Bolitho heard more explosions, either from the battery or from within the Spaniard’s hull. Like Bulkley, he found it hard to believe. A great ship, beautiful in her arrogance, and now this. He thought of it happening here, to his own ship and companions. Danger they could face, it was part of their calling. But to be changed in the twinkling of an eye from a disciplined company to a rabble, hemmed in by renegades and pirates who would kill a man for the price of a drink, was a nightmare.
“Stand by to come about, Mr Palliser. We will steer east.”
Palliser said nothing. In his mind’s eye he was probably seeing the utter despair aboard the Spanish ship, although with a more experienced understanding than Bolitho’s. They would see Destiny’s masts turning as she stood away from the shore, and in that they would recognize their own defeat.
Dumaresq added, “Then I shall explain what I intend.”
Bolitho and Rhodes looked at one another. So it was not over. It had not even begun.
Palliser closed the screen door quickly, as if he expected an enemy to be listening.
“Rounds completed, sir. The ship is completely darkened as ordered.”
Bolitho waited with the other officers and warrant officers in Dumaresq’s cabin, feeling their doubts and anxieties, but sharing the chilling excitement nonetheless.
All day, Destiny had tacked slowly back and forth in the blazing sunshine, Fougeaux Island always close abeam, although not near enough to be hit by any battery. For hours they had waited, and some had hoped until the last that the San Angustin would emerge again, somehow freeing herself from the lagoon to join them. There had been nothing. More to the point, there had been no terrible explosion and the aftermath of flying wreckage which would have proclaimed the Spaniard’s final destruction. Had she blown up, most of the anchored vessels in the lagoon would have perished, too. In some ways the silence had been worse.
Dumaresq looked around their intent faces. It was very hot in the sealed and shuttered cabin, and they were all stripped to their shirts and breeches. They looked more like conspirators than King’s officers, Bolitho thought.
Dumaresq said, “We have waited a whole day, gentlemen. It is what Garrick would have expected. He will have anticipated each move, believe me.”
Midshipman Merrett sniffed and rubbed his nose with his sleeve, but Dumaresq’s eyes froze him into stillness.
“Garrick will have made his plans with care. He will know I have sent to Antigua for aid. Whatever chance we had of bottling him in his lair until that support arrived vanished when San Augustin made her play.” He leaned on his table, his hands encircling the chart he had laid there. “Nothing stands between Garrick and his ambitions elsewhere but this ship. ” He let his words sink in. “I had few fears on that score, gentlemen. We can tackle Garrick’s flotilla when it breaks out, fight them together, or run them down piecemeal. But things have changed. Today’s silence has proved that.”
Palliser asked, “D’you mean he’ll use the San Augustin against us, sir?”
Dumaresq’s eyes flashed with sudden anger at the interruption. Then he said almost mildly, “Eventually, yes.”
Feet shuffled, and Bolitho heard several voices murmuring with sudden alarm.
Dumaresq said, “Don Carlos Quintana will have surrendered, although he may have fallen in the first engagement. For his sake, I hope that was so. He will receive little mercy at the hands of those murdering scum. Which is something you will bear in mind, do I make myself clear?”
Bolitho found he was clenching and unclenching his hands. His palms felt clammy, and he knew it was the same sickness of fear which had followed the attack on the island. His wound started to throb as if to remind him, and he had to stare at the deck until his mind cleared again.
Dumaresq said, “You will recall the first shots at the Spaniard? From a single cannon to the west’rd of the hill. They were deliberately fired badly to encourage the intruder into their trap. Once past the point they used the battery and some heated shot to create panic and final submission. It gives an idea of Garrick’s cunning. He was prepared to risk setting her afire rather than allow her amongst his carefully collected flotilla. And Don Carlos might well have persevered against an ordinary bombardment, although I doubt if he would have succeeded.”
Feet moved overhead, and Bolitho imagined the men up there on watch, without their officers, wondering what schemes were being hatched, and who would pay for them with his life.
He could also picture the ship, without lights and carrying little canvas as she ghosted through the darkness.
