Alexander Kent - Bolitho 26

by Man of War [lit]

  Adam sensed his pride, in what he was doing, more so perhaps in his command. He could easily picture the small ship, quite alone in that great span of islands and the countless channels that separated them. You could hide a fleet there, if the need arose.

  Pointer said, ”We had been working the Straits for some time. The bigger slavers cross from Cuba to Florida to unload their cargoes before heading out into the Atlantic again. Some of them are large vessels, new and fast. They can often outrun our patrols.” The pride again. ”But not Lotus’

  Pointer had pulled a ragged pad from his coat. This he laid on the chart. There were scribbled calculations and compass bearings, but Adam’s gaze settled on the date, June sixth, the day after they had sifted through Celeste’s pathetic remains and had found her only survivor.

  He stared at the chart and the outline of Cuba, but for only a few seconds he saw Falmouth. June the sixth was his birthday, and it had completely slipped his mind.

  Pointer had not noticed his expression. ”A big barque, she was, standing out of Havana, probably heading for Florida, under a full press of canvas. Sighted us and broke out the American flag, so I ordered her to heave to and await a boarding party.” He smiled and the strain showed itself for the first time. He was speaking to himself, reliving it. As if there was nobody else here.

  ”They often do that. The Yankees make such a huff-and-puff about any foreign officers trying to board one of their ships, and it often works, so the slaver gets clean away.” He peered at the charts again. ”So I ran out my guns and fired a couple of shots to warn him that I meant business.” He nodded slowly. ”I was ready for him. I’d heard about the heavy pieces some of those slavers carry. He went about and ran for the shore, back to Havana. He had the wind under his coattails and I could scarcely keep pace with him, the crafty bastard!” He stared at Adam, and but for his tanned skin might have blushed. ”I beg your pardon, sir!”

  The door opened two inches. It was Troubridge. ”I’m sorry, sir, but Sir Graham has asked me .. .” He fell silent, as if he were gripped by the tension and could not proceed.

  Pointer said, ”I followed him into the harbour, and I anchored Lotus and was boarded by an army of officials. I insisted that the barque was a slaver, and that under the Agreement I wanted to search her and confirm this. It is well known amongst our patrols that the Spanish captain-general in Havana is quite prepared to accept false papers and offer clearance to a ship’s master, even if he is a known slaver. A lot of money must change hands in the process.”

  ”But you found nothing?”

  He shrugged. ”I was treated with every courtesy, but I was not allowed to search the ship. The captain-general’s aide was surprised that I should imagine that in a civilized city like Havana slaves could be landed and moved elsewhere without the authorities knowing. A day later I was allowed to put a party on board. They found nothing, and the flag was Spanish by that time. I can still hear the jeers and the curses as we weighed and put to sea.”

  ”Perhaps you were lucky. An ”accident” might have been arranged for you and your Lotus’

  Together they walked from the chart room, and into the shadows. Pointer stopped momentarily and looked up into the darker patterns of shrouds and stays.

  ”If this ship had been there, they would have sung a different tune!” Yet he said it without bitterness, as if it was he who had failed in some way.

  Almost as an afterthought, he dragged a canvas envelope from his coat. ”My full report, sir.” The smile returned. ”Addressed to the commodore, of course.”

  He was almost asleep on his feet. He must have driven his ship without a break, a passage of some fourteen hundred miles. Adam could still recall when he had commanded a vessel not very different in size and performance, in which her captain was always the last to go off watch.

  Troubridge took the envelope. ”I’ll tell Sir Graham, sir.” But he was regarding the bony lieutenant with barely disguised awe.

  He was back in a few minutes, or so it seemed.

  ”Sir Graham’s compliments, and would you return to your ship and remain ready to proceed to sea .. .” He faltered, sharing Pointer’s exhaustion. ”Tomorrow, before sunset, as ordered by the Flag.”

  Adam walked with him to the entry port where Lotus’?” boat was already preparing to cast off.

  ”I am glad we met. I shall see you now when I hear the name of your command.”

