Success to the Brave

by Alexander Kent

  The young lieutenant shouted again, “There’s a yawl approaching, sir!”

  Keen looked at Bolitho, anxiety in his eyes.

  Bolitho said shortly, “Anchor then.”

  “Helm a’lee! Stand by, Mr Quantock!”

  The yards swung noisily when they turned into the wind, the canvas banging and clattering as the way was taken off the ship.

  “Let go!”

  The anchor hit the sea violently and threw spray high over the beak-head, while Rooke, the boatswain, and a lieutenant of the forecastle peered over the side. At the same time the topmen worked above the deck to take in the sails and ease any strain on the cable as it continued to run out into deep water.

  “All secure, sir!”

  Keen nodded but murmured, “Bloody bastards!”

  The yawl thrust slowly away from the land, tacking this way and that as it clawed towards the anchored two-decker.

  The midshipman-of-the-watch said, “There’s an officer of sorts on board, sir.”

  Captain Dewar of the marines asked, “Man the side, sir?”

  Keen glared at him. “After refusing my ship an entrance? I’ll see him in hell first!”

  The yawl’s tanned sails were furled, and as she glided against the Achates’ tumblehome Bolitho said, “I’ll receive him in the cabin.” He strode aft, unable to watch Keen’s anger and humiliation.

  It seemed an age before the visitor was brought to the cabin, and Bolitho found himself wondering what Nelson might do under this set of circumstances.

  He could not blame the islanders, nor could he condone this behaviour.

  The door was opened by Yovell and Bolitho looked at his visitor as he strode to the centre of the cabin. He was certainly dressed in uniform, a blue tunic and white trousers, and wearing both sword and pistol on a highly polished belt. He was aged about thirty, Bolitho thought, and when he spoke he had a faint West Country accent. A Devonian, he decided, like his clerk.

  “I bring word from the governor.”

  Keen, who had followed him aft, snapped, “Say sir when you speak to the vice-admiral!”

  Bolitho said, “And what is your name, may I ask?”

  The man glanced angrily at Keen. “Captain Masters of the San Felipe Militia.” He swallowed hard. “Sir.”

  “Well, Captain Masters, before either of us says something which cannot be retracted, let me explain my intentions.”

  The man was recovering his confidence and interrupted, “The governor has instructed me to tell you that the boom will remain in place until all negotiations are completed. After that . . .”

  Bolitho said quietly, “After that, as you put it, you are not concerned. But how am I expected to see the governor if my ship is prevented from entering?”

  “I shall take you in the yawl.” He saw Keen take a pace forward and added quickly, “Sir.”

  “I see. Now I will tell you, Captain Masters of the San Felipe Militia. I am going ashore in my barge and will pass the written decision of His Majesty’s Government to the governor.”

  Masters said, “He will not accept it!”

  Bolitho looked at Keen. “Have my barge dropped alongside.”

  He saw a protest forming on Keen’s face. Just like Thomas Herrick.

  Masters persisted, “I shall lead the way then.”

  “No. You are under arrest. Any act of rebellion will be treated harshly, and you shall hang for it, do I make myself clear?”

  Bolitho saw his calm words smash home like pistol shots. Masters was probably used to bullying slaves on the plantations and the sudden change of fortune left him speechless.

  Keen snapped, “Remove those weapons.” He raised his voice, “Sergeant Saxton, take charge of this man!”

  Masters gasped as the Royal Marine removed his sword and pistol, and exclaimed, “Your threats do not frighten me, Admiral!”

  Bolitho stood up and walked to the stern windows. Many eyes would be watching the ship from the fortress, waiting to see what would happen. The governor might fire on his barge, even hold him as hostage until . . .

  He stopped his racing thoughts and said coldly, “Then they should.”

  When he turned round Masters had been led away, and he heard shouted commands as armed marines took charge of the yawl.

  Keen asked anxiously, “Let me ram the boom, sir? Then we’ll enter harbour as planned and rake the mutinous scum for good measure!”

