He hid a smile as the marine lieutenant said in his piping voice, 'Smarten yourself up, Jones! You've had your rest ashore!'
Bolitho knew that the picture of the dead drummer-boy would last a long time in his memory.
He heard Adam's light step nearby and saw him waiting to speak.
'How is my flag-lieutenant today?' Adam smiled. It was the moment.
'Miss Robina is a fine girl, Uncle. I've never met anyone like her . . .'
Bolitho let it pour out without interruption. So that was the trouble. But for his own worries he would have realized that the ride to Newburyport would be a beginning rather than an ending.
'Have you asked her father for her hand in marriage?'
Adam blushed. 'It's far too soon, Uncle, that is, I hinted perhaps sometime in the future, that is, not the too distant future . . . His voice trailed away and he stared at the dark water abeam. Then he said, 'I know she won't have me, of course. Her uncle knows. He was glad to get rid of me aboard one of his vessels.'
Bolitho looked at him. Vivid was owned by Chase. It was strange that Tyrrell had not mentioned it.
'Let us walk awhile, Adam.'
They paced back and forth for several minutes while the ship moved and worked around them.
Bolitho said, 'You have a future in the Navy, Adam. A good one, if I have any say in the matter. You come of fine sea-going stock, but so have many others. Whatever gain you make, and whatever achievements you have won, you will have done so without the use of privilege, remember that. Yours will be a better Navy, or should be when young officers like you have positions of authority. We're an island race. We shall always need ships and those brave enough to fight them.'
Adam glanced at him. 'It is what I want. Have wanted since I joined your Hyperion as midshipman.'
Bolitho looked down at the gun-deck and saw the seaman who had lost an eye being greeted by some of his messmates as he swayed uncertainly past an eighteen-pounder. He was still unused to it. But with his black eye-patch to conceal the oakum which filled the empty socket he looked every inch a hero, and they were treating him as such.
Adam tried to find the words. 'Men like that one, Uncle. They mean a lot to you. They're not just ignorant hands, they matter, don't they?'
Bolitho faced him. 'They most certainly do. We must never take them for granted, Adam. There are plenty of others who do that!'
Adam nodded. 'When I sat in my father's old chair ..."
Bolitho asked quietly, 'At Newburyport? Where his ship was once sheltered?'
Adam looked away. He had not meant it to slip out quite like that, or so soon.
"They showed me, Uncle. It was the family name, you see. Not common in New England.'
'I'm glad. You've seen more than I.'
He heard Keen approaching and was suddenly thankful. It was not just Hugh's memory, what he had done to their father when he had deserted to fight for the American rebels, not because of that or the shame which-even Rivers had been quick to mention. Bolitho tried to face it. He was jealous. Hurt, even though it was ridiculous.
Keen touched his hat. 'Mr Tyrrell is in the chartroom with the master, sir. I think we should examine the next chart.' He glanced professionally at the clear sky. 'Should be able to maintain a fair speed all night at this rate.' He seemed oblivious to the awkward silence.
'Good, I'll come directly.' He nodded to his nephew. 'You too. It's all experience for whatever you intend.'
He hesitated outside the chartroom and said abruptly, 'Take charge, Val. I'm going aft. You can explain it all later.'
Adam asked anxiously, 'Are you feeling unwell, sir?'
Bolitho said, 'Just tired.'
He strode away and was soon lost in the shadows below the poop deck.
He was unable to face all of them crammed together in the small space of the chartroom. Knocker, the master, Quantock, Captain Dewar of the Royal Marines, and their assistants as well.
Bolitho had left another letter with Napier at San Felipe, and a copy to be sent by any other vessel which might happen to call at the harbour for supplies or water.
Not knowing about Belinda was tearing at him like claws. He had not realized how brittle his reserves had become. Not until Adam had reminded him of Hugh. My father's old chair.
Before, Hugh had remained misty and obscure. Now he was here amongst them. Fighting for his place.
Bolitho slumped down on the stern seat and stared at the glistening froth left by Achates' rudder.
Allday padded in from the dining space. 'Can I fetch you a glass, sir?' He was careful to keep his voice level.