“Tomorrow Garrick will still be watching us, to see what we intend. We shall continue throughout the day, patrolling, nothing more. It will do two things. Show Garrick that we expect assistance, also that we have no intention of leaving. Garrick will know time is running out and will endeavour to hasten things along.”
Gulliver asked uneasily, “Won’t that be the wrong thing to do, sir? Why not leave him be and wait for the squadron?”
“Because I do not believe the squadron will come.” Dumaresq eyed the master’s astonishment blandly. “Fitzpatrick, the acting-governor, may well delay my despatches until he is relieved of his own responsibility. By then it will be too late anyway.” He gave a slow smile. “It is no use, Mr Gulliver, you must accept your fate, as I do.”
Palliser said, “Us against a forty-four, sir? I’ve no doubt Garrick’s other craft will be fairly well armed, and may be experienced in this sort of game.”
Dumaresq appeared to grow tired of the discussion. “Tomorrow night, I intend to close the shore and drop four boats. I cannot hope to force the entrance myself, and Garrick will know this. He’ll have guns laid on the channel anyway, so I’d still be at a grave disadvantage.”
Bolitho felt his stomach muscles tighten. A boat action. Always chancy, always difficult, even with the most experienced of hands.
Dumaresq continued, “I will discuss the plans further when we see how the wind supports us. In the meantime, I can tell you this. Mr Palliser will take the cutter and the jolly-boat and land at the sou’-west point of the island. It is the best sheltered part and the least likeliest for an assault. He will be supported by Mr Rhodes, Mr Midshipman Henderson and . . .” his eyes moved deliberately to Slade, “. . . our senior master’s mate.”
Bolitho glanced quickly at Rhodes and saw how pale his face seemed. There were tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, too.
The senior midshipman, Henderson, by comparison looked calm and eager. It was his first chance, and like Palliser he would soon be trying his luck for promotion. It would be uppermost on his mind until the actual moment came.
“There will be no moon, and as far as I can discover, the sea will be kind to us.” Dumaresq’s stature seemed to grow and expand with his ideas. “The pinnace will be lowered next, and will make for the reefs to the north-eastern end of the island.”
Bolitho waited, trying not to hold his breath. Knowing what was coming.
It was almost a relief when Dumaresq said, “Mr Bolitho, you will take charge of the pinnace. You will be supported by Midshipmen Cowdroy and Jury, and an experienced gunner’s mate with a complete gun’s crew. You will find and seize that solitary cannon below the hill-side, and use it as I direct.” He smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. “Lieutenant Colpoys can select a squad of picked marksmen and take them to cover Mr Bolitho’s actions. You will please ensure that your marines discard their uniforms and make do with slop clothing like the seamen.”
Colpoys looked visibly shocked. Not by the prospect of being killed, but at the idea of seeing his marines clad in anything but their red coats.
Dumaresq examined their faces again. Perhaps to see the relief of the ones who would be staying, the concern of those detailed for his reckless plan of attack.
He said slowly, “In the meantime, I shall prepare the ship to give battle. For Garrick will come out, gentlemen. He has too much to lose by staying, and as Destiny will be his last witness he will be ea
ger to destroy us.”
He had their full attention.
“And that is what he will have to do, before I let him pass!”
Palliser stood up. “Dismissed.”
They moved to the door, mulling over Dumaresq’s words, trying perhaps to see a last glimmer of hope that an open battle might be avoided.
Rhodes said quietly, “Well, Dick, I think I shall take a large drink before I stand my watch tonight. I do not feel like brooding.”
Bolitho glanced at the midshipmen as they filed past. It must be far worse for them.
He said, “I have done a cutting-out expedition myself. I expect that you and the first lieutenant will be told to excise one of the anchored vessels.” He shivered in spite of his guard. “I don’t fancy the prospect of taking that cannon from under their noses!”
They looked at each other, and then Rhodes said, “The first one of us to return buys wine for the wardroom.”
Bolitho did not trust himself to answer but groped his way to the companion-ladder and up to the quarterdeck to resume his watch.