  Bolitho eyed him fondly. “It would take a full day, maybe much longer. Even if you succeeded it would cost many lives, and if the wind rose unexpectedly you would have to disengage and beat clear of the land, past that battery again.”

  Keen seemed resigned. “Which officer will act as your aide, sir? I think I should come with you.”

  Bolitho smiled, suddenly relieved that the waiting was over, no matter what the outcome might be.

  “What, leave your command? With both of us at Rivers’ mercy there’s no saying what might happen!” He relented at Keen’s crest-fallen expression. “A junior lieutenant and, er . . . the midshipman, Mr Evans. They will suffice.”

  Ozzard took down the old sword from its rack but Bolitho said, “No. The other one.”

  If anything went wrong today the sword would be here for Adam. He knew from their glances that they had both guessed the reason.

  On deck the sun had risen above the volcano and the decks were already as hot as bricks in a kiln. Tinder-dry, with tarred rigging and sails which would flare like torches if the island’s battery used heated shot. Even with ordinary balls a well-sited battery was more than a match for a slow-moving vessel within the confines of a harbour.

  He saw Allday watching him grimly, the curious stares of the seamen and marines on the gangways.

  He hesitated at the entry port and looked at Keen.

  “If I am wrong.” He saw the captain’s jaw tighten. “Or should I fall today, promise me you will write to Belinda. Try to explain.”

  Keen nodded and blurted out, “If they lay one hand on you sir . . .”

  “You will do as I ordered, Val. Nothing more or less.”

  He touched his hat to the quarterdeck and climbed down into the waiting barge.

  He found Trevenen, the sixth lieutenant, and Midshipman Evans already seated in the sternsheets and said, “A fine day for it, gentlemen.”

  Trevenen was beaming at the unexpected honour of being the admiral’s temporary aide, but by contrast Evans looked around him, his eyes dark and empty.

  Allday murmured, “This is no good, sir.”

  Bolitho settled down and glanced at the waiting bargemen.

  “It won’t help by talking about it.”

  Allday sighed. He recognized all the signs by now.

  “Bear off forrard! Give way, all!”

  Bolitho glanced quickly astern and saw the ship drawing away, the faces at the entry port merging and losing individuality.

  He looked at his companions. The ship’s most junior lieutenant and a thirteen-year-old midshipman might hardly be what the governor would be expecting. But, as in leaving the family sword aboard, he was taking no chances. If things went badly wrong, Keen would need every experienced officer and sailor he could lay hands on.

  As the barge dipped into the inshore swell Bolitho heard a clink of metal and realized that cutlasses and pistols were stacked beneath each thwart within easy reach.

  He looked up at Allday’s impassive features and for a moment their eyes met.

  It did not need words, he thought. Allday had made plans all of his own.

  The lieutenant said nervously, “There is the other island, sir.”

  Bolitho shaded his eyes and studied the humpbacked islet. It was treeless but with plenty of vegetation around the stone-built mission and outhouses. There was a strip of white beach, and he saw some boats pulled up clear of the surf. Monks, priests or whatever they were, they had to fish and cultivate their land as well as pray, he thought.

  He turned his attention to the boom. Light
ers and old hulks had been moored in the middle of the entrance, the channel which Achates and any ship of her size would have to use. He looked up at the fortress. Bigger than he had expected, with a sheer drop on the seaward side, impossible to scale, and impervious to twenty-four-pounders.

  He could see pale houses on the far side of the harbour. He smiled wryly. Georgetown, Rivers’ little kingdom. There were several craft at anchor, mostly traders and fishing boats.

  Allday said between his teeth, “Armed men on the boom, sir.”

  Bolitho nodded. “Steer for the starboard side of the entrance.”

  He turned briefly to look for the ship but she had been shut off by the spur of headland. Only Achates’ mastheads and topgallant yards showed above the land as if they had been planted there.

  Beside him Evans shifted on his thwart and his fingers locked suddenly around his dirk. Like taking a needle to a charging bull, Bolitho thought.

  He said, “I brought you with me in case you should remember something.”

  The boy looked at him and replied quietly, “I know, sir.” His gaze shifted beyond the makeshift boom to the centre of the harbour but he said nothing further.

