The nervous seaman named Warwick, who was also the cabin servant, carried in a lighted lantern and hung it carefully on a beam.
Bolitho had his goblet to his lips when he saw Dancer’s eyes flash a quick warning. He looked down and saw a dark stain on Hugh’s stocking. He had seen too much of it in the last year not to recognize blood. For an instant longer he imagined Hugh was injured, or had snared his leg climbing aboard. Then he saw his brother meeting his gaze with a mixture of defiance and need.
Feet thudded overhead, and then Hugh placed his goblet very carefully on the table.
“You will work watch-and-watch. Once we have cleared the headland we will run to the south’rd and find some sea-room. I have information, but not enough. Show no lights and pass no unnecessary commands. My people know their work, and most of them are ex-fishermen and the like, as sure-footed as cats. I want to run these smugglers or wreckers to ground without delay, before it becomes catching hereabouts. It has happened in the past. Even in times of war the trade has been busy in both directions, they tell me.”
Gloag groped for his hat and went stooping towards the door. “I’ll get things ready, sir.”
Hugh glanced at Dancer. “Go with him. Learn your way around the deck. She’s no Gorgon. ” As Dancer made his way towards the door, his shadow swaying about with the pitching lantern, he added softly, “Or Sandpiper either, for that matter!”
Alone for the first time the brothers studied each other.
Bolitho thought he could see through Hugh’s scornful guard. He was stiff with the authority of his first, if perhaps temporary, command. But at twenty-one, with only himself to answer, that was understandable. But there was anxiety there also, a defensive hardness in his eyes.
He did not have to wait for long.
Hugh said offhandedly, “You saw this stain? Pity. But can’t be helped, I suppose. I can trust you to stay silent?”
Bolitho matched his mood, keeping his face and tone level and impassive.
“Need you ask?”
“No. I’m sorry.” He reached for the brandy and poured another goblet, the movement without conscious thought. “A matter I had to settle.”
“Here? In Falmouth?” Bolitho almost got to his feet. “What about Mother?”
Hugh sighed. “It was partly because of her. It was some fool who wanted revenge over another affair.”
“The affair which had you removed from Laertes?”
“Yes.” His eyes were distant. “He wanted money. So I answered his insults in the only honourable way.”
“You provoked him.” He watched for some hint of guilt. “Then you killed him.”
Hugh took out his watch and held it to the lantern.
“Well, the second part is correct, damn him!”
Bolitho shook his head. “One day you’ll put a foot wrong.”
Hugh smiled fully for the first time. It was as if he were glad, relieved to have shared his secret.
“Well, until that sad day, young Richard, there is work to be done. So get yourself on deck and rouse the hands. We’ll up-anchor before we lose the light. I don’t want to end up in splinters across St Anthony Head because of you!”
The weather had worsened considerably, and as Bolitho climbed up through the hatch he felt the punch of the wind like a fist. Figures bustled this way and that, bare feet slapping on the wet planking like so many seals. Despite the wind and soaking spray, the men wore only their checkered shirts and white, flapping trousers, and were apparently unmoved by the bitter weather.
Bolitho ducked aside as the jolly boat was swayed up and over the lee bulwark, showering the men who worked the tackles with more icy water. He saw the boatswain, Pyke, directing the operations until the boat was securely made fast on her tier, and could well imagine him as a revenue man. He had a furtive, even sly, look, and was quite unlike any boatswain he had ever seen.
It would take some getting used to, he thought. Men everywhere, loosening belaying pins and checking the many flaked lines and halliards as if expecting them to be frozen.
It would be dark early, and the nearest land looked indistinct and blurred, the ramparts at Pendennis and St Mawes already without shape or identity.
Gloag was shouting, “Three men to the tiller! She’ll be lively as a parson’s daughter when she comes about, lads!”
Bolitho heard someone laugh. That was always a good sign. Gloag might be fearsome, but he was quite obviously respected too.
Dancer said quickly, “Here comes our captain, Dick.”
