all meat to them.

  Palliser shouted from the quarterdeck, “Chase up those hands, Mr Bolitho, they have lead in their limbs today!”

  Bolitho turned aft, his mouth framing an angry retort. Then he shrugged. Palliser was trying to help him in the only way he knew.

  Skirting the treacherous shallows off Bluff Point, Destiny spread more sails and headed away towards the west. Later, when Bolitho took over the afternoon-watch, he examined the chart and Gulliver’s carefully written calculations.

  Fougeaux Island was very small, one of a scattered group some 150 miles west-north-west of St Christopher’s. It had been claimed by France, Spain and England in turn, even the Dutch had been interested for a time.

  Now it owed allegiance to no country, for to all intents it had no real use. It lacked timber for firewood or repairs, and according to the navigational notes it had less than its share of water. A bare, hostile place with a lagoon shaped like a reaping-hook as its one asset. It could provide shelter from storms, if little else. But as Dumaresq had observed, what else did Garrick require?

  Bolitho watched the captain as he prowled restlessly about the deck, as if he could not bear the restraint of his quarters now that his goal was so close. Adverse winds were making progress hard and frustrating, with the ship tacking back and forth for several miles to gain a few cables advance.

  But the mention of lost bullion, and the prospect of some share in it, seemed to make up for the back-breaking work of trimming the yards and resetting the sails again and again.

  Suppose the island proved to be empty or the wrong one? Bolitho guessed it to be unlikely. Aurora must have known that Garrick’s capture was the only way of preventing him from taking his revenge on her husband and herself. Also that Dumaresq had no intention of freeing them without solid information.

  The next day found Destiny drifting becalmed, her sails hanging flat and devoid of movement.

  Far away to starboard was the vague shape of another islet, but otherwise they had the sea to themselves. It was so hot that feet stuck to the deck seams, and the gun barrels felt as if they had been firing in battle.

  Gulliver said, “If we had taken a more northerly passage we’d have been in better luck for a wind, sir.”

  “I know that, damn you.” Dumaresq turned on him hotly. “And risk losing my keel as well, is that what you want? This is a frigate, not some damned fishing boat!”

  All that day, and for half of the next, the ship rolled uneasily in the swell. A shark moved cautiously beneath her counter, and several of the hands tried their luck with hooks and lines.

  Dumaresq never seemed to leave the deck, and as he passed Bolitho during his watch he saw that his shirt was black with sweat, and there was a livid blister on his forehead which he did not seem to notice.

  Halfway through the afternoon-watch the wind felt its way slowly across the glittering water, but with it came a surprise.

  “Ship, sir! Fine on the larboard quarter!”

  Dumaresq and Palliser watched the tan-coloured pyramid grow above the horizon, the great scarlet cross clearly etched on her forecourse to dispel any doubt.

  Palliser exclaimed bitterly, “The Don, blast his soul!”

  Dumaresq lowered the glass, his eyes like stones. “Fitzpatrick. He must have told them. Now they’re hot for blood.” He looked past his officers. “If Don Carlos Quintana interferes now, it will be his own blood!”

  “Man the braces there!”

  Destiny shivered and tilted steadily to a freshening breeze, her renewed strength tossing spray up and around her white figurehead.

  Dumaresq said, “Put the people to gun-drill, Mr Palliser.” He stared astern at the other vessel. She already seemed to be drawing much closer.

  “And run up the colours, if you please. I’ll have no damned Spaniard crossing my bows!”

  Rhodes dropped his voice. “He means it too, Richard. This is his moment. He’d die rather than share it!”

  Some of the men near the quarterdeck glanced at each other and murmured apprehensively. Their natural contempt for any navy but their own had been somewhat blunted by the brief stay at Basseterre. The San Augustin carried at least forty-four guns against their own twenty-eight.

  Dumaresq shouted, “And get those dolts to work, Mr Palliser! This ship is getting like a sty!”

  One of Bolitho’s gun-captains muttered, “I thought we was only after a pirate.”

  Stockdale showed his teeth. “An enemy’s an enemy, Tom. When did a flag make any difference?”

  Bolitho bit his lip. This was the true responsibility of command at close quarters. If Dumaresq did nothing he could be court-martialled for incompetence or cowardice. If he crossed swords with a Spanish ship he might be blamed for provoking a war.

  He said, “Stand to, lads. Cast off the breechings!”

  Maybe Stockdale was right. All you had to worry about was winning.

  The following day the hands were sent to breakfast and then the decks swabbed down before the sun had crept fully over the horizon.

  The breeze, though light, was steady enough, and had shifted during the night watches to south-westerly.


  Dumaresq was on deck as early as anyone, and Bolitho saw the impatience in his thick-set figure as he strode about the deck glancing at the compass or consulting the master’s slate by the wheel. He probably saw none of these things, and Bolitho could tell from the way that Palliser and Gulliver gave him a wide berth that they knew the measure of his moods of old.

  With Rhodes, Bolitho watched the boatswain detailing his working parties as usual. The fact that a larger man-of-war than their own was trailing astern, and that the little known Fougeaux Island lay somewhere beyond the lee bow made no difference to Mr Timbrell’s routine.

  Palliser’s brusque tones made Bolitho start. “Rig top-chains before all else, Mr Timbrell.”

  Some of the seamen looked up at the yards. Palliser did not explain further, nor did he need to for the older hands. The chains would be rigged to sling each yard, as the cordage which normally held them might be shot away in any sort of battle. Then the nets would be spread across the upper deck. The slings and the nets were the only protection to the men below from falling spars and rigging.

  Perhaps it was the same aboard the Spaniard, Bolitho thought. Although he had seen little evidence so far. In fact, now that she had caught up, the San Augustin seemed content to follow and watch events.

  Rhodes turned abruptly and headed for his own part of the ship, hissing quickly, “Lord and master!”

  Bolitho swung round and came face to face with the captain. It was unusual to see him away from the quarterdeck or poop, and the seamen working around him seemed to press back as if they too were awed by his presence.

  Bolitho touched his hat and waited.

  Dumaresq’s eyes examined his face slowly, without expression.

  Then he said, “Come with me. Bring a glass.” tossing his hat to his coxswain, he added, “A climb will clear the head.”

  Bolitho stared as Dumaresq began to haul himself out and on to the shrouds, his broad figure hanging awkwardly as he peered up at the spiralling masthead.

  Bolitho hated heights. Of all the things which had encouraged him to work for advancement to lieutenant, he thought it was probably that. No longer needed to swarm aloft with the hands, no ice-cold terror as the wind tried to cut away your grip on frozen ratlines, or throw you out and into the sea far below.