A large shadow sidled from the trunk of the mizzen-mast and Stockdale said in a hoarse whisper, “Tomorrow night then, sir?” He did not wait for a reply. “Felt it in me bones.” His palms scraped together in the darkness. “You’d not be thinkin’ of takin’ anyone else as a gun-captain?”
His simple confidence helped to disperse Bolitho’s anxiety more than he would have thought possible.
“We’ll stay together.” He touched his arm impulsively. “After this, you’ll lament the day you ever quit the land!”
Stockdale rumbled a chuckle. “Never. ’Ere, a man’s got room to breathe!”
Yeames, master’s mate of the watch, grinned. “I don’t reckon that bloody pirate knows what ’e’s in for, sir. Old Stockdale’ll trim ’is beard for ’im!”
Bolitho walked to the weather side and began to pace slowly up and down. Where was she now, he wondered? In some ship heading for another land, a life he would never share.
If only she would come to him now, as she had on that other incredible night. She would understand. Would hold him tenderly and drive back the fear which was ripping him apart. And there was another long day to endure before they would begin the next act. He could not possibly survive this time, and he guessed that fate had never intended it otherwise.
Midshipman Jury shaded the compass-light with his hands to examine the swinging card and then looked across at the slowly pacing figure. Just to be like him would be the only reward he could ever want. So steady and confident, and never too impatient or hasty with a quick rebuke like Palliser, or scathing like Slade. Perhaps his father had been a bit like Richard Bolitho at that age, he thought. He hoped so.
Yeames cleared his throat and said, “Best get ready to pipe the mornin’-watch, sir, though I fear it’ll be a long day today.”
Jury hurried away, thinking of what lay ahead, and wondering why he was not apprehensive any more. He was going with the third lieutenant, and to Ian Jury, aged fourteen years, that was reward enough.
Bolitho had known the waiting would be bad, but throughout the day, as Destiny’s company laid out the equipment and weapons which would be required for the landing-parties, he felt his nerves stretching to breaking-point. Whenever he looked up from his work, or came on deck from the cool darkness of one of the holds, the bare, hostile island was always there. Although his knowledge and training told him that Destiny covered and re-covered her track again and again during the day, it seemed as if they had never moved, that the island, with its fortress-like hill, was waiting, just for him.
Towards dusk, Gulliver laid the ship on a new tack to take her well clear of the island. The masthead lookouts had been unable to sight any sort of activity, so well sheltered was the lagoon, but Dumaresq had no doubts. Garrick would have watched their every move, and the fact Destiny had never tacked closer inshore might have helped to shake his confidence, to make him believe that help was already on the way for that solitary frigate.
Eventually, Dumaresq called his officers aft to the cabin. It was much as before, hot and clammy, the air penned in by the shutters so that they were all soon sweating freely.
They had gone over it again and again. Surely nothing on their part could go wrong? Even the wind favoured them. It remained from the south-west, and although slightly fresher than before, gave no hint that it might turn against them.
Dumaresq leaned on his table and said gravely, “It is time, gentlemen. You will leave here to prepare your boats. All I can do is wish you well. To ask for luck would be an insult to each of you.”
Bolitho tried to relax his body, limb by limb. He could not begin the action like this. Any one fault would break him in pieces, and he knew it.
He plucked the shirt away from his stomach and thought of the time he had purposefully donned a clean one, just to meet her on deck. Perhaps this was the same hopeless gesture. Unlike changing into clean clothing before a battle at sea to avoid infecting a wound, this was something personal. There would be no Bulkleys on that evil island, no one to see the purpose of his reasoning, or to care.
Dumaresq said, “I intend to lower the cutter and jolly-boat in an hour. We should be in position to drop the launch and pinnace by midnight.” His gaze moved to Bolitho. “Although it will be a harder pull for your people, your cover will be better.” He checked off the points on his strong fingers. “Make certain your muskets and pistols remain unloaded until you are sure there will be no accidents. Examine all the gear and tackle you need before you enter the boats. Talk to your people.” He spoke gently, almost caressingly. “ Talk to them. They are your strength, and will be watching you to see how you measure up.”
Feet padded across the deck above and tackle scraped noisily along the planking. Destiny was heaving to.
