In the seven months since the revolution had begun the whole world might have changed yet again.
Only one thing was clear and stark, like a wreck on a reef.
Tuke would capture the Narval. It was so simple it made him want to walk out into the darkness. De Barras’s men would rise to their new banner willingly. After the barbarous way they had been made to live and serve de Barras, it would be like a flood bursting.
And then Tuke would emerge in his new role, not merely a troublesome pirate, but a real force to be reckoned with. Raymond was correct in one thing. It would mean war. England would never stand by and watch a new France expanding at her expense. Every ship would be needed desperately. They had been unready for a clash with Spain over trade concessions. What would they do when confronted with a freshly blooded France?
Tuke, with his small but unchallenged flotilla of vessels, would do as he pleased, take what he wanted. Found an empire if he so wished. He looked at Raymond again. And he had known about Genin all the time.
Tremayne said, “I will put to sea tomorrow.” He grinned. “Today, that is.”
Raymond said tonelessly, “Pigeon is carrying despatches for the Governor of New South Wales.”
Tremayne winked. “And for Commodore Sayer. He’ll be writing fresh orders for you, Dick, double-quick!”
Hardacre leaned over the sill and sniffed the air. “Light soon now.” Without turning he said, “And my schooner is out looking for de Barras. If Tuke already knows about these things, he’ll come out of hiding. He’ll not risk attack from a frigate. The Narval would pound his little vessels to boxwood before they got in range.”
Bolitho remembered the powerful guns, Tempest’s topgallant mast plunging down to the deck, killing and maiming as it went.
Almost to himself he said, “All Tuke has to do is wait. If de Barras learns the news, he’ll be even more desperate to recapture his prisoner. His ship is all he has now. Without her, he is as good as dead.”
Tremayne stood up, his sea-boots creaking. “I’ll be off directly, Dick. If you have any despatches, I’d be obliged to get ’em afore noon.” He tried to grin. “But you’re all safe and snug here. Your fifth-rate and th’ big transport in the bay. You could hold off an army, eh?”
Raymond spoke up sharply. “De Barras is no longer our concern. This settlement is. I will be getting more men and supplies soon. Once they arrive, Tuke and his followers will sheer off and go to another hunting-ground.”
Tremayne regarded him calmly. “If you think that . . .” He turned away. “I’ll have a boat alongside Tempest till an hour afore I up-anchors. Send your despatches into her.” He gripped Bolitho’s hand. “I’ll tell ’em about you, when I drops the anchor in Carrick Road again. I often sees your sister. I’ll pass it kindly to her.”
“Thank you, William. But I may be there before you.”
As the other captain left the room Bolitho felt suddenly heavy. It was like an evil dream, when nobody would listen or understand what you were trying to say.
With Tuke on the rampage, and the forces of authority unable or unwilling to contest his power, the islands would fall on one another’s throats as in days past. The spear and the war club would lay the islands open for traders and pirates to plunder as they thought fit.
He saw Hardacre watching him. He knew. A betrayal. There was no other word for it.
But would the French sailors rise against their officers? No matter what Tuke or Yves Genin told them, could they bring themselves to mutiny and smash down all they had been disciplined to obey without question?
When a nation rose against its King and turned murder loose on the streets it could face up to almost anything, Bolitho decided grimly.
He said, “I am requesting permission to put to sea, sir. I’ll find de Barras and tell him what we know. It would be far better to send him and his ship away than to bring superior forces down on our heads by remaining silent.”
“No.” One word, and yet it rebounded around the room like an iron shot.
Hardacre said, “Then I’ll be down to the village and speak with Tinah. There are things to prepare.” He glanced at Bolitho. “I’ve no doubt you wish to discuss matters, too!”
As the door closed behind him Raymond said, “I have my own responsibilities, and you are here to support me to the best of your ability.”
“I know my orders, sir.” Was it possible to sound so calm, when all he wanted to do was pull Raymond by the lapels of his beautiful coat and shake him until his face was blue.
