With a sigh he pushed his weary body away from the rail and turned towards the poop. He saw the boy watching him, his dark eyes filled with something like wonder.
"See, Mr. Pascoe, you can never be sure, can you?" He smiled and walked aft to consult with the commodore.
As he passed the nine-pounders along the weather side some of the gunners stood back to grin and wave to him. He could feel his own lips fixed in a smile, and listened to his voice as he answered their excited greetings, like someone on the outside of himself. An onlooker.
But when he reached the poop and looked again at the full length of his command he sensed something else. Scarred and bloodied she might be, but she was still unbroken. In spite of everything, the damage and mutilation, the terrible sounds and nerve-searing bombardment, something had happened.
She was no longer a ship which contained a mixed collection of human beings. For good or bad, she was one with the men who served her, as if the short, fierce fight had welded them all together into an entity of purpose and survival.
He saw the surgeon hurrying towards him and steeled himself for what lay ahead. Men had died in the morning sunlight. How many he did not yet know.
As he looked up at the pitted sails and splintered mast he felt strangely grateful to those unknown dead. It was up to him to ensure their sacrifices were not wasted.
8
NEWS FOR THE COMMODORE
The marine sentry snapped to attention as Bolitho entered the stem cabin and closed the door behind him. He noticed that all the windows were wide open and the deckhead and sides shimmered with countless reflections from the ruffled water beneath the counter. The Hyperion rolled gently at her anchor, and when he glanced through one of the quarter windows he saw the nearest headland dancing in a heat haze, green and remote from the sights he had just left on the upper deck.
Through the door of the sleeping cabin he heard Pelham-Martin call, "Well, what have you to report?"
Bolitho•rested his hands on the desk and stared emptily at the clear water below the stem. "Twenty dead, sir. Twenty more badly wounded." There seemed little point in mentioning all the others. Flesh wounds and burns, or those who had gone deaf, perhaps permanently, from the crash of gunfire.
"I see." There were sounds of boxes being dragged across the cabin floor, and then Pelham-Martin strode heavily into the reflected sunlight. "The wounded you mentioned, Will they recover?
Bolitho could only stare at him for several seconds. The Hyperion had anchored less than thirty minutes earlier, and while he had been supervising the lowering of boats and checking the extent of damage to hull and rigging, the commodore had, it appeared, been attending to more personal details. He was wearing his heavy dress coat, and his white shirt and breeches looked as if they had just arrived from the tailor.
He said at length, "Splinter wounds mostly, sir. But five of them have lost arms or hands."
Pelham-Martin eyed him severely. "Well, I shall have to go ashore and meet the governor of this, er, place." He shook his shirt cuffs free of the gold-laced sleeves.
"Necessary, I suppose, but a damned nuisance all the same." He looked around the cabin. "You had better stay here and do what you must to put this ship to rights." He let his glance rest on Bolitho's torn shirt. "I would suggest that you make some effort on your own behalf, too!"
Bolitho faced him coldly. "I consider there are other things more important which need my attention, sir."
The commodore shrugged. "It is no use your adopting this attitude. You knew the odds, yet you forced an engagement."
"If we had been here a week earlier, sir, the battle would never have been necessary, unless on our terms."
The commodore looked at himself in the bulkhead mirror. "Maybe." He swung round violently. "However, we did manage to drive the French away, and I will see that your part in the affair is mentioned in my report at some later date. But now I will have to leave you. If I am needed you may send a boat to the town." He walked to the stem windows and leaned out across the sill. "I must 'say, it is not at all what I expected."
Bolitho watched him wearily. It was amazing what a change had come over Pelham-Martin since the battle. Of the desperate, pale-faced commodore in a heavy coat there was no sign at all. He looked calm and unruffled, and was even showing some sort of pleasure at what he saw in the distant town.
Bolitho felt the anger stirring his insides like raw spirit. How could Pelham-Martin be so cool and indifferent just now, when any small sign of sympathy and understanding might be of the greatest value to the men who had fought against such odds? Even without the Dutch ship's timely arrival Hyperion's seamen and marines had more than proved their worth.
