He struggled to remember what had happened, and as realization, like the returning pain in his skull, came flooding back, he stared round with dazed bewilderment.
He was lying on a thick fur rug in front of a roaring log fire, still wearing his soiled uniform, which in the great heat was steaming as if about to burst into flames.
Someone was kneeling behind him, and he saw a girl’s scrubbed hands reaching round to support his head, which he knew was bandaged.
She murmured, “Rest easy, zur.” Over her shoulder she called, “He’s awake!”
Bolitho heard a familiar, booming voice, and saw Sir Henry Vyvyan standing above him, his one eye peering down as he said, “ Awake, girl, he damn near died on us!”
He bellowed at some invisible servants and then added more calmly, “God swamp me, boy, that was a damn fool thing to do. Another second and those ruffians would have had your liver on the sand!” He handed a goblet to the girl. “Give him some of this.” He shook his head as Bolitho tried to swallow the hot drink. “What would I have told yer mother, eh?”
“The others, sir?” Bolitho tried to think clearly, remembering Trillo’s cry, his last sound on earth.
Vyvyan shrugged. “One dead. A damned miracle.” He sounded as if he could still not believe it. “A handful of men against those devils!”
“I thank you, sir. For saving our lives.”
“Nothin’ to it, m’boy.” Vyvyan smiled crookedly, the scar across his face looking even more savage in the shadows. “I came with my men because I heard the gun. I was out with ’em anyway. The Navy isn’t the only intelligence round here, y’know!”
Bolitho lay still and looked straight up at the high ceiling. He could see the girl watching him, her eyes very blue, frowning with concern.
So Vyvyan had known all about it. Hugh should have guessed. But for him they would all be dead.
He asked, “And the ship, sir?”
“Aground. But safe enough ’til mornin’. I sent your boatswain to take charge.” He tapped his big nose. “Nice bit of salvage there, I shouldn’t wonder, eh?”
A door opened somewhere and a voice said harshly, “Most of ’em got away, sir. We cut down two, but the rest scattered amongst the rocks an’ caves. They’ll be miles away by dawn.” He chuckled. “Caught one of ’em though.”
Vyvyan sounded thoughtful. “But for the ship, and the need to help these sailors, we might have caught the lot.” He rubbed his chin. “But still, we’ll have a hangin’ all the same. Show these scum the old fox is not asleep, eh?”
The door closed just as silently.
“I am sorry, sir. I feel it is all my fault.”
“Nonsense! Did yer duty. Quite right too. Only way.” He added grimly, “But I’ll be havin’ a sharp word with yer brother, make no mistake on it!”
The heat of the fire, his exhaustion and the effect of something in the drink made Bolitho fall into a deep sleep. When he awoke again it was morning, the hard wintry light streaming in through the windows of Vyvyan Manor.
Freeing himself from two thick blankets he got gingerly to his feet and stared at himself in a wall mirror. He looked more like a survivor than a victor.
He saw Vyvyan watching him from one of the doorways.
Vyvyan asked, “Ready, boy? My steward tells me that your vessel is anchored off the cove. I’ve been up most of the night m’self, so I know how you’re feelin’.” He grinned. “But still, nothin’ broken. Just a headache for a few days, eh?”
Bolitho put on his coat and hat. He noticed that both had been cleaned, and someone had mended a rent in one of the sleeves where a blade had missed his arm by less than an inch.
It was a cold, bright morning, with the snow changed to slush and the sky without a trace of cloud. Had the night been like this the ship would have seen the danger and the smugglers would have picked up their cargo from the cove.
If . . . if . . . if . . . It was too late now.
Vyvyan’s coach dropped him on the narrow coast road above the headland, and to his astonishment he saw Dancer and some seamen waiting for him, and far below, a boat drawn up on the beach.
How different it looked in daylight. He almost expected to see some corpses, but the beach was silky smooth, and beyond the cove the anchored Avenger tugged at her cable with barely a roll.
“Dick! Thank God you’re safe!” Dancer ran to meet him and gripped his arm. “You look terrible!”
Bolitho gave a painful smile. “Thanks.”