“Good. In my opinion de Barras will either defeat Tuke or return to France if he learns what has happened. Either way it is no longer our affair. War will come, if it has not already begun, and we must prepare the Levu Islands as instructed.” His mouth hardened. “And I imagine that you will be able to drive Tuke’s schooners away, should they come too close, eh?”
“D’you know what I think, sir?” Bolitho leaned out of a window and gripped the sill to prevent his hands from shaking. “I believe that there will be no bases here, not now, nor any time in our lives. The war we knew was a sounding-brass, the one to come will be fought with giants. There will be neither need nor time for islands and governors to control them.” He drew in a breath very slowly, tasting the sea, feeling it pull at him. “No supplies or soldiers will come either.”
Raymond exclaimed, “You’re mad! What do you think I was sent for?”
Bolitho did not face him. “Think about it. I was kept out here because of you. Because I challenged your authority five years ago and stood between you and a man you wronged and allowed to go into oblivion. Because of other, more personal matters also, you used your skills to maroon me here. De Barras is another. But he was driven out of France too late. By then his sort had created anger and hatred, which in turn will try to destroy our world, too. And you? Do you not think it strange that you have joined our little world?”
When he received no reply he turned and saw Raymond staring at the table, his open despatches spread between his out-thrust arms.
Then he said hoarsely, “You are wrong. Of course I will get support. I have worked all my life for proper recognition. I will not stand by and see it all . . .” He lurched to his feet, his eyes blazing. “I am the governor here! You will do as I say!”
They stayed quite still, facing each other like strangers.
Then, as Bolitho made to leave, he heard voices in the compound and feet on the stairs outside.
It was neither Hardacre nor his overseer, but Lieutenant Keen. He was dressed only in shirt and breeches, and he looked beside himself with anxiety.
“I am sorry to disturb you, sir.”
He looked so wretched that Bolitho took his arm and guided him out on to the stairway beside another window.
“Tell me.”
“I have a friend, sir. She, she . . .”
“Yes, I have seen her.” He still could not even guess. “Continue.”
“I was with her. I had attended to my duties with the working party and seen them in their huts, and then . . .” Sweat ran down his face as he blurted out, “In the name of God, sir, I believe there is fever amongst us!” He turned away, his shoulders shaking. “She just lies there. She cannot speak. I didn’t know what to do.” He broke down completely.
Bolitho stared past him at the trees and the glow of water beyond. Another dawn? It was more like the day of reckoning.
I must think.
“I’ll come with you.” He strode back into the room and searched amongst the litter of papers until he found something to write on. “I must send a message to the pier. For Allday.”
Raymond asked dully, “What are you muttering about?”
Bolitho said, “I would suggest you close the settlement gates, sir. There may be fever on the island.”
Raymond’s jaw dropped. “Impossible! You are just trying to parry aside my orders!” He saw Bolitho’s expression and added, “Your lieutenant is mistaken! He must be!”
Boli
tho walked from the room. Revolution on the other side of the world, and the islands waiting to watch their new masters fighting amongst themselves. And now, like a trident from hell, had come the worst blow of all. The one enemy which came from within, and from which there might be no quarter.
13 VOLUNTEERS
BOLITHO knelt on a rush mat and looked at the young girl. In the hut, which had been erected a few days earlier by some of Tempest’s working parties, there was almost complete silence, and Bolitho was conscious of it. As if the surrounding trees, even the island, were listening. Above his head he heard the quiet buzz of insects hitting Keen’s lanterns, and the young lieutenant’s irregular breathing as he looked over his shoulder.
He had the girl’s wrist in his hand, but there was barely any movement in it. Her smooth skin felt wet, and the beat of her heart was fast and urgent.
Hardacre came into the hut, brushing between a marine picket and two natives as he strode under the lantern light. He ran his big hands across the girl’s body and then looked up at Keen’s anxious face.
“She has the fever. How much do you care for her?”
Keen answered brokenly, “With everything I have. She must live. She must!”