He said, "I will call away the barge for you, sir."
Pelham-Martin nodded. "Good. It was lucky it survived I am surprised you retained all the boats inboard during the action."
Bolitho looked angrily at the fat shoulders. "There was little enough wind for us to attack twice our number, sir. To tow boats as well would have been too much. And to
cast them adrift ..." He got no further.
Pelham-Martin thrust himself upright and turned to face him. "I am not very interested in excuses, Bolitho, Now kindly attend to my barge!"
On the quarterdeck the sun was already intense and blinding, but Bolitho hardly noticed it because of his anger.
Inch said, "All boats alongside, sir. Mr. Tomlin is just rigging canvas air ducts above the hatchways, and I've ordered him to open all ports." He hesitated, aware of Bolitho's grim features. "Sir?"
Bolitho looked past him. The Dutch ship was already surrounded-by small craft from the shore, while others of all shapes and sizes idled closer to 'the Hyperion, their occupants obviously uncertain whether to come alongside or remain at a discreet distance. The Hyperion must present a grim spectacle, he thought bitterly. Shot-scarred and blackened by smoke, with most of her sails too rent and pitted even to furl.
He said, "Get all hands to work repairing damage, Mr. Inch. But first they must be fed. Send an officer and two boats ashore as soon as the commodore has left, and tell him to bring off as much fresh fruit as he can lay hands on. I will arrange for meat and water supplies as soon as I can."
Inch asked, "May I say something, sir?"
Bolitho looked at him for the first time. "Well?"
"Just that we're all lucky to be alive, sir. But for you....."
Bolitho turned to watch as Perks, the sailmaker, and his mates completed the grisly task of sewing up the last of the dead men in readiness for burial.
"Some were not so fortunate, Mr. Inch."
Inch shifted from one foot to the other. "But I'd never have thought that new, untrained men could behave as our people did, sir."
Bolitho felt some of his anger fading. Inch was so serious, so obviously sincere that it was hard to remain untouched by his concern.
"I agree. They did well." He paused. "And so did you."
He shaded his eyes to look at the town. "Now man the side for the commodore."
As Inch hurried away he crossed to the nettings and stared idly at the distant huddle of white buildings. Stark against the hillside beyond, they looked like part of Holland, he thought. The first Dutch garrison or setttlers must have clung to the memory of their homeland, and even through the shimmering heat haze it was possible to see the tall, pointed rooftops of the larger houses and the flat-fronted dwellings along the waterfront which could have been part of Rotterdam or any Dutch port.
Midshipman Gascoigne caught his eye. "Signal from Abdiel, sir. She lost five killed in the action. No serious damage."
Bolitho nodded. The heavier French frigate had been more concerned with withdrawing the raiding party and recovering her boats once she had realised the uncertainty of the battle. Abdiel had done well, but she had had more than her share of luck.
He said, "Pass my best wishes to Captain Pring, if you please."
The tired and grimy seamen fell back as the marines clumped to th
e entry port and fell into line beside the bosun's mates and sideboys. Bolitho looked down at his own rumpled state. The marines were a strange breed, he thought vaguely. Just two hours ago they had been on the quarterdeck and in the tops shooting and yelling, as wild and desperate as all the rest. Now, as Lieutenant Hicks stood at one end of the front rank to check the dressing it was very hard to believe they had been in action at all.
He heard Gossett mutter to someone behind him, "The bullocks'll always survive so long as they've got their pipeclay an' their bloody boots with 'em!" But there was genuine admiration in his tone.
Pelham-Martin walked slowly into the sunlight adjusting his cocked hat. Bolitho watched him without emotion. The commodore did not seem to see anyone about him, and when he walked over a wide patch of dried blood where a man had died within feet of him he did not even falter.
Pelham-Martin said, "When will you have a new topmast swayed up?"
Bolitho replied, "Mr. Tomlin is already dealing with it, sir. We brought plenty of spare spars from Plymouth." "Lucky indeed, Bolitho."
