Midshipman Bolitho & The Avenger

by Alexander Kent

  She entered the cabin, her cloak and hair glistening with blown spray. If anything it made her look younger than ever.

  She said, `Old Hardy knows the place, and so should I ! You remember the terrible fever I was telling you about? There was some wild talk that it was a punishment for some witchcraft which was being performed in a tiny hamlet to the south of here. A mob dragged two poor women from their homes and burned them at the stake as witches. The wind, drunkenness, or just a mob getting out of hand, nobody really knew what happened, but the flames from the two pyres spread to the cottages, and soon the whole place was a furnace. When the military arrived, it was all over. But most of the people who lived in and around the hamlet believed it was powerful witchcraft which had destroyed their homes as punishment for what they had done to two of their own.' She shivered. `It is foolish of course, but simple folk live by simple laws.'

  Hugh Bolitho let out a long breath. `And Blount defied the beliefs and made his home there.' He looked at Dancer. `And certain others shared his sanctuary, it seems.'

  He stepped around his mother, shouting, `Pass the word for my clerk!' To the others he said, `I'll send a despatch to de Crespigny. We may need to search a big area.'

  Dancer stared at him. `Are we going?'

  Hugh Bolitho smiled grimly. `Aye. If it's another false lead, I need to know it before Vyvyan. And if it's true, I want to be in at the kill!' He lowered his voice and said to his mother, `You should not have come yourself. You have done enough.'

  Whiffin bowed through the door, staring at the woman as if he could not believe his eyes.

  `A letter to the commandant at Truro, Whiffin. Then we will need horses and some good men who can ride as well as fight.'

  `I have partly dealt with that, Hugh.' His mother watched his surprise with amusement. `Horses, and three of our own men are on the jetty.'

  Gloag said anxiously, `Bless you, ma'am, I've not been in a saddle since I were a little lad.'

  Hugh Bolitho was already buckling on his sword.

  `You stay here. This is a young man's game.'

  Within half an hour the party had assembled on the jetty. Three farm labourers, Hugh and his midshipmen, and six sailors who had sworn they could ride as well as any gentlemen. The latter included the resourceful Robins.

  Hugh Bolitho faced them through a growing downpour.

  `Keep together, men, and be ready.'

  He turned as another rider galloped away into the darkness with the letter for Colonel de Crespigny.

  `And if we meet the devils, I want no revenge killings, no take this for cutting down our friends. It is justice we need now.' He wheeled his mount on the wet stones. `So be it V

  Once clear of the town the horses had to slow their pace because of the rain and the treacherous, deeply rutted road. But before long they were met by a solitary horseman, a long musket resting across his saddle like an ancient warrior.

  `This way, Mr Hugh, sir.' It was Pendrith, the gamekeeper. `I got wind of what you was about, sir.' He sounded as if he was grinning. `Thought you might need a good forester.'

  They hurried on in silence. Just the wet drumming of hoofs, the deep panting of horses and riders alike, with an occasional jingle of stirrup or cutlass.

  Bolitho thought of his ride with Dancer, when they had joined the witless boy at the cove, with the corpse of Tom Morgan, the revenue man. Was it only weeks and days ago? It seemed like months.

  As they drew nearer the burned out village Bolitho remembered something about it. How his mother had scolded him when as a small child he had borrowed a pony and gone there alone but for a dog.

  This night she had described the superstition as foolish. Then, she had not sounded quite of the same mind.

  The horses milled together as Pendrith dismounted and said, "Alf a mile, sir, an' no more, at a guess. I think it best to go on foot.'

  Hugh Bolitho jumped down. `Tether the horses. Detail two men to stand guard.' He drew his pistol and wiped it free of rain with his sleeve. `Lead on, Pendrith, I'm more used to the quarterdeck than chasing poachers!'

  Bolitho noticed that some of the men chuckled at the remark. He was learning all the time.

  Pendrith and one of the farm hands moved on ahead. There was no moon, but a diamond-shaped gap in the racing clouds gave a brief and eerie outline to a small, pointed roof.

