Midshipman Bolitho & The Avenger

by Alexander Kent

  Two seamen were at the gates, waiting to carry their chests to the boat.

  Bolitho smiled to himself. Hugh had been that certain. Confident as ever. In control.

  As they crossed the square by the inn Dancer exclaimed, `Look, Dick, the coach!'

  They both stopped and stared at it as it rumbled off the cobbles and the horn gave a lively blare.

  Back to Plymouth. It was even the same coachman and guard.

  Bolitho gave a great sigh. `We had best get aboard the Avenger. I am afraid Mrs Tremayne's cooking has blunted my eagerness for duty.'

  They turned towards the sea, and heads bowed made their way on to the jetty.

  Midshipman Bolitho and the `Avenger'

  3

  Like a Bird

  After a lively crossing to the anchored cutter Bolitho found the Avenger surprisingly steady for her size. Holding his hat clapped to his head in the icy wind, he paused by the small companionway while he studied the vessel's solitary mast and the broad deck which shone in the grey light like metal. The bulwarks were pierced on either beam to take ten sixpounders, while both forward and right aft by the taffrail he noticed additional mountings for swivel guns. Small she might be, but no slouch in a fight, he decided.

  A figure loomed through a busy throng of working seamen and confronted the two midshipmen. He was a giant in height and girth, with a face so weatherbeaten he looked more like a Spaniard than any Briton.

  He said loudly, ' 'Eard about you.' He thrust out a big, scarred hand. `Andrew Gloag, actin' master o' this vessel.'

  Bolitho introduced Dancer and watched them together. The slim, fair midshipman, the great, unshakable figure in the patched blue coat. Gloag may have begun life in Scotland with a name like his, but his dialect was as Devonian as you could imagine.

  `Better lay aft, young gennlemen.' Gloag squinted towards the shore. `We'll be weighin' presently, if the cap'n is anything to judge by.' He grinned, revealing several gaps in his teeth. `I 'opes you're not too much like 'im. I can't stand a brace o' you!' He laughed and pushed them towards the companion. `Get below an' see to yer gear.' He swung away, cupping his hands to bellow, `Look alive, you idle bugger! Catch a turn with that line or I'll skin you for supper!'

  Bolitho and Dancer clambered breathlessly down a short ladder and groped their way to a small stern cabin, banging their heads more than once on the low deckhead beams. The Avenger seemed to enfold them with her own sounds and smells. Some familiar and some less so. She felt like a workboat more than a man-of-war. In a class all of her own. Like Andrew Gloag, whose loud voice carried easily through wind and stout timbers alike. A master's mate and acting master. He might never command the quarterdeck of a ship like Gorgon, but here he was a king.

  It was hard to picture him working with Hugh. He thought suddenly of his brother, wondering, as he often did, why he felt that he never really knew him.

  Hugh was changed in some ways. Harder, more confident, if that were possible. More to the point, he was unhappy.

  Dancer pushed his chest into a vacant corner and sat on it, his head almost reaching one of the deck beams.

  `What do you make of it all, Dick?'

  Bolitho listened to the creak and groan of timbers, the rattle and slap of wet rigging somewhere overhead. It would get more lively once they cleared the Roads.

  `Wrecking, smuggling, I believe the two always go hand in hand, Martyn. But the port admiral at Plymouth must have heard more than we, if he's so willing to send the Avenger.'

  `I heard your brother say that he had lost his senior by putting him in a prize, Dick. I wonder what happened to the cutter's last commander?' He smiled. `Your brother seems to have a way of getting rid of people.' The smile vanished. `I am sorry. That was a stupid thing to say!'

  Bolitho touched-his sleeve. `No. You're right. He does have that way with him.'

  Oars thrashed alongside, accompanied by more curses and threats from Mr Gloag.

  `Jolly boat's away again.' Bolitho grimaced. 'Hugh'll be coming aboard now.'

  It took Lieutenant Hugh Bolitho longer than expected to return to his command. When he did arrive he was drenched in spray, grim-faced and obviously in ill humour.

  In the cabin he threw himself down on a bench and snapped, `When I come aboard I expect to be met by my officers.' He glared at the midshipmen. `This is no ship of the line with ten men for each trivial task. This is. . . .' He swung round on the bench as a frightened looking seaman peered in at them. `Where the hell have you been, Warwick?' He did not wait for a reply. `Bring some brandy and something hot to go with it.' The man fled.