  Bolitho guessed that Evans was seeing his ship Sparrowhawk lying there under the guns of the fortress. A King’s ship, his home, the start of a career, friends like the other midshipman who had been shot down. But something, anything, might jar his memory. They did not have much else to go on.

  Allday tensed at the sharp bang of a musket, and Bolitho saw a ball skip across the water like a fish before dropping abeam.

  He said, “Hold the stroke. Keep pulling.”

  His calm tone steadied the bargemen who, with their backs towards the boom, must be expecting the next shot to hit them.

  Bolitho squared his shoulders. His cocked hat and bright epaulettes would make a fine marker for any sharpshooter, he thought.

  But there were no more shots, and as the barge thrust past the end of the boom he saw groups of men peering at them. All were armed, and one shook his musket threateningly at the grim-faced sailors.

  There was no turning back now. No escape.

  Bolitho watched a cluster of figures on a jetty below the fortress. It suddenly seemed a long, long way from Sir Hayward Sheaffe’s quiet office in the Admiralty where this precise moment had been predicted.

  Bolitho was not sure what he had been expecting in San Felipe’s governor, but Sir Humphrey Rivers was not it. He was tall, heavily built to a point of grossness, his face very red from both climate and drink, Bolitho thought. But he greeted Bolitho with a jovial, expansive grin and ushered him straight into the cool shadows of the fortress.

  As he led the way through a studded door and into a corridor which had been transformed by rugs and several paintings, Rivers said over his shoulder, “Later I hope you will visit my house. But I guessed you would be eager to settle matters, eh?”

  Bolitho saw another door open, a bewigged negro footman giving a bow as they passed him.

  Rivers mopped his face with a silk handkerchief and eyed Lieutenant Trevenen and the small midshipman with amusement.

  “By God, Bolitho, do you have a company of boys to do the Admiralty’s bidding?”

  He snapped his fingers and another footman stepped noiselessly forward with a tray of goblets.

  Rivers gave a dry smile. “Maybe your young companions would care to withdraw?”

  “I agree.” There was no point in involving the others.

  Then Bolitho said, “You know why I am here, Sir Humphrey?”

  Rivers settled his bulk on a chair and examined his goblet critically.

  “Of course. Everyone does. Equally, you know what I think about it?” He chuckled and drank deeply. “I apologize for the inconvenience of the boom but it is necessary.” He seemed to remember that Masters had not returned with Bolitho and asked abruptly, “Where’s my captain of militia?”

  “On board Achates, Sir Humphrey.”

  “I see.” He lowered the goblet to be refilled. “The signs are that the wind is getting up. You will know from your own experience in these waters that it can be savage even at this time of year. It would not do to let your, er, flagship remain so close inshore under such circumstances.”

  Bolitho sipped the wine. It was strange he could feel so calm. Rivers had thought of everything. Where a ship would have to stand off if the harbour remained closed.

  Rivers was watching him intently. “Let’s face facts. Your ship cannot stay there indefinitely. Soon you will have to weigh. You can ration water until the people are ripe for mutiny, you can even wait for assistance which may never arrive. Or you can draw up a fresh agreement here and now. I will remain as governor with total responsibility for the island’s betterment and defence.”

  And profit, Bolitho thought.

  Rivers stood up with some difficulty and walked to a window.

  “This place is impregnable. You must know that. The Americans will help me if need be. I’ll not have the Frogs hoisting their colours here. I told your impertinent frigate captain as much.”

  “The Sparrowhawk was sunk soon after she left here.”

  He watched Rivers’ florid face and knew it was a complete surprise to him.

  “Sunk? What are you saying?”

  “She was attacked by a larger man-of-war, blown to hell without a challenge or chance to defend herself. So you see, Sir Humphrey, there are those other than the French who are interested in the island’s future.”

  Rivers tossed back the wine and turned away to hide his confusion.

  “I don’t believe it. Probably a pirate, the waters are full of them. With the King’s Navy cut to the bone, it’s hardly surprising.

