Success to the Brave

by Alexander Kent

It was as if the whole island was unwilling to wake, to enter the new day. He doubted if Rivers had had much sleep, wherever he was.

  He looked round as somewhere a cock crowed defiantly in the damp air.

  The third lieutenant scrambled down the slope and said breathlessly, “They’re moving artillery in the fortress, sir. I put a picket as close as I could.” He too took the flask from the other lieutenant and raised it to his lips. He grimaced and added, “But the gates are still shut.”

  Bolitho nodded, his mind grappling with such frugal intelligence. Rivers must be regaining confidence, whereas the first excitement of the landing and breaking the boom was already fading with the dawn.

  Bolitho stood up carefully and wiped his face with his sleeve. What a wretched situation it was. People in England would question the need for men to die for such a cause when the French would gather all the spoils anyway. He cursed angrily and knew he was thinking only of himself, of his hopes for a future with Belinda. No wonder youthful lieutenants like Mountsteven and Scott eyed him with some curiosity. He should have known, have remembered his own service as a lieutenant. Then he had never considered the personal problems of his superiors, their wives, or that they might be as apprehensive as their subordinates when the time came to fight.

  He shook the mood aside like an old cloak. To live without Belinda would be unbearable. But to live without honour would be beyond him.

  There was a startled challenge from the waterside and Bolitho heard Allday’s voice, a hushed but fierce retort, “It’s me, you blind fool! Hold your noise or I’ll spit you, so I will!” He stumbled down the slope and peered uncertainly at the three officers.

  Bolitho smiled. “Allday, you performed a miracle. It was well done!”

  Allday seemed to realize that one of the dishevelled shapes was Bolitho and bared his teeth in the gloom.

  “Thankee, sir.”

  Scott said, “Thought you might have run into a guard-boat, Allday.”

  Allday looked at him as if to consider if a mere lieutenant was worth his attention, then said, “We did, sir.” He drew his hand across his throat. “No bother at all.”

  The violent crash of a single cannon made several of the men gasp with surprise. Birds rose screaming and squawking in pale clouds from land and water alike, and as the sailors watched the smoke drift from the ramparts they all heard the unmistakable thud of a direct hit.

  Bolitho fastened his sword-belt and snapped, “They’ve found Achates.”

  As if in answer to his words there was a swift response from the direction of the town. Musket fire for the most part, and then the sounds of horses clattering along a road.

  Rivers’ militia intended to attack them before they had found their proper bearings on the island, while a re-sited battery would concentrate on the anchored ship.

  Bolitho said, “Captain Keen will have to be quick. We must win him some more time.”

  He peered round and noticed that already the landscape and the nearest huddle of seamen had grown sharper in the feeble light.

  Mountsteven asked quietly, “What do you intend, sir?”

  “Flag of truce.” Bolitho saw his look of amazement and added sharply, “Two volunteers, if you please.”

  He tried not to flinch as the gun fired again. He did not hear the ball strike, but in a few moments the gunner would have his target in full view.

  Allday said bluntly, “One volunteer. I’m comin’, sir.”

  Bolitho walked from his patch of cover and faced the track which wound its way up to the fortress. A bluff? He had nothing else to offer.

  With Allday breathing hard at his side, and the boatswain’s mate, Christy, a step or so in the rear, Bolitho strode along the rough ground. Christy was carrying a shirt on a boat-hook as a flag of truce and was quietly whistling to himself as he followed his admiral. He had even managed to make a joke of the fact that the shirt belonged to one of the two midshipmen who were with the landing party. “The only young gentlemen with one clean enough for the occasion,” as he had put it.

  Bolitho was astonished that he could still raise a grin or two with his remark.

  “Halt! That’s far enough!”

  Bolitho stood quite still, the fortress looming over him like a grey cliff. He thought he heard a scrape of metal and imagined a marksman taking careful aim at him, white flag or not. Again he felt the same bitterness welling up inside him. Who would care? Hundreds, thousands of sailors and soldiers had died all over the world for one cause or another, but who ever remembered why?