'No, but thank you.' Bolitho twisted round to look at him. 'You are the only one who really knows me, do you understand that?'
'Sometime I do, an' then again sometime I don't, sir. By an' large I think I sees the man more'n others do.'
Bolitho lay back and breathed in the damp air. 'God, Allday, I am in hell.' But when he looked again Allday had vanished.
He watched a fish jumping astern. Who could blame Allday? He was probably ashamed of seeing his secret despair.
But Allday, as was his wont, had gone to his tiny, screened-off mess which he shared with his two friends, Jewell, the Achates' sailmaker, and the boatswain's mate Christy whom he had known in the Lysander at the Nile.
Three great tots of rum later he presented himself at Keen's cabin door.
The captain's clerk regarded him warily. 'What do 'ee want, Allday?'
The clerk winced as Allday breathed out the heavy fumes. 'Request to see the cap'n.'
It was unorthodox, and Keen was feeling weary after the discussion in the chartroom. But he knew Allday, and owed him his very life.
'Come in and close the door.' He dismissed his clerk and asked, 'What is it, man? You look like someone intent on a fight?'
Allday took another long breath. 'It's the admiral, sir. He's carryin' more'n his share. It's not fair . . . '
Keen smiled. So that was all. He had imagined something terrible had occurred.
Allday continued, 'I just wanted to say my piece, sir, seein' you're a decent man an' a real friend to 'im down aft. It's somethin' the flag-lieutenant said to 'im. I feel it in me bones. Somethin' which wounded 'im deeply.'
Keen was tired but he was intelligent and quick-witted. He knew he should have seen it. The unusual strangeness between the vice-admiral and his nephew.
He said, 'Leave it with me, Allday. I understand.'
Allday studied his face and then nodded. 'Had to speak, sir. Otherwise, officer or not, I'll put the flag-lieutenant across my knee and beat the hell out of 'im!'
Keen stood up. 'I didn't hear that, Allday.' He smiled gravely. 'Now be off with you.'
For a long while Keen sat at his table and watched the sun dying on the gently heaving sea.
He had a million things to do, for somehow he knew they would be called to fight very soon now. Like Allday, he thought, in me bones. The memory did not amuse him but he found that he was able to forget the conference, Quantock's silent disapproval and the man Tyrrell's brash promises to lead them to a place where they could hold an advantage against the other ship.
And all because of Allday. He had known Bolitho's coxswain on and off for eighteen turbulent years. Years of hardship and war, of momentary distractions and the incredible joy of staying alive when that seemed an impossibility.
One word stood out where Allday was concerned. Loyalty.
Keen reached wearily for the bell to summon his clerk.
He doubted if many people could describe what loyalty was, but he had been privileged to see what it looked like.
11
Revenge
'All hands, all hands! Hands aloft an' loose topsails!'
Bolitho stood at the quarterdeck rail and watched the dripping cutters being secured yet again on their tier. Achates had anchored for several hours while the boats had been lowered to examine an inlet where a ship might be concealed. As on all the other occasions, they had returne
d with nothing to report.
Bolitho shaded his eyes from the intense glare to look at the land. Santo Domingo was just a few miles to the north-west, then the Mona Passage, back to the northern approaches where they had started.
Two weeks wasted. Making use of winds which would barely move a leaf on an inland stream.
He watched the big topsails flapping and filling as the ship heeled slightly on her new tack.
Keen crossed the quarterdeck and waited for Bolitho to face him.
'With respect, sir, I think we should return to San Felipe.'
Bolitho replied, 'I know these waters well, Val. You can hide a fleet if need be. You think I'm mistaken, don't you?' He touched his crumpled shirt and smiled. 'I don't blame you. These past weeks have been hard on all of us.'
Keen said, 'I'm worried for you, sir. The longer we wait ..."
Bolitho nodded. 'I know. My head on the block. I've always understood that.'
The shrouds creaked as the wind increased a little to fill the sails. High above the decks the extra lookouts strained their eyes and silently cursed their officers for their discomfort.
Bolitho heard the heavy tap of Tyrrell's wooden stump and turned to greet him. Keen made his excuses and moved to another part of the quarterdeck. His mistrust and growing suspicion were obvious.