  Bolitho whispered to his friend, `They still build these little witch houses in some villages here. To guard the entrances from evil.'

  Dancer shifted uncomfortably in" his borrowed clothing and hissed, `They didn't have much success in this place, Dick!'

  Pendrith's untidy shape came bounding amongst them, and Bolitho imagined he was being chased, or that some of the legends were true after all. . But the gamekeeper said urgently, `There's a fire of sorts, sir! T'other side of the place!'

  He turned, his face glowing red as a great tongue of flame soared skyward, the sparks whirling and carrying on the wind like a million spiteful fire-flies.

  Several of the men cried out with fear, and even Bolitho who was used to tales of local witches and their covens, felt ice running up his spine.

  Hugh Bolitho charged through the bushes, all caution thrown aside as he yelled, `They've fired a cottage ! Lively, lads!'

  When they reached the tiny cottage it was already blazing like an inferno. Great plumes of sparks swirled down amongst the smoke-blinded seamen, stinging them, trying to hold them at bay.

  `Mr Dancer! Take two men and get around to the far side P

  In the fast spreading flames, the crouching seamen and farm hands stood out clearly against the backcloth of trees and rain. Bolitho wrapped his neckcloth around his mouth and nose and kicked at the sagging door with all his strength. More flames and sparks seared his legs, as with a rumbling crash the remains of the thatched roof and timbers collapsed within the cottage.

  Pendrith was bawling, `Come back, d'you hear, Master Richard! Ain't no use!'

  Bolitho turned away and then saw his brother's face. He was staring at the flames, oblivious to the heat and the hissing sparks. In those few seconds it was all laid bare. His brother saw his own hopes and future burning with the cottage. Somebody had set it alight, no ordinary fire could burst out like this in the middle of a downpour. Equally quickly, he made up his mind.

  He threw himself against the door again, shutting his mind to everything but the need to get inside. It toppled before him like a charred draw-bridge,

  and as the smoke billowed aside he saw a man's body twisting and kicking amongst burning furniture and black fragments of fallen thatch.

  It all swept through his mind as he ran forward, stooping to grip the man's shoulders and drag him back towards the door. The man was kicking like a madman, and above a gag his eyes rolled with agony and terror. He was trussed hand and foot, and Bolitho was as sickened by the stench as by the act of leaving a man to burn alive.

  Voices came and went through the roar of flames like the souls of dead witches returning for a final curse.

  Then others were seizing his arms, taking the load and pulling them both out into the torrential, beautiful rain.

  Dancer came running through the glare and shouted, `It's the same place, Dick! I'm certain of it. The shape of the rear wall. . . .' He stopped to stare at the struggling, seared man on the ground.

  Pendrith knelt down on the mud and embers and asked hoarsely, ' 'Oo done this thing to you?'

  The man, whom Pendrith had already recognized as the missing Blount, gasped, `They left me 'ere to burn!' He was writhing, his teeth bared in agony. `They wouldn't listen to me!' He seemed to realize that there were sailors present and added brokenly, `After all I done for 'im.'

  Hugh bent over him, his face like stone as he asked, `Who, man? Who did it? We must know!' He stiffened

  as one of the man's blackened hands reached out to seize his lapel. `You are dying. Do this thing before it is too late.'

  The man's head lolled, and Bolitho could almost feel the relea
se from pain as death crept over him.

  'Vyvyan.' For a brief instant some strength. rebelled, and with it came another agony. Blount screamed the name, `Vyvyan!'

  Hugh Bolitho stood up and removed his hat. As if to allow the rain to wash away what he had. seen.

  Robins whispered, `That last shout done for him, sir.'

  Hugh Bolitho heard him and turned away from the corpse. `For more than one man.'

  As he brushed past, Bolitho saw the claw-like stain on his white lapel, left there by the dying man. In the flickering light it looked like the mark of Satan.

  10

  'On the Uproll!'

  Bolitho and Dancer trained their telescopes on the jetty and watched the sudden activity amongst the jolly boat's crew which had been waiting there for over an hour.