  They shook hands, and Pointer said, ”I remember when I was chasing a slaver, months ago, just before all the new rules had been agreed upon. I was almost up to him when he began pitching his slaves over the side. He did not have many left, but there were enough. The sharks were in a frenzy, and I shall never forget those last screams, and the silence.”

  Adam touched his hat and watched him clamber down the side and into his boat.

  He walked aft again, shadowy figures turning to watch him as he passed.

  He could even feel the sentry’s eyes beneath his leather hat as the door was opened for him.

  Bethune sat at the table, Lieutenant Pointer’s report carelessly spread across his knees.

  He gestured with a knife. ”Didn’t wait for you. Sir Baldwin must return to his headquarters. He has a lot to do because of this.” His tone hardened slightly. ”Some of it won’t wait until tomorrow.”

  Adam looked at the empty dishes and patches of spilled wine, like blood. He thought of Unrivalled, and the long patrols off the slave coasts of Africa. Freetown, and the bodies packed so tightly in the holds of captured ships that they could scarcely move or breathe. Human cargo. Like Pointer, he would never forget either.

  The commodore came through the other door, Tolan and one of the servants at his elbows.

  Bethune smiled, but did not stand up. ”Go with Sir Baldwin, will you, Flags? Explain to his duty officer what is required for tomorrow.”

  Troubridge snatched up his hat and followed the swaying trio from the cabin.

  Jago was already there, a bosun’s chair rigged and ready for lowering the commodore into the gig alongside. He glanced sharply at Adam.

  ”You all right, Cap’n?”

  Adam said only, ”When you get back aboard, lay aft to my cabin and have a wet with your captain.”

  Jago bared his teeth, but did not smile. ”O’ course, Cap’n, if the tackle was to run free while the commodore was bein’ swayed outboard, I could be there all the faster!”

  It had been a close thing. Adam gripped his arm.

  ”This is not what we have learned to accept, Luke, or been trained to fight. It’s like chasing shadows.” He half turned as if to listen to the Lotus’s boat pulling away from the side. ”I almost envied that officer just now, at least for his freedom to act as he thinks fit!”

  Jago relaxed slightly as the mood changed.

  Adam stifled a yawn and grinned. ”Almost.”

  11

  Trick for Trick

  Lieutenant Roger Pointer, Lotus’s, gangling commanding officer, swung away from the rail, his weariness giving way to a broad grin as Bolitho, the flag captain, appeared on deck. In the navy it was amazing how quickly sailors could adapt, adjust to any kind of change unexpectedly thrown upon them.

  Like Vice-Admiral Bethune’s order to be ready for sea by sunset the day after his fast passage from Havana, the jeers still ringing in his ears after being refused permission to board the ship he knew to be a slaver. Hardly enough time to take on fresh water and to snatch a few casks of fresh fruit from the market. And even then they had been ordered to weigh at noon, not wait until sunset.

  The other surprise had been the arrival on board of Bethune’s flag captain, his emissary to be carried to meet Havana’s captain-general, with a protest or warning Pointer was not sure. He had expected to feel resentment, but common sense made him realize the value of Bethune’s decision. He was still not certain how Bolitho felt about it.

  They were three days out of English Harbour, with favourable winds making Lotus lift and plunge th
rough the blue water like a thoroughbred.

  He knew Bolitho’s record and reputation almost as well as that of his famous uncle. Athena’?” captain was now probably completely out of his element, but rank was rank and the navy had its own firm divisions in any ship, two-decker or lowly sloop.

  It came as a surprise that Bolitho seemed prepared to accept the role of passenger, keeping his distance from the watch-by-watch affairs of the ship, but approachable in a manner Pointer had never expected or experienced before.

  Adam walked to the weather side, feeling the sting of spray as it drifted aft from the forecastle, the elation of the lively hull, the din of canvas and rigging.

  He had known full well what Pointer must have thought when Bethune’s unexpected orders had been issued; he had suffered it himself when he had first taken command of the brig Firefly. After three full days at sea the barriers had dropped. There were still stares and surreptitious nudges when he took his daily walks on deck, but he understood the strength and the camaraderie of a small ship, and was heartened by the sudden willingness to talk, or speak of their lives and homes without it seeming an interrogation at a court-martial.

