“Yes.”
Bolitho took a flask from Allday and let a little water trickle over his tongue. Brackish from the ship’s casks, yet it tasted like the best wine in St James’s.
Quare straightened his back, his eyes on the opposite slope.
“Here comes Blissett, sir.”
The scout in question loped down the slope towards them, seemingly without effort, his musket held high to avoid striking the ground.
Bolitho knew something of Blissett’s past, and why Quare had selected him as a scout. The marine had once worked on a vast estate in Norfolk. As one of the gamekeepers, and a fine shot to boot, he had enjoyed a good and fairly comfortable life. Until, that was, he had set his cap at the niece of his lord and master. Bolitho imagined that the matter was probably more complicated than Quare knew, but the end result was that Blissett had been thrown out of work and had gone into town to drown his sorrows. A recruiting party had been at the inn also, and the rest, marked down in a haze of despair and bravado, was now history.
The Island of Five Hills must seem very different from Norfolk.
Blissett arrived beside them. “It’s pretty fair going once you get up that slope, sir.” He pointed. “I reckon the sea is just yonder, with the bay below that shoulder of rock.” He took a flask gratefully.
Quare nodded. “Mr Keen’s party will be about an hour later than us. It’s a longer route round the other side of the hill.” He cocked his head. “Still, we should meet up mid-afternoon. What d’you say, Tom?”
Blissett shrugged. “Reckon so, Sarnt. I found a few fire places in the gullies, but not new ones.” The last piece he added hastily as some of the seamen in earshot moved with sudden apprehension. “No natives around here for some while.”
Bolitho reslung his telescope and gestured to Swift. “Get the men on the move again. Same distances as before. You take two hands to the rear and make sure we’re not being followed.” He looked up at the sunbaked slopes. There would be no cover here. A perfect place for an ambush.
He could sense the men as they followed at his back. Breathless and tired already, and totally unused to tramping over land, they would never respect him again if they found he had led them on a fool’s errand.
He tightened his belt. But better him than Herrick. Herrick had taken enough knocks on his behalf.
Bolitho concentrated on the land ahead, keeping his pace slow but regular as he tried to picture the other side of the hill.
Tomorrow, if the wind was favourable, Tempest would tack around the southernmost headland once again. And if there were lookouts on the shore they should sight her immediately. More to the point, Bolitho’s scouts should see them.
It should appear quite natural. Deception was a game any number could play.
After a fierce storm it might even be expected for a King’s ship to return to the bay, if only to ascertain that Eurotas was still intact.
Allday broke into his thoughts. “A scout’s signalling, Captain. I think he’s sighted the other party.” He grinned unfeelingly. “God, Mr Keen’s people will curse when they see the hill they’ve still got to climb!”
Sergeant Quare hurried across the lip of another gully and dropped out of sight. He appeared eventually on a fallen landslide of loose stones, while slightly above him another marine gestured and pointed like a deaf mute.
Quare came back, breathing fast. “He says to stand fast, sir. A runner is coming from Mr Keen.” He mopped his face and neck. “He’ll not run for long in this lot.”
Bolitho’s party sank gratefully into the bushes again and waited for the messenger to arrive. It took a full hour, and when he was finally dragged out of a gully, the man looked almost spent with exhaustion.
It was Miller, boatswain’s mate, nimble enough when dashing about the deck in a full gale, or urging the hands out on the swaying yards, but no match for this island.
“Take your time.” Bolitho concealed his impatience, wondering why Keen should send him and delay the worst part of the journey.
Miller gulped noisily. “Mr Keen’s respects, sir, an’ ’e—” He gulped down air again like a landed fish. “We found some corpses.” He pointed vaguely. “In a little cove. Their throats was cut, sir.” He looked suddenly sick as the memory came back to him. “I— I think they was officers.”
Bolitho watched him, not wanting to break his train of thought.
But Quare asked bluntly, “You think?”
Miller looked past him. “Aye, George. You just know them things.” He gave a violent shudder. “Mr Ross reckons they’ve bin dead for days. Covered with flies, they was. Still are.”
