Passage to Mutiny

by Alexander Kent

  Allday sprang towards the screen door, his face under control.

  “Never faster, Captain!”

  Left alone with Herrick, Bolitho added quietly, “The Narval.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Herrick waited, knowing the Frenchman had been on Bolitho’s mind. They had sighted her several times, just a tiny sliver below the horizon. Following. Waiting like the hunter.

  Bolitho said, “He’ll not anchor here. But as soon as I am sure what we are required to do I would like to discover his whereabouts.”

  Herrick shrugged. “Some would say it was a sort of justice if this de Barras got his grappling irons into Tuke before we did, sir. I think we’re too soft with bloody pirates of his kind.”

  Bolitho looked at him gravely. Hanging would certainly be too soft in de Barras’s book.

  “Have you considered the reverse side of the coin, Thomas?” The grey eyes watched Herrick’s uncertain frown. “That Tuke may have the same plan in mind for the Narval?” He walked towards the square of bright sunlight below the companion, adding, “He nearly took Eurotas into his brotherhood, and he certainly captured enough heavy guns to make him a power to reckon with.”

  Herrick hurried after him, his mind hanging on to Bolitho’s words. Mutiny in a King’s ship was bad enough, but to contemplate that a mere pirate could attack and seize a man-of-war was impossible to accept.

  He said grudgingly, “Of course, Narval is a Frenchie.”

  Bolitho smiled at him. “And that makes a difference to your conscience?”

  “Aye.” Herrick grinned awkwardly. “Some.”

  There was even more fruit on the gundeck now, and the shrouds and gangways were festooned with plaited mats, strange-looking garments and long, delicate streamers daubed in bright colours.

  Herrick said, “What would the admiral say to all this?”

  Bolitho walked to the entry port, noticing the instant attention and interest his appearance was causing. Several girls crowded around him, trying to hang garlands over his neck, while others touched his gold-laced coat and beamed with pleasure.

  One old man kept bobbing his head and repeating “Cap-itain Cook” like a sailor’s parrot.

  It was probable that Cook had once visited the islands, or maybe the old man had carried the story of his ships and his sailors with their pigtails and oaths, rough humour and rum, from another part of this great ocean entirely.

  Bolitho heard Allday call to his gig’s crew, “There’ll be a few little maids here who’d suit me, lads, an’ that’s no error!”

  Bolitho lowered himself into the boat, while the calls shrilled and brought more cheers and laughter from the onlookers.

  It was like that all the way to the little pier, with girls and young men swimming on either beam, touching the oars, and turning Allday’s stroke into confusion. Even his threats made no difference and Bolitho was glad for his sake when they were safely ashore.

  He paused with the sun beating down on him, tasting the different aromas, of thick undergrowth and palms, of wood-smoke and drying fish.

  Allday said, “It looks a bit rough, Captain.” He was looking at the wooden wall around the main settlement.

  “Yes.”

  Bolitho straightened his sword and started to walk along the pier towards a group of uniformed militia who were obviously waiting to escort him. Close to, their red uniforms with yellow facings were shabby and badly patched. The men were well browned by the sun and, he thought, as hard as nails. Like the Corps in New South Wales, they were adventurers. Of a sort. Unwilling to risk the discipline and regulated life in the army or aboard ship, but without the training or intelligence to stand completely on their own.

  One, with shaggy hair protruding beneath his battered shako, brought up his sabre in a salute which would have made Sergeant Quare faint.

  “Welcome, Captain.” He showed his teeth, which only made him appear more wild. “I’m to take you to see the resident, Mr Hardacre. We’ve been watching your ships coming in all day. A fair sight they made too, I can tell you, sir.” He fell in step beside Bolitho, while the rest of his party slouched along behind.

  On the short walk to the settlement Bolitho discovered that Hardacre had built the place with very little help from anyone, and had somehow managed to win the respect of most of the islanders for several miles around. It was unlikely he would take very kindly to Raymond, Bolitho thought.

