He said, ‘I will rest in a moment.’
Inch entered the cabin, his tarpaulin coat glistening with salt rime as he staggered towards the coffee jug. He wiped his streaming face and said, ‘Wind’s veered a piece, sir. Gone round to west nor’ west, as far as I can tell. I’ll go about in an hour.’ He hesitated, suddenly aware of his authority. ‘If that is suitable, sir?’
Bolitho smiled. ‘You are the captain. I am sure it will be convenient for our purpose. At daylight we may sight Restless.’ He. forced his mind to stop probing and re-examining his doubts. ‘But now I will sleep.’
Allday followed Inch towards the companion ladder and muttered, ‘My God, sir, I thought I yearned for small ships again!’
Inch grinned. ‘You are getting old.’
The sea thundered over the upper deck, and a goodly portion of it cascaded down the ladder towards them.
Allday swore and replied, ‘And, with respect, I should like to get older before I die!’
* * * * *
‘Good morning, sir.’ Inch touched his hat as Bolitho appeared at the companion and stepped over the coaming.
Bolitho nodded and walked to the lee rail, the sleep already gone from his mind in the keen, damp air. The daylight was as yet only a glimmer, and now that Hekla had gone about to run almost parallel with the coast he guessed they were barely more than two miles offshore. The wind had veered still more and now pushed steadily across the larboard quarter, the spray leaping occasionally above the stout bulwarks to sluice noisily away into the scuppers. He could see the land, although it was little more than purple shadow, and it was strange to accept the fact that due to the slow necessity of clawing away from it to gain the wind’s advantage, Djafou now lay less than thirty miles ahead of Hekla’s blunt bows. Inch had done well, and there was nothing in his long horseface to show he had been on deck for most of the time while his ship had tacked and beaten around one great circle to her present position.
Astern they were being followed by a thick sea mist, so that it gave a false impression of being motionless, an impression made a lie by the flying spray around the bowsprit and the bulging tan sails above the deck.
As he peered forward he saw a sheen of dull silver on the dancing wavecrests, and knew dawn was nearby, but as yet the eastern horizon was still lost in spray and shadow. A few gulls drifted and shrieked above the topmasts, and he wondered whether eyes other than theirs had seen their careful approach. Careful for reasons other than surprise. Even as he considered the treacherous coastline so close abeam he heard the leadsman chant from the chains, his cry almost lost in the crack and thunder of the sails.
‘By the mark seven!’
But Inch appeared satisfied, and Bolitho knew his shallow hull better than Bolitho did.
Shadows around the bomb’s decks were already taking on strength and personality, and he saw the hands at work around the guns, while others moved restlessly on the forecastle where Mr. Broome, Inch’s elderly gunner, was examining his mortars.
But mortars were not the only teeth in Hekla’s defences. Apart from a few swivels, she mounted six massive carronades. Altogether they would certainly find any weakness in her stout construction and timbers.
‘By the mark five!’
Inch called, ‘Bring her up a point, Mr. Wilmot!’
His first and only lieutenant walked straddle-legged up the slanting deck, and as the helm squeaked over he shouted ‘Steady, sir! East by south!’
‘By the mark seven!’
Inch said to no one in particular, ‘Damme, it’s like a sailor’s lot hereabouts. All ups and downs!’
Bolitho set his teeth against the screech and scrape of a grindstone from below the foremast where some of the seamen were busily putting new edges to their cutlasses. How overcrowded the deck appeared, mainly because in addition to her normal complement the Hekla carried the survivors from the Devastation as well as the remnants of his own landing party.
Inch rubbed a hand across his wind-reddened face. ‘Won’t be long now sir.’ He gestured aloft. ‘I’ve a good man to watch for Restless.’
Bolitho said, ‘There is supposed to be an inlet where this Messadi takes refuge. Shelter enough for his chebecks, and within reach of several villages for his needs.’ He looked searchingly at Inch. ‘You will be able to fire the mortars without anchoring, I hope?’
‘Aye, sir.’ Inch frowned. ‘We have never done it before, of course.’ He chuckled, all doubt gone. ‘But then we had never fired at a fortress either!’
