Three dozen lashes. Little enough in the Navy's view for half killing a fellow seaman. Had he laid a hand on an officer he would have faced death rather than a flogging.
The actual punishment was terrible. Sullivan had broken down completely at the first blow across his naked back, and as the boatswain's mates took turns to lay the lash over his shoulders and spine he had wriggled and screamed like a madman, his mouth frothing with foam, his eyes like marbles in his distorted face.
Mr. Midshipman Armitage had almost fainted, and some of those who had just recovered from their own sickness had vomited in unison, despite the harsh shouts from their petty officers.
Then it had ended, the watching men giving a kind of sigh as they were dismissed below.
Sullivan had been cut down and carried to Whitmarsh's sickbay, where no doubt he had been restored by a plentiful ration of rum.
Each day following the punishment, as he had paced the quarterdeck or supervised a change of tack, Bolitho had felt the eyes watching him. Seeing him perhaps as enemy rather than commander. He had told himself often enough that when you accepted the honour of command you carried all of it. Not just the authority and the pride of controlling a living, vital ship, but the knocks and kicks as well.
There was a tap on the door and Herrick stepped into the cabin.
`About another hour, sir. With your permission I will give the order to clew up all canvas except tops'ls and jib. It will make our entrance more easy to manage.'
`Have some coffee, Thomas.' He relaxed as Herrick seated himself across the table. `I am burning to know what we are about.'
Herrick took a mug and tested the coffee with his tongue.
`Me, too.' He smiled over the rim. `Once or twice back there I thought we might never reach land!'
`Yes. I can feel for many of our people. Some will never have seen the sea, let alone driver. so far from England. Now, they know that Africa lies somewhere over the larboard bulwark. That we are going to the other side of the earth. Some are even beginning to feel like seamen, when just weeks back they had thumbs where their fingers should be.'
Herrick's smile widened. `Due to you, sir. I am sometimes very thankful that I hold no command. Or chance of one either.'
Bolitho watched him thoughtfully. The rift was healed.
`I am afraid the choice may not be yours, Thomas.' He stood up. `In fact, I shall see that you get command whenever the opportunity offers itself, if only to drive some of your wild idealism into the bilges !'
They grinned at each other like conspirators.
`Now be off with you while I change into a better coat.' He grimaced. `To show our Spanish friends some respect, eh?
A little over an hour later, gliding above her own reflection, Undine moved slowly towards the anchorage in the roads. In the bright sunlight the island of Teneriffe seemed to abound with colour, and Bolitho heard several of the watching seamen gasping with awe. The hills were no longer hidden in shadow, but danced on the glare with every shade and hue. And everything was brighter and larger, at least it appeared so to the new hands. Shimmering white buildings, brilliant blue sea, with beaches and surf to make a man catch his breath and stare.
Allday stood aft by the cabin hatch and remarked, `I'll bet some Don'd like to rake us as we come by!'
Bolitho ran his eye quickly along his ship, trying to see her as those ashore would. She looked very smart, and gave little hint of the sweat and effort which had gone to make her so. The best ensign fluttered from the gaff, the scarlet matching that of the marines' swaying lines athwart the quarterdeck. On the larboard gangway Tapril, the gunner, was having a last hurried discussion with his mates in readiness to begin a salute to the Spanish flag which flew so proudly above the headland battery.
Old Mudge was beside the wheel, hands hidden in the folds of his watchcoat. He seemed to retain the same clothing no matter what the weather might do, hot or cold, rain or fine. He kept a variety of instruments and personal items in his capacious pockets, and Bolitho guessed that sometime, long past, he had been made to rush on deck and stay there with half of his things still scattered around his cabin.
He growled to the helmsmen and they edged the wheel over a few spokes, the main topsail filling and then drooping again as the ship idled beneath the land's protection.
Herrick trained his glass on the land and then said, `Passing the point now, sir!'
`Very well.' Bolitho waved his hand to Tapril. `Begin the salute.'