  “I want to show you something.” Rivers almost threw down the empty goblet and strode panting to another door at the far end of the chamber. A footman darted ahead of him like a pilot-fish to open it.

  Beyond the door the rugs and comfortable chairs were gone. A long embrasured stone wall and a line of heavy artillery looked across the water. Rivers’ authority.

  Rivers strode to the end cannon and laid one hand on its rounded cascabel with something like affection.

  “Here, take a look, Bolitho.”

  He stood aside and Bolitho could feel his sense of power. He was filled suddenly with loathing for this man who cared nothing for Duncan or anyone else.

  He stooped and peered along the black barrel and saw that the gun was laid on a line of mooring buoys. Tied to one of them was his barge. He could even see Allday standing to shade his eyes and peer at the fortress.

  Rivers added smoothly, “Sparrowhawk was there. I could have sunk her just as easily as I can that boat of yours.”

  Bolitho stood up and eyed him calmly. “You were a flag-officer yourself, Sir Humphrey. You know the Navy would never rest—”

  Rivers snorted. “There would be no choice. To suffer great losses to aid the French? Even Parliament would not be that stupid!”

  Bolitho glanced across the anchorage again. The water was ruffled like beaten pewter. The wind was rising steadily and he could see the flags whipping out from the moored craft. But they were in shelter. Achates was not.

  He said, “I shall return to my ship.” He did not hide his contempt. “Unless you wish to detain me also?”

  “No agreement, Bolitho?”

  “Do not try to deceive me, Sir Humphrey. You knew I would not condone treason.”

  Rivers smiled. “Not like some in your family, eh?”

  Bolitho took his hat from a footman. He did it slowly to give himself time to control his anger. It was just as well Adam was elsewhere. Such a crude slur on his father would have brought out his sword, and Rivers’ guards would have ended it here and now.

  He said, “That was cheap, but not totally unexpected.”

  Rivers sat down and mopped his face again. He could not hide his excitement, the pleasure which his victory was giving him.

  Bolitho walked to the door and saw
Midshipman Evans standing alone beside an open window.

  Rivers said, “I have taken the liberty of detaining the young lieutenant until my boat and men are returned.”

  Bolitho nodded gravely. “As you wish.”

  Rivers seemed disappointed. “There is still time for you to reconsider.”

  Bolitho gestured to Evans and replied, “You said yourself, Sir Humphrey, that these waters abound with pirates. I think I have just been speaking to one of them.”

  He turned abruptly on his heel and strode through the door, half expecting a shot or a sudden challenge.

  Evans almost had to run to keep up with him.

  Bolitho snapped, “Signal the barge.”

  He felt the hot wind on his cheek, saw the air of menace in the sky. It would have to be smartly done, he thought. There was no choice. Not for him anyway.

  Allday watched gratefully as Bolitho and the midshipman climbed into the boat and murmured. “That’s that then, sir.”

  Bolitho watched the oar blades dig into the water and said, “An easy stroke, if you please.” His mind was reeling with the urgency of what must be done, but under no circumstances must Rivers suspect his intentions.

  Once in the great cabin Bolitho tossed his gold-laced coat to Ozzard and watched Keen, Quantock and the two Royal Marine officers as they were ushered in by Yovell.

  “I intend to attack, Captain Keen.” Bolitho was surprised that the glass of wine which Ozzard had just given him did not splinter in his grasp.

  Keen said, “Mr Knocker has doubts about our safety here, sir. The wind—”

  “Is it steady?”

  Quantock said in his hard voice, “Rising by the hour, sir.”

  “That is not what I asked. Is it steady?”

  Keen looked anxious. “Aye, sir.”

  “Very well. So make ready for sea.” He saw Keen’s sudden relief vanish as he added, “Then Rivers’ lookouts will imagine we are leaving.”

  “With respect, sir, no sane man would believe otherwise. We will surely drag our anchor if we remain.”

  Bolitho smiled at him. “Remember Copenhagen, Val?”

  Keen nodded, his face pale. “I do, sir. So you intend to attack in the dark?” He sounded incredulous.