A seaman shouted, "Boat approaching from the Dutchman, sir!"
Pelham-Martin frowned. "Damn! I suppose I shall have to stay a while longer now!"
Inch hurried to the entry port, thankful for this unexpected interruption. He had seen the returning hardness in Bolitho's eyes, and had inwardly cursed Pelham-Martin for his stupidity and his ignorance. Did he never stop to consider how hard Bolitho had worked and sweated to get those spars from a dockyard which was more than well trained in withholding everything but the most meagre of ship's stores?
He called. "The boat has a captain aboard, sir!" He blinked. "No, sir, two captains!"
The commodore grunted. "Coming to gloat over their part in all this, I shouldn't wonder."
The boat hooked on to the chains, and as the pipes twittered and the marines' bayoneted muskets were brought to the present the first visitor appeared in the open port.
He removed his hat and looked slowly around the crowded main deck, his eyes pausing on the line of sewnup corpses, the splintered planking and all the litter of broken rigging and cordage. He was an elderly man, probably in his sixties, Bolitho thought, and the left sleeve of his coat was empty and pinned beneath a flashing gold order on his breast. His hair was almost white, but his skin was so tanned that it was almost mahogany in colour, and his step was as sure and light as a cat's.
Then he saw Peiham-Martin and stepped briskly to greet him. "May I welcome you and your ships to St. Kruis! I am Piet de Block, Governor in the name of my country, and your ally!" His English was hesitant but extremely good. "I was visiting another island and returned in time to see your gallant fight." He paused with obvious emotion. "I can understand what the decision must have cost, and with my own eyes I have witnessed some of your sacrifice. It was incredible! And now," he waved his hat around the watching faces, "now you can still find the strength and the sense of duty to prepare this welcome for me!"
Pelham-Martin swallowed hard and flushed. "I bid you welcome, sir, and greetings from my Gracious Sovereign King George." He glanced quickly at Bolitho before adding, "My duty was plain, and I am indeed glad I was able to forestall the enemy's intentions."
De Block nodded gravely. "And this is Kapitein Willem Mulder of the Telamon. He is as eager for battle as your own men, but now I think it wiser to refit your ships first, is that not so?"
The Telamon's captain was slight and wiry, and as tanned as his governor. He, too, was studying the Hyperian's damage, but his face was more controlled than his superior's.
Pelham-Martin said, "And this is my captain, Richard Bolitho."
Bolitho stepped forward, conscious of the watching eyes, of Inch's obvious fury at Pelham-Martin's grand acceptance of credit, but above all of the Dutchman's firm handshake.
De Block studied him for several seconds without releasing his hand. He seemed to find an answer in Bolitho's strained features for he said suddenly, "As I thought, Kapitein." He paused. "My deepest thanks."
Pelham-Martin said abruptly, "You speak very good English."
"Well, there have been many wars." De Block shrugged expressively. "After I lost my arm I had plenty of time to meet with and learn your countrymen's ways and language."
The commodore eyed him thoughtfully. "You were a prisoner perhaps?" He shook his head indulgently. "These things can happen in war."
The Dutchman smiled. "After I lost my arm I was put in charge of our English prisoners, sir."
Bolitho coughed quietly. "Perhaps the Governor would like to go to the cabin, sir?"
Pelham-Martin recovered from his sudden confusion and'glared at him. "Quite sol"
But the island's governor shook his head. "I would not hear of it. You will come ashore to my house immediately. Kapitein Mulder will remain aboard to give every help at our disposal." He looked searchingly at Bolitho, the same expression of understanding in his deepset eyes. "We are well stocked, and I think able to meet your needs." He held out his hand again. "We are in your debt. We will do our best to repay your courage."
Then as the pipes shrilled once more he followed Pelham-Martin down into his boat alongside.
Bolitho stood by the port watching as the boat headed strongly for the shore. Most of the oarsmen were either coloured or half-castes, but there was no doubting their bearing or discipline.
