Honour This Day

by Alexander Kent

  Now he knew differently. Afraid of the fire of battle perhaps, but no coward. It took a brave heart to disguise fear when the enemy’s iron raked the decks.

  But his son had asked to leave the ship when they had docked. For Allday’s sake and for everyone’s peace of mind Bolitho had spoken to the officer in charge of the coastguard near Falmouth, and asked him to find a place for him. His son, John Bankart as he was named after his mother, had been a good seaman, and could reef, splice and steer with the most experienced Jack. He had been performing the duties of second-coxswain in the prize Argonaute to help Allday, who was too proud to admit that his terrible wound was making things hard for him. Also, Allday had been able to keep an eye on him, until the day when Bolitho had been wounded whilst aboard the little cutter.

  Bolitho disliked asking favours of anyone, especially because of his rank, and now he was unsure that he had done the right thing. Allday brooded about it, and when not required on duty spent too much time alone, or sitting with a tot in his hand in Ozzard’s pantry.

  We are both in need. Like dog and master. Each fearful that the other would die first.

  A youthful voice exclaimed, “Sunrise, sir!”

  Haven muttered something, then crossed to the weather side. He touched his hat in the darkness.

  “The boats are ready for lowering, Sir Richard.” He seemed more formal than ever. “But if Upholder is on station we should get plenty of warning if we need to clear for action.”

  “I agree.” Bolitho wondered what lay behind the formality. Was he hoping to see Upholder’s signal flying to announce she had Thor in sight? Or was he expecting the sea to be empty, the effort and the preparation a waste of time?

  He said, “I never tire of this moment.” Together they watched the first glimpse of sunlight as it rimmed the horizon like a fine gold wire. With Hyperion on her present tack the sun would rise almost directly astern, to paint each sail by turn then reach out far ahead, as if to show them the way to the land.

  Haven commented, “I just hope the Dons don’t know we’re so near.”

  Bolitho hid a smile. Haven would make Job seem like an optimist.

  Another figure crossed the deck and waited for Haven to see him. It was the first lieutenant.

  Haven moved a few paces away. “Well? What now?” His voice was hushed, but the hostility was obvious.

  Parris said calmly, “The two men for punishment, sir. May I tell the master-at-arms to stand over their sentence until—”

  “You shall not, Mr Parris. Discipline is discipline, and I’ll not have men escape their just deserts because we may or may not be engaging an enemy.”

  Parris stood his ground. “It was nothing that serious, sir.”

  Haven nodded, satisfied. “One of them is from your part-of-ship, am I right? Laker? Insolent to a petty officer.”

  Parris’s eyes seemed to glow from within as the first weak sunlight made patterns on the planking.

  “They both lost their tempers, sir. The petty officer called him a whore’s bastard.” He seemed to relax, knowing the battle was already lost. “Me, sir, I’d have torn out his bloody tongue!”

  Haven hissed, “I shall speak with you later! Those men will be seized up and flogged at six bells!”

  Parris touched his hat and walked away.

  Bolitho heard the captain say, “Bloody hound!”

  It was no part of his to interfere. Bolitho looked at the sunrise, but it was spoiled by what he had heard.

  He would have to speak to Haven about it later when they were alone. He glanced up at the mizzen topmast as a shaft of light played across the shrouds and running rigging. If he waited until action was joined it might be too late.

  The words seemed to echo around his mind. If I should fall ... Every ship was only as strong as her captain. If there was something wrong . . . He looked round, Haven brushed from his thoughts, as the masthead yelled, “Sail in sight to the sou’-west!”

  Bolitho clenched his hands into fists. It must be Upholder, right on station. He had been right in his choice for the van.

  He said, “Prepare to come about, Captain Haven.”

  Haven nodded. “Pipe the hands to the braces, Mr Quayle.”

  Another face fitted into the pattern; Bolitho’s companion of the forenoon watch the day before. The sort of officer who would have no compassion when it came to a flogging.

  Bolitho added, “Do you have a good man aloft today?”