And as the English frigate continued slowly towards her anchorage the frail morning air shook and trembled to the regular crash of cannon fire. Gun for gun the Spanish replied, the smoke hanging almost motionless above the shallowing water.
Bolitho gripped his hands together behind him, feeling the sweat exploring his spine under his heavy dress coat and making one of his new shirts cling like a wet towel.
It was strange to stand so impassively as the slow barrage went on around him. Like some trick or dream. At any moment he half-expected to see the bulwark blast apart, or a ball to come screaming amongst the rigid marines and cut them to a bloody gruel.
The last shot hammered his ears, and as the drifting smoke moved away from the decks he saw another frigate anchored at the head of the roads. Spanish, larger than Undine, her colours and pendants very bright against the green shore beyond. Her captain, too, had probably been remembering, he thought.
He glanced up at the masthead pendant as it whipped halfheartedly in the breeze. Soon now. More orders. A new piece to fit into the puzzle.
Mudge blew his great nose loudly, a thing he always did before carrying out some part of his duties. `Ready, sir.'
`Very well. Man the braces. Hands wear ship, if you please.' Bare feet padded across the newly-scrubbed decks in a steady rush to obey his repeated order, and Bolitho breathed out slowly as each man reached his station without mishap. 'Tops'l sheets!'
The flag above the battery dipped in the glare and then returned to its proper place. Some small boats were shoving off from the land, and Bolitho saw that many were loaded with
fruit and other items for barter. With all their bread ruined in the first storm, and few fresh fruits to rival those in the boats, Triphook, the purser, would be busy indeed.
'Tops'l clew lines!'
A boatswain's mate shook his fist at some anonymous figure on the fore topsail yard. `Yew clumsy bugger! You 'old on with one 'and or yew'll never see yer dozy again!'
Bolitho watched the narrowing strip of water, his eyes half closed against the searing glare.
`Helm a'lee!'
He waited, as with dignity Undine turned quietly into the wind, her remaining canvas shivering violently.
`Let got'
There was a yell from forward, followed by a splash as the anchor plunged down beneath the golden figurehead.
Herrick waited until the last of the canvas had vanished as if by magic along the yards and said, `They did quite well, I thought, sir?'
Bolitho watched him, holding back the smile. Then, relent ing, he replied, `Quite well, Mr. Herrick.'
Herrick grinned. `You'll not need the gig today, sir. A boat's heading out to us in fine style.'
Allday strode forward and presented Bolitho's sword. He frowned and muttered, `Not the gig, Captain?' He sounded aggrieved.
Bolitho held out his arms to allow the coxswain to buckle the belt around his waist.
`Not this time, Allday.'
It was terrible how both Herrick and Allday watched over his every move.
The marines were stamping and shuffling into a new formation by the entry port, Sergeant Coaker's face shining beneath his black shako like a great sweating fruit.
Bolitho turned to watch the approaching launch, a grand affair with a gilded and canopied cockpit. Beside it, Allday's poor gig would look like a Falmouth harbour boat. A resplendent officer stood watching the anchored frigate, a scroll under one arm. The usual welcoming words. The first link to w hatever lay ahead.
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p; He said quietly, `You will remain aboard, Mr. Herrick. Mr. Davy will accompany me ashore.' He ignored the obvious disappointment. `Take good care of matters here, and make certain our people are ready for anything.'
Herrick touched his hat. `Aye, aye, sir.' He hurried away to tell Davy of his good fortune.
Bolitho smiled gravely. With shore boats and other temptations, it would need all of Herrick's skill to keep the ship from being swamped by traders and less respectable visitors.
He heard Flerrick say, 'Sojou are to accompany the captain, Mr. Davy.'
Davy hesitated, gauging the moment and Herrick's mood. Then he said calmly, `A wise choice, if I may say so, Mr. Herrick.'
Bolitho turned away, hiding his smile, as Herrick snapped, `Well, you are damn little use here, are you?'
Then as the four minute drummer boys struck up with their flutes and drums Hearts of Oak and Bellairs' sweating guard presented muskets, Bolitho stepped forward to greet his
visitor.