  The militia had been collected mostly in Sydney, and their numbers had dwindled over the past two years to a mere thirty men and two officers. The rest had either deserted, leaving the islands by native craft or the occasional trading schooner, or had gone to make their lives with one of the local tribes, enjoying an existence of women, plentiful food and no work at all. And a few had disappeared without any trace.

  The talkative lieutenant, whose name was Finney, confided, “I came to make my fortune.” He grinned. “But no sign of it yet, I’m thinking.”

  Below the gates of the settlement, protected by little blockhouses above and on either side of them, Bolitho paused and looked back at his ship. Herrick had been right about it. It was well sited, and a handful of men with muskets, even these ruffians, could hold off twenty times their number. He frowned. Provided they were armed with nothing heavier.

  Inside the gates Bolitho stopped and stared up at a crude gibbet. The halter was still attached but had been cleanly cut with a knife.

  Finney sucked his teeth and said, “T’was a mite awkward, Captain. We’d no idea that a real lady’d be coming to a place like this. We had no warning, y’see.” He sounded genuinely apologetic. “We cut him down sharply, but she saw the poor devil all the same.”

  Bolitho quickened his pace, filled with hatred for Raymond.

  “What had he done?”

  “Mr Hardacre said he’d been after the daughter of a chief on t’other side of the island. He forbids any of the men from going there, an’ says the chief is the most important friend we have among the tribes.”

  They reached the deep shade of the main door.

  “And he had the man hanged for it?”

  Finney sounded subdued. “You don’t understand, Captain. Mr Hardacre is like a king out here.”

  Bolitho nodded. “I see.” It was getting worse instead of better. “Then I am looking forward to meeting him!”

  John Hardacre made an impressive sight. Well above average height, he was built like a human fortress, broad and deep-chested, with a resonant voice to match. But if that was not enough to awe his visitors, his general appearance was of a self-made king, as his lieutenant had described. He had bushy hair and a great, spade-shaped beard, both once dark, but now the colour of wood ash. Somewhere in between, his eyes stared out beneath jet-black brows like two bright lamps.

  He wore a white, loosely folded robe which left his powerful legs bare, and his large feet were covered only in sandals, and held well apart as if to sustain the weight and strength of the man above.

  He nodded to Bolitho and studied him thoughtfully. “Frigate captain, eh? Well, well. So His Majesty’s Government appears to think we may need protection at last.” He chuckled, the sound rising like an underground stream. “You will take refreshment with us here.” It was not a suggestion but an order.

  Raymond, who was standing beside an open window and mopping his face with a sodden handkerchief, complained, “It’s hotter than I thought possible.”

  Hardacre grinned, displaying, disappointingly, Bolitho thought, a set of broken and stained teeth.

  “You get too soft in England! Out here it is a man’s country. Ripe for the taking, like a good woman, eh?” He laughed at Raymond’s prim stare. “You’ll see!”

  Two native girls padded softly across the rush mats and arranged glasses and jugs on a stout table.

  Bolitho watched Hardacre ladling colourless liquid into the glasses. It was probably like fire-water, he thought, although Hard-acre seemed willing enough to drink it, too.

  “Well, gentl
emen, welcome to the Levu Islands.”

  Bolitho gripped the arm of his chair and tried to stop his eyes from watering.

  Hardacre’s ladle swept over him and refilled his glass. “Damn good, eh?”

  Bolitho waited for his throat to respond. “Strong.”

  Raymond put down his glass. “My instructions are to take overall control of these and other surrounding islands not yet under common claim by another nation.” He was speaking quickly as if afraid Hardacre might fly into a rage. “I have full instructions for you also. From London.”

  “From London.” Hardacre watched him, swilling the drink around his glass. “And what does London think you can do which I cannot, pray?”

  Raymond hesitated. “Various aspects are unsatisfactory, and, besides, you do not have the forces at your disposal to support the King’s peace.”

  “Rubbish!” Hardacre turned towards a window. “I could raise an army if I so wanted. Every man a warrior. Each one ready to obey me.”