Together they walked down that same steep path, and Bolitho saw several burly looking men examining the two lanterns and some discarded weapons. Excisemen, or merely Vyvyan’s retainers it was hard to say.
Dancer said, “The captain sent us to get you, Dick.”
“How is his temper?”
“Surprisingly good. I think the vessel you warned away from the rocks had a lot to do with it. She’s beached a mile or so from here. Your brother, er, induced her people to come off, then he put a prize crew aboard. I think her master was so glad to save his skin he forgot the matter of prize money!”
By the boat Bolitho saw some seamen replacing Pyke’s centipedes in the sternsheets.
Dancer explained, “We made a drag along the seabed but found nothing. They must have come in the night after Vyvyan’s men had driven away the wreckers.”
Avenger’s other boat was already alongside when Bolitho returned on board. The man he had chosen to warn the jolly boat had done well, he thought. Poor Trillo had been their one loss.
Hugh was watching him as he climbed up over the side, hands on hips, hat at the same rakish angle.
“Quite the little fire-brand, aren’t you?” He strode across the broad deck and gripped his hand. “Young idiot. But I guessed you’d disobey my orders as soon as I heard that distress cannon. I had a prize crew aboard before they could say knife.” He smiled. “Nice little Dutch brig bound for Cork. Spirits and tobacco. Fetch a good price.”
“Sir Henry said the wreckers got away. All but one.”
“Wreckers, smugglers, I believe they’re one and the same. Pyke thinks he may have wounded a few with his pistol shots, so they may turn up somewhere. No Cornish jury will ever convict a smuggler, but a wrecker is something else.”
Bolitho faced his brother. “The loss of the smugglers’ cargo was my fault. But I couldn’t help myself. A few kegs of brandy against the value of a vessel and her people made me act as I did.”
Hugh nodded gravely. “As I knew it would. But brandy? I think not. My men found some oiled wrapping hidden away in one of the caves while they were looking for clues. That drop was not for drinking, my brother. It was made up of good French muskets, if I’m any judge.”
Bolitho stared at him. “Muskets?”
“Aye. For rebellion somewhere, who can say. Ireland, America, there’s money a-plenty for anyone who can supply weapons in these troubled times.”
Bolitho shook his head and immediately regretted it. “It is beyond me.”
His brother rubbed his hands. “Mr Dancer! My compliments to the master, and tell him to get the vessel under way. If weapons are the bait we need, then weapons we will have.”
Dancer watched him warily. “And where are we bound, sir?” “
Bound? Falmouth of course. I’ll not run back to the admiral now. This is getting interesting.” He paused beside the companion-way. “Now get yourself washed and properly turned out, Mr Bolitho. I daresay you had a quieter night than some.”
Avenger returned to Falmouth without anything further unusual happening. Once at anchor, Hugh Bolitho went ashore, while Gloag and the midshipmen prepared to take on stores and ward off the curious and others who had obviously been sent out to discover as much information as they could.
Bolitho began to imagine a smuggler at each corner and behind every cask. The news of a shipwreck, and Vyvyan’s chase of the would-be wreckers had preceded Avenger’s arrival, and there would be plenty of speculation as to what would happen next.
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br /> When the cutter’s young commander returned he was in unusual good humour.
In the cabin he said, “All done. I have had words with certain people in town. The story will be that Avenger is out searching for another arms runner in the channel. By this ruse, the smugglers on this side will know we have discovered about the muskets, even though we did not find any ourselves.” He looked cheerfully from Gloag to his brother and then to Dancer. “Well? Don’t you see? It’s almost perfect.”
Gloag rubbed his bald head as he always did when he was considering something doubtful, and answered, “I can well see that nobody’ll know for certain about another cargo, sir. The Frenchies will keep sendin’ ’em once they’ve a buyer. But where will we get such a haul?”
“We won’t.” His smile grew broader. “We’ll sail into Penzance and land a cargo of our own. Load it into waggons and send it overland to Truro to the garrison there. The governor of Pendennis has agreed to lend us a tempting cargo of muskets, powder and shot. Along the way to Truro someone will attempt to seize the lot of it. With the roads as they are, how could they resist the temptation?”