‘Good. Once you have awakened their nest, we will engage whoever comes out.’ He looked at the sky. ‘Restless will close and give ready support once we have made contact.’
Inch eyed him soberly. ‘And if she is not available, sir?’
Bolitho shrugged. ‘Then she is not available.’
Inch grinned again. ‘It’ll be like stirring wasps with a stick!’
Another cry from the leadsman took him away again and left Bolitho to his thoughts.
He watched the land hardening and taking on its true form, and recognised the same bleak hills and desolation as they had found in Djafou. It looked uneven but as yet unbroken by any sign of a cove or inlet, but he knew from boyhood it was deceptive. Once when a mere child he had taken out a small boat from Falmouth and had been horrified to find himself carried away on a swift coastal current. There should have been a safe cove nearby, but as the light faded he could see nothing but those grim, hostile cliffs. With all hope and most of his courage gone he had suddenly found it. Almost hidden by an overlap of cliffs, beyond which the water was flat calm, and his relief had given way in a flood of tears.
His father had been away at sea. It had been his brother Hugh who had come to find him and had boxed his ears for good measure.
Thin sunlight filtered above the cruising haze and he heard the masthead lookout call, ‘Oi think ’tis there on the lee bow, zur! Broken water!’
Bolitho raised a telescope and eagerly scanned the murky shoreline. Then he saw the telltale cluster of small breakers marking the inward curve of a headland. He strained his mind until he fitted it into the mental picture of Inch’s chart, the place as described by Alava in his soft, gentle voice.
He heard a man slip and apologise awkwardly in the half-light, and saw Calvert feeling his way along the lee bulwark. He looked pinched and strained, and there were dark shadows under his eyes.
Inch cupped his hands. ‘Masthead! Any sign of Restless?’
‘None, zur!’
Inch said with unusual irritation, ‘That damn fellow must have lost himself!’
Bolitho looked at him. Maybe Inch was more worried than he showed, to be groping his way along this treacherous coast. Or perhaps he was masking his true feelings about the task he had been given? It was not going to be easy for him. He watched Inch nodding and whispering with his gunner and first lieutenant. Or was it that he was unwilling to be the one to witness Bolitho’s failure?
Slowly but surely the rounded headland was moving out to greet them, its summit already shining dully in the dawn light. Very soon now.
Inch came aft. ‘With your permission, sir, I will fire the mortars as we come abeam of the point. That will give my people time to reload for the next shots as we pass the entrance. Mr. Broome is confident that we will make a good deal of confusion, even if we hit nothing.’
Bolitho smiled. Inch had certainly discovered new confidence, and that in itself was infectious.
‘Good. Then carry on.’
Inch shouted, ‘Send the hands to quarters, Mr. Wilmot! You know what we have to do today.’
The carronade crews had been up and about for several hours, and apart from dousing the galley fire there was little else to do but wait and watch Mr. Broome with his men grouped like high priests around their two crouching mortars.
Allday murmured, ‘They’ll wake the bastards up, God rot them!’
‘By the mark three!’
The headland was hard and clear agai
nst the skyline now, leaning out into the lively wavecrests as if to nudge the bowsprit.
Broome raised his hand. ‘Stand clear o’ they mortars, lads!’
Bolitho saw the spark of a fuse, the momentary jerk of the gunner’s shoulder, and held his breath.
The mortars fired within seconds of one another, and he was surprised the noise was negligible compared with the terrific shock of their recoil. He felt the deck bounce and vibrate beneath his feet with such force that his teeth were jarred painfully and his neck felt as if he had just been thrown bodily from a stampeding horse.
Inch was peering at him. ‘Fair shots, I believe, sir.’
Bolitho nodded, not trusting his voice. Then he hurried to the rail and watched as the top of the headland glowed dull red, and seconds later the air trembled to a double, muffled explosion.
He heard Broome yelling at his crews to reload, the excited chatter from the waiting men on the main deck. What a strange, unnerving form of warfare, he thought. To be able to fire high over a solid land mass, unseen and unhampered by what lay beyond.