  `We shall soon know, Dick.' Dancer sounded anxious.

  Bolitho lowered the telescope and wiped his face free of rain. He was soaking wet, but like Dancer and most of the Avenger's company had been unable to relax, to be'' patient while he awaited his brother's return.

  That first horror of finding the man who had been left to die, the excitement of knowing Dancer had been right about Vyvyan's implications, had already gone sour. Colonel de Crespigny himself and a troop of dragoons had ridden hard to Vyvyan Manor, only to be told that Sir Henry had left on an important mission, and no, they did not know where, or when he might return. Sensing the colonel's uncertainty, the steward had added coldly that Sir Henry was unused to having his movements queried by the military.

  So there was no evidence after all. Apart from that last, desperate accusation of a dying man, they had nothing. No stolen cargo, no muskets, brandy or anything else. There were plenty of signs that people had been there. Hoof-marks, wheel-tracks and traces of casks and loads being hauled about in a great hurry. But what remained would soon be washed away in the continuous downpour. In any case it was not evidence.

  Dancer said quietly, `It will be Christmas Day tomorrow, Dick. It may not be a happy one.'

  Bolitho looked at him warmly. Dancer was the one who would be spared all enquiry but the briefest statement. His position, to say nothing of his father's importance in the City of London, would see to that. And yet he felt just as vulnerable as the Bolitho family which had got him involved in the first place.

  The boatswain's mate of the watch called, 'Cap'n's boat 'as just shoved off, sir!'

  `Very well. Call the side party. Stand by to receive him.'

  It might well be the last time Hugh Bolitho was received aboard in command, here or anywhere else, he thought. Hugh Bolitho clambered over the side and touched his hat to the side party.

  `Call the hands and hoist the boats inboard.' He squinted up at the flapping masthead pendant. `We will get under way within the hour.' He looked at the midshipmen for the first time and added bitterly, `I'll be glad to be rid of this place, home or not!'

  Bolitho tensed. So there was no last minute hope, no reprieve.

  As Dancer and the boatswain's mate hurried forward, Hugh Bolitho said in a calmer tone, `I am required to make passage to Plymouth forthwith. The members of my company I put aboard a prize are assembled there, so your appointment 'as my senior will no longer be needed.'

  `Did you hear anything about Sir Henry Vyvyan?'

  He saw his brother give a shrug as he answered, `De Crespigny was duped like the rest of us. You remember that bullion which the dragoons were suddenly and mysteriously required to escort at Bodmin? Well, we have now learned that it was Vyvyan's property. So while the revenue men and our people were being set upon by his ruffians, and cut to pieces, Vyvyan's booty was coolly being put aboard a vessel at Looe, after being escorted by the very soldiers who have since been searching for him!' He turned and looked at him, his face strained and seemingly older. `So as he slips away to France, probably to negotiate for more weapons for his private wars, I will have to face the consequences. I thought I could run before I could walk. But I was outwitted, and beaten without knowing it!'

  `And Sir Henry is known to be aboard this vessel?' He could picture the man even as he spoke.

  It would be a triumph for Vyvyan, who had led a dangerous but rewarding life before coming to Cornwall. And when it had all quietened down he would come back. It was unlikely he would be challenged by the authorities again.

  Hugh Bolitho nodded. `Aye. The vessel is the Virago, a new and handy ketch-rigged sloop. Vyvyan has apparently owned her for a year or so.' He swung away, the rain pouring unheeded down his features. `She might be anywhere by now. My orders from the port admiral suggest that a King's ship may be required to investigate, but nothing more than that.' He slapped his hands together, despairing, final. `But Virago is fast, and will outsail anything in this weather.'

  Gloag came clumping on deck, his jaw working on some salt beef.

  `Sir?'

  `We are getting under way, Mr Gloag. Plymouth.'

  No wonder Hugh wished to be rid of the place. Danger from an enemy, or across the marks of a duelling pitch he could take with ease. Scorn and contempt he could not.

  Bolitho watched the dripping boats being swayed inboard, the seamen's bodies shining like metal in the heavy rain.

