Alexander Kent - Bolitho 26

by Man of War [lit]

  Pointer was saying, ”There may be nothing in it. But we shall load all guns in good time.” Nobody spoke, as if he were talking to himself. Or to Lotus.

  Adam heard the boatswain calling out names, telling some one to shift yerself, like an old woman this morning! Then another sound, and he remembered that most sloops carried sweeps, long oars which could be run outboard and manned by all spare hands to give the vessel steerage way if they were suddenly becalmed. They could give her one or two knots in a dead calm. Enough to save her in an emergency.

  There was a small oar-port beside each gun, and Adam recalled the galleys they had fought at Algiers. He realized he was touching his side, the wound which she had tended when he had been thrown from his horse. Which she had kissed in that last embrace.

  Pointer was beside him. ”The sweeps might help if I need to cross her stern.” He walked away again. He was obviously in little doubt of today’s outcome.

  Lotus’s only midshipman hurried aft, his white collar patches very clear against the sea’s dark backdrop.

  He held out a telescope, and said, ”First lieutenant’s respects, sir.”

  Adam could feel the youth staring at him. It would probably go in his next letter home. Midshipmen wrote notoriously long letters, never knowing when they would be collected by some passing courier, or indeed if they would ever be finished.

  He said quietly, ”When will you stand for lieutenant? Soon, I trust?”

  He heard the quick intake of breath. Today the admiral’s flag captain spoke to me.

  ”Two years, sir, perhaps less.” He turned his head this way and that, and faltered, ”But I don’t want to leave this ship.”

  Adam put his hand on his arm and felt him jump. ”I know the feeling. But look ahead. When the chance comes, grasp it!”

  He saw the midshipman’s eyes gleam in the growing light as he looked up as if to see the invisible lookout.

  ”Deck there! Sail, fine on th’ starboard bow!”

  Pointer exclaimed, ”Still there, same course, by God!” He swung round, his voice sharper now. ”More sail, Mr. Ellis get the t’ gallants on her if she’ll wear it!”

  Calls shrilled, and figures scampered to halliards and braces while top men like scurrying monkeys dashed up the ratlines, faintly visible at last as the first yellow edge ran along and over the horizon.

  The lookout’s voice again, rising without effort above the banging canvas and squealing blocks.

  ”Deck there! She’s a barque!”

  ”Steady she goes, sir. Nor’ east by north! Full an’ by!”

  Adam relaxed his body, sinew by sinew. A converging tack. Pointer had done well to bide his time. If the stranger went about and made a run for it, they might still out sail him.

  ”What’s your lookout’s name, Roger?”

  Pointer stared at him, his mind grappling with several things at once.

  ”Er, Jenkins, sir.” It sounded like a question.

  Adam slung the telescope over his shoulder. ”I’m going aloft.” He felt the smile on his lips, as if he had no control over it. ”I’ll not cross your bows!”

  Jago followed him to the weather shrouds. ”You sure about this, Cap’n?”

  Adam climbed on to the ratlines, feeling the spray cold against his hands, his face.

  ”They want evidence I intend to give it to them!”

  Jago stood his ground. ”It’s your neck, Cap’n.”

  Adam lifted his foot to test the next ratline. All those years ago, running up the shrouds with other ‘young gentlemen’, sometimes barefoot; no fear of heights, or danger.

  He recalled Pointer’s expression when he had quoted John Paul Jones. But the words still made sense.

  Jago took his silence for something else. ”We’ve a few leagues to sail yet, sir.”

  Adam looked down at him. His face was still in shadow, but he did not need to see it.

  He said, ”I’ve seen enough men killed for a flag, Luke. I’ll not stand by while more of them die simply because of greed!”

  Ellis, the first lieutenant, commented, ”A man of strong beliefs, Cox’n.”

  Jago shook his head, rarely at a loss except for certain moments.

  He answered harshly, ”Second to none, sir!”

  He peered up again and saw Bolitho’s shadow swinging out and around the put tock shrouds. Like a true seaman. There were few officers who would or could do it.