Hardacre stood up. “Cover her well. No matter if she tries to throw it off, keep her warm.”
He looked at Bolitho and walked with him out of the hut. The sky was much paler and some birds had started to sing.
“It has come to the islands before. Last year. Early. Many died. They have little resistance.” He glanced at the hut door. “I am afraid your lieutenant will lose his friend.” His grim features softened. “They hardly know a word of each other’s language. I have watched them together. She is Malua, Tinah’s sister. She will be much missed.” He studied Bolitho gravely. “I will go to the village. They have certain roots, herbs also. There might be a chance.” He shrugged. “But who knows what may follow?”
Bolitho heard feet on sand and saw Allday hurrying towards him.
“You were supposed to take my message to Mr Herrick!”
Allday looked at him calmly. “Aye, Captain. I sent my second coxswain with the gig. He’s a fair hand.” He squared his shoulders. “I know about the fever. And I’ve seen what it can do, an’ that’s no error. My place is here. With you.”
Bolitho looked away, deeply moved by Allday’s staunch loyalty, despairing because of what it really meant. For both of them.
Keen came out of the hut, his eyes very bright. “She seems easier sir.”
Bolitho nodded. How we delude ourselves when the worst is about to happen.
“Hardacre has gone for aid. He is the best hope.”
Keen sounded dazed. “I thought the surgeon would come, sir?”
Bolitho turned towards the dawn sky. “You must know, Mr Keen, what might well happen. To all of us. The fever may be local and easily held. Again, many diseases are new to these islands, their cure unknown as they were brought by outsiders. Like ourselves. But—” he watched the dismay clouding Keen’s face, “we have to think of the ship and what we are ordered to do. To bring Mr Gwyther ashore would deprive the ship of help should she need it. For once he comes I cannot allow him to return until we know the worst.” He forced a smile. “Or the best.”
Keen nodded jerkily. “Yes, sir. Yes, I think I understand. Now.”
Bolitho watched his emotions, his anguish. How well he knew him. To think it should come to this.
Almost harshly he said, “So we must be about it. You are my second-in-command. I believe you have Mr Pyper ashore with you, so from today he will be acting-lieutenant. See to it. I have already passed word to Mr Herrick to appoint both Mr Swift, and Mr Starling, master’s mate, to the same positions. We will need all our skills, and it were better that we have as many with the proper authority as we can. Although from what I have learned from my people these past months, I would promote every man-Jack if I were free to do so!”
Allday said, “Here comes another, Captain.” He added hurriedly, “Be easy with him. He thinks he is doing the best he can.”
Orlando’s tall figure came out of the grey light, shining and running with water as he squelched over the sand towards the huts.
Bolitho looked towards the bay but the ships were still hidden in shadows. Orlando had taken it on himself to swim ashore. He must have heard Herrick giving his new orders, or someone spreading word of the fever. Either way, he had come. Unable to speak or ask, he was just standing there, watching Bolitho as if he expected a blow in the face.
Bolitho said quietly, “I am afraid there will be no cabin for you to fuss over, and precious little of anything else for a while.” He reached out impetuously, as Allday had seen him do many times, and touched Orlando’s arm. “So I am placing you in charge of our food supplies.”
The Negro lowered himself noiselessly on to his knees and nodded very slowly.
As Bolitho turned away Allday touched the Negro with his shoe. “Stand up, you ignorant bugger!” He grinned to hide his sadness. “Can’t you see what you’re doing to him, man?”
By the time the first sunlight had touched the hills and filtered through the trees towards the bay Bolitho had discovered the extent of his resources. Apart from Keen and Pyper, he had Sergeant Quare and Jack Miller, boatswain’s mate, to support his authority. Two marines and six seamen only remained of the working party.
Most of the wounded had recovered sufficiently to be returned to the ship, leaving only the marine with the spear-thrust in his leg and two seamen. If things got worse, even they would have to be put to work.
Keen came back, his eyes on the hut. “I’ve mustered the hands together, sir. They seem to know what’s expected from them.”