Bolitho turned as his brother came on deck. In spite of the weather he was without a cloak or even a tarpaulin coat to protect himself. The lapels of his lieutenant’s coat were very white in the dull murk around him, and he wore his cocked hat at a slightly rakish angle, like a figure in an unnamed painting.
Bolitho touched his hat. “The master informs me we are ready to get under way, sir.” He was surprised the formality came so easily. But it was the Navy speaking. Not one brother to another.
“Very well. Break out the anchor, if you please. Send the hands to their stations. We’ll get the main and fore on her as soon as we weigh and see how she takes ’em. Once clear of the headland I’ll want jib and tops’l set.”
“Reefed, sir?”
The eyes steadied on him for a moment. “We shall see.”
Bolitho hurried towards the blunt bows. It seemed incredible that Avenger could set so much canvas on one mast and in this sort of wind.
He listened to the metallic clink of pawls as the men at the capstan threw their weight on the bars. He pictured the anchor, its fluke biting into the sea bed, waiting to break free, free of the land. He often thought of it at times like this.
He jerked out of his thoughts as his brother called sharply, “Mr Bolitho! More hands to the mains’l! It will be fierce work directly!”
Gloag was banging his big hands together like boards. “Wind’s backed a piece, sir!” He was grinning into the blown spray, his cheeks streaming. “That’ll help!”
Bolitho climbed over unfamiliar gun tackles and thick snakes of cordage. Past unknown seamen and petty officers, until he was right above the stem. He saw the straining cable, jerking inboard through the hawse-hole as more men took the strain, while on either side of the stem the tide surged past as if the Avenger herself was already moving ahead.
The boatswain dashed forward to join him. “A good night for it, sir!” He did not bother to explain but made a circling motion with his fist and yelled, “Hove short, sir!”
Then everything seemed to happen as once. As the anchor started to drag free of the ground the hands on deck threw themselves to the big boomed mainsail as if their lives depended on it. Bolitho had to jump clear as the foresail was broken free and started to billow into the wind, only to be knocked aside again as Pyke yelled, “Anchor’s aweigh, sir!”
The effect was immediate and startling. With her fore and main filling out like mad things, and the deck canting steeply to the thrust of wind and current, the Avenger seemed to be sliding beam-on towards sure destruction.
Gloag called hoarsely, “Sheet ’em ’ome ’ard, Mr Pyke! Lively now.”
Bolitho felt at a loss and totally in the way as men darted hither and thither, oblivious to the water which surged as high as the lee gunports.
And then, just as suddenly, it was done. Bolitho made his way aft to where three straddle-legged seamen stood by the long tiller-bar, their eyes squinting in concentration as they watched both helm and sails. The Avenger was standing as close to the wind as any vessel he had ever seen, with her big mainsail and the fin-shaped foresail sheeted home as Gloag had ordered, until they were almost fore and aft along the cutter’s centre line.
Foam boiled under the counter, and Bolitho saw Dancer watching him from the foredeck, grinning like a boy with a new plaything.
Hugh was eyeing him too, his mouth compressed in a tight line.
“Well?” One word. Question and threat together.
&n
bsp; Bolitho nodded. “She’s a lady, sir! Like a bird!”
The boatswain stumped to the weather rail and peered at the blurred shoreline.
“Aye, Mr Bolitho, sir. An’ I’ll wager some devils are watchin’ this bird right now!”
The land was edging past, and Bolitho saw the spray whipped off the wave crests like spume as they approached the dangerous turn of the headland.
Pyke cupped his hands. “Stand by to get aloft, there!” He glanced at his commander’s set features as if expecting him to cancel his demands for more canvas. When no word was uttered he added heartily, “An’ mebbe a tot for the first one down afterwards!”
Bolitho made himself take in the darkening deck section by section, until he could match what he already knew with the bustling seamen and the jumble of rigging and blocks which went to make a vessel stay alive.
Hugh and the master seemed satisfied, he thought, watching the men at work, the set of the sails, with an occasional glance at the compass to confirm some point or other.