  Why do we do it, then? He thought of the painting in the captain’s sleeping cabin, hundreds of miles astern by now, the lovely, half naked woman held captive above the sea. And of the reality in that shabby room when the captain and young Troubridge had smashed down the door. And I was with them.

  The captain should be with her right now, not risking his life all over again for some poxy slaves.

  He heard a voice shout, ”All guns load, but do not run out!” Bloody officers.

  Jago stared up once more but the captain had vanished. Past the maintop and upwards to the topgallant yard. If the ship changed tack again, or even if he slipped, it would be over in seconds.

  He readjusted the heavy blade at his belt and looked for the dawn.

  The voice seemed to answer him. It is what we are.

  Adam threw his leg over the lookout’s dizzy perch on the cross trees and seized a stay for support. A very long climb from Lotus’s main deck, and he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs like a hammer. He was pleased that he was not completely breathless.

  It was a sight which had always impressed him. Midshipman to post captain, it made no difference. The hull heeling hard over to the thrust of topsails and topgallants, each section of mast quivering and jerking to the press of wind and rigging. From this, the highest point in the ship, the sea was directly below him, the glassy blue and rearing crests reflecting the sails, angled far beneath his dangling legs.

  He wiped the spray from his face and mouth, tasting the raw salt, his skin tingling. He swallowed hard. A long climb indeed.

  He glanced at the masthead lookout, surprised that he was much younger than he had expected. He had a powerful voice which carried easily above and through the busy shipboard noises, like Sullivan in Unrivalled, but in fact he seemed only in his late twenties, slightly built, with an open face, deeply tanned almost to the colour of the mast.

  He had been watching him climbing from the deck far below with interest, and not a little curiosity, as had some seamen on the main top as Adam had climbed past them. They had been rigging a swivel gun on the top’s barricade, but had turned to stare, and one of them had called, ”Bit dangerous up ‘ere, sir!” They had all laughed.

  Adam took another breath.

  ”Good morning Jenkins, isn’t it?”

  ”That’s me, sir.” He was studying Adam’s flapping shirt and the well-worn, tarnished epaulettes on his seagoing coat.

  Adam unslung the telescope and peered ahead and across the bow as the mast reeled over again, the mainsail cracking and thudding to the wind.

  Then he saw the other ship, like a delicate model, sharp against a horizon which was sloping over and down as if to dislodge her and Lotus together.

  ”Is it the same barque which you chased into Havana?”

  Jenkins frowned, and it made him look younger. ”No, sir, different.” There was no doubt or hesitation. ”Something about her, see?”

  Adam caught the Welsh accent. He levelled the glass again, or tried to as Lotus altered course slightly. It made it seem that the barque was the only vessel moving.

  He waited for the mast to steady, and concentrated on the other vessel’s rig. A large barque, with the usual untidy appearance when seen on this bearing, square-rigged on fore and main, fore-and-aft rigged on the mizzen, which gave her a broken outline, as if some spars were missing. Big and powerful. But how could Jenkins be sure it was not the one Pointer had described?

  The lookouts aboard the barque must have seen Lotus by now. Even with the night sky astern of her, she would be laid bare as day
light drove away the shadows and opened up the sea like burnished pewter.

  The lookout was wrapping a piece of cloth expertly around his head, and remarked casually, ”Gets a bit like the bakery up here. I wouldn’t stay too long, sir.”

  Adam smiled, and handed him the telescope. ”Here tell me what you see.”

  Jenkins held the telescope as if he had never seen one in his life. As if it was not to be trusted.

  But he trained it with great care and said, ”It’s her driver, sir. When it takes the wind over the quarter it.. .” He paused. ”Well, the driver-boom looks higher than it should.” He offered the telescope, as if relieved. ”As if to make space for something.” He ended lamely, ”But then again .. .” He stared at Adam as he used the glass and said, ”Jenkins, where did you get those eyes?” He hardly knew what he was saying: even the most experienced seamen might not notice it. The flaw in the picture. Nothing much. But a skilled lookout knew every sort of tide and current, and the mood of each spar and sail in the ships they passed.

  Jenkins said, ”My da was a shepherd, good one too, see? I used to help him as a boy, got used to searching for sheep, straining my eyes for the stragglers. No life for me, I thought.” He might have shrugged. ”So I volunteered. Not pressed, see.”