Bolitho asked quietly, “Wouldn’t it be wiser to tell the port admiral at Plymouth what you are about first?”
Hugh glared at him. “From you that is priceless! You know what would happen. He’d either say no, or take so long the whole country would know what we were doing. No, we’ll do this quickly and do it well.” He smiled briefly. “This time.”
Bolitho looked at the deck. An ambush, the anticipation of quick spoils giving way to panic as the attackers realized they were the ones in the trap. And no escape into little caves this time.
Hugh said, “I have sent word to Truro. The dragoons will be back by now. The colonel is a friend of Father’s. He’ll enjoy this sort of thing. Like pig-sticking!”
There was a sudden silence, and Bolitho found himself thinking of the dead Trillo. They were all here safe and busy. He was already buried and forgotten.
Dancer said, “I think it would work, sir. It would depend a lot on the people who were watching for an attack.”
“Quite. On a lot of luck too. But we’ll have lost nothing by trying. If all else fails, we’ll stir up such a hornets’ nest that we may push somebody into laying information just to get rid of us!”
A boat grated alongside; minutes later Pyke entered the cabin.
He took a goblet of brandy with an appreciative nod and said, “The prize is in the ’ands of the Chief Revenue Officer, sir. All taken care of.” He glanced at Bolitho and added, “That informer, Portlock. ’E’s dead, by the way, sir. Somebody talked too loud.”
Hugh Bolitho asked, “Another glass of brandy, anybody?”
Bolitho looked at him grimly. Hugh knew already. Must have known all along that the man would be killed.
He asked, “What of the girl?”
Pyke was still studying him. “Gawn. Good riddance too. Like I said. Scum breeds on scum.”
Hornets’ nest, his brother had predicted. It was stirring already by the sound of it.
The bell chimed overhead and Hugh Bolitho said, “I’m for the shore. I’ll be dining at the house, Richard.”
He glanced at Dancer. “Care to join me? I think my brother had best remain aboard until he’s free of that bandage. Mother will have vapours if she sees our hero like that!”
Dancer looked at Bolitho. “No, sir. I’ll remain here.”
“Good. Stand a good watch at all times. There’ll be quite a few tongues wagging in the Falmouth ale houses tonight, I shouldn’t wonder.”
As he climbed up from the cabin and left the two midshipmen alone, Bolitho said, “You should have gone, Martyn. Nancy would have liked it.”
Dancer smiled ruefully. “We came together. We’ll stay that way. After last night, I think you need a bodyguard, Dick!”
Gloag came back from seeing his captain over the side and picked up his goblet. In his fist it looked like a thimble.
“What I want to know is,” he eyed them fiercely, “what ’appens if they knows what we’re up to? If they’ve got ears and eyes amongst us already?”
Bolitho stared at him, but Dancer answered first.
“Then, Mr Gloag, sir, I fear the loss of government arms and powder will take more explaining than we are capable of.”
Gloag nodded heavily. “My thought too.” He took another swallow and smacked his lips. “Very nasty it could be.”
Bolitho thought of what the admiral at Plymouth and his own captain in the Gorgon would have to say about it.
The careers of James Bolitho’s two sons might come to a speedy end.
6 A plain DUTY
BOLITHO WANDERED UP AND DOWN the high stone jetty and watched the activity of Penzance harbour. But for the bitter cold it could almost have been spring, he thought. The colours of the moored fishing boats and grubby coasting vessels, the rooftops and church spires of the town beyond the anchorage seemed brighter and more cheerful than they should have been.
He looked down at the Avenger tied to the jetty. She seemed even less a King’s ship from this angle. Her broad deck was strewn with ropes and alive with bustling seamen. But here and there he saw the occasional motionless figure. Watchful, despite the casual atmosphere, ready to seek out any suspicious loiterer nearby.
Even their departure had been well planned and executed with stealth. The cargo of borrowed arms and powder had been swayed aboard in total darkness, while Pyke and over twenty hands had patrolled the nearest jetty and street, just to be sure that nobody had seen what they were about.
