With two of Hyperion’s boats and thirty of her men safely transferred, Bolitho made the final crossing in a jolly boat.
He had barely been received aboard Thor before he saw Hyperion’s yards swinging round, her shadowed outline shortening as she turned away to follow the two brigs into the last of the sunset.
If Commander Ludovic Imrie was bothered by having his flag officer coming aboard his modest command, he did not show it.
He displayed more surprise when Bolith announced that he did not intend to wear his epaulettes, and suggested that Imrie, as Thor s Commander, should follow his example.
He had remarked calmly, ”Your people know you well enough. I trust that they will know me too when this affair is finished!” Bolitho was able to forget Hyperion and the others as they J, headed further and further away towards Puerto Cabello. He could feel the tension mount around him as Thor made more sail and steered, close-hauled, towards the invisible shoreline.
Hour followed hour, with hushed voices calling from the chains where two leadsmen took regular soundings, so that their reports could be checked carefully against the chart and the notes Bolitho had made after his meeting with Captain Price.
The noise was loud, but deceptive. Astern on its tow-line, the clumsy lighter was pumped constantly in a battle which Imrie had admitted had begun within hours of leaving harbour. Any rise in the sea brought instant danger from flooding, and now, with both Thor’s heavy mortars and their crews on board, the lighter’s loss would spell disaster.
Bolitho prowled restlessly around the vessel’s quarterdeck and pictured the land in his mind, as he had seen it that late afternoon.
He had made himself climb aloft just once more, this time to the maintop, and through a rising haze had seen the tell-tale landmarks of La Guaira. The vast blue-grey range of the Caracas Mountains, and further to the west the impressive saddle-shaped peaks of the Silla de Caracas.
Penhaligon could be rightfully proud of his navigation, he thought. Allday barely left his side after they had come aboard, and Rolitho could hear his uneven breathing, his fingers drumming against the hilt of a heavy cutlass.
It made Bolitho touch the unfamiliar shape of the hanger at his belt. The prospect of action right inside the enemy’s territory occupied everyone’s mind, but Bolitho doubted if Allday had missed his decision to leave the old family sword behind in Hyperion. He had almost lost it once before. Allday would be remembering that too, thinking Bolitho had left it with Ozzard only because he believed he might not return.
Adam would wear the sword one day. It would never fall into enemy hands again.
Later, in Imrie’s small cabin, they peered at the chart behind shuttered stern windows. Thor was cleared for action, but her chance would come only if the first part succeeded. Bolitho traced the twisting shallows with the dividers, as Price must have done before his ship had driven ashore. He felt the others crow mg around and against him. Imrie and his senior master’s mate, Leutenant Parris, and Thor’s second lieutenant, who would cover the attack.
Bolitho wondered momentarily if Parris was thinking about the floggings, which had been cancelled at Haven’s order. Or of the fact that Haven had insisted that the two culprits should be included in the raiding party. All the bad eggs in one basket maybe, he thought.
He pulled out his watch and laid it beneath a low-slung lantern.
”Thor will anchor within the half-hour. All boats will cast off immediately, the jolly boat leading. Soundings must be taken, but not unnecessarily. Stealth is vital. We must be in position by dawn.” He glanced at their grim expressions.
”Questions?”
Dalmaine, Thor’s second lieutenant, raised his hand.
”What if the Don has moved, sir?”
It was amazing how easy they found it to speak up, Bolitho thought. Without the intimidating vice-admiral’s epaulettes, and in their own ship, they had already spoken of their ideas, their anxieties as well. It was like being in a frigate or a sloop-of-war, all over again.
”Then we will be unlucky.” Bolitho smiled and saw Jenour’s eyes watching the brass dividers as he tapped the chart. ”But there have been no reports of any large ships on the move.”
The lieutenant persisted, ”And the battery, sir. Suppose we cannot take it by surprise?”
It was 1mrie who answered. ”I would suggest, Mr Dalmaine, that all your pride in your mortars will have been misplaced!’
The others laughed. It was the first healthy sign.