Tyrrell glanced at Keen and said, 'Don't like me much, that one.' He sounded worried, less confident.
Bolitho asked, 'Are you still certain, Jethro?'
'She could have gone elsewhere.' He pounded his fist on the rail. 'But several friends told me she'd been usin' one of the inlets as a restin' place. She's nothin' to fear from the Dons. They know what she's about, I'm certain of that too.'
Bolitho looked at him thoughtfully. 'We're inside their waters now. I've no authority even to be here unless that damned ship is sheltering behind the Spanish flag.'
Keen returned, his face expressionless. 'We shall have to change tack again shortly, sir.' He purposely ignored Tyrrell. 'After that it will be a hard beat up to the Mona Passage. The wind is poor enough, but it seems intent on holding us back.'
Even as he spoke the fore-topsail flapped and banged against the shrouds and men scurried to the braces to retrim the yards yet again.
Tyrrell said suddenly, 'I know of a place. Give me a boat.' He was speaking quickly as if to stifle his own arguments against his suggestion. 'You don't believe me. I'm not even sure myself.'
They looked up as a lookout yelled, 'Deck there! Sail to the nor'-west!'
Keen murmured, 'Bloody hell! It'll be a patrol boat out of Santo Domingo!'
Tyrrell regarded him bleakly. 'They'll have been watchin' your fine ship for days, Captain, I'll wager a bounty on it!'
Keen looked away and retorted, 'You'd know about bounties right enough!'
Bolitho said sharply, 'Enough.'
He looked up at the masthead. A fine, clear day, the lookout would see better than anyone.
He cupped his hands and shouted, 'What ship?'
Bolitho was aware that several of the seamen nearby had stopped work to stare. An admiral, even a junior one, shouting? It must seem like heresy.
The lookout shouted down, 'Frigate, sir, by the cut of her!'
Bolitho nodded. A frigate. Keen was probably right. There was not much time. Two hours at the most.
He said, 'Heave to, if you please, and lower a cutter. Lieutenant in charge, and have the boat armed.'
Voices yelled around him and feet pounded across the sun-dried planking as Achates came reluctantly into the wind even as the boat was hoisted jerkily above the starboard gangway.
Knocker hovered at Keen's elbow and muttered, 'The inlet is a mere scratch, sir. Never get a ship in there!'
Tyrrell replied heavily, 'Your chart says that. I say different!'
Bolitho watched Scott, the third lieutenant, hastily buckling on his hanger while the wardroom servant followed him with his pistol and cocked hat. From fretting torpor to urgent activity, how often Bolitho had known and shared that.
'Cutter alongside, sir!'
There was a thud as a swivel-gun was mounted in the boat's bows, and two seamen began to ram a charge down its muzzle.
Bolitho said quietly, 'Did you always know about this inlet, Jethro? These past two weeks and before, you knew this was the place? Yet in a moment or two we would have changed tack and the opportunity would have been lost.'
Tyrrell said, 'You wanted that ship. I kept a bargain.'
Then he was gone, swinging his wooden leg in great strides as he made for the entry port.
Bolitho knew the truth at that moment, but something made him hurry to the nettings and call, 'Take care, Jethro! And good luck!'
Tyrrell paused, his big hands grasping the lines of the stairs down the tumblehome as he stared aft at the quarterdeck, his eyes watering in the sunlight. For just a few moments the years fell away and they were back in Sparrow. Then Tyrrell swung himself out and down into the cutter, his wooden stump jutting out like a tusk.
Keen murmured, 'I wonder.'
The cutter pulled quickly away from the side, the oars rising and dipping to a fast stroke, her coxswain standing upright behind the lieutenant as he headed for the shore.
Bolitho bit his lip. 'I trusted him. Perhaps it was too strong for him in the end."
Keen shook his head. 'I don't understand, sir.'
Bolitho watched the boat swinging round in a tight arc as Tyrrell's arm pointed to larboard in a new direction. He could see the swirl of an inshore current, the way the trees and thick scrub ran down to the water's edge. It was hard to believe that the inlet was other than the chart had described.
There was a far-off bang and then the lookout called, 'Frigate's fired a shot, sir!'