  Adam leaned out as far as he dared and saw the small figures moving about the pale planking between his feet. The barque’s big aftermost sail, the driver, was higher than normal, as if the poop had been raised in some way. A glance at the masthead pendant, taut in the wind and pointing toward the other vessel. He measured the distance and bearing almost without thought. /// am wrong ... He thought of the figures on the deck below.

  If he was right, they would not stand a chance.

  He swung himself over the cross trees ”Thank you, Jenkins. I’ll see that this goes in the log!” Something to say, to prevent the conviction from wavering.

  He paused, one foot feeling for the first ratline, and looked up, startled, as Jenkins said, ”I was serving in Frobisher, sir. I was there.” He looked away. ”When they told me your name, I was so proud .. .” He did not go on. Could not.

  Adam said, ”When Sir Richard fell. My uncle.”

  He began to clamber down the swaying, vibrating shrouds, his mind suddenly clear, free of doubt.

  They were all waiting for him as his shoes hit the deck.

  He said, ”Your man, Jenkins you were right about him.” He pausing, wanting his breathing to steady. ”The barque is not all she seems, Roger. I believe she carries heavier artillery than is customary for an honest trader.”

  They were crowding closer to hear him, maybe to consider their own fate. Excitement, doubt, anxiety, as if something inhuman had dropped amongst them. He found time to notice that Jago was the only one who seemed as usual. Arms folded, his fingers loosely on the hilt of the heavy blade he always carried.

  Pointer rubbed his chin, with the habitual frown as he listened to Adam’s description. He was Lotus’?” commanding officer. If the other ship proved to be an enemy, no matter in what guise, he would be held responsible if anything went wrong. Adam Bolitho was a vice-admiral’s flag captain, part of a legend. But a passenger.

  In a matter of a few months Pointer’s promotion would be in orders: commander, the first real step toward post rank. One error or reckless action, and he would join the thousands of unemployed, half-pay officers.

  He looked along his ship and at the men he had come to know so well during his six months in command. The good and the untrustworthy, the hard men, and the ordinary Jack who had no choice at all but to trust his captain. He faced Bolitho, his searching eyes taking in the faded coat and stained epaulettes. There was fresh tar now on his hands and breeches from the climb to the masthead, but, in any ship, you would know him instantly as the Captain.

  He said, ”I’ll be guided by you, sir.” He saw his first lieutenant nod, and nudge some one beside him.

  Adam touched his arm and for an instant looked at his hand. Steady: no uncertainty. Like a drug or a breed of madness.

  ”I shall put it in the log, Roger.” He thought of Jago’s remark. ”It will be my neck.”

  He stared up through the rigging and pictured the keen-eyed Welshman, searching for lost sheep before volunteering. Who was there on that terrible, proud day when Richard Bolitho had fallen on the deck of his own flagship.

  It was past. This was now.

  ”So let’s be about it, shall we?”

  Ellis, the first lieutenant, lowered his telescope and called, ”Spanish colours, sir! No tricks this time!” It was impossible to tell if he was disappointed or relieved.

  Adam looked up at the topsails, writhing and cracking, with the yards braced round so tightly they would appear to any outsider to be almost fore-and-aft.

  He gritted his teeth. The only outsider was the barque, so much bigger now and angled almost across Lotus’s bowsprit. Two miles? No more.

  He heard one of the helmsmen shout something and the sailing master’s response. To Pointer he said, ”She’s as close to the wind as she’ll come, sir. If the wind backs we’ll be in irons!”

  Pointer’s eyes flickered briefly to Adam. ”Let her fall off a point.”

  Adam walked to the nettings and clung to a lashing while the deck tilted over again. It was taking too long. If the Spaniard held his course he would be in safe waters, and any further action would be taken very seriously when it reached Havana, and later Madrid. The ‘alliance’ between the old enemies was already fragile enough.