Bolitho said, ”We destroy the battery, then Thor can follow through the sandbars. Her carronades will more than take care of I any guardboats.” He stood up carefully to avoid the low beams.
”And then we shall attack.”
Parris said, ”And if we are repulsed, Sir Richard?”
Their eyes met across the small table. Bolitho studied his gipsy good looks, the reckless candour in his voice. A West Country man, probably from Dorset. Allday’s blunt words seemed to intrude, and he thought of the small portrait in Haven’s cabin.
He said, ”The treasure-ship must be sunk, fired if possible. It may not prevent salvage but the delay will be considerable for the Don’s coffers!’
”I see, sir.” Parris rubbed his chin. ”The wind’s backed. it could help us.” He spoke without emotion, not as a lieutenant who might well be dead, or screaming under a Spanish surgeon’s knife by morning, but as a man used to command.
He was considering alternatives.
Bolitho watched him. ”So shall we be about it, gentlemen?” They met his gaze. Did they know, he wondered? Would they stile trust his judgment? He smiled in spite of his thoughts. ”Och, Sir Richard, we’ll a’ be rich men by noon!’
They left the cabin, stooping and groping like cripples. Bolitho waited until Imrie alone remained.
”It must be said. If I fall, you must withdraw if you think fit.”
Imrie studied him thoughtfully. ”If you fall, Sir Richard, it will be because I’ve failed you.” He glanced around the cramped cabin. ”We’ll make you proud, you’ll see, sir!”
Boiitho walked out into the darkness and stared at the s until his mind was steady again. The simple loyalty. Then why did you never get used to it?
honesty with one another, which was unknown or ignored by people at home.
Thor dropped anchor, and as she swung to her cable in a lively current, the boats were manhandled alongside or hoisted on board with such speed that Bolitho guessed that her crew had been drilling and preparing for this moment since she had weighed at English Harbour.
He settled himself in the sternsheets of the jolly boat, which even in the darkness seemed heavy, low in the water with her weight of men and weapons. He had discarded his coat and hat and could have been another lieutenant like Parris.
Allday and Jenour were crowded against him, and while A day watched the oarsmen with a critical eye, the flag lieutcna said excitedly, ”They’ll never believe this!”
By they, he meant his parents, Bolitho guessed.
It seemed to sum up his whole command, he decided. Captai or seamen, there were more sons than fathers.
He heard the grind of long sweeps as the lighter was cast adrift from Thor’s quarter, spray bursting over the blades until two more boats flung over their tow-lines.
It was a crazy plan, but one which might just work. Bolitho plucked his shirt away from his body. Sweat or spray, he could not be sure. He concentrated on the time, the whispered soundings, the steady rise and fall of oars. He did not even dare to peer astern to ensure that the others were following.
The boats were at the mercy of the currents and tides around the invisible sandbars. One minute gurgling beneath the keel, and the next with all the oars thrashing and heaving to prevent the hull from being swung in the wrong direction.
He pictured Parris with the main body of men, and Dalmaine in the lighter with his mortars, the hands baling to keep the craft afloat. So close inshore he would not dare to use the pumps now.
/> There was a startled gasp from the bows, and the coxswain called hoarsely, ”Oars! Easy, lads!’
With the blades stilled and dripping above either beam, the jolly boat pirouetted around in the channel like an untidy sea-creature.
A man scrambled aft and stared at Bolitho for several seconds.
He gasped, ”Vessel anchored dead ahead, sir!” He faltered, as if suddenly aware that- he was addressing his admiral. ”Small wun, sir. Schooner mebbee!’
Jenour groaned softly. ”What damned luck! We’d never...”
Bolitho swung round. ”Shutter the lantern astern!” He prayed that Parris would see it in time. An alarm now would catch them in the open. It was too far to pull back, impossible to slip past the anchored ship without being challenged.
He heard himself say, ”Very well, Cox’n. Give way all. Very steady now.” He recalled Keen’s calm voice when he had spoken with his gun crews before a battle. Like a rider quieting a troubled mount.