Knocker remarked dourly, 'Couldn't hit Gibraltar from there!'
Bolitho glanced at Keen. Was it a warning to Achates to quit Spanish waters or a signal to someone else?
He said, 'I suggest you beat to quarters. Clear for action without delay.' He turned to watch the cutter's progress. 'We'll not be caught a second time.'
Around him men stood stiffly like crude statues, unable to believe what they had heard.
Then, as the drums rattled and voices barked hoarsely between decks, the truth became clear to everyone.
Keen folded his arms and looked down the length of his command. Men hurried along either gangway, tamping down the tightly packed hammocks in the nettings, while ship's boys dashed among the guns and spread sand which might prevent a man from slipping if the blood started to flow. Big Harry Rooke, the boatswain, was yelling at some of his own party as they scrambled along the yards to rig chain-slings to prevent the spars from falling on the men below. Others tore down screens between decks to transform the great space from small, individual messes and cabins into one open battery from bow to stern.
Quantock looked up from the gun-deck and touched his hat.
'Cleared for action, sir!' He had learned Keen's ways by now. Just as Keen had once learned them under Bolitho's command. 'Nine minutes, sir!'
Keen nodded. 'That was well done, Mr Quantock.'
But there was nothing between them, and neither smiled because of the small compliment.
Bolitho raised a telescope and watched the distant cutter. What Lieutenant Scott and the others must be thinking he could only guess. The roll of drums as Achates beat to quarters, the bang of a cannon, and all the time they were pulling further and further from their ship, their home.
He heard Allday give a discreet cough and saw him holding out his coat for him while Ozzard fussed around behind with his sword. Adam was here too, clear-eyed and looking incredibly young and anxious.
'Orders, sir?'
Bolitho allowed Allday to clip on the old sword and was saddened by Adam's formality.
He said, 'I am sorry, Adam. I should have known. You have every right to be proud. In your place I would have felt the same.'
The youthful lieutenant took half a pace towards him. '
I would cut off a hand rather than hurt you, sir. It was just that ..."
'It was just that you wanted to share it with me and I was too busy to listen.'
Keen said, 'Ready, sir.'
He glanced from one to the other and felt strangely relieved. He looked directly at Allday but the coxswain did not even blink. Keen smiled. Allday was a fox.
'Very well.' Bolitho looked at his Hag at the foremast truck. 'Run up the colours, if you please. And then, Mr Bolitho, make a signal. Enemy in sight.' He saw Adam's expression change from surprise to understanding as he added for the quarterdeck's benefit, 'We might as well give them the idea we are not totally alone, eh, lads?'
He looked at Keen. 'Let's be about it.'
Suppose there was nothing? That he had been wrong about Tyrrell, about everything else? He would be a laughingstock.
He saw the signals midshipman, Ferrier, with his assistants, and little F.vans from the Sparrowhawk busy at the halliards, and then as the bright balls of bunting dashed up the yard and broke to the breeze there was an excited cheer from the men at the upper-deck eighteen-pounders.
Most of them could not distinguish one flag from another. But to them it meant more than words. It was a symbol. A part of them.
Keen watched Bolitho's face and sighed. I should have known.
There was a sharp whiplash crack and several voices yelled, 'They've fired on the cutter, the buggers!' Cheers one instant, fury the next.
Bolitho snatched a glass and watched the cutter coming about, the oars in momentary confusion as the water around it leapt with vicious feathers of spray. He saw a corpse pushed roughly over the gunwale to give more space to the oarsmen, and heard a loud bang as the cutter's swivel raked the trees nearest to the beach.
Keen was shouting, 'We may have to leave the cutter, Mr Quantock! But signal Mr Scott to return with all haste!'
He glanced at Bolitho but saw that he was standing by the nettings, his eyes fixed on the partly hidden inlet as if he was expecting something to happen.
The cutter was moving slowly now, and Bolitho knew that more than one of the seamen had been hit, probably by musket fire. He shifted his gaze from the lively current which betrayed the inlet and saw Tyrrell standing at the boat's tiller, waving a fist to drive the oarsmen to greater efforts.
Success to the Brave - Bolitho 15 Page 15