  He cupped his hands. “I want to speak with Sir Humphrey Rivers!”

  There was a derisive chuckle. “Don’t you mean parley, sir?”

  Bolitho pressed his hands tightly to his sides. He had been right. Rivers was inside. Otherwise the unknown men above the gates would have said so, to mock him for his mistake.

  Allday muttered, “I’ll give that bugger parley!”

  “Oh, it’s you, Bolitho! I thought we had some beggars at the gates, what?”

  Bolitho found he could relax now that he knew Rivers was really here.

  “And pray, what can I do for you before I take you and your ruffians into custody?”

  Bolitho felt his heart pumping against his ribs as if it was the only part of his body still able to respond. Surely the light was brighter? But for the storm the whole fortress would already be visible.

  Somewhere beyond the wall he heard a man yell, “Ready to fire, sir!”

  But Rivers was enjoying himself. “A moment longer, Tate! I must hear the gallant admiral’s request.”

  Bolitho said in a whisper, “They cannot shoot while Rivers is there. The ship is in direct line with him.” He raised his voice again, “I ask you to hold your fire and stand down your men. You have no chance of defeating us, and your people must know full well of the consequences for their actions against a King’s ship.”

  He tried to picture his words being passed from man to man behind that wall. But they were all islanders, and probably little better than pirates in times of war, although the more sensitive term “privateer” had made their trade almost legal.

  Rivers shouted angrily, “God damn you, Bolitho! You had your chance, now you shall pay dearly for your bloody arrogance!”

  Bolitho blinked as a shaft of bright sunlight pierced the ramparts of the fortress’s central tower and laid bare the hillside behind him.

  Bolitho heard some of the seamen calling from their hiding places and guessed the sun had also uncovered the anchored two-decker.

  Rivers’ voice rose higher still as he shouted, “There’s your target, lads! Make every ball tell. That captain is a bigger fool than his admiral!”

  Bolitho turned very slowly and looked across the water to the white houses and the cluster of moored vessels. He found that he could ignore the chorus of jeers from Rivers’ men as he saw what Keen and his depleted company had achieved in complete darkness. The long cable which had been run out to a mooring buoy from Achates’ stern held the ship motionless, so that her whole broadside was exposed to the fortress battery. Keen had converted the ship from a living creature to a moored double battery. One side faced the town, the other commanded the anchorage and anything which tried to enter or leave. No wonder Rivers had mistaken their intentions.

  Rivers yelled, “I have a force of mounted men coming to deal with you, Bolitho. Your disgrace and ignominy after this reckless escapade will put paid to any future assaults on my island!”

  Bolitho could see him framed against the washed-out blue sky, could feel the loathing in the man like something solid. He saw smoke rising lazily above the grey stones and knew they were heating shot to destroy Achates. There was no more time to spare.

  He called, “I shall return to my men, Sir Humphrey . . .” He felt a nerve jump in his throat as he heard the far-off but familiar rumble. This time he dared not turn, dared not take his eyes from Rivers’ silhouette as the muffled sound suddenly ceased.

  Rivers exclai
med, “What good can that do? Not one of her guns can even scratch these walls!” But he sounded less forceful, as if, like Bolitho, the sound of Achates running out her guns on both broadsides had released a memory.

  “Do you have a telescope, Sir Humphrey?”

  It was difficult to stay calm when every fibre made him want to charge at the gates and smash them down with his bare fists.

  Rivers was already peering through a glass towards the motionless ship. Achates’ total stillness made it somehow unnerving. Each sail neatly furled, not a soul moving above the black and buff hull.

  Bolitho said, “You will see a man in the mainmast crosstrees, a lieutenant to be exact. He too will have a telescope this morning, Sir Humphrey. Trained inland towards your house and estate.”

  Rivers said, “Don’t play for time!”

  “And after that, the town, Sir Humphrey, until not even a stone stands on end.”

  The roar when it came was tremendous, thrown back from Achates’ hidden side by the land, so that it echoed and re-echoed around the fortress as if the battery there had already opened fire.