What a step I have yet to make, Bolitho thought. From midshipman to a place on the quarterdeck. Like his brother, who at twenty-one was already on another plane. In a few years this first, tiny command would probably be forgotten, and Hugh might have his own frigate. But she would have played her vital part for him all the same. Provided, that was, he kept out of trouble and held his sword in its scabbard.
“Mr Bolitho!”
Hugh’s voice made him start.
“I said earlier, we have no passengers in my command! So stir yourself and put more hands forrard to the jib. We’ll set it as soon as the topmen are aloft.”
As dusk yielded to a deeper darkness the Avenger threw herself across the stiffer crests of open sea. Lifting and plunging, throwing up great sheets of spray from her bows, she changed tack to point her stem towards the south.
Hour after hour, Hugh Bolitho drove everyone until he was ready to drop. Wet, freezing canvas, iron-hard and unyielding to the fingers of salt-blinded men, drowned even the sea’s noise with its constant boom and thunder. The screech of blocks as swollen cordage was hauled through, the stamp of feet on deck, an occasional cry from the poop, all joined in one chorus of effort and pain.
Even the cutter’s young commander had to admit that too much canvas was too much, and reluctantly he ordered the topsail and jib to be taken in for the remainder of the night.
Eventually the watch below, gasping and bruised, groped their way down for a short respite. Some swore they would never set foot aboard again once they put into port. They always said it. They usually came back.
Others were too tired even to think, but fell on their cramped messdeck to lie amongst the sluicing mixture of sea water and oddments of clothing or loose tackle until the next call from the deck.
“All hands! All hands on deck to shorten sail!” They never had to wait long for that either.
As he lay in a makeshift cot, pitching and swaying with the savage motion, Bolitho found time to wonder what might have happened if he had gone to London as Dancer had suggested.
There was a smile on his lips as he fell into a deep sleep. It would certainly have been totally different from this, he thought.
4 NO choice
LIEUTENANT HUGH BOLITHO sat wedged into a corner of the Avenger’s low cabin, one foot against a frame to hold himself steady. The cutter was alive with creaks and rattles as she drifted sluggishly downwind through a curtain of sleet and snow.
The midshipmen, Gloag, the acting master, and Pyke, the cutter’s sly-faced boatswain, completed the gathering, and the confined space was heavy with damp and the richer tang of brandy.
Bolitho felt as if he had never worn a shred of dry clothing in his life. For over two days, while the Avenger had tacked or beaten her way down the Cornish coastline, he had barely slept for more than minutes at a time. Hugh never seemed to rest. He was always calling for extra vigilance, although who but a madman would be abroad in this weather was hard to fathom. Now, around the dreaded Lizard and its great sprawl of reefs, they lay to under the lee of the shore. And although it was pitch-dark and no land in view, they sensed it, felt it not as a friend but as a treacherous enemy waiting to rip out their keel if they made just one mistake.
Bolitho was impressed by his brother’s outward calm, the way he outlined his ideas without any sign of uncertainty. He could tell that Gloag trusted his judgement, although he was old enough to be his father.
He was saying, “I had intended to put a party ashore, or go myself to meet this informant. However, the weather has other ideas. Any boat might lose her way, and the advantage of surprise would also be lost.”
Bolitho glanced at Dancer, wondering if he was as mystified as himself. Informants, stealthy rendezvous in the dark, it was a different sort of Navy.
Pyke said abruptly, “I knows the place well, sir. It would be where Morgan, the revenue man, was done in. A real likely spot for runnin’ a cargo ashore.”
Hugh’s eyes settled on him curiously. “D’you think you could meet this fellow? After all, if he says the birds have flown there’s no damn point in my hanging about here.”
Pyke spread his hands. “I can try, sir.”
“Try, dammit, that’s not good enough!”
Bolitho watched. Again, Hugh’s latent temper was getting the better of him. He saw the almost physical effort as reason took over.
The lieutenant added, “You do see what I mean?”
“Aye, sir. If we gets ashore without stovin’ the boat’s bottom in, we could reach ’is cottage as you wanted in the first place.”