  He could even feel a certain envy of Pointer and his command. Lotus was like a smaller version of a frigate, well armed for her size, with sixteen twelve pounders and a pair of carronades, and a total complement of one hundred and fifteen souls, including her captain. And no marines to mark the unseen boundary between quarterdeck and common seaman.

  He shaded his eyes to stare abeam, at the faint, darker blur on the horizon. Haiti, a place always hated and avoided by sailors, even in their search for fresh water. Superstition, strange and cruel rituals .. . there was many a mess deck yarn to frighten new hands on their first passage. Even under French rule it had been bad enough, but since the slave rebellion and the retreat of the colonial army it had become even more dangerous.

  Cuba was close by, and Adam wondered if the captain-general might see Haiti’s change of ownership as a grim warning, a threat to himself and Spanish rule altogether.

  Or perhaps, like Commodore Swinburne, he only wanted an uneventful existence in which to finish his career?

  He looked inboard again. A small ship, one hundred and ten feet on the gun deck, not much more than four hundred tons. No wonder he had felt unsteady on his first morning at sea, after Athena’s massive timbers and heavy artillery.

  He smiled to himself. It was different now, after only three days.

  He called, ”Good morning, Roger. The wind is still an ally -it does you credit!”

  Pointer touched his battered hat. He was still unprepared for it, no matter what he told himself. The youthful-looking figure, hatless, dark hair blowing ‘all anyhow’, as his boatswain had put it, open shirt, and a coat which had lost most of its true colour along the way: the admiral’s trusted flag captain, perhaps poised for that next step up the ladder. Like all the rest of us.

  He said, ”We should be off the Iguanas tomorrow forenoon, sir.” The grin returned. ”I’d not care to run through them in the dark!”

  Adam nodded agreement, pushing the hair from his eyes. ”Then Cuba. A fast run indeed.” He saw the unspoken questions on Pointer’s face. What it might mean for his ship, and for his reputation. ”I shall deliver Sir Graham’s despatch as instructed, so that the captain-general or his representative is informed of the change in command.” He thought of the scattered wreckage and added bitterly, ”If he is not already aware of it.”

  Pointer said, ”I have heard, unofficially, you understand, sir, that the captain-general always speaks through an interpreter.” He spread his big, bony hands. ”But that he speaks perfect English, when he chooses.”

  Adam smiled. ”Well said, Roger. I have walked into that trap before.”

  He recalled Bethune’s last words to him before he had been pulled across to the Lotus.

  ”I have decided that you should represent me in this matter of negotiation, and our right to search suspect vessels. A show of force would be pointless, even if I had the ships to do it. I shall send for reinforcements to increase the patrols. A few captures, some rich prizes, and we’ll soon see a change of heart where the money lies.” Then, at the last minute, he had touched Adam’s arm. ”Watch out for Sillitoe. I think he’s desperate. So be on your guard.”

  Adam had not seen Troubridge again before leaving the flagship. Deliberate? Or was he, too, under strict orders?

  Pointer excused himself and walked away to deal with his first lieutenant, who had been hovering nearby.

  Again he felt the stab of envy. Simply being in command, without obligation .

  He saw Jago by the main hatch, turning to talk with one of Lotus’s petty officers. They were laughing, and Jago was thumping his back. Adam remembered that Jago had told him that one of the carpenter’s crew had been celebrating the birth of his first baby. A girl. No salt pork an’ ship’s biscuit for her! He had not noticed the sudden shadow in his captain’s eyes.

  That first night at sea, getting the feel of it as Pointer had called it. The heaving motion, the boom and slap of canvas, the sluice of water alongside, seemingly inches from the swaying cot. Finding time to think, to reproach himself.

  Suppose that one precious hour had ruined her life: if Lowenna found herself with child because of his inability to hold back, and shared the despair and shame of his own mother. She would be alone, and might be left with only hate in her breast, like the terrible memories she had been taught to overcome, if not forget. But Sir Gregory Montagu was dead. There was nobody else.