  Haven stared at him, his face still masked in shadow. “I—I believe so, sir.”

  “Send up an experienced hand. A master’s mate for my money.”

  “Aye, sir.” Haven sounded tense. Angry with himself for not thinking of the obvious. He could scarcely blame Parris for that.

  Bolitho glanced around as the shadows nearby took on shape and personality. Two young midshipmen, both in their first ship, the officer-of-the-watch, and below the break in the poop he saw the tall, powerful figure of Penhaligon the master. If he was satisfied with their progress you would never know, Bolitho thought.

  “Deck there! Upholder in sight!”

  Bolitho guessed the voice was that of Rimer, master’s mate of the watch. He was a small, bronzed man with features so creased that he looked like some seafarer from a bygone age. The other vessel was little more than a blur in the faint daylight, but Rimer’s experience and keen eye told him all he needed to know.

  Bolitho said, “Mr Jenour, get aloft with a glass.” He turned aside as the young lieutenant hurried to the shrouds. “I trust you climb as fast as you ride?”

  He saw the flash of teeth as Jenour grinned back at him. Then he was gone, his arms and legs working with all the ease of a nimble maintopman.

  Haven crossed the deck and looked up at Jenour’s white breeches. “It will be light enough soon, sir.”

  Bolitho nodded. “Then we shall know.”

  He bunched his fists together under his coat-tails as Jenour’s voice pealed down.

  “Signal from Upholder, sir! Thor in company!”

  Bolitho tried not to show excitement or surprise. Imrie had done it.

  “Acknowledge!” He had to cup his hands to shout above the slap of canvas and rigging. There was no further signal from Upholder. It meant nothing had gone wrong so far, and that the ungainly lighter was still safely in tow.

  He said, “When the others are in sight, Captain Haven, signal them to proceed while we are all of one mind. There is no time for another conference. Even now there is a chance we might be discovered before we are all in position.”

  He walked to the nettings again. There was no point in showing doubt or uncertainty to Haven. He looked aloft as more and more of the rigging and spars took shape in the sunlight. It was strange that he had never mastered his dislike of heights. As a midshipman he had faced each dash aloft to help shorten or make more sail as a separate challenge. At night in particular, with the yards heeling over towards the bursting spray and the deck little more than a blur far beneath his feet, he had felt an enduring terror.

  He saw some Royal Marines on the mizzen top, their scarlet coats very bright while they leaned over the barricade to watch for the brig Upholder. Bolitho would have dearly liked to climb up past them without caring, as Jenour had done. He touched his left eyelid, then blinked at the reflected sunlight. Deceptively clear, but the worry was always there.

  He looked along the upper deck, the gun crews standing down to go about their normal tasks as the first tension disappeared with the night.

  So many miles. Too many memories. During the night when he had lain awake in his cot listening to the sluice and creak of the sea around the rudder he had recalled another time when Hyperion had sailed this far, while he had been her captain. They had slipped past the Isles of Pascua in the darkness and Bolitho could remember exactly that dawn attack on the French ships anchored there. And it was nine years ago. The same ship. But was he still the same man?

  He glanced up at the mizzen top and was suddenly ang
ry with himself.

  “Hand me that glass, if you please.” He took it from a startled midshipman and walked purposefully to the weather shrouds. He could feel Haven watching him, saw Parris trying not to stare from the larboard gangway where he was in discussion with Sam Lintott, the boatswain. Probably telling him when to rig the gratings so that punishment could be carried out as ordered.

  Then he saw Allday squinting up from the maindeck, his jaw still working on a piece of biscuit while he, too, stared with astonishment. Bolitho swung himself up and around the shrouds and felt the ratlines quiver with each step while the big signals telescope bounced against his hip like a quiver of arrows.

  It was easier than he would have believed, but as he clambered into the top he decided it was far enough.

  The marines stood back, grinning and nudging each other. Bolitho was able to recall the corporal’s name—he was a fierce-looking man who’d been a Norfolk poacher before he signed on with the Corps. Not before time, Major Adams had hinted darkly.