  In a calmer tone he continued, `In a King's ship, no matter how small, you must always keep up an example.'

  Bolitho said, `I'm sorry. I thought as we are only attached to your command. . . .'

  Hugh smiled. `Attached, pressed, volunteered, I don't care which. You're both my officers until the word says otherwise. There's work to do.'

  He looked up as Gloag came through the door, his great frame doubled over like a weird hunchback.

  `Sit you down, Mr Gloag. We'll take a glass before we set sail. All well?'

  The master removed his battered hat, and Bolitho saw with surprise he was quite bald, like a brown egg, with the hair at his neck and cheeks as thick as spunyarn as if to compensate for his loss.

  Hugh said, `You will assume duties of second-incommand, Richard. Mr Dancer will assist you. Two halves to make the whole, eh?' He smiled at his joke.

  Gloag seemed to sense the atmosphere and rumbled, `I 'eard that you took command of a brig, the pair of you, when your lieutenants were too sick or injured to be of use?'

  Dancer nodded, his eyes shining. `Aye, sir. The Sandpiper. Dick took command like a veteran!'

  Hugh said, `Good, here's the brandy.' Half to himself he added, `We want no heroes cluttering these decks, thank you.'

  Like a Bird

  Bolitho looked at his friend and winked. They had scored a small victory over Hugh's sarcasm.

  He asked, `What about the smugglers, Mr Gloag?'

  `Oh, this an' that. Spirits and spices, silks and other such nonsense for them with too much money. Mr Pyke says we'll soon 'ave 'em by the 'eels.'

  Dancer looked at him. 'Pyke?'

  Hugh Bolitho pushed some goblets across a low table. `Pyke's my boatswain. Used to be a preventative officer himself before he got more sense and signed to wear the King's coat.' He held up his goblet. `Welcome, gentlemen.'

  The nervous seaman named Warwick, who was also the cabin servant, carried in a lighted lantern and hung it carefully on a beam.

  Bolitho had his goblet to his lips when he saw Dancer's eyes flash a quick warning. He looked down and saw a dark stain on Hugh's stocking. He had seen too much of it in the last year not to recognize blood. For an instant longer he imagined Hugh was injured, or had snared his leg climbing aboard. Then he saw his brother meeting his gaze with a mixture of defiance and need.

  Feet thudded overhead, and then Hugh placed his goblet very carefully on the table.

  `You will work watch-and-watch. Once we have cleared the headland we will run to the south'rd and find some sea-room. I have information, but not enough. Show no lights and pass no unnecessary commands. My people know their work, and most of them are ex-fishermen and '-'he like, as sure-footed as cats. I want to run these smugglers or wreckers to ground without delay, before it becomes catching hereabouts. It has happened in the past. Even in times of war the trade has been busy in both directions, they tell me.'

  Gloag groped for his hat and went stooping towards the.door. `I'll get things ready, sir.'

  Hugh glanced at Dancer. `Go with him. Learn your way around the deck. She's no Gorgon.' As Dancer made his way towards the door, his shadow swaying about with the pitching lantern, he added softly, `Or Sandpiper either, for that matter!'

  Alone for the first time the brothers studied each other.

  Bolitho thought he could see through Hugh's scornful guard. He was stiff wit
h the authority of his first, if perhaps temporary, command. But at twentyone, with only himself to answer, that was understandable. But there was anxiety there also, a defensive hardness in his eyes.

  He did not-have to wait for long.

  Hugh said offhandedly, `You saw this stain? Pity. But can't be helped, I suppose. I can trust you to stay silent?'

  Bolitho matched his mood, keeping his face and tone level and impassive.

  `Need you ask?'

  `No. I'm sorry.' He reached for the brandy and poured another goblet, the movement without conscious thought. `A matter I had to settle.'

  `Here? In Falmouth?' Bolitho almost got to his feet. `What about Mother?'

  Hugh sighed. `It was partly because of her. It was

  Like a Bird

  some fool who wanted revenge over another affair.'

  `The aiair which had you removed from Laertes?T

  'Yes.' His eyes were distant. `He wanted money. So I answered his insults in the only honourable way.'

  `You provoked him.' He watched for some hint of guilt. `Then you killed him.'