  He had thought of the tablet in the old church, which he had insisted on erecting all those years after his mother’s death.

  In loving memory of Kerenza Pascoe, who died in 1793.

  Waiting for his ship.

  As he had lain in the cot, feeling the ship moving around and beneath him, he had stared into the darkness, seeing those last words in his mind.

  He had eventually fallen asleep, the unspoken words still there.

  It must never happen to you, Lowenna.

  He came out of his thoughts, as if he had heard some one call his name. But it was Pointer again, his features tense. Making a decision. Or requiring one.

  ”Mr. Ellis has reported that the masthead lookout is certain we are being held under observation. To the nor’ east.” He saw the question in Adam’s eyes. ”She’ll know we’re a man-of-war. No reason to keep her distance.”

  Adam glanced at the dazzling sky. ”Good lookout, is he?”

  Pointer bobbed his head, puzzled. ”My best, sir. He or one other I always use them on this run.”

  No landsman would ever understand that, Adam thought, but he had known such a seaman in Unrivalled. The weatherbeaten face and clear, bright eyes came back to him instantly. Even his voice, when Adam had climbed up to his dizzy, swaying perch to consult him after one such sighting. Sullivan: the name leaped out of memory, like the face. He had never been wrong.

  He said, ”What do you think?” and saw Pointer relax slightly.

  ”If I come about to give chase we could lose him amongst the islands. We’ll be in the main channel again soon, but not before dusk. Too risky then.” He watched him, frowning. ”Unless you think .. .”

  ”Leave him as he is, Roger. You spoke earlier of the Iguanas.” He saw the tired face lightening. ”Wait until first light.” He banged one hand into the other. ”We’ll go for him then!”

  ”But your orders, sir?”

  Adam knew the feeling. Beyond measure or control. Dangerous.

  He replied, ”Our old enemy John Paul Jones had the answer, Roger. He who will not risk, cannot win!”

  Jago had stopped by the mizzen shrouds. He had heard none of it, but he recognized the signs only too well.

  It went against all his rules, but he was almost relieved.

  ”Ship cleared for action, sir. Galley fire doused.”

  That was Ellis, the first lieutenant, clipped and formal. Adam could scarcely distinguis
h him from the other shadowed figures, moving to a familiar pattern. A strange feeling, as if he himself were invisible, or imagining it. The same drill he had seen and been a part of so many times.

  It was uncanny in small ships; sailors could feel their way about, above or below deck in a way which no landsman would ever understand. They were in complete darkness, with only the broken water surging back from the stem and marking their wake astern to betray their progress. Lotus leaned over, close hauled on the starboard tack, swinging her jib boom like a pointer toward the invisible horizon, and the unknown ship. Adam could sense the tension around him. The stranger was still there when first light found them. She might be an innocent merchantman, staying near a man-of-war for her own security and to ensure a safe passage. It was probably common enough in these disputed waters. How different from all those years, of open warfare, when a merchant captain would go out of his way to avoid a King’s ship, fearful that she might board him and press some of his most experienced hands before he could find any means of protesting. People were taking shape now, a face here, an arm or a fist gesturing to some one in the shrouds, and another shadow sliding silently down a backstay, feet soundless as they hit the deck.

  The first lieutenant was with Pointer, speaking quietly, while the sailing master showed his teeth in the gloom as one of them said something that amused him. Lotus carried one other lieutenant; the rest of the ship’s backbone was comprised of warrant officers. And a solitary midshipman. A small, close-knit company.

  Adam thought of David Napier, somewhere at sea in the frigate Audacity. Would he be able to cope with the brutal humour usual in most ships?

  He remembered the shy pleasure when he had thanked him for his gift, the shining new midshipman’s dirk. Like a bond. A talisman.

  Jago must have been standing very close. He said, ”Masthead, sir.” Even he was whispering.

  Adam looked up and realized he could see the reefed topsail, and high above it the long pendant, red and white, streaming in the wind, somewhere above all the darkness, holding the frail light as if it were free and unattached.