Inch rapped, ‘Watch your helm, Mr. Wilmot!’ He ran to the side and stared towards the nearest line of breakers. ‘We will have to wear ship if we draw much closer.’
Broome bellowed, ‘Ready, sir!’
Bolitho said, ‘Hold your fire.’ He waited as a line of spray-dappled reefs drifted past the lee side. ‘We will be across the point at any moment.’
He tore his eyes from the glistening rocks and imagined what would have happened if the hull beneath him had been any deeper.
Inch said, ‘Here it comes.’ Then, ‘There’s a fire of some sort, so we must have hit the land.’
Bolitho tried to hold his telescope steady against the jarring pitch of the swirling currents. It was very dark inside the cove, and the glowing fire which was already dying appeared to be at the far end of it, like gorse alight on a tinder-dry hillside.
‘Again.’ He opened his mouth and was relieved to find the shock of the next salvo was less painful to his teeth. Even so, the violent leap of the deck planking spoke much for Hekla’s builders.
There was a single bright flash, blossoming out into a great wall of fire, reflected on the sheltered water inside the cove so that it appeared to double and treble in power and size. In the few seconds before it wavered and died he saw the low black shapes of several motionless craft, and felt almost sick with sudden relief.
Allday said, ‘They’re in there all right.’ He shifted impatiently against the rail. ‘I’ll lay odds that singed their bloody beards!’
Bolitho did not hear him. ‘Close enough, Commander Inch. Put her about and we will see what happens next.’
He walked aft to the taffrail to keep clear of the hurrying seamen as they ran to braces and halliards in readiness for wearing ship. So far, so good. The next minutes would tell whether he was wasting his time. If the pirates decided to remain in their deep cove, there would be nothing for it but to maintain a bombardment from the sea. The mortars had been impressive, but in fact could do little more but create panic under such conditions. They needed stability and a good achorage, with spotting partles ashore to signal success and failure after each shot.
He held the rail firmly as with blocks and rigging banging and humming in protest the Hekla swung her stern across the wind, canting still further in response to rudder and canvas.
Her deck seemed very wide for her stubby length, and every foot of it appeared to be crammed with scampering men as the manœuvre was completed and the bomb laid close-hauled on the larboard tack, her stern once more towards the land.
She was a difficult ship to handle, he thought, and for the first time that he could recall in years he felt his stomach contracting with uneasy nausea.
But Inch was grinning and waving his arms, his voice quite lost in the din of wind and sea. Hekla was more than a command to him. She was like a new toy, still possessing secrets to excite him.
It took another half-hour to complete the manœuvre and bring the ship back again to her original position with the headland on her lee bow. By that time the light had grown to such an extent it was possible to see the next line of round hills beyond the sea’s edge, the occasional small crescent of beach, as well as far more reefs than he had first imagined.
Inch said thoughtfully, ‘Wind’s dropping, sir.’ He rubbed his chin, his palm rasping across bristles as he added, ‘May be a hot day after all.’
But there was plenty of mist and spray to hide the horizon, and in spite of the mounting patterns of light there was no warmth to ease the chill from their sodden clothing.
Bolitho turned his back on the others. Inch was probably worried at the prospect of being so close to the land now the wind was falling away. He could tell from the manner in which some of the seamen were fidgeting and muttering on the main deck that they were uneasy, too.
It was unfair to keep Inch in such danger, but he must wait just a few moments longer. He kept hearing Giffard’s comments, like an epitaph. Perhaps he should have ordered the marines to march across country after all, regardless of human losses. But he knew he was only groping for misgivings. He was right, he must be. Even if all the marines available had reached the cove there was nothing to prevent those chebecks from slipping out to sea unhindered by their puny muskets.
He looked round as Calvert said, ‘Listen!’ He dropped his eyes under their combined stares but added quickly, ‘I am sure I heard something.’ It was almost the first time Calvert had spoken since he had come aboard.
Then Bolitho heard the sound, and sensed the same chill he had experienced aboard the Navarra. The steady, resonant beat of drums, so that without difficulty he could picture those lean chebecks with their powerful banks of oars, their grace and latent cruelty as they swept in to the attack.