Fortunately, most of the shore parties had been chosen for their skills and reliability. Men like Miller, who had proved a first-class hand, even if he changed into a wild-eyed killer in battle. Penneck, ship’s caulker, who had been putting finishing touches to one of the huts. Big Tom Fraser of the cooper’s crew, trustworthy except where drink was concerned. Jenner, the dreamy American, and another wanderer, Lenoir, who was of French birth, and the ex-gamekeeper, Blissett. The latter would most likely see this new isolation as yet another chance to obtain his corporal’s stripes.
“Thank you.” He smiled. “Go to your Malua. I’ll not need you for a while.” He beckoned to Allday. “We will walk to the settlement and speak with Mr Raymond. I shall want the convicts kept separate from the village and from ourselves. That way the Corps guards can watch over them and also attend to the defence of the compound and anchorage.”
He found himself marvelling at the easy way his ideas translated themselves into actions. It was sheer madness. What could he and a handful of men do here? If the natives started to drop with fever the situation would get ugly and quickly. It would not be a siege for long. It would be a massacre.
He passed the long hut which Gwyther had used as his hospital and saw the wounded marine and his two companions sitting by the entrance. He could feel the uncertainty, the new fear.
Bolitho said, “Don’t worry. You’re not forgotten.”
The marine known as Billy-boy asked, “We’m in for troubles, sir?”
“Can you still hold a musket?”
He bobbed. “Can that, sir. I’m gettin’ better all the while. Just me leg.”
Bolitho smiled. “Good. You’ll be armed directly. I’m mounting you as picket on the weapons.”
He strode on with Allday beside him. Weapons. The compound had its swivels and a few six-pounders. Not exactly artillery, but they could sweep any attackers from the pier like gravel from a road.
He paused on a slope and looked towards the sea. Tempest lay as before, serene above her image, distance hiding the confusion which his message must have created. Poor Thomas. He would be here too but for his sense of duty.
Bolitho glanced at the Eurotas. It would be best to transfer the convicts into her rather than keep them ashore and add to any risk of infection. He
tried to scrape his mind further, to discover some weakness or flaw in his hastily assembled plan. Just hours ago, that was when it had all started. Like a line in a ship’s log, a hint of some new disturbance on the sea’s face. Your life could change with the speed of light, the merest whim of an idea.
The pier was deserted, and below it Hardacre’s longboats swung gently to their lines, their gunwales so blistered they showed no trace of paint or colour.
They reached the big gates, and Bolitho saw two Corps soldiers watching him from one of the little blockhouses.
Allday shouted, “Open the gates! It’s Captain Bolitho!”
An officer appeared on the rampart, his coat like blood in the sunlight.
“I am sorry, Captain! But the governor has ordered me to keep them closed! For the safety of my men and all those on duty within, and for the security of the settlement, it is considered the best arrangement.”
Bolitho looked at him steadily, his mind like ice, despite the enormity of Raymond’s betrayal.
He called, “We have to stand together. The ships are one way of life, the islands another. If we are to meet any threat from attack or from sickness we must—” He stopped, sickened. His words had sounded like pleading.
Allday said thickly, “Let me get up at the bastard, Captain! I’ll gut him like a herring!”
“No.”
Bolitho turned away. Raymond could do as he pleased. There was an underground stream within the compound, endless drinking water. Hardacre had chosen the site wisely. They would have plenty of food, far more than they needed with the militia scattered and less mouths to feed. If every man outside the palisades died and the islanders were decimated, Raymond’s stand, his decision to save what he could, might be seen as brilliant planning. Especially across a fine desk on the other side of the world.
With Europe moving towards another conflict, even the smallest deed might be welcome.
“We will go back to the huts.”
He glanced quickly at Allday as they walked down the slope towards the trees. When did you begin to see signs of fever in a man? It was the dread of every sailor. He could understand the feelings of the Corps soldiers on the palisades. But it was a fool’s protection. Tropical fever could soon scale a wall.
Passage to Mutiny Page 23