The Governor's Residence was well situated on a gently sloping road above the main anchorage. On his way from the ship by barge and carriage Bolitho was relieved to discover that his official escort, a major of artillery, spoke very little English, and contented himself wtih occasional exclamations of pleasure whenever they passed anything unusual.
It was obvious that everything was well planned, and that from the moment Undine's topgallants had been sighted the previous evening things had begun to move.
Bolitho barely remembered meeting the Governor. A bearded, courteous man who shook his hand, received Bolitho's formal greetings on behalf of King George, and who then withdrew to allow an aide to conduct the two British officers to another room.
Davy, who was not easily impressed, whispered, `By God, sir, the Dons live well. No wonder the treasure ships stop here en route for Spain. A ready market for 'em, I would think.'
The room into which they were ushered was spacious indeed. Long and cool, with a tiled floor and a plentiful selection of well-carved furniture and handsome rugs. There was one huge table in the centre, made entirely of marble. It would take seven gun crews to move it, Bolitho decided.
There were about a dozen people standing around the table, arranged, he thought, so that without wasting time he could distinguish those who counted from those who did not.
The man he guessed to be James Raymond stepped forward and said quickly, `I am Raymond, Captain. Welcome. We had expected you earlier perhaps.' He spoke very abruptly. Afraid of wasting time? Unsure of himself? It was hard to tell.
He was in his early thirties, well dressed, and had features which could pass as handsome but for his petulant frown.
He said, `And this is Don Luis Puigserver, His Most Catholic Majesty's personal emissary.'
Puigserver was a sturdy man, with biscuit-coloured features and a pair of black eyebrows which dominated the rest of his face. He had hard eyes, but there was charm, too, as he stepped forward and took Bolitho's hand.
`A pleasure, Capstan. You have a fine ship.' He gestured to a tall figure by the window. `Capstan Alfonso Triarte of the Nervion had much praise for the way she behaved.'
Bolitho looked at the other man. Very senior. He would be, to command the big frigate in the roads. He returned Bolitho's examination without much show of pleasure. Like two dogs who have fought once too often, perhaps.
He forgot all about Triarte as the emissary said smoothly, `I will be brief. You will wish to return to your ship, to make last arrangements for sailing to our destination.'
Bolitho watched him curiously. There was something very compelling about the man. His stocky figure, his legs which looked so muscled, despite the fine silk stockings, even the rough handshake could not disguise his confident assurance.
No wonder the Governor had been quick to pass Bolitho on to him. Puigserver obviously commanded respect.
He snapped his spatulate fingers and a nervous aide hurried forward to take Bolitho's hat and sword. Another beckoned to some servants, and in minutes everyone was seated around the altar-like table, a beautifully cut goblet at his elbow.
Only Puigserver remained standing. He watched the servants filling the goblets with sparkling wine, his face completely unruffled. But when Bolitho glanced down he saw one of his feet tapping very insistently on the tiled floor.
He raised his glass. `Gentlemen. To our friendship.'
They stood up and swallowed the wine. It was excellent, and Bolitho had a mental picture of his own doubts and fumblings in the shop at St. James's Street.
Puigserver continued, `Little came out of the war but a need to avoid further bloodshed. I will not waste our time by making empty promises which I cannot keep, but I can only hope that we may further our separate causes in peace.'
Bolitho glanced quickly at the others. Raymond leaning back in his chair, trying to appear relaxed, but as taut as a spring. The Spanish captain looking at his wine, eyes distant. Most of the others had the empty expressions of those who pretend to understand when in fact they do not. It seemed likely to Bolitho that they only understood one word in ten.
Davy sat stiffly on the opposite side of the table, his clean features glowing with heat, his face set in a mask of formality.
It all boiled down to the three of them. Don Luis Puigserver, Raymond and himself.