  He glanced along the deck. The starboard guns loaded and manned, their crews crouched and hidden below the bulwarks. One of the cutters had been swayed from the boat tier, its crew and lowering party hauling on the tackle, supervised by the boatswain, making it obvious that they were preparing a boarding party. He did not need a chart. Soon they would be on a lee shore, with shallows for an added hazard.

  He could feel the sailing master’s anxiety like something physical. Pointer, he knew, would be equally worried.

  He looked over at Jago, who was standing near the helmsmen, arms folded, feet well apart to accept the angle of the deck. What might he be thinking?

  ”Make the signal! Heave to!” Like hearing somebody else. He measured the bearing and the range with his eye until it smarted. But he could see every detail of the sails, comfortably filling in the wind across her quarter. A few tiny figures in the lower shrouds, a flash of light from a telescope. He wiped his eye and raised the glass again. There were more men on the Spaniard’s deck. Not running about or pointing at the sloop as might be expected. It was as if... The picture seemed to freeze in the glass. Past a boat tier to the poop and the wheel. Except that there was no wheel, and the raised poop appeared to be deserted.

  ”They’re not shortenin’ sail, sir.”

  Adam said, ”Fire the warning shot!” He held up one hand and sensed that Pointer had turned to watch him. ”Then we come about.” They had to know, be ready. There would be no second chance.

  The crash of the foremost gun seemed muffled by the din of canvas overhead. He saw the gun’s crew sponging out and ramming home another ball, like a drill, part of the routine.

  ”They’re shortening sail, sir!” Somebody even laughed.

  Adam’s fingers throbbed from the force of his grip as he steadied the glass, his feet moving without thought as the hull lifted and dipped, while the sound of thrashing canvas was like that of giant sea birds, spreading their wings in flight.

  He blinked, but it was no error, or the effect of strain. The barque’s poop was moving, even as he watched, folding like painted canvas, as if controlled by a single hand.

  There were men in plenty now, in teams, bowed over as they hauled at invisible tackles, even as three gun ports opened below her mizzen mast and the driver boom which had first troubled the keen-eyed lookout.

  Adam yelled, ”Now, Roger! Show them your teeth!”

  With the helm hard over and every spare hand hauling on braces and halliards, Lo
tus began to swing wildly to larboard. Spray burst over the scrambling gun crews as the ports opened as one, and her broadside of eight twelve-pounders squealed into the sunlight.

  ”Steady she goes! West by south!”

  Adam watched the other ship, now almost broadside on, near enough to mark every detail. He saw smoke fanning across the barque’s ports and the spitting orange tongues from two of them, heard the smack of a ball punching through the main topsail, within feet of the fighting top where the swivel gun’s crew had called out to him. A split second later he felt the sickening crash of a ball as it smashed into the lower hull. All in seconds, and yet in so short a space of time he heard the words of Celeste’?” only survivor before he, too, paid the price.

  Fired into us at point-blank range, double-shot ted by the feel of it!

  They had all felt it now.

  Pointer was gripping the rail, his battered hat still in place, his voice strangely calm.

  ”As you bear, lads! On the up roll .” He glanced only briefly at two running seamen, or perhaps at the sound of pumps. ”Fire!”

  Adam saw the carefully prepared broadside smash into the barque’s poop, doubleshotted and with grape for good measure. Pointer’s gun captains knew their work well. In small ships, you needed to.

  He saw thin scarlet streaks running from the barque’s scuppers, as if she and not her sailors was bleeding to death.

  There was more smoke in the air now; men were yelling below decks, and there were sounds of axes, and the clank of pumps.

  But at each gun nothing moved. Every twelve-pounder was loaded and run out again, each gun captain faced aft, his hand raised.

  ”Ready, sir!”

  Adam watched the other vessel. Perhaps that carefully prepared broadside had damaged her steering; her topsails were in confusion and she was falling slightly downwind.

  He could still feel the force and weight of the ball which had crashed into Lotus’s hull. Like the ones which had fired into Celeste when she had been asking for medical help.

  And all those other pictures which came crowding into his mind. On the African patrols when they had found another survivor, from a prize crew put aboard a slaver. The slavers had somehow overpowered the prize crew, and with the slaves still on board threw them to the sharks. Pointer had seen it, too. A sea of blood.