  “Where is she, Corporal Rogate?”

  The marine pointed. “Yonder, sir! Larboard bow!”

  Bolitho steadied the long telescope and watched as the brig’s narrow poop and braced yards leapt into view. Figures moved about Upholder’s quarterdeck, steeply angled as the ship heeled over to show her bright copper to the early sunshine.

  Bolitho waited for Hyperion to sway upright and for the mizzen topmast to restrain its shivering, and beyond Upholder he saw a tan-coloured pyramid of sails. Thor was ready and waiting.

  He lowered the glass as if to bring his thoughts into equal focus. Had he decided from the very beginning that he would lead the attack? If it failed, he would be taken prisoner, or . . . He gave a grim smile. The or did not bear thinking about.

  Corporal Rogate saw the secret smile and wondered how he would describe it to the others during the next watch below. How the admiral had spoken to him, just like another Royal. One of us.

  Bolitho knew that if he sent another officer and the plan misfired, the blame would be laid at his door anyway.

  They had to trust him. In his heart Bolitho knew that the next months were crucial for England, and for the fleet in particular. Leadership and trust went hand in hand. To most of his command he was a stranger and their trust had to be earned.

  He considered his argument with sudden contempt. Death-wish. Was that a part of it too?

  He concentrated on the brig’s sturdy shape as she ducked and rose across steep waves. In his mind’s eye he could already see the land as it would appear when they drew nearer. The anchorage at La Guaira consisted mainly of an open roadstead across the front of the town. It was known to be heavily defended by several fortresses, some of which were quite newly constructed because of the comings and goings of treasure-ships. Although La Guaira was just six miles or so from the capital, Caracas, the latter could only be reached by a twisting, mountainous road some four times that distance.

  As soon as Hyperion and her consorts were sighted the Spanish authorities would send word to the capital with all the haste they could manage. Because of the time it would take on that precarious road, La Guaira might just as well be an island, he thought. All the intelligence they had been able to gather from traders and blockade-runners alike pointed to the captured frigate Consort being at Puerto Cabello, eighty miles further westward along the coast of the Main.

  But suppose the enemy did not fall for the ruse, would not believe that the British men-of-war were intending to cut out the new addition to their fleet?

  So much depended on Price’s maps and observations, and above all, luck.

  He looked down at the deck far below and bit his lip. He knew he would never have sent a subordinate to carry out such a mission even nine years back when he had commanded the old Hyperion. He glanced at the marines. “There’s work for all of you soon, my lads.”

  He swung himself down on to the futtock shrouds, more conscious of their faces split into huge grins than of the wind which flapped around his coat as if to fling him to the deck. It was so easy. A word, a smile, and they would die for you. It made him feel bitter and humble at the same time.

  By the time he had reached the quarterdeck his mind had cleared. “Very well. In one hour we shall alter course to the sou’-west.” He saw the others nod. “Have Upholder and Tetrarch tack closer to the land. I don’t want the Dons to get near enough to see our strength.” He saw Penhaligon the sailing-master give a wry smile and added, “Or our lack of it. Thor will hold to wind-ward of us in company with Vesta. Let me know when it is light enough to make signals.” He turned towards the poop and then paused. “Captain Haven, a moment if you please.”

  In the great cabin the strengthening sunlight made strange patterns on the caked salt which had spattered the stern windows. Most of the ship had been cleared for action before dawn. Bolitho’s quarters were like a reminder of better times, until these screens were taken down, and the cabin furniture with all traces of his occupation here were taken to the security of the hold. He glanced at the black-barrelled nine-pounders which faced their closed ports on either side of the cabin. Then these two beauties would have the place to themselves.

  Haven waited for Ozzard to close the screen door and withdraw, then stood with his feet apart, his hat balanced in both hands.

