He remembered Herrick's face when he had told him, 'Information. Out here the lack of it could lose a war.' Now his own words were coming back to mock him.
Then he thought of Farquhar and the others, and the look on Stockdale's battered face when the privateer's men had pulled them apart. It had been an expression of trust and quiet confidence. At that terrible moment it had done more to hold back Bolitho's final despair than any words or deeds imaginable.
He wiped the razor and laid it on the chest. No, there was more to living than a man's own private hopes, he decided.
He pulled his torn uniform into shape and brushed the dark hair back from his forehead. 'I'm ready,' he said coolly. `Perhaps you will lead the way?'
He followed the seaman along the passageway, and in the filtered daylight he saw more evidence of the brief battle. Smashed timbers shored up with makeshift beams, and telltale red blotches which so far had defied weeks of scrubbing.
An armed sailor stood aside and opened the main cabin door, and as Bolitho entered the once familiar place he was momentarily blinded by the dazzling reflections from sea and sky as the morning sunlight blazed across the wide stern windows.
The Andiron's captain was leaning out over the stem bench, his body a dark silhouette against the glittering water, but Bolitho's eyes fastened instead on his own sword which lay in the centre of the polished table.
He waited, standing quite still, his feet automatically braced against the ship's easy plunge and roll. Even this cabin was not spared from the Phalarope's wounded anger. More scars, and deeply gouged gaps left by flying splinters. Andiron must have spent little time in harbour, he thought.
The officer at the window turned very slowly, so that the light played across his face for a few moments before becoming once more a dark silhouette. For the second time in twenty-four hours Bolitho's reserve almost broke. It took all his strength to keep him from crying out in disbelief, but when the other man spoke he knew that this too was no fantasy.
`Welcome aboard the Andiron, Richard! When my second lieutenant brought me this sword I knew it had to be you!'
Bolitho stared at his brother, feeling the years dropping away, his brain reeling with a thousand memories. Hugh Bolitho, the son about whom his father had spoken so bitterly, yet with so much anxiety. Now commanding an enemy privateer! It was the culmination of every worst possible belief.
His brother said slowly, 'It had to happen of course. But I hoped it might be otherwise. At some other place perhaps.'
Bolitho heard himself say, 'Do you know what you have done? What this will do to . . . ?' He faltered, even unable to accept that they were both sons of the same man. He added quietly, 'So you were in command when we fought your ship last month?'
Hugh Bolitho seemed to relax slightly, as if he considered the worst was now over. `Yes. And that was a real surprise, I can tell you! We were just closing for the kill when I caught sight of you through my glass!' His face crinkled as he relived the moment. `So I hauled off. You were lucky that day, my lad!'
Bolitho tried to hide the pain in his eyes and said shortly, `Are you saying that my being there made a difference’
'Did you think you had won the day, Richard?' For a moment longer Hugh Bolitho studied his brother with something like amusement. `Believe me, in spite of your chain shot I could still have taken the Phalarope!' He shrugged and walked to the table and stared at the sword. 'I was taken off guard. I had no idea you were returning to the Indies.'
Bolitho watched his brother closely, noting the grey streaks in his dark hair, the lines of strain about his mouth. He was only four years older than himself, but there could have been ten years between them.
He said, `Well, I am your prisoner now. What do you intend to do with me?
The other man did not answer directly but picked up the sword and held it against the sun. 'So he gave it to you!' He shook his head, the gesture both familiar and painful. `Poor Father. I imagine he believes the worst of me?'
`Are you surprised?'
Hugh Bolitho placed the sword on the table and thrust his hands deeply into his plain blue coat. 'I neither asked for nor expected this encounter, Richard. You may think as you please, but you know as well as I do that events out here are moving too quickly for a display of sentiment.' He watched his brother narrowly. `When I saw you standing on your deck with that wretched crew of yours going to pieces around you, I could not bring myself to close the combat.' He waved one hand vaguely. `Just like the old days, Richard. I could never find it easy to take what you thought was yours.'