Bolitho nodded. Despite the horror of the story he realized that either Keen or Ross had managed to keep his head and not do what every decent man would wish and bury the unknown bodies. But they were not unknown. The Eurotas’s senior officers in all probability. Murdered after being taken to the little cove. He wondered if Keen had thought the same. As he had shaken hands with the man he had thought to be the ship’s captain he had been facing a murderer in his victim’s coat.
The realization moved through him like sickness. Viola had tried to warn him. She might have died just as horribly because of it.
He snapped, “Get back to Mr Keen. Fast as you can manage. Tell him we will meet as arranged, but with double the caution.” He watched his words sinking in. “Nobody must see our approach. If we are sighted before we can act, Miller, the ship may weigh, and Mr Herrick will have no chance of catching her.” He did not add that it might as easily mean the landing party would be murdered beforehand. The expression on Miller’s stubbled face told him he had already considered it.
Bolitho looked at Quare and the others. “Come along.” He strode up the slope again, the heat and discomfort suddenly forgotten.
“You’ll need to stay down, sir.” Quare spoke with a whisper as Bolitho crawled beside him between two great boulders. The stones were like heated metal, and Bolitho was conscious of the cuts and bruises he had gathered on his limbs and body in the final part of the journey.
The big hill was quite different on the other side, and different again from the way it had looked from seaward. There was a broad cleft halfway down, and then another slope which continued down to the beach and the bay.
And there, hazy in the sunlight, lay the Eurotas. Still at her anchor, and with several boats alongside and two drawn up on the sand clear of the surf.
There were a few figures visible on her poop and maindeck, but no sign of work being carried out on the hull, or anything else.
Bolitho wished he could use his telescope and study the ship more closely. But with the sun blazing down at an angle he dared not risk a sudden reflection warning of their arrival above the bay.
Quare had already sent Blissett and another scout to see what they could discover, but Bolitho had to guess what was happening aboard the ship if he was to be of any use.
Quare hissed, “There, sir!”
Several men had walked into view from the bottom of the hill. They were moving slowly. Untroubled. But all were armed to the teeth. One was drinking from a bottle, and had to be aided over the gunwale of a small boat before they pushed it into deep water and started towards the ship.
That left one boat ashore. Bolitho blinked the sweat from his eyes. But how many men?
Swift crept up behind him. “Mr Keen’s party is coming, sir.”
Bolitho looked at him. “Keep them away from here. And no talking. You make sure the weapons are unloaded. I don’t want a musket going off in error.”
He looked at the anchored ship and tried to think what to do. She lay a cable’s length from the beach, and the boat which had left the island was barely halfway to her. Exposed. Helpless against even the smallest weapons.
But where were the guns which Keen had been told were unloaded to lighten the ship? They were certainly not in the empty ports along the nearest side. Nor were they on the beach. Surely they had not been jettisoned. It would take a long ti
me, and there seemed no point in it.
Unless . . . He stared towards the southern headland, almost black against the glittering sea. Another ship perhaps. The Eurotas’s guns may have been off-loaded into her. He closed his eyes tightly. He could form no pattern at all.
Blissett came round the side of the great rocks soundlessly.
Quare asked, “What is it, Tom?”
The marine wiped his mouth and stared at the ship. “We found a dead girl down the bottom there. She must have put up quite a fight, poor lass. But they done for her all the same when they’d had their way.”
Bolitho looked at him, his mind reeling. He barely recognized his own voice. “What sort of girl?”
Blissett frowned. “Young ’un. English, I’d say. Probably bein’ deported to Botany Bay or th’ like, sir.” He said nothing more, but his eyes proclaimed bitterness. His anger at those who had sent the unknown girl to this.
“Easy, Tom.” Quare turned to Bolitho. “You were right, sir.”
“I wish to God I’d been wrong. The ship has been taken. Not by the convicts.” He saw the question on Quare’s face. “They’d not waste time and labour hoisting big guns over the side. They’d be weak and frightened after what they’ve been through. I believe our enemy is something far more dangerous and without mercy.”