Then, taking good care to avoid local shipping, Avenger had stood away from the land before heading down channel again, towards Penzance.
Hugh was ashore now, as usual leaving neither explanation nor destination.
Bolitho studied the passing men and women, seamen and fisherfolk, traders and idlers. Had the rumour gone out yet? Was someone already plotting a way of ambushing Hugh’s fictitious capture?
Dancer clambered up from the cutter and stood beside him, rubbing his hands to ward off the cold.
Bolitho said, “It seems very peaceful, Martyn.”
His friend nodded cheerfully. “Your brother has thought of everything. The chief revenue officer has been here, and I’m told that waggons are being sent to collect our precious hoard!” His mouth widened to a grin. “I didn’t know the Navy ever got mixed up in this kind of game.”
A seaman called, “Cap’n’s a’comin’, sir!”
Bolitho waved to the man. He had grown to like the friendly way that forecastle and afterguard shared their confidences when one might expect such an overcrowded hull to drive them further apart.
Hugh Bolitho, wearing his sword and looking very sure of himself, climbed swiftly down to the deck, the midshipmen following at a respectful distance.
Hugh touched his hat to the poop and briskly flapping ensign and said, “Waggons will be here presently. They’ve done well. The whole town’s agog with news of our little enterprise. Good muskets and powder, seized from a potential enemy.”
He ran his glance swiftly over the large bundles of muskets which were already being swayed up from the hold under the gunner’s watchful eye.
He sniffed the air. “Good day to begin too. No hanging about. It’s what they will be watching. Probably right now. To see if we’re really intent on getting the cargo ashore and into safe hands, or are trailing our coats as a ruse.”
Gloag, who had been listening, said admiringly, “You’ve a clever mind an’ no mistake, sir. I can see you in your own flagship afore too long!”
“Maybe.” Hugh walked to the companion-way. “The waggons will be loaded and under guard from the moment they arrive. There’ll be a party of revenue men as additional escort.” His eyes fixed on Dancer. “You will be in charge. The senior revenue man will know what to do, but I want a King’s officer in charge. ”
Bolitho said quickly, “I’ll go, sir. It doesn’t seem right to send him. It was becaus
e of me he is here at all.”
“The matter is closed.” Hugh smiled. “Besides, it will all be over before you know it. A few bloody heads and the sight of the dragoons will be sufficient. Sir Henry Vyvyan can have all the hangings he wants after that!”
As he vanished below Dancer said, “It’s no matter, Dick. We’ve done far worse in the old Gorgon. And this may stand us in good stead when our examinations come due, whenever that wretched day will be!”
By noon the waggons had arrived and were loaded without delay. Again, Hugh Bolitho had planned it well. Not enough fuss to make the preparations appear false, but enough to suggest the genuine pride of a young commander’s capture.
If it went well, Gloag’s remark would make good sense. The prize money from the stranded Dutch vessel and the destruction of a gang of smugglers or wreckers would do much to push Hugh’s other problems to one side.
“You there! Give me a hand down with my bag!”
Bolitho fumed to see a seaman helping a tall, loose-limbed man in a plain blue coat and hat down on to the cutter’s bulwark.
The seaman seemed to know him well and grinned. “Welcome back, Mr Whiffin, sir!”
Bolitho hurried aft, raking through his mind to place where he had heard the name. He had now been aboard the cutter for ten days and had learned the names and duties of most of the men, but Whiffin’s role eluded him.
The tall man regarded him calmly. A mournful, expressionless face.
He said, “Whiffin. Clerk-in-charge.”
Bolitho touched his hat. Of course, that was it. These cutters carried a senior clerk to do several jobs in one. To act as purser, captain’s clerk, in some cases even to try their hand at surgery, and Whiffin looked as if he could do all of them. Bolitho remembered hearing his brother mention vaguely he had put Whiffin ashore for some reason or other. Anyway, now he was back.
“Captain aboard?” He was studying Bolitho curiously. “You’ll be the brother then.”
Wherever he had been, Whiffin was remarkably well informed.
The Complete Midshipman Bolitho Page 17