Bolitho replied evenly, `But you always did, didn't you?’
'Those days are past.' He pointed at a chart spread across another'-table. `We are sailing for St. Kitts. We will make a landfall before night.' He watched the doubt in Bolitho's eyes.
'I know you so well, Richard. I can see the same old look of mistrust there!' He laughed. 'St. Kitts has already fallen to: our ally. Sir Samuel Hood has pulled out to lick his wounds!' He waved across the chart. `It will soon be over. Whether your government believes it or not, America will be an independent nation, perhaps sooner than they think!'
Bolitho felt his fingers locking together behind his back. While he was here being confronted with his past, his own world was falling apart. St. Kitts gone. Perhaps the French were already massing for an attack elsewhere. But where? They had the whole Caribbean to choose from.
His brother said quietly, 'If you are trying to make some scheme to foil my own plans; you can forget it, Richard! For you the war is over.' He tapped the table with his fingertips. `Unless?’
'Unless what?'
Hugh Bolitho walked round the table and stared him in the face. `Unless you come in with us, Richard! I am well considered by the French. I am sure they would give you a ship of sorts! After what you did at Mola Island I am sure they would not deny your tenacity!' He smiled at some secret thought. 'It might even be the Phalarope.'
He studied Bolitho's unsmiling face and then walked back to the window. `These are our waters now. We get our intelligence from many sources. Fishermen, trading boats, even slavers when we get the chance. With St. Kitts, fallen your ships will draw further south to Antigua and beyond. There are not many patrols in this area now. It is too wasteful for your admiral, am I right?' He smiled sadly. `Just one ship perhaps. Just one.'
Bolitho thought of the Phalarope and tried to imagine what Vibart would do.
`Your ship, Richard. The Phalarope! We need every frigate we can get. It is the same in all navies. And I have made sure that your admiral, that pompous fool, Sir Robert Napier, will be informed of our movements. I am quite sure that he will be so drunk with your success at Mola Island that he will soon despatch the Phalarope to find us! The admiral will surely be eager to avenge the loss of the Andiron from his command, eh?’
'You must be mad!' Bolitho watched his brother coldly.
`Mad? I think not, Richard. I have interrogated your- men. They have told me how their ship was punished by Admiral Napier for letting Andiron escape. They told me also of the trouble there was aboard before you took command.'- He spread his hands. 'I am afraid that most of your men have thrown in their lot with me. But do not distress yourself, it was wise of them. There is a whole new world opening up out here, and they will be part of it. When the war is over I will sail for England lust to claim my inheritance, Richard. Then I will return to America. I have proved my worth out here. The past holds nothing for me.'
Bolitho said calmly, `Then I pity your new nation! If it depend on traitors for existence it has a difficult course to steer.
His brother remained unmoved. `Traitors or patriots? It depends on a point of view! In any case, the Andiron will anchor off St. Kitts tonight. Not in the main harbour, but in a quiet little bay which I think would be considered quite ideal for recapturing her!' He threw back his head and laughed. 'Except that the Phalarope will be the one to step into the net, my brother!' .
Bolitho stared at him without expr
ession. 'As far as you are concerned I am a prisoner. I do not wish to tarnish either the name of my family or my country by being called a brother!'
Just for an instant he saw the barb go home. Then his brother recovered himself and said flatly, `Then you will go below.' He picked up the sword again. `I will wear this in future. It is mine by right!'
He banged the table and a sentry appeared in the doorway. Then he added, `I am glad you are aboard my ship, Richard. This time, when the Phalarope comes creeping under my
guns, I will have nothing to forestall me!'
'We will see.'
`We shall indeed.' Hugh Bolitho walked across to his chart.
'If I have the temper of your crew rightly, Richard, I think they will soon be eager to follow. Andiron's orders!'
Bolitho turned on his heel and walked back past the guard.
Behind him the Andiron's captain stayed watching the door, his hand still holding the tarnished sword like a talisman.