He rolled on his back and dragged out his watch, despising himself for his relief. He had feared it was Viola lying down there.
It would not be dark for several hours. He said, “Post a good watch, Sergeant. Then join me.”
He hurried down the slope and into a tangle of dried-up bushes. The whole place seemed scorched by the sun and covered by the droppings of countless sea-birds.
Keen and the others crowded round him.
He said, “I believe there’s a boatload of men ashore somewhere. They’re probably out on the headland. It’s too dangerous to run a boat through those rocks, which is why they were taken by surprise by the canoes. It’s my guess they’ve mounted a guard there. To watch for ships and to drive off any native canoes before they can pass through the rocks.”
Keen nodded. “And their boat is unguarded!”
Ross ran his thick fingers through his red hair. “Now it is, Mr Keen. After night it’ll be another story entirely.”
Bolitho said, “We’ll take cover. As soon as it’s dark we’ll go to the beach.” He glanced at Keen. “When you boarded Eurotas, did you see many of her company?”
Keen looked surprised. “Well, no, sir. I suppose I assumed they were working below decks.”
With a King’s ship entering the bay and a pack of yelling warriors nearby in canoes, Bolitho thought it was unlikely that any seaman would be so set on his work. It was strange he had not thought about it earlier. So there had to be a second, even a third ship.
He turned and scrambled back up the slope to the two boulders and crawled beside a watching marine. He studied the ship for several minutes. There was no doubt about it. The Eurotas was standing higher in the water. All those cannon, a valuable cargo and ship’s stores. No wonder there were so few hands visible about her decks. Just enough to watch over the ship, the wretched convicts battened below. He tried not to think of the murdered girl.
He returned to the others. Keen watched him, his face tight with anxiety.
Bolitho said, “It will be a gamble.” He saw Allday’s hand drop to his cutlass. “But I intend to board that ship as soon as it’s dark. Once there, we can hold her until Tempest arrives.”
Ross said flatly, “The wind’s no helping Mr Herrick, sir. It’s veered quite a piece since we stepped ashore.” He looked at the clear sky. “Aye, we may have a long wait, I’m thinking!”
Keen said, “Why don’t you take a rest, sir? I will stand the first watch.”
But Bolitho shook his head. “I must go and have another look at the ship.”
Keen watched him climbing towards the twin boulders. “He should rest, Mr Ross. We’ll need all his edge tonight.”
Allday heard him and stared up at the boulders. Bolitho would not rest or close even one eye until it was done. Until he knew. He drew his cutlass and sliced its heavy blade through the sand.
Allday had grown to like Viola Raymond very much. She had been good for the captain when he had needed her most. But he had been secretly grateful when she had sailed for England. She represented trouble, a threat to his captain’s future.
Fate, or Lady Luck, as Lieutenant Herrick would have it, had decided otherwise. No matter how it had all begun, it looked as if it might well have a bloody ending before another dawn.
Bolitho licked his lips and felt sand grate between his teeth. Waiting for darkness had been a test for everyone in his party. Scorched by the sun, stung and pestered by flies and crawling insects, it had been torture.
He saw the splash of oars in the gloom and knew a boat was heading for the beach. All through the afternoon and evening, while they had tried to find shelter amongst the scrub and eke out their rations of water and biscuit, Bolitho had watched the occasional comings and goings between ship and shore. The boat had made several trips, but never fully manned. It seemed likely there was a constant picket or lookout on the headland, and few hands could be spared for manning the boat. But the timing was haphazard, and it was impossible to gauge any sort of routine.
One thing was certain, once it had begun to grow dark the boat was always challenged.
Aboard the anchored ship there had been hardly any sign of movement. But what there had, had struck dismay and anger into the watching sailors.
A woman had been seen on deck in mid-afternoon, her dark hair hanging over bare shoulders, her screams shrill across the heaving water as she was chased and finally dragged to one of the hatchways.