He said, ”It’s up to us. No turning back.” He made each word sink in but it was like speaking into darkness or an empty boat.
”Steer a little to larboard, Cox’n.” He heard a rasp of steel, and a petty officer saying in a fierce whisper, ”No, don’t load! The first man to loose off a ball will feel my dirk in ‘is belly!”
And suddenly there she was. Tall, spiralling masts and furled sails, a shaded anchor light which threw thin gold lines up her shrouds. Bolitho stared at it as the boat glided towards her bows and outstretched jib-boom.
Was it to be here, like this?
He heard the oars being hauled inboard with elaborate care, the sudden scramble in the bows where the keen-eyed seaman had first sighted this unexpected stranger.
Allday muttered restlessly, ”Come on, you buggers t lees be lavin’ you!’
Bolitho stood up and saw the jib-boom swooping above him as the current carried them into the hull like a piece of driftwood. Jenour was crouching beside him, his hanger already drawn, his head thrown back as if expecting a shot.
”Grapnell!”
It thudded over the bulwark even as the boat surged alongside.
”At ”em, lads!” The fury of the man’s whisper was like a trumpet call. Bolitho felt himself knocked and carried up the side, seizing lines, scrabbling for handholds, until with something like madness they flung themselves on to the vessel’s deck.
A figure ran from beneath the foremast, his yell of alarm cut short as a seaman brought him down with a cudgel; two other shapes seemed to rise up under their feet and in those split seconds Bolitho realised that the anchor watch had been asleep on deck.
Around him he could sense the wildness of his men, the claws g way to a brittle hatred of anything that spoke or of tension givin moved.
Voices echoed below deck, and Bolitho shouted, ”Easy, lads!
Hold fast!” He listened to one voice in particular rising above the rest and knew it was speaking a language he did not recognize.
Jenour gasped, ”Swedish, sir!”
Bolitho watched the boarding party clambering the schooner’s side.
Bolitho heard the stealthy movement of oars. He guessed that Parris with one of his boats was close alongside. He had probably been expecting a sudden challenge, the raking murder of swivels.
Bolitho snapped, ”Ask Mr Parris if he has one of his Swedish hands on board!”
Like most men-of-war Hyperion had the usual smattering of foreign seamen in her company. Some were pressed, others volunteers. There were even a few French sailors who had signed on with their old enemy rather than face the grim prospects of a prison hulk on the Medway.
A figure strode forward until Allday growled, ”Far enough, Mounseer, or whatever you are!’
The man stared at him, then spat, ”No need to send for an interpreter. I speak English - probably better than you!’
Bolitho sheathed his hanger to give himself time to think. The schooner was unexpected. She was also a problem. Britain was not at war with Sweden, although under pressure from Russia it had been close enough. An incident now, and....
Bolitho said curtly, ”I am a King’s officer. And you?”
”I am the master, Rolf Aasling. And I can assure you that you will live to regret this - this act of piracy!”
Parris slung his leg over the bulwark and looked around. He was not even out of breath.
He said calmly, ”She’s the schooner Spica, Sir Richard.”
The man named Aasling stared. ”Sir Richard?”
Parris eyed him through the darkness. ”Yes. So mind your manners.”
Bolitho said, ”I regret this inconvenience - Captain. But you are anchored in enemy waters. I had no choice.”
The man leaned forward until his coat was touching Allday’s unwavering cutlass.
”I am about my peaceful occasions!”
”You have no right,” Bolitho interrupted him. ”I have every right.”
He had nothing of the kind, but the minutes were dashing past. They must get the mortars into position. The attack had to begin as soon as it was light enough to move into the anchorage.
At any second a picket ashore might notice something was wrong aboard the little schooner. She might be hailed by a guardboat, and even if Parris’s men overwhelmed it, the alarm would be raised. The helpless lighter, Thor too if she tried to interfere, would be blown out of the water.
Bolitho dropped his voice and turned to Parris. ”Take some men and look below.” His eyes were growing used to dw schooner’s deck and taut rigging. She mounted several guns, and there were swivels where they had rushed aboard, more aft by the tiller. They had been lucky. She did not have the cut of a privateer, and the Swedes usually kept clear of involvement with the fleets of France and England. A trader then? But well armed for such a small vessel.
