It was good that Keen should also have some freedom while there was an opportunity. What he did with it was his affair.
As the early light filtered across the nearest island Bolitho walked up the cutter’s tilting deck, his shirt rippling from his body in the wind. It was difficult to find somewhere to stand, he thought, as Supreme’s deck seemed filled with busy figures and snaking halliards. The topsail cutter was only seventy feet in length but carried a company of sixty. Bolitho had once served temporarily in one as a midshipman. That vessel had been commanded by his brother Hugh. Even so it was hard to believe that all these busy seamen could eventually find enough space below Supreme’s flush deck to eat and sleep.
The squall Bolitho had predicted had swept down after dark, and he felt sorry for the heavier ships he had left astern. Supreme on the other hand flew with the wind; her enormous boomed mainsail, jib and foresail bulging under the pressure, she seemed to skip across the waves.
A cutter had proportionally more agility and sailpower than any other man-of-war and could manage to sail as much as five points into the wind.
He saw Hallowes shouting to his first lieutenant, a round redfaced man who looked old enough to be his father, which he probably was. Lieutenant Okes had been promoted from the lower deck and had last trod the planks as a master’s mate. It was just as well Hallowes had more than proved his skill and courage as a fighting officer when they had seized Argonaute. But Supreme required a knowledge of seamanship which could only come from long experience.
The rising wind and sea had kept the hands fully occupied, too busy to worry about the presence of their admiral amongst them. But now, as the wind backed slightly and the sturdy hull thrust closer into sheltered waters, many of the men paused to stare. Bolitho, with his hair plastered down by spray, his shirt open from the throat and grubby from the cutter’s lively motion, was not most people’s idea of a flag-officer.
Bolitho watched as some seamen bustled past Midshipman Sheaffe, who was clinging desperately to a backstay. His face was pale green and he had been sick several times. Lieutenant Stayt was below, not sick, but out of sorts at being a passenger and always in somebody’s way.
Hallowes crossed to Bolitho and said, “With your permission, I shall round the next headland and feel inshore, sir!” He had to shout above the din of canvas and rigging. He looked very young and was obviously enjoying his freedom in spite of Bolitho. Two leadsmen were already up forward loosening their lines in readiness. The chart was a poor one, but hinted at shallows and some spurs of rock, although to the naked eye in the blue-grey light the sea looked deceptively welcoming.
Bolitho took a telescope and waited for the Supreme to complete the next leg of her tack before he steadied it on the land. Dark, lush green, with purple beyond. That must be the mountain, as it was described. More like a tall, bald hill, he thought as it swam into the dappled lens.
Bolitho stepped back as more seamen lurched past with a tangle of halliards and blocks, oblivious to everything but the boatswain’s yell.
The long boom, which extended well beyond the counter, swung above the helmsmen at the tiller and filled out on the opposite tack. Spray dashed over the deck and Bolitho wiped his face with his sleeve. He felt alive again, the demands of land and flagship momentarily put aside.
He looked at Supreme’s armament, twelve tiny cannon and two swivels. But she could give a good account of herself in anything but a ship-to-ship action.
The headland fell back in a towering curtain of spray.
Hallowes saw Okes watching him and shouted, “All hands! Shorten sail! Leadsmen in the chains, lively now!”
Hallowes waited until some of the way had gone from his command and said, “Is it your intention to land here, Sir Richard?”
Bolitho hid a smile. Hallowes obviously still thought it incredible that he should wish to go ashore when others would do anything which was required.
“While your watering party is employed, I shall take a glass to that hilltop.” It was a long walk and a climb too. But now he had told Hallowes, he felt better. He would have to do it to avoid a loss of face. It was as well Allday was in the flagship. He would not be strong enough for a long time, he thought sadly. If ever. He saw Bankart in his blue jacket below the great, single mast and wondered what he really felt about his father.
“Look, sir.” Hallowes leaned on the bulwark and pointed at the sea alongside.
As the bow wave receded Bolitho saw the seabed rising and falling beneath the keel, as if it were breathing. Scores, no, thousands of fish scurried this way and that, and every so often a line of solid rock showed menacingly through the pale sand.