  Hugh took out his watch and held it to the lantern.

  `Well, the second part is correct, damn him!'

  Bolitho shook his head. `One day you'll put a foot wrong.'

  Hugh smiled fully for the first time. It was as if he were glad, relieved to have shared his secret.

  `Well, until that sad day, young Richard, there is work to be done. So get yourself on deck and rouse the hands. We'll up-anchor before we lose the light. I don't want to end up in splinters across St Anthony Head because of you!'

  The weather had worsened considerably, and as Bolitho climbed up through the hatch he felt the punch of the wind like a fist. Figures bustled this way and that, bare feet slapping on the wet planking like so many seals. Despite the wind and soaking spray, the men wore only their checkered shirts and white, flapping trousers, and were apparently unmoved by the bitter weather.

  Bolitho ducked aside as the jolly boat was swayed up and over the lee bulwark, showering the men who worked the tackles with more icy water. He saw the boatswain, Pyke, directing the operations until the boat was securely made fast on her tier, and could well imagine him as a revenue man. He had a furtive,

  even sly, look, and was quite unlike any boatswain he had ever seen.

  It would take some getting used to, he thought. Men everywhere, loosening belaying pins and checking the many flaked lines arid halliards as if expecting them to be frozen.

  It would be dark early, and the nearest land looked indistinct and blurred, the ramparts at Pendennis and St Mawes already without shape or identity.

  Gloag was shouting, `Three men to the tiller! She'll be lively as a parson's daughter when she comes about, lads!'

  Bolitho heard someone laugh. That was always a good sign. Gloag might be fearsome, but he was quite obviously respected too.

  Dancer said quickly, `Here comes our captain, Dick.'

  Bolitho turned as his brother came on deck. In spite of the weather he was without a cloak or even a tarpaulin coat to protect himself. The lapels of his lieutenant's coat were very white in the dull murk around him, and he wore his cocked hat at a slightly rakish angle, like a figure in an unnamed painting.

  Bolitho touched his hat. `The master informs me we are ready to get under way, sir.' He was surprised the formality came so easily. But it was the Navy speaking. Not one brother to another.

  `Very well. Break out the anchor, if you please. Send the hands to their stations. We'll get the main and fore on her as soon as we weigh and see how she takes 'em. Once clear of the headland I'll want jib and tops'l set.'

  Like a Bird

  `Reefed, sir?'

  The eyes steadied on him for a moment. `We shall see.'

  Bolitho hurried towards the blunt bows. It seemed incredible that Avenger could set so much canvas on one mast and in this sort of wind.

  He listened to the metallic clink of pawls as the men at the capstan threw their weight on the bars. He pictured the anchor, it's fluke biting into the sea bed, waiting to break free, free of the land. He often thought of it at times like this.

  He jerked out of his thoughts as his brother called sharply, `Mr Bolitho! More hands to the mains'l! It will be fierce work directly!'

  Gloag was banging his big hands together like boards. `Wind's backed a piece, sir!' He was grinning into the blown spray, his cheeks streaming. `That'll help !'

  Bolitho climbed over unfamiliar gun tackles and thick snakes of cordage. Past unknown seamen and petty officers, until he was right above the stem. He saw the straining cable, jerking inboard through the hawse-hole as more men took the strain, while on either side of the stem the tide surged past as if the Avenger herself was already moving ahead.

  The boatswain dashed forward to join him. `A good night for it, sir!' He did not bother to explain but made a circling motion with his fist and yelled, `Hove short, sir!'

  Then everything seemed to happen as once. As the anchor started to drag free of the ground the hands on deck threw themselves to the big boomed main sail as if their lives depended on it. Bolitho had to jump clear as the foresail was broken free and started to billow into the wind, only to be knocked aside again as Pyke yelled, `Anchor's aweigh, sir!'

  The effect was immediate and startling. With her fore and main filling out like mad things, and the deck canting steeply to the thrust of wind and current, the Avenger seemed to be sliding beam-on towards sure destruction.

  Gloag called hoarsely, `Sheet 'em 'ome 'ard, Mr Pyke ! Lively now.'

  Bolitho felt at a loss and totally in the way as men darted hither and thither, oblivious to the water which surged as high as the lee gunports.