  Bolitho looked at the sea beyond the smeared glass. “I intend to shift to Thor at dusk. You will take Hyperion with Vesta and Tetrarch in company. By first light tomorrow you should be in sight of Puerto Cabello and the enemy will be convinced that you intend to attack. They will not know your full strength—we have been lucky in reaching this far undetected.” He turned in time to see the captain gripping his hat so fiercely that it buckled in his fingers. He had expected an outburst or perhaps the outline of an alternative strategy. Haven said nothing, but stared at him as if he had misheard.

  Bolitho continued quietly, “There is no other way. If we are to capture or destroy a treasure-ship it must be done at anchor. We have too few ships for an extended search if she slips past us.”

  Haven swallowed hard. “But to go yourself, sir? In my experience I have never known such a thing.”

  “With God’s help and a little luck, Captain Haven, I should be in position in the shallows to the west of La Guaira at the very moment you are making your mock attack.” He faced him steadily. “Do not risk your ships. If a large enemy force arrives you will discontinue the action and stand away. The wind is still steady at north-by-west. Mr Penhaligon believes it may back directly which would be in our favour.”

  Haven looked around the cabin as if to seek an escape.

  “He may be wrong, sir.”

  Bolitho shrugged. “I would not dare to disagree with him.”

  But his attempt to lighten the tension was lost as Haven blurted out, “If I am forced to withdraw, who will believe—”

  Bolitho looked away to hide his disappointment. “I will have new orders written for you. No blame will be laid at your door.”

  Haven said, “I was not suggesting it merely for my own benefit, sir!”

  Bolitho sat down on the bench seat and tried not to think of all those other times when he had sat here. Hopes, plans, anxieties.

  He said, “I shall want thirty seamen from your company. I would prefer an officer whom they know to command them.”

  Haven said instantly, “May I suggest my first lieutenant, sir?”

  Their eyes met. I thought you might. He nodded. “Agreed.”

  Calls trilled from the quarterdeck and Haven glanced at the door.

  Bolitho said abruptly, “I have not yet finished.” He tried to remain calm but Haven’s behaviour was unnerving. “If the enemy does throw a force against you there is no way that you can cover my withdrawal from La Guaira.”

  Haven lifted his chin slightly. “If you say so, Sir Richard.”

  “I do. In which case you will assume command of the flotilla.”

  “And may I ask what you would do, sir?”


  Bolitho stood up. “What I came to do.” He sensed that Allday was waiting close by the door. Another argument, when he told him he was not coming over to Thor with him.

  “Before you leave, Captain Haven.” He tried not to blink as the mist filtered persistently across his left eye. “Do not have those men flogged. I cannot interfere, because everyone aboard would know that I had taken sides, as you already knew when you crossed swords with your senior in my presence.” He thought he saw Haven pale slightly. “These people have little enough, God knows, and to see their messmates flogged before being ordered into battle can do nothing but harm. Loyalty is all-important, but remember that while you are under my flag, loyalty goes both ways.”

  Haven backed away. “I hope I know my duty, Sir Richard.”

  “So do I.” He watched the door close, then exclaimed, “God damn him!”

  But it was Jenour who entered, wiping tar from his fingers with a piece of rag.

  He watched as if to gauge Bolitho’s mood, and said, “A fine view from up there. I have come to report that your signals have been made and acknowledged.” He glanced up as feet thudded overhead and voices echoed from the maindeck. “We are about to change tack, Sir Richard.”

  Bolitho barely heard. “What is the matter with that man, eh?”

  Jenour remarked, “You have told him what you intend.”

  Bolitho nodded. “I’d have thought any captain would have jumped at the chance to cast his admiral adrift. I know I did.” He stared round the cabin, searching for ghosts. “Instead, he thinks of nothing but—” He checked himself. It was unthinkable to discuss the flag captain with Jenour. Was he so isolated that he could find no other solace?

  Jenour said simply, “I am not so impertinent as to say what I think, Sir Richard.” He looked up and added, “But I would stand by whatever you ordered me to do.”

  Bolitho relaxed and clapped him on the shoulder. “They say that faith can move a mountain, Stephen!”