“By th’ mark five!” The leadsman’s chant was somehow reassuring. The boats were already made ready for hoisting out over the sides, a gig and a jolly-boat. Hallowes was sensibly going to replenish his own water supply before he rejoined the squadron.
He heard Sheaffe taking deep breaths. The worst was over.
“A pleasant landfall, Mr Sheaffe?”
The midshipman straightened his shoulderbelt and dirk and said, “Indeed, sir. Am I to come ashore with you, sir?”
Bolitho grinned. “It will do us both good.”
Stayt came on deck. Unlike Bolitho, he wore his uniform coat and hat and doubtless had his fine pistol close to hand.
“Stand by to come about! Hands wear ship!”
Feet pounded on the wet planking, and as the sails were checked and fisted into shape the anchor plummeted down into clear water.
Hallowes put his hands behind him and Bolitho saw that the fingers were tightly entwined. He was nervous, but that did no harm at all.
“Sway out the boats!”
Hallowes said, “I’ll send a good lookout up to that ridge, sir. With a glass he’ll be able to see across the next headland, according to the chart.” He smiled self-consciously. “And Mr Okes, of course.”
Stayt beckoned to Bankart. “The gig!” His voice was sharp, and Bolitho knew that had Allday been here he would have reacted just as curtly. But Bankart had to learn.
Bolitho waited for the others to clamber down amongst the oarsmen. Lieutenant Okes was taking the jolly-boat, his weatherbeaten face like some old figurehead, Bolitho thought. The Navy could do with a lot more Okeses just now.
Sheaffe and Stayt squeezed into the sternsheets with him and Supreme’s only midshipman, a spotty youth named Duncannon, piped, “Give way, all!”
Bolitho clutched his sword between his knees and thought of Cornwall, of how he and his brother and sometimes his sisters had played amongst the coves and caves near Falmouth. He sighed. A thousand years ago.
What would Belinda think when she received his letter? He had tried not to dwell on it, to keep his mind free of personal encumbrances.
Sheaffe said, “The jolly-boat’s ashore, sir.”
Bolitho saw Okes wading through the shallows, his whitestockinged legs like huge inverted flasks. There was a broad-shouldered seaman already leaving the others, naked but for some tattered trousers and wide-brimmed hat. One of Hallowes’ best men, and as bronzed as any native. With a telescope carelessly jammed under one arm he was striding towards the trees and the hills beyond.
The gig grounded and Bolitho climbed outboard and then trod on firm sand as the seamen hauled the keel up the beach.
The trees looked almost tropical and their bushy tops moved in the sea breeze as if in a dance.
The gig’s crew were already returning to the cutter to fetch some water casks.
Bolitho touched his forehead and then, as if to test his reaction, he felt beneath his dangling lock of hair and along the deep scar which had almost killed him. That had been a watering party too. It always made him feel uneasy.
It was a strange thing that the lock of hair was now tinged with white. The rest of his hair was as black as before. What was it? Vanity, or the anxiety about the difference in his and Belinda’s ages which made him worry about it?
Two seamen armed with cutlasses and muskets
strolled behind the little group as, with Bolitho in the lead, they started to make their way up the first slope. Once sheltered by the scrub and overhanging fronds it seemed moist and very warm. No birds sang or screamed out a warning. It was almost drowsy.
Stayt said, “You could shelter two squadrons hereabouts, sir.” He was already breathing hard for one so young. “Nelson was right.”
Did that innocent remark have a sharper edge? Was Stayt implying that if Nelson had not suggested Sardinia, nobody else would?
It was not long before they saw the glitter of a stream with a chattering waterfall at its head. Okes was already there, his booming voice calling for axes to cut a passage for his casks which would be hauled to the boats on crude sledges.
When they walked into bright sunlight again Bolitho shaded his eyes to look back at the anchored cutter. She looked like a graceful toy, her great sails folded like wings. Bolitho raised his glass and saw the bare-backed sailor settling himself on top of the adjoining hill, his long telescope propped on some loose stones. He should see the whole coastline from there.