Later, a body, that of a man, had been carried to the bulwark and hurled into the sea. It floated away from the hull and made no effort to swim, so it seemed there was another murder to their account.
The boat grounded violently in the surf and the men struggled with oars and then a small anchor to kedge it on to hard sand. From the din they were making, and the attendant clink of bottles, it was obvious they were all drunk, or nearly so. One slumped down on the beach, his shoulders against the dripping boat, while his companions trudged away towards the headland.
Bolitho touched Keen’s arm. It was now or never. The men might be back for more drink, or to change places with their comrades aboard Eurotas within the hour.
He said, “Tell Sergeant Quare to begin.”
He looked at the sky. There was cloud about, but not enough to hide the moon. The wind was fresh, and with the hiss of surf and the distant boom of waves over the reef they might be able to get near the ship unheard.
Bolitho strained his eyes into the darkness, but the shadows played tricks with his vision. He heard the seamen breathing and shifting along the cleft in the hillside, and guessed they were imagining what was happening. Blissett creeping towards the boat, smothered in sand which they had plastered on his body with the aid of their precious water.
Only the unending line of writhing surf separated land from sea, against it the grounded longboat lay like a dead whale.
Bolitho stared towards the ship. There were no anchor lights, but he could see a faint glow through some of the open ports, and knew they were where the remaining guns were stationed. Loaded with grape, they would make short work of any clumsy attack. But there were no boarding nets. Once alongside, the odds might alter.
He stiffened as he heard something like a dry cough. Then Quare said hoarsely, “All done, sir.” He sounded pleased.
Bolitho drew his sword and rose to his feet. At two hundred yards, plus the distance down the final slope, they would be invisible. He started to walk towards the beach, his shoes scraping noisily on loose stones, while the seamen emerged in a ragged line behind him, most of them hunched forward as if expecting to meet a volley of shots.
This was the worst part so far. As he walked Bolitho tried not to think of th
e muskets and pistols, now all loaded and primed, the rasp of steel from axe to cutlass.
He turned with surprise as he heard a man humming quietly as he strode behind him. It was the American, Jenner, walking in his familiar loose gait, his hair flopping over his eyes. He saw Bolitho turn and nodded companionably. “Fine night for it, sir.”
Beyond him was the Negro, Orlando, a boarding axe over his powerful shoulder like a child’s toy.
What they were doing here, the cause they represented were of no value now. They were going to fight, and if possible stay alive.
All at once Bolitho was standing beside the boat while the seamen gathered into tight groups as they had been ordered.
The marine, Blissett, took his musket from Quare and looked at Bolitho.
“I left him, sir.” He touched the spreadeagled corpse with his foot. “He’s not carrying anything but his weapons. He could be anyone.”
Bolitho looked at the dead man. Around his head and shoulders the sand looked black where his blood had soaked away. He forced himself to kneel beside him, to examine him for some sort of clue. The moon swept momentarily between the clouds, so that the man’s eyes came alight in the glow as if to rebuke him. His clothes were poor and ragged, but his belt, pistol and cutlass were in perfect condition.
Bolitho touched his wrist and arm. The skin was warm, but quite still. There was no wasting, no loose flesh. This man was a sailor. He stood up slowly. Had been a sailor.
Keen whispered, “I’ve got my party around the boat.” He sounded out of breath. Excited or frightened, it was hard to tell.
“Ease her into the water.”
Bolitho stood back to look at the ship while two groups of men began to slide the boat through the lively surf. There had been five in the boat before, and never more than six. He watched as the selected seamen clambered into the hull, thrusting out the oars and muffling them in the rowlocks with food sacks and pieces of clothing. He saw Miller rip off the dead man’s shirt and pass it into the boat, one foot planted on the corpse to steady himself as he did so.
Miller, probably more than any other here, was in his element. He had come through the war and had survived cutting-out expeditions, cannon fire and every other sort of risk without a scratch. As a boatswain’s mate he was above average. But in a hand to hand fight he was something else again. A killer.
Passage to Mutiny Page 9