  Bolitho watched him, seeing his anxiety which he was trying to hide, and his obvious pride in what he had achieved on his own.

  Hardacre swung towards him violently. “Bolitho! Of course, I recall it now. Your brother. During the war.” He sighed. “That war made many a difference to a lot of folk, and that’s true enough.”

  Bolitho said nothing, watching Hardacre’s eyes remembering, knowing that Raymond was listening, hoping for his discomfort.

  The great bearded figure turned back to the window. “Yes, I was a farmer then. Lost everything because I was a King’s man when we had to take sides. So I pulled up my roots and set to work out here.” He added bitterly, “Now it seems it is the King who wishes to rob me this time!”

  “Nonsense.” Raymond swallowed his drink and gasped. “It will not be like that. You may still be needed. I must first—”

  Hardacre interrupted, “You’ll first listen to me.” He flung aside the plaited screen and pointed at the dark green trees. “I need trained men to help me, or those I can instruct before I get too old. I don’t want officials like those in Sydney or London, nor, with all respect, Captain, do I need uniforms and naval discipline.”

  Bolitho said calmly, “Your discipline appears somewhat harsher than ours.”

  “Oh that.” Hardacre shrugged. “Justice has to be matched against the surroundings. It is the way of things here.”

  “Your way.” Bolitho kept his voice level.

  Hardacre looked at him steadily and then smiled. “Yes. If you’ll have it so.”

  He continued gruffly, “You’ve seen what can happen in the islands, Captain. The people are simple, untouched, laid open for every pox and disease which a ship can drop amongst them. If they are to prosper and survive they must protect themselves and not rely on others.”

  “Impossible.” Raymond was getting angry. “The Eurotas was captured, and retaken by the Tempest. Every day we’re hearing worse news about marauding pirates and murderers, and even the French are disturbed enough to have sent a frigate.”

  “The Narval.” Hardacre shrugged. “Oh yes, Mister Raymond, I have my ways of learning news, too.”

  “Indeed. Well, you’ll not seek out and destroy these pirates with a trading schooner and a handful of painted savages!” Raymond glared at him hotly. “I intend to make it my first task. After that, we will talk about trade. My men will begin landing convicts tomorrow, and clear more land near the settlement where huts can be built for them.” He sounded triumphant. “So perhaps you can begin with that, Mr Hardacre?”

  Hardacre eyed him flatly. “Very well. But your wife, I trust you’ll not detain her here longer than necessary?”

  “Your concern moves me.”

  Hardacre said quietly, “Please do not use sarcasm on me. And let me tell you that white women, especially those of gentle birth, are no match for our islands.”

  “Don’t your people have wives?”

  Hardacre looked away. “Local girls.”

  Raymond looked at the two who were standing near the table. Very young, very demure. Bolitho could almost see his mind working.

  Hardacre said bluntly, “Two girls of good family. Their father is a chief. A fine man.”

  “Hmm.” Raymond pulled out his watch, the sweat running off his face like rain. “Have someone show me my quarters. I must have time to think.”

  Later, when Bolitho was alone with him, Hardacre said, “Your Mr Raymond is a fool. He knows nothing of this place. Nor will he want to learn.”

  Bolitho said, “What of the French frigate? Where did you see her?”

  “So you had it in your mind to ask, eh? Like a teazel in the brain.” Hardacre smiled. “Traders bring me information. Barter and mutual trust is our best protection. Oh yes, I have heard about Narval and her mad captain, just as I know about the pirate, Mathias Tuke. He is often lying off these islands with his cursed schooners. So far he has thought twice about trying to plunder the settlement, damn his eyes!” He looked at Bolitho. “But your frigate will be outwitted, my friend. You need small craft and strong legs, and guides who can take you to this man’s hiding places, and he has several.”

  “Could you discover them for me?”

  “I think not, Captain. We have survived this far without open war.”

  Bolitho thought of the Eurotas, the superb planning which had gone into her capture. That and the ruthless cruelty to back it would be more than a match for Lieutenant Finney’s militia.