10
THE RED BAIZE BAG
For Richard Bolitho each day of captivity seemed longer than the one before, and the daily routine aboard the Andiron dragged into a slow torture. He was allowed the comparative freedom of the frigate's poop, from where he could watch the regular comings and goings of shore boats, the casual routine of a ship at anchor. At night he was returned to, the solitude of a small cabin, and only joined Farquhar and Belsey for meals. Even then it was difficult to talk freely, because one of the privateer's warrant officers always waited close at hand.
It was a week since the Andiron had dropped her anchor, but to Bolitho it felt like an eternity. As each day passed he seemed to withdraw more and more into himself, going over his predicament again and again until his mind felt as if it was bursting.
From his small piece of deck he could see Belsey sitting gloomily on a hatch cover beside Farquhar, both apparently engaged in staring at the empty sea. Like everyone else aboard they were waiting, he thought bitterly. Waiting and wondering when Phalarope would approach the island and fall into the trap. He noticed that Belsey had a fresh bandage on his arm, and thought back to that first and only petty triumph when he had been allowed to join the other two after his meeting with his brother.
It was obvious at the time that both Farquhar and Belsey had already been told who the Andiron's captain really was, just as it was equally plain to see their pitiful relief at his reappearance. Did they really believe that he would desert them and give his allegiance to the enemy? Even now he was surprised and faintly pleased to find that he was angry at the idea.
Belsey had been moving his bandaged arm painfully and had said, `The ship's surgeon is goin' to have a look at it, sir.'
It had been then, and only then that Bolitho had remembered Farquhar's dirk which still lay hidden and used as a splint beneath the crude bandages. Hardly daring to speak, and watched by the others, he had broken a piece of wood from the cabin chair, and with Farquhar's help had replaced the dirk with a piece of polished mahogany. Once Belsey had yelped aloud and Bolitho had snapped, `Keep quiet, you fooll We may have use for this later on!'
The dirk now lay hidden in his own bedding below decks, but after the agonising passing of days he could no longer view the possession of such a puny weapon with much hope.
He had seen little of his brother, and for that he was thankful. Once he had caught sight of him being rowed ashore in his gig. And on other occasions he had watched him staring at the tall mass of headland which towered above the anchored ship.
Bolitho had examined and thought over that one conversation in the stem cabin until he could see meanings where there were none. But he was sure of one thing. Hugh Bolitho was not bluffing. He had no need to.
The Andiron was anchored off the southern tip of the Island of Nevis, a smaller subsidiary of the main island, St. Kitts. Bolitho knew from experience that this small, ovalshaped island was separated by The Narrows a mere two miles or so from St. Kitts itself and a full fifteen miles from the main town of Basseterre where Hood had successfully stood siege until forced to cut his cables and retire to Antigua.
Nevis had been a good choice, Bolitho conceded grimly. During his endless walks up and down the poop he had watched the rapid preparations, the careful cunning which had gone into laying a perfect trap for any ship attempting to seize the Andiron.
The sheltered piece of water was commanded by the jutting promontory of Dogwood Point, while inland and towering like a miniature volcano was the bare outline of Saddle Hill. From either position even a wall-eyed lookout could quickly spot any unusual or suspicious approach and send a report down to both ship and shoreline.
It was so simple that Bolitho had to admit he would have used the same method himself. Perhaps it was because it was his own flesh and blood which was, working out the plan, and a mind like his own was laying the snare.
If Sir Robert Napier had been informed of Andiron's presence here, it was not unreasonable to expect him to take some sort of offensive action. A swift frigate attack would not match up to the smarting loss of St. Kitts, but it would do much for the morale of the embattled British fleet. It did not have to be the Phalarope, of course.
Bolitho discounted the idea immediately. His brother had been right about that, too. Admiral Napier would have few ships at his disposal now that Hood was back in the saddle. In addition, he would see Phalarope's success as an act of justice to purge her name and avenge the memory of his own son.