The master exclaimed, ”Will you leave my ship, sir, and order your men to release mine!’
”What are you doing here?”
The sudden question took him off balance. ”I am trading. It is all legal. I will no longer tolerate -’
Parris came back and stood beside Jenour as he said quietly, ”Apart from general cargo, Sir Richard, she is loaded with Spanish silver. For the Frogs, if I’m any judge.”
Bolitho clasped his hands behind him. It made sense. How close they had been to failure. Might still be.
He said, ”You lied to me. Your vessel is already loaded for passage.” He saw the man’s shadow fall back a pace. ”You are waiting to sail with the Spanish treasure convoy. Right?”
The man hesitated, then mumbled,’This is a neutral ship. You have no authority Bolitho waved his hand towards his men. ”For the moment, Captain, I have just that! Now answer me!’
Spica’s master shrugged. ”There are many pirates in these waters.” He raised his chin angrily. ”Enemy warships too!’
”So you intended to stay in company with the Spanish vessels until you were on the high seas?” He waited, feeling the man’s earlier bombast giving way to fear. ”It would be better if you told me now.,
”The day after tomorrow.” He blurted it out. ”The Spanish ships will leave!”
Bolitho hid his sudden exitement. More than one ship. The escort might well come from Havana, or already be in Puerto Cabello. Haven could run right into them if he lost his head. He felt Parris watching him. What would he have done?
Bolitho said, ”You will prepare to up-anchor, Captain.” He ignored the man’s immediate protest and said to Parris, ”Pass the word to Mr Dalmaine, then bring your boats alongside and take them in tow.”
The Swedish master shouted, ”I will not do it! I want no part in this madness!” A note of triumph in moved into his tone. ”The Spanish guns will fire on us if I attempt to enter without orders!”
”You do have a recognition signal?”
Aaseling stared at his feet. ”Yes.”
”Then use it, if you please.” He turned away as Jenour whispered anxiously, ”Sweden may see this as an act of war, Sir Richar
d.”
Bolitho peered at the black mass of land. ”Neutrality can be a one-sided affair, Stephen. By the time Stockholm is told of it, I hope the deed will be done and forgotten!” He added harshly, ”In war there are no neutrals! I’ve had a bellyful of this man’s sort, so put a good hand to guard him.” He raised his voice so that the master might hear. ”One treacherous sign and I’ll have him run up to the yard where he can watch the results of his folly from the end of a halter!”
He heard more seamen clambering aboard . with their weapons. What did they care about neutrality and those who hid behind it so long as they could profit from it? To their simple reasoning, either you were a friend, or you were just as much a foe as Allday’s mounseers.
”Space out your men, Mr Parris. If we are driven off at the first attempt Parris showed his teeth in the darkness. ”After this, Sir Richard, I think I’d believe anything.” Bolitho massaged his eye. ”You may have to.”
Parris strode away and could be heard calling out each man by name. Bolitho noticed the familiar way they responded. No wonder the schooner’s small company were so cowed. The British sailors bustled about on the unfamiliar deck as if they had been doing it all their lives.
Bolitho remembered what his father had once told him, with that same grave pride he had always displayed when it came to his seamen.
”Put them on the deck of any ship in pitch darkness and they will be tripping aloft in minutes, so well do they ply their trader What would he make of this, he wondered?
”Capstan’s manned, sir!” That was a midshipman named Hazlewood, who was aged Bolitho heard Parris telling him sharply to stay within call.
thirteen, and on his first commission in Hyperion.
don’t want any damned heroes today, Mr Hazlewood!”
Like Adam bad once been.
”Heave away, lads!”
Some wag called from the darkness, ”Our Dick w’ll get us Spanish gold for some grog, eh?” He was quickly silenced by an irate petty officer.
Bolitho stood beside the vessel’s master and tried to contain the sympathy he really felt for the man.
Alexander Kent - Bolitho 17 Page 9