Bolitho felt his shirt dragging at his skin. He was wet through but felt elated, and pictured himself swimming in that clear, inviting water.
He thought of Keen and whether he had been alone with the girl. Bolitho knew he trusted him, but it was more important that others should know it.
The climb to the top took longer than Bolitho had imagined but he was secretly pleased that he had managed it. The others looked weary and wet with sweat. Only Bankart seemed fresh. As Allday used to be. The thought stabbed Bolitho like a marline spike.
Bolitho looked down at the cutter again, her deck alive with tiny antlike figures, while the boats moved slowly between her and the beach like water beetles.
He moved his glass to the lookout and saw the sunlight flash from the man’s glass. He had sensibly put some dried branches on his back to protect himself from the rising glare, and his hat was pulled across the telescope as an extra shield.
It felt good to be here. Bolitho wished he was completely alone. Stayt would soon protest if he even suggested it. He sat down on the hot ground and unfolded his small map. Where was Jobert now, he wondered? What was the overall intention of the French fleet?
He heard the others resting, the sound of a water flask being shaken. What would he not give for some of Ozzard’s clear hock which he always managed to keep cool in the bilges?
Bolitho slipped one hand inside his shirt and touched his skin. It was only too easy to picture her in his arms. Her hands on him, whispering to him, arching with pleasure when he entered her. He folded the map with sudden despair. Of whom was he really thinking?
Stayt said, “Look at the birds, there are enough of them now!”
A vast flock of gulls swept round and down as if held together by thread. There must be a thousand of them. As they dived down and past the anchored Supreme Bolitho saw swift darting movements in the water and remembered the fish he had seen. The gulls had timed it perfectly, and even at this distance Bolitho could hear them mewing and shrieking as they plunged to the attack.
Work on the cutter’s deck had stopped as the seamen paused to watch as gull after gull rose flapping wildly, a shining fish gripped in its beak.
Stayt said, “We’ve a good lookout, sir. Never took his eyes off the proper bearing even for that. I’ve never seen birds act like—”
Bolitho said abruptly, “The lookout?” He snatched his glass and opened it quickly. As he swung it across the bright water and darting seabirds his eyes stung with sweat. For some reason the old wound was throbbing. What was the matter with him?
Bolitho relaxed very slowly; the bronzed lookout was still in position. He said, “Put a ball into the rocks below the crest. The bloody man’s asleep.”
Stayt scowled and gestured angrily to one of the seamen.
“Did you hear that, man?”
The seaman grinned. “Aye, sir. I’ll wake Jake up, right ’nough.”
He dropped on one knee and raised the musket to his shoulder. It might startle the boats’ crews, but a sleeping lookout was a real danger.
The crack of the musket sent the birds wheeling and flapping away while here and there a fish dropped once more into the sea.
Bolitho closed his telescope and stood up, his face impassive even though he thought his heart was bursting. The lookout had not moved although the telescope still glinted as before.
“That man is not asleep.” He tried to keep his voice level. “I fear we are in some peril.” He felt them stir, their eyes swivelling from the drifting musket smoke to his face.
Stayt exclaimed, “Here, sir?” He sounded stunned.
Bolitho snapped, “Mr Sheaffe, you are the youngest, run back to the beach. Warn Lieutenant Hallowes.”
The midshipman was watching his mouth, his lips forming the words as if he could not believe what was happening.
“You, Bankart, go with him.” He forced a smile. “As fast as you like.”
As the other two blundered downhill and into the trees Bolitho said, “See to your weapons.” He cursed himself for not bringing a pistol. He stared around at the nodding fronds. But who would suspect danger in a place like this?
He walked deliberately down the slope, straining his ears in every direction, but only the rustle of the trees mocked him, as if a hidden army was on the move.
They reached the trees and Bolitho said, “We’ll circle around the hill.” He saw the doubt in Stayt’s dark eyes, the way that the two armed seamen had suddenly hunched together.