He tried again to put himself into the position of an attacking captain. He would 'make a slow approach, just to make sure that the information about the Andiron was not suspect, and in order that the lookouts ashore should not see any sign of a masthead before sunset. Then under cover of darkness he would close the shore and drop a full boarding party of perhaps three or four boats. It would not be easy, but a ship foolish enough to anchor away from the defended base might be expected to fall after a swift struggle. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to blot out the picture of the attacking ship at the moment of truth end realisation.
There was a hidden battery of artillery already sighted and ranged across the whole area below the headland. And although to all outward appearances the Andiron was resting confidently below a friendly island, Bolitho had seen the preparations and the care his brother had gone to, to make sure of a victory.
Guns were loaded with grape and depressed behind their closed ports. Boarding nets were already slung, suitably slack to prevent a quick inrush of any who lived through the first holocaust of fire. The Andiron's men slept at their stations, each one armed to the teeth and eager to complete his captain's strategy.
Rockets were rigged on the quarterdeck, and as soon as the boarderss were engaged the rockets would be fired. From further inshore the signal would be passed to a waiting French frigate and the battle would be all but over. The attacking ship would stand no chance if caught without the best part of her crew. And if she closed to give the boarding party support the shore artillery would pound her to fragments before she realised her mistake.
And if it was the Phalarope there was one further despairing thought. Vibart would be in command. It was hard to see his mind working fast enough to deal with such a situation.
Bolitho gritted his teeth and walked slowly to the side. The island looked at peace. The defenders had settled down now and were waiting like himself. Except that when the time came he would be battened below, helpless and wretched as he listened to the death of his own ship. Or worse, her capture, he thought for the hundredth time.
He felt a fresh pang of inner pain as he saw one of the Andiron's cutters unloading fruit alongside. There was no mistaking the bulky shape of Stockdale straddle-legged on the gunwale tossing up the nets of fruit as if they were weightless.
Strangely, that had been almost the hardest thing to bear.
Stockdale of all people. Whether he had been eager or reluctant, Bolitho did not know, but he had gone over with the privateer's crew, and like sheep the other men fr
om his raid ing party had followed suit. He knew he could not blame them. If Stockdale, the captain's trusted coxswain, could change colours, why not they?
Stockdale looked up, squinting against the sun. Then he threw a mock salute, and some of the men laughed delightedly.
The American officer of the watch said dryly: `Sometimes I think there's no such thing as loyalty, Captain! Just a price!'
Bolitho shrugged. `Perhaps.'
The officer seemed glad of a chance to break Bolitho's brooding silence. `I can't get over your being our captain's kin. It makes it kind of unnerving. But then I guess it's that way with you?'
Bolitho glanced quickly at the officer's tanned features. It was a friendly face. And that of a man lonely and tired by war, he thought. He said evenly, `Have you been with him long?'
'A year or so.' The man frowned. 'It seems longer now. He came aboard as first lieutenant, but soon got command when the-skipper was killed in a fight with one of your ships off Cape Cod.' He grinned. 'But I hope I'll be able to go home soon. I've a wife and two boys waiting for me. I should be tending my farm, not fighting King George!'
Bolitho recalled his brother's firm promise that he was returning to Cornwall to claim his rightful inheritance, and felt the same savage bitterness as when he had heard the words the first time.
He controlled his rising emotion and asked quietly, `Do you really think it will be that simple?'
The man stared at him. `What could happen now? I don't mean to add insult to injury, Captain, but I don't really think the British stand much of a chance to regain America.'
Bolitho smiled. `I was thinking more of the French. If as you say American independence will be ratified by all those concerned, do you imagine the French will be prepared to sail away and leave you alone? They have done most of the fighting remember. Without their fleet and supplies do you think you would have succeeded thus far?'
The American scratched his head. `War makes strange allies, Captain.'
'I know. I have seen some of them.' Bolitho looked away. `I think the French will want to stay out here, as they tried to do in Canada.' He shook his head. `You could easily exchange one master for another!'
To Glory We Steer Page 18