  And then, just as suddenly, it was done. Bolitho made his way aft to where three straddle-legged seamen stood by the long tiller-bar, their eyes squinting in concentration as they watched both helm and sails. The Avenger was standing as close to the wind as any vessel he had ever seen, with her big mainsail and the fin-shaped foresail sheeted home as Gloag had ordered, until they were almost fore and aft along the cutter's centre line.

  Foam boiled under the counter, and Bolitho saw Dancer watching him from the foredeck, grinning like a boy with a new plaything.

  - Hugh was eyeing him too, his mouth compressed in a tight line.

  `Well?' One word. Question and threat together. Bolitho nodded. `She's a lady, sir! Like a bird!' The boatswain stumped to the weather rail and

  peered at the blurred shoreline.

  `Aye, Mr Bolitho, sir. An' I'll wager some devils are watchin' this bird right now!'

  The land was edging past, and Bolitho saw the spray whipped off the wave crests like spume as they approached the dangerous turn of the headland.

  Pyke cupped his hands. `Stand by to get aloft, there!' He glanced at his commander's set features as if expecting him to cancel his demands for moree canvas. When no word was uttered he added heartily, `An' mebbe a tot for the first one down afterwards !' _

  Bolitho made himself take in the darkening deck section, by section, until he could match what he already knew with the bustling seamen and the jumble of rigging and blocks which went to make a vessel stay alive.

  Hugh and the master seemed satisfied, he thought, watching the men at work, the set of the sails, with an occasional glance at the compass to confirm some point or other.

  What a step I have yet to make, Bolitho thought. From midshipman to a place on the quarterdeck. Like his brother, who at twenty-one was already on another plane. In a few years this first, tiny command would probably be forgotten, and Hugh might have his own frigate. But she would have played her vital part for him all the same. Provided, that was, he kept out of trouble and held his sword in its scabbard.

  `Mr Bolitho!'

  Hugh's voice made him start.

  `I said earlier, we have no passengers in my command !. So stir yourself and put more hands forrard to the jib. We'll set it as soon as the topmen are aloft.'


  As dusk yielded to a deeper darkness the Avenger threw herself across the stiffer crests of open sea. Lifting and plunging, throwing up great sheets of spray from her bows, she changed tack to point her stem towards the south.

  Hour after hour, Hugh Bolitho drove every one until he was ready to drop. Wet, freezing canvas, ironhard and unyielding to the fingers of salt-blinded men, drowned even the sea's noise with its constant boom and thunder. The screech of blocks as swollen cordage was hauled through, the stamp of feet on deck, an occasional cry from the poop, all joined in one chorus of effort and pain.

  Even the cutter's young commander had to admit that too much canvas was too much, and reluctantly he ordered the topsail and jib to be taken in for the remainder of the night.

  Eventually the watch below, gasping and bruised, groped their way down for a short respite. Some swore they would never set foot aboard again once they put into port. They always said it. They usually came back.

  Others were too tired even to think, but fell on their cramped messdeck to lie amongst the sluicing mixture of sea water and oddments of clothing or loose tackle until the next call from the deck.

  'All hands! All hands on deck to shorten sail!' They never had to wait long for that either.

  As he lay in a makeshift cot, pitching and swaying with the savage motion, Bolitho found time to wonder

  what might have happened if he had gone to London as Dancer had suggested.

  There was a smile on his lips as he fell into a deep sleep. It would certainly have been totally different from this, he thought.

  4

  No Choice

  Lieutenant Hugh Bolitho sat wedged into a corner of the Avenger's low cabin, one foot against a frame to hold himself steady. The cutter was alive with creaks and rattles as she drifted sluggishly downwind through a curtain of sleet and snow.

  The midshipmen, Gloag, the acting-master, and Pyke, the cutter's sly-faced boatswain, completed the gathering, and the confined space was heavy with damp and the richer tang of brandy.

  Bolitho felt as if he had never worn a shred of dry clothing in his life. For over two days, while the Avenger had tacked or beaten her way down the Cornish coastline, he had barely slept for more than minutes at a time. Hugh never seemed to rest. He was always calling for extra vigilance, although who but a madman would be abroad in this weather was hard to fathom. Now, around the dreaded Lizard and its great sprawl of reefs, they lay to under the lee of the shore. And although it was pitch-dark and no land in view, they sensed it, felt it not as a friend but as a treacherous enemy waiting to rip out their keel if they made just one mistake.