Bolitho said, “They must have seen us after the musket shot. But we’re out of sight now. They’ll think we’re following the others.”
Stayt hissed, “Who are they, sir?”
Bolitho drew his sword and gripped it firmly. How many times— He realized what Stayt had asked. “Must be French.”
They seemed to outguess everything they did, where they went, what the ships were doing. It was unlikely that anyone knew he had moved to the cutter, but Supreme was one of his strength; even the wind on a lee shore was the same as that which had nearly done for Barracouta.
Stayt had drawn his hanger and together they moved slowly towards the hillside, avoiding patches of sunlight, anything which might betray them. He wondered if Sheaffe had reached the beach yet. Unlikely, even running at full tilt.
He gritted his teeth to prevent him from despairing aloud. Why didn’t I think? I should have realized it was just the kind of trap Jobert might think of. The secret was out now, that musket shot would have made sure of that.
“Look!” Stayt dropped on his knees. There were two men, taking their time, their weapons sheathed as they strolled down through the trees. Sailors obviously, and as they drew nearer Bolitho heard that they were speaking French.
They must have left a larger party to go back to the hill for the lookout’s telescope. Bolitho could remember the seaman exactly, the glass under one arm, a good reliable hand. Now another carried it, and there was dried blood on the case.
“At them!”
Bolitho bounded over the bushes and charged onto the man with the telescope. He stared with utter astonishment and then made to draw his cutlass. He was hampered by the telescope. Bolitho slashed him across the face and as he toppled sideways drove the blade beneath his armpit. At no time did the man cry out. The other dropped to his knees and reached out imploringly. The lookout must have been popular for one of the seamen swung his musket and smashed him in the skull. The musket rose again but Stayt snapped curtly, “Enough, you fool, he’ll not move again.”
The man with the musket picked up the telescope and followed Bolitho down the slope. But for their detour they would have been ambushed and the alarm given before they reached the beach.
He heard the dull bang of a cannon. Supreme had at last realized what was happening and had fired a recall.
There was a sudden fusillade of shots and wild shouts, then the brief clash of steel.
Bolit
ho broke into a run and burst through the last bushes and onto the beach. In seconds he saw it all. The grounded jollyboat, the gig caught halfway between the beach and the anchored cutter. Lieutenant Okes stood by the water’s edge, a pistol in either hand. One he had just fired, the other he trained on a zigzagging figure which with several others was running towards his handful of seamen. Bolitho found time to notice that Okes stood quite still despite the yells and occasional musket balls, more like a wildfowler than a sea officer. The pistol cracked and the running man tore into the sand like a plough and lay still.
That seemed to deter the others, especially as Bolitho and his three companions charged towards them. Stayt fired twice, his silver pistol must have two barrels, and each shot found its mark.
Okes mopped his face with his sleeve. “Lor’ bless you, sir, I thought the buggers ’ad done for you, beggin’ yer pardon!”
Bolitho saw Bankart by the boat and Okes said as he reloaded a pistol. “We’d ’ave bin caught in th’ open but for that lad.”
Bolitho looked past him. “Where’s Mr Sheaffe?”
Okes dragged out his other pistol. “I thought ’e was with you, sir?”
Bolitho beckoned to Bankart. “Where’s the midshipman?”
Bankart said, “He fell, sir. Back there. There was a hole, he rolled down some sort of cliff.”
Bolitho stared at him. “Cliff? There are none here!”
The others were clambering into the boats; there had been no casualties except for the lookout. Four corpses lay in attitudes of abandon, their blood already soaked into the sand.
Stayt tossed his hanger into the air and caught it by the blade before sliding it into its scabbard.
It was a neat trick for the blade had an edge like a razor. But Bolitho was in no mood for games.
“Can’t leave him.”
Stayt said, “I’ll go.” He eyed Bankart coldly. “Show me where it was, damn you.”
They reached the top of the beach and then saw Sheaffe stagger into the sunlight. His face was cut and bleeding but otherwise he seemed unharmed.
“Into the boats.” Bolitho put his hand on Sheaffe’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Colours Aloft! Page 8