Mulder said quietly, "You look tired. It cannot be easy to serve a man so lacking in understanding."
Bolitho stared at him, but already the other captain was looking aloft to where some seamen were reeving lines in readiness for swaying up the new topmast.
He said shortly, "Your Governor has been here a long time, I suppose?"
Mulder nodded, his eyes slitting against the glare as he watched with professional interest the sure-footed topmen working high above the deck.
"Thirty years to be exact. Both as a serving officer and then as Governor. St. Kruis is his home now, as it is for me." He seemed unwilling to continue the discussion and added briskly, "Now tell me, what do you require?"
Bolitho smiled gravely. It was, after all, better to talk as two captains rather than two subordinates. It was safer, and would certainly be more rewarding at this stage.
De Block may not have realised that the ceremonial guard was not, indeed, intended for his benefit, but it was obvious that he more than understood Pelham-Martin's part in the actual battle. He was shrewd and he was wise, and no stranger to local affairs and strategy. Bolitho hoped that Pelham-Martin was not so foolish that he would underestimate the one-armed Governor of St. Kruis.
An hour after Mulder had departed with his list of requirements the first boatloads of provisions started to arrive alongside. Like the governor's bargemen, the inhabitants of St. Kruis were a mixture of every race in the Caribbean. Laughing and chattering they swarmed aboard, showing sympathy for the wounded as they were carried in boats to more comfortable quarters ashore, and amusement to the seamen who crowded around them, touching them and using their own versions of. language and gesticulation to break down the last barriers of strangeness.
Inch said, "It is like another world, sir."
Bolitho nodded. He had been thinking the same thing.
The Dutch flag flew above the ancient ship and the town, but the island's inhabitants had seemingly become so interbred over the years, so dependent on their own resources, they would find it hard to bend to anther's domination. No matter who it was.
Allday came aft and knuckled his forehead. "Any orders for me, Captain?"
Bolitho stretched his arms and saw the rent in his sleeve left by the musket ball. Was it possible? Could he have been so near to death?
He said, "Take the gig, Allday, and go ashore. Keep your ears and eyes open, understand?"
Allday's features stayed expressionless. "Understood, Captain." Then he grinned. "I will be on board again in one hour."
Bolitho thought suddenly of fresh water and a clean shirt on his back. With a nod to Inch
he strode aft to the chartroom.
Commodores and governors could discuss high policy, he, thought grimly. But the Alldays of this world often reached the bones of the matter in half the time.
For the Hyperion's company the days which followed their arrival at St. Kruis were unlike anything they had ever known. From dawn to dusk the work of repairing damage went on with hardly a pause, but because of the lush surroundings and friendly atmosphere they still found time to lend their attentions to other, more interesting activities. The memory of the battle, even the scars of it, had all but vanished, and as carpenters and seamen worked above the deck or deep in the hull, others, luckier or craftier, dragged out their time ashore collecting fresh water and fruit, and took every advantage to better their
Imuu relations with the local women.
At the beginning of the third week the Indomitable and the Hermes with their two attendant sloops dropped anchor in the bay, and Bolitho wondered just how long it was going to take Pelham-Martin to decide on a definite course of action. So far the commodore had done little, other than send the two frigates on separate patrols to the south-west, but now he had larger ships at his disposal he might at last be prepared to move.
It had been easy for Bolitho to keep his own men busy. There was ample work to do repairing rigging and decks, and with the battle casualties added to the previous shortages he was now lacking nearly a sixth of the total complement. But even such severe shortages might not be relied on to keep his men out of trouble. He could not, would not restrict them from going ashore in small parties, but already there had been squabbles, even fights with some of the local menfolk, and the cause was easy to discover.
The dark skinned women with their ready smiles and bold eyes were enough to set any sailor's heart aflame, and mixed with the blazing sunshine and easily obtained rum it was just a matter of time before something serious happened.
i And now, with more ships anchored in the bay the local people's ready welcome might soon give way to resentment and worse.
Enemy In Sight! Page 14