  Bolitho twisted round to watch the dense smoke moving away from the ship towards the shore, where moments earlier many people had been waiting to see the uneven battle.

  Aboard ship Keen’s officers would be passing instructions to the capstans, another turn on the massive warp to swing the ship further still towards the target.

  He saw the scar on Achates’ tumblehome where the first ball had found a mark. It was nothing to what heated shot would do.

  A small pendant rose smartly to Achates’ main-yard and flapped in the breeze.

  Bolitho said flatly, “The next broadside is laid and ready. It is your decision.”

  Behind him he heard Christy murmur, “Gawd.”

  Allday said, “The cavalry are comin’, sir.”

  Bolitho saw the cluster of horsemen cantering along the track which led from the town. They looked unruly, startled probably by the sudden blast of cannon fire. Mercenaries, local planters, militiamen, it didn’t matter. If they took control of the road and captured Bolitho’s party it would mean another change of fortunes.

  A bugle blared briefly and Bolitho saw the files of scarlet-coated marines emerge from the brush where they had lain in hiding and prepared for this final moment.

  He saw the glitter of sunlight on the fixed bayonets, and could imagine Dewar and his lieutenant receiving the reports of the seasoned professionals like Sergeant Saxton.

  The horses had gathered speed, the dust spewing away from the hoofs in a solid bank.

  There was a ragged volley of shots, and Bolitho felt a cold grip in his stomach as three of the tiny scarlet figures fell across the track.

  The marines seemed to take an eternity, the front rank kneeling beside their dead comrades while the rear rank took aim above their heads. More shots. This time it was a small drummer who fell.

  Allday gasped, “Jesus, why don’t they shoot, damn them!”

  Dewar’s blade flashed down and the crash of muskets seemed as if a single shot had been fired.

  Horses and men tumbled in confusion, but when the smoke cleared from the hillside the scarlet lines were unchanged. The horsemen were returning to the town, their dead and wounded left to their own resources.

  Christy said fiercely, “The gates are openin’, sir!”

  It was over. In twos and threes, and then in a flood, the fortress’s garrison hurried into the sunlight, dropping their weapons as they ran.

  Last came Rivers, swaying from side to side as if he were drunk.

  But there was no slur in his voice as he faced Bolitho and said, “I’ll see you in hell for this!” He stared wildly at the lush green slope beyond the town. “My house, my family, you fired on them without caring—”

  Bolitho said sharply, “By your orders some of my men have died today.” He tried to hold his anger under control. “And for what? Because of your greed and ambition.” He turned away, afraid he would finally lose control. “And have no fear, Sir Humphrey. While you were prepared to burn a King’s ship to her water-line and murder every man-jack aboard if need be, Captain Keen took care to keep his guns unshotted. You were defeated by smoke, nothing more.”

  It should have been a proud moment but Bolitho was sickened by it.

  To Allday he said, “We shall return to the ship. Dewar’s men will take charge here.”

  Allday gestured towards the stricken Rivers. “What about ’im?”

  “See that he is well guarded for his own safety.”

  Allday glared as two seamen seized Rivers and hustled him back towards the fortress.

  Almost to himself Bolitho added, “It is always easy for the victor to exact revenge.” Then he clapped the burly coxswain on the arm and said, “The sea is where I belong.”

  Allday breathed out very slowly. It had been a close thing that time. He shivered despite the growing warmth. Getting past it. Leave it to the youngsters after this.

  The delusion cheered him slightly and he quickened his pace.

  The seamen stood on either side of the track and grinned as Bolitho walked amongst them.

  Bolitho knew or could guess what they were thinking. One of us. Because he was as dirty and dishevelled as they were. Because he had been with them when the bluff could so easily have gone the wrong way.

  There was so much to be done. The fortress to be occupied by Dewar’s marines, the islanders to be sorted and placated. Despatches to be written. Explanations to be made.

  Somewhere a wounded horse screamed in agony. Like a woman in terror. Mercifully it was silenced by a pistol shot.