  Hardacre seemed to read his mind. “I brought stability to the islands. Before I came the chiefs had fought each other for generations. Stolen women, taken heads, adopted barbarous customs which even now make me breathe a little faster to think of them. You are a sailor. You know these things. But I made them look to me, forced them to trust me, and from that small beginning I founded the first peace they had enjoyed. Ever. So if someone breaks it, he or they must be punished. Instantly. Finally. It is the only way. And if I began to use their trust to cause havoc amongst them, by allowing you or the Frenchman’s cannon to smash down their primitive world, these islands would revert to blood and hate.”

  Bolitho thought of the laughing, supple girls, the sense of freedom and simplicity. Like the shadow of a reef, it was hiding what lay just below the surface.

  Hardacre remarked absently, “You know of course that Narval’s captain is more concerned with recapturing a prisoner of France than he is in killing Tuke.” He nodded. “I see from your face you had already thought as much. You should grow a beard, Captain, to hide your feelings!”

  “What you were saying earlier about white women.”

  Hardacre chuckled. “That too you could not hide. The lady means something to you, eh?” He held up his hand. “Say nothing. I have severed myself from such problems. But if you want her to continue in health, I suggest you send her back to England.” He smiled. “Where she belongs.”

  There was a commotion of voices and hurrying feet in the yard below the window, and moments later Herrick, with Lieutenant Finney panting in his wake, strode into the room.

  Herrick said, “The guard boat found a small outrigger canoe, sir.” He ignored Hardacre and his officer. “There was a young native aboard. Bleeding badly. The surgeon says he is lucky to be alive.” He glanced at Hardacre for the first time. “It would appear, sir, that North Island in this group was attacked by Tuke and two schooners, and is now in their hands. This young lad managed to escape because he knew of the canoe. Tuke burned all the other boats when he attacked.”

  Hardacre clasped his big hands together as if in prayer. “God, their boats are their living!” He turned to Herrick. “And you are?”

  Herrick regarded him coldly. “First lieutenant, His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Tempest.”

  Bolitho said quietly, “So it seems you do need us after all.”

  “North Island is the hardest to defend, its chief the least willing to learn from past mistakes.” Hardacre was thinking aloud. “But I know how to seek him out.” He looked at Fi
nney. “Muster the men, and take them to the schooner. I will leave immediately.”

  Bolitho said gently, “No, you will stay here. I will take the schooner in company with my command, and with your permission some of your men and a few reliable guides.” He added, “You will serve your islanders the better if you stay here.” He saw his words sink in.

  Hardacre nodded his massive head. “Raymond, you mean.” He frowned. “No matter. I understand, even if you cannot say it.”

  Bolitho said to Herrick, “Recall the shore parties, Thomas. News travels fast in the islands apparently. We must travel faster. The wind is still with us, so we shall clear the anchorage and reefs before dusk.”

  Herrick nodded, absorbed in the only world he understood and respected. “Aye, sir, Lady Luck permitting.”

  He hurried away, and Bolitho heard him shouting for his boat’s crew.

  “A resourceful lieutenant, Captain.” Hardacre watched him grimly. “I could use him here.”

  “Use Thomas Herrick?” Bolitho picked up his sword. “I’ve not seen any man, including his captain, do that as yet!”

  He strode from the room, leaving the bearded giant and the two silent girls to their thoughts.

  Then he stopped dead as he heard her voice. “Richard!”

  He turned, holding her against him as she ran down the narrow wooden stairs. She felt hot and shaking through her gown, and her eyes were desperate as she asked, “Are you leaving? When will you return?”

  He held her tenderly, putting aside the mounting demands and questions which only he could answer.

  “There has been an attack. Tuke.” He felt her shoulders go rigid. “I may be able to run him to ground.” In the courtyard he heard Finney bawling orders, the clatter of boots and muskets. “The sooner I can do it, the quicker you will be free of this place.”

  She studied him, stroking his face with her hand as if trying to mould it in her memory.

  “Just be careful, Richard. All the time. For me. For us.”