Hugh nodded briskly. “Very well. I want you to land the party as soon as you can. Find out what the man knows, but pay him nothing. We’ve got to be sure.” He looked at his brother. “You, Richard, will go with Mr Pyke. The presence of my, er, second-in-command will add something, eh?”
Gloag rubbed his bald pate. “I’ll go an’ check the set o’ the tide, sir. We don’t want to lose your brother on ’is first affray, does we?” He went out chuckling to himself.
His chuckling stopped as a voice called, “Breakers on the lee bow, sir!” That was Truscott, the gunner, standing a watch alone while his betters pondered on matters of strategy.
Hugh Bolitho said, “Too many reefs about here. Take yourself on deck, Mr Dancer. Have the jolly boat swayed out and muster the landing party. See that they are armed, but ensure that nobody steps into the boat with a loaded piece. I want no eager hands loosing off a pistol by mistake.” His eyes flashed. “You’ll be answerable to me.”
He relaxed slightly. “It is all we can do. They say that a cargo of smuggled goods has been dropped in the next cove to the nor’-west of where I am putting you ashore. They say it will stay there until everyone believes the Avenger elsewhere.” He banged the table. “They say a lot of things, but tell me nothing of value!”
Pyke grinned. “It sounds right, sir. I’ll take the centipedes, just in case.”
Another voice called, “Boat ready, zur! Mr Gloag’s respects, an’ could the young gentleman make haste?”
Hugh nodded. “Immediately.” He led the way on deck.
Bolitho felt the damp biting into his bones. Easy living for a few days at home had had its effects, he thought ruefully. Now, tired and weary from the sea and wind, he was feeling very low indeed.
He peered at the tossing boat alongside. It was so dark he could barely make out its outline, just a pitching shape in a welter of white spray.
Dancer hurried to his side. “I wish I was going with you.”
Bolitho gripped his arm. “Me too. I feel a complete novice amongst these people.”
His brother lurched across the slippery planking.
“Be off with you. Carry on, Bosun.” He waited for Pyke to vanish over the side and added quietly, “Keep your eyes wide open. I will lie to when I can, but in any case will be nearby at first light. If there is any truth in my information we may stand a chance.”
Bolitho threw his
leg over the bulwark and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. One false step and he would be swept away like a wood chip on a mill-race.
The boat cast off and veered away from the Avenger almost before he had regained his breath, while Pyke swung the tiller-bar and peered above the oarsmen’s heads as if to seek a way through the nearest line of leaping breakers.
To calm his nerves Bolitho asked, “What are the centipedes, Mr Pyke?”
The stroke oarsman grinned, his teeth very white in the darkness. “ ’Ere, sir!” He kicked out with his foot as he leaned aft for another pull at his oar.
Bolitho reached down and felt two enormous grapnels. They were unlike any he had seen, with several sets of flukes like legs.
Pyke did not take his eyes from the shore as he said, “The smugglers usually sink their booty to wait until the coast is clear. Then they lifts it when they’m good and ready. My little centipedes can drag the stuff off the bottom.” He laughed quietly, a humourless sound. “I’ve done a few in me time.”
The bowman called, “Land ahead, sir!”
The boat was planing forward, the spray hissing between the oar blades to beat across the already dripping inmates.
“Easy, all!”
A tall, slab-sided rock rushed down the starboard side, muffling the sound of breakers like a huge door.
With a lurch and a violent shudder the boat grounded on hard sand, and as men fell cursing in the water and tried to steady the impact, others leapt on to the beach to guide the bows clear of fallen rocks.
Bolitho tried to stop his teeth chattering. He had to assume Gloag and Pyke knew what they were doing, that his brother’s plan made sense. This was the cove, but to Bolitho it could have been anywhere.
Pyke regarded him through the gloom. “Well, sir?”
“You know this business better than me.”
Bolitho knew some of the men were listening, but this was no time to stand on dignity at the expense of safety. He was Avenger’s second-in-command. But he was a lowly midshipman for all that.
The Complete Midshipman Bolitho Page 15