  Bolitho paused by the place where Dewar had made his stand. The drummer-boy lay on his back, his blue eyes and pinched features frozen at the moment of impact.

  Allday thought he heard Bolitho murmur, “Too young for this game.” Then he pulled out his handkerchief and laid it on the boy’s face.

  One of us. It seemed to mock him as he walked through the grinning, nodding sailors who had all expected to die on this fine morning.

  I lead. They follow.

  He stared across at the Achates and his flag which flapped occasionally from the foremast truck.

  He saw the barge idling by some rocks ready to carry him to the ship. He straightened his back and looked neither right nor left.

  A lieutenant was standing in the sternsheets, his hat in his hand. In a moment they would start to cheer. They were the victors, and that was enough for them. It had to be.

  He hesitated and looked at Allday’s homely face.

  “Well, old friend, what are you thinking?”

  Allday frowned, off-balance at this mood which he did not recognize.

  Bolitho said quietly, “I think I know anyway.” He faced the bargemen and forced a smile. “Now let us find that other damned pirate!”

  The lieutenant raised his cocked hat and men began to cheer.

  Bolitho sat down and looked at his torn breeches.

  One of us.

  Bolitho sat in his day-cabin and sighed as Yovell placed yet another copied letter before him for signature.

  The fear and thrill of their attack seemed far behind them, even though it was still less than a week since he had faced Rivers outside the fortress. Their casualties had been mercifully few and had been buried on the hillside in the island’s own graveyard.

  Bolitho stood up and crossed restlessly to the stern windows and leaned over the passive water of the anchorage. The sill was hot beneath his palms, the sun high above the extinct volcano.

  He saw Achates’ guard-boat pulling slowly and with little enthusiasm in the blinding glare and could guess what they, like most of the ship’s company, were thinking.

  With their governor under arrest the islanders had settled down to await events. All resistance and hostility had ceased, and some of the local militia had been resworn to assist the Royal Marines mount guard on the fortress and battery. But it went deeper. It was a passive resist
ance, the townspeople taking pains to look away whenever a naval working party or sea officer walked past.

  The sailors were at first hurt then resentful. Some had died, few really understood why, but they deserved better, they thought.

  It was noon and the smell of boiling tar mingled with the headier aroma of rum as the daily ration was served to each mess throughout the ship. Fewer hammers broke the stillness now, and there was little to show of the damage made by the fortress’s cannon, although one seaman had lost an eye to a flying splinter.

  There was a tap at the outer screen door and Keen entered, his hat beneath his arm. He looked less strained, Bolitho thought. He guessed that Keen had been dealing with his own procession of demands and reports. The surgeon and the first lieutenant, the purser and the master, they all paid their respects to the captain, if only to shift their own loads on to his shoulders.

  “You sent for me, sir?”

  “Sit down, Val.” Bolitho loosened his shirt for the hundredth time. “How is the work progressing?”

  “I turn the hands to work if only to keep their minds busy, sir. Achates is ready for anything. Bandbox neat, she is.”

  Bolitho nodded. He had already noticed the new pride Keen had shown for his ship. Maybe her previous captain’s example had haunted him and dominated the other officers from the grave.

  Bolitho had heard of Keen’s clash with Quantock before the headlong charge into harbour. It was hard to believe any of it had happened. But the Union Flag flew above the fortress, and to all outward appearances the island was as before.

  Soon he would have to send a despatch to the French admiral whose ships lay waiting at Boston. If they were indeed still there.

  Then the peace would shatter here and the pain begin all over again.

  Keen watched Bolitho’s grave features and said, “The admiral at Antigua will send aid if you request it, sir.” He saw the line of Bolitho’s jaw harden and added, “But doubtless you have already considered that.”

  “I was given this task, Val. Perhaps it is pride which stands in my way. Some might say conceit.” He waved down Keen’s protest. “We all have some. But I need eyes and ears, not another flag-officer to breathe down my neck. But for Sparrowhawk’s loss . . .”