Dumaresq added, “Tomorrow is your worst day. You will lie in hiding and do nothing. If an alarm is raised, I cannot save you.”
Midshipman Merrett tapped at the door and then called, “Mr Yeames’ respects, sir, and we are hove to.”
With the cabin pitching unsteadily from side to side, it was rather unnecessary, and Bolitho was amazed to see several of those present grinning and nudging each other.
Even Rhodes, whom he knew to be worried sick about the coming action, was smiling broadly. It was that same madness returning. Perhaps it was better this way.
They moved out of the cabin and were soon swallowed up by their own groups of men.
Mr Timbrell’s hoisting-party had already swayed out the jolly-boat, and the cutter followed shortly over the nettings and then into the slapping water alongside. There was suddenly no time for anything. In the enclosing darkness a few hands darted out for brief clasps, voices murmured to friends and companions, a “good luck,” or “we’ll show ’em.” And then it was done, the boats wallowing round in the swell before heading away towards the island.
“Get the ship under way, Mr Gulliver.” Dumaresq turned his back on the sea, as if he had already dismissed Palliser and the two boats.
Bolitho saw Jury talking with young Merrett, and wondered if the latter was glad he was staying aboard. It was incredible to consider how much had happened in so few months since they had all come together as one company.
Dumaresq moved silently to his side. “More waiting, Mr Bolitho. I wish I could make her fly for you.” He gave a deep chuckle. “But there never was an easy way.”
Bolitho touched his scar with one finger. Bulkley had removed the stitches, and yet he always expected to feel the same agony, the same sense of despair as when he had been cut down.
Dumaresq said suddenly, “Mr Palliser and his brave fellows will be well under way by now. But I must not think of them any more. Not as people or friends, until it is over.” He turned away, adding briefly, “One day you will understand.”
14 A MOMENT’S COURAGE
BOLITHO attempted to rise to his feet, gripping Stockdale’s shoulder for support as the Destiny’s pi
nnace lifted and plunged across a succession of violent breakers. In spite of the night air and the spray which continually dashed over the gunwale, Bolitho felt feverishly hot. The closer the boat drew to the hidden island the more dangerous it became. And most of his men had thought the first part had been the worst. Being cast adrift by their parent ship and left to pull with all their might for the shore. Now they knew differently, not least their third lieutenant.
Occasionally, and now more frequently, jagged fangs of rock and coral surged past, the white water foaming amongst them to give the impression they and not the boat were moving.
Gasping and cursing, the oarsmen tried to maintain the stroke, but even that was broken every now and then as one of them had to lever his loom from its rowlock to save the blade from being splintered on a tooth of rock.
The yawing motion made thinking difficult, and Bolitho had to strain his mind to recall Dumaresq’s instructions and Gulliver’s gloomy predictions about their final approach. No wonder Garrick felt secure. No vessel of any size could work inshore amongst this strewn carpet of broken coral. It was bad enough for the pinnace. Bolitho tried not to think about Destiny’s thirty-four-foot launch which was following them somewhere astern. Or he hoped it was. The extra boat was carrying Colpoys and his marksmen, as well as additional charges of gunpowder. What with Palliser’s large party which had already been put ashore on the south-west of the island, and Bolitho’s own men, Dumaresq was short-handed indeed. If he had to fight, he would also need to run. The idea of Dumaresq fleeing in retreat was so absurd that it helped to sustain Bolitho in some way.
“Watch out, forrard!” That was the boatswain’s mate Ellis Pearse up in the bows. A very experienced seaman, he had been sounding with a boat’s lead-and-line for part of the way, but was now acting as a lookout as one more rock loomed out of the darkness.
The noise seemed so great that somebody on the shore must hear them. But Bolitho knew enough to understand that the din of the sea and surf would more than drown the clatter of oars, the desperate thrusts with boat-hooks and fists to fight their way past the treacherous rocks. Had there been even a glimmer of moon it might have been different. Strangely enough, a small boat stood out more clearly to a vigilant lookout than a full-rigged ship standing just offshore. As many a Cornish smuggler had found out to his cost.
Stand Into Danger Page 23