The former said, `Thankfully, Spain has received back Minorca and certain other islands as concessions following the unfortunate war.' His eyes rested on Bolitho very briefly. Dark, almost black. They were like Spanish olives. `In return, His Most Catholic Majesty has seen fit to bless this new venture between us.' He looked at Raymond. `Perhaps you would be good enough to expand the details, yes?'
Raymond made to stand up and changed his mind.
`As you will know, Captain Bolitho, the French Admiral Suffren was responsible for many attacks on our ships and possessions in the East Indies and India itself. Holland and Spain'-he hesitated as Ca pitaa Triarte coughed gently-'were France's allies, but they had not the available squadrons and men to protect their possessions in that area. Suffren did it for
them. He captured Trincomalee from us and restored it to the Dutch after the war. There were several other instances, but you will know of most of them, Captain. Now, in exchange for certain other considerations which need not concern you, Spain has agreed in principle to hand over to Britain one of her remaining possessions in, er, Borneo.' He eyed Bolitho flatly. `Which is where you will eventually be going, of course.'
Of course. It sounded so simple. Another two or three thousand miles added to their present voyage. The way Raymond spoke it could have been Plymouth.
Bolitho said quietly, `I am not certain I understand the purpose of all this.'
Puigserver interjected, `Of that I am sure, Capitan.' He glanced coldly at Raymond. `Let us be frank. To avoid further trouble in this uneasy truce, for that is what it is, we must move with caution. The French gained next to nothing in the Indies despite all their efforts, and they are, how you say? Touchy about any swift expansions around their dwindling influence there. Your final destination will be Teluk Pendang. A fine anchorage, a commanding position for any country with the will to expand elsewhere in that area. A bridge to empire, as some Greek once remarked.'
Bolitho nodded. `I see, Senor.'
He did not, nor had he even heard of the place mentioned.
Raymond said sharply, `When peace was signed last year, our Government despatched the frigate Fortunate to Madras with the bones of this present agreement in her care. On her way around the Cape of Good Hope she met with two of Suffren's frigates which were returning to France. Naturally enough, they knew nothing of the peace, and Fortunate's captain was given no time to explainthe point. They fought, and Fortunate so battered one of the enemy that she took fire and sank. Unfortunately, she, too, was set ablaze and was lost with most of her company.'
Bolitho could picture the scene. Three ships on an open sea. Countries at peace at last, but their captains eager to f
ight, as they had been conditioned to do.
`However, one of the French captains, the surviving one, was a veteran called Le Chaumareys. One of France's best.'
Bolitho smiled. `I have heard of him.'
Raymond seemed flustered. `Yes. I am sure of it. Well, it is believed in some quarters that France, through Le Chaumareys, now knows about this arrangement we are making with Spain. If that is so, then France will be troubled at the prospect of our gaining another possession, one which she fought for on Spain's behalf.'
Bolitho did understand now. All the veiled remarks at the Admiralty. The secrecy. No wonder. One hint that England was about to push her way further into the East Indies, no matter for what outward. reason, and a war might burst out again like an exploding magazine.
He asked, `What are we to do?'
Raymond replied, `You will sail in company with the Nervion.' He swallowed hard. `She will be the senior ship, and you will act accordingly. Upon arrival at Madras you will embark the new British Governor and convey him, with whatever forces he may have, to his new destination. Teluk Pendang. I will accompany you with despatches for him, and to advise in any way I can.'
Puigserver beamed at them, his black eyebrows arched like great bows. `And I will be there to ensure that there is no nonsense from our people, eh?'
Raymond added wearily, `The French have a forty-four-gun frigate in that area, the Argus. It is said that Le Chaumareys is with her. He knows the Sunda Isles and Borneo as well as any European can.'
Bolitho breathed out slowly. It was a good plan as far as it went. A British squadron would invite an open battle sooner or later, but two frigates, one from each nation, would be more than a match for the heavily-armed Argus both verbally and in artillery.
Puigserver walked slowly to the broad window and stared down at the anchored ships.
`A long voyage, gentlemen, but I hope a rewarding one for us all.' He turned towards Bolitho, his square face in shadow. `Are you ready to sail again?'
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