He saw Inch watching him anxiously and snapped, ‘Stand by! They are coming out!’
A ripple of excitement transmitted itself along the deck, and he saw the gun-captains pulling their men down from the bulwarks and breaking the tension of the moment with threats and curses.
Inch murmured, ‘We have them, sir. They cannot take the advantage from us.’
Bolitho crossed to him, his hand resting on his sword. ‘They need no advantage. They carry their own power.’
A dozen voices shouted excitedly as the first of the chebecks thrust clear of the shadows, their long prows throwing back foam and spray as they rode over the low breakers.
The drums became clearer and more menacing as one by one they pulled away from the land, and Bolitho heard Inch counting aloud, realising perhaps for the first time the extent of his enemy.
Allday said quietly, ‘There are many more of ’em than last time, Captain.’ He licked his lips. ‘Twenty, maybe twenty-two.’
Bolitho watched them narrowly, his face a mask to hide his mounting concern. As soon as they were clear of the rocks the chebecks began to open out in a huge fan, so that the whole area of lively water was filled with flashing oars and intermingled bow waves.
On Hekla’s decks was total silence, the gun crews standing like statues to watch the oncoming horde of craft. It was a veritable fleet, the like of which none of them had ever seen, nor would live to describe if they failed to destroy them.
Bolitho strode to the rail, feeling the early excited anticipation giving way to sudden anxiety. He saw their faces turn towards him as he shouted, ‘Remember, they will no more have seen anything like your Hekla than you have laid eyes on them. I doubt they have faced a carronade before, so stand to and be ready.’ He saw some of them glancing at each other and added harshly, ‘Let each gun-captain select his own target. Shoot as you have never done before, lads.’ He looked towards the seamen by the swivels and those who crouched along the bulwarks with loaded muskets. ‘Keep firing no matter what is happening. If they board us, we will be swamped.’ He let his lips turn into a smile. ‘So make every ball strike home!’
He heard a scrape of steel and saw Inch dra
wing his curved hanger and tying it to his wrist with a gold lanyard. He looked at Bolitho and grinned almost apologetically. ‘It was a present,’ he said.
A sullen bang echoed back from the shore and a ball whimpered low above the deck. A gun-captain stood back from his carronade but Bolitho shouted, ‘Hold your fire!’ He felt the deck jerk as a chebeck’s bow gun belched smoke and a ball smashed hard into the Hekla’s waterline. The enemy’s formation had fanned out even wider now, so that the ship was almost encircled by them, the furthest ones like the extremes of the crescent flags which some of them were flying above their furled sails.
He watched the range falling away, heard the drums beating faster as the long oars drove the craft towards the slow-moving Hekla like cavalry charging a square of foot soldiers.
He tugged out his sword and held it above his head. ‘Easy, lads!’ Some of the men near him were sweating in spite of the cool wind. To them it must seem as if the chebecks would drive right through their own ship.
The sword caught the frail sunlight as he swung it down. ‘Fire as you bear!’
Below the rail the nearest carronade exploded with a deafening roar, hurling its blunt barrel inboard on its slide while the crew darted towards it with their sponges and rammer. Bolitho felt the detonation in his head like some terrible pain, and watched the great sixty-eight pound ball burst into the nearest bank of oars in a blinding orange flash. As the ball exploded to discharge its scything mass of grape the oars broke and flew in all directions, and he saw the hull lurching round to drive against the next chebeck in the converging line. Another carronade belched smoke and fire, and then a third from the opposite side as a chebeck pushed too near to the Hekla’s larboard bow to receive the heavy ball full in the prow. Yelling figures, the raked foremast and the chebeck’s unfired gun all vanished in a pall of choking brown smoke. As it fanned away Bolitho saw the boat already rolling over, the sea boiling across the submerged oars to finish the kill.
Swivels cracked and banged from both forward and aft, hurling their canister amongst the white-clad figures who still crowded the chebecks’ gangways, waving their scimitars and firing muskets to add to the frightful din of battle.
The Flag Captain Page 30