  To Plymouth, and a court of enquiry. It was not much of a way to end a year.

  He thought of the nearness of success, the callous way Vyvyan had directed the deaths and the plunder of wrecked ships. He thought too of Dancer's face as the troopers had aided him into the house, the livid bruises on his shoulders. How his captors had threatened to put out his eyes. All the time they had been on the fringe of things. Now it was over, and they were as much in the dark as ever.

  His brother said, `I'm going below. Inform me when the anchor is hove short.'

  His head was almost at deck level when Bolitho stopped him.

  `What is it?'

  Bolitho said quietly, `I was thinking of what we did achieve, what we do know.' He saw his brother's features soften slightly and hurried on, `No, I'm not saying it to sugar the pill. Suppose the others are wrong, de Crespigny, the port admiral, all of them?'

  Hugh Bolitho climbed up the companion ladder very slowly, his eyes fixed on him.

  `Go on.'

  `Perhaps we have over-estimated Sir Henry's confidence. Or maybe he was intending to quit England anyway?' He saw the understanding on his brother's face and added quickly, `He would certainly not be sailing to France!'

  Hugh Bolitho stepped over the coaming and stared across the darkened harbour, at the choppy white crests, and the town's glittering lights beyond.

  `To America?' He gripped his brother's shoulder until he winced. `By God, you may be right. The Virago could be standing down-channel at this very instant, with nothing between her and the Atlantic but -' he looked along his broad-beamed command, `- my Avenger.'

  Bolitho was almost sorry for what he had said and done. Another false hope perhaps? One more barb to anger the admiral and hasten a court martial.

  Gloag was watching him anxiously. `It will be rough outside, sir. Misty too, if th' rain eases.'

  `What are you saying, Mr Gloag? That I give in now? Admit to failure?'

  Gloag beamed. He had made his point and was content.

  `I says go after 'im, sir, take the devil back for the 'angman.'

  As if to put doubt over the side the cry came from the bows, `Anchor's hove short, sir!'

  Hugh Bolitho bit his lip, measuring the chances as he looked from the tense helmsmen to the hands at the braces and halliards, from his grey-eyed brother to Gloag, Pyke and the rest.

  Then he nodded. `Carry on, Mr Gloag. Get the vessel under way and lay a-course to weather the headland as close as you dare.'

  Dancer looked at Bolitho and gave a reckless grin. Christmas had become just part of a dream.

  Bolitho waited for the Avenger to complete another staggering lunge and then crossed the deck to peer at the compass. The motion was sickening, with the sturdy hull lifting across each rearing wave crest before sliding
heavily again into a waiting trough. And it had been going on for nearly twelve hours, although it felt much longer.

  One of the helmsmen said wearily, `West by north, sir.' Like the rest of them he sounded tired and dispirited.

  Seven bells chimed out from the forecastle, and Bolitho made. his way to the weather rail, seeking a handhold before the cutter began another one of her dizzy plunges. In half -an hour it would be noon, Christmas Day. But it meant a lot more than that to his brother, perhaps to them all. Maybe it had been a foolish gesture after all, a last desperate attempt to settle the score. They had sighted nothing, not even an over-zealous fisherman. Which was hardly surprising on this of all days, Bolitho thought bitterly.

  He squinted through the rain, his stomach queasy as it rebelled against the liberal ration of rum which had been sent round the vessel. Trimming sails, reeling from one tack to another, left little chance for lighting the galley fire and getting something hot for all hands. Bolitho had decided he would never drink rum again if he could help it.

  Gloag had been right about the weather too, as he always seemed to be. The rain was still falling steadily, cutting the face and hands like icy needles. But it had lessened in strength, and with the slight easing had come a strange mist which had joined sea to sky in one blurred grey curtain.

  Bolitho thought of his mother, picturing the preparations for the Christmas fare. The usual visitors from surrounding _ farms and estates. Vyvyan's absence would be noticed. They would all be watching Harriet Bolitho, wondering, questioning.

  He stiffened as he heard his brother coming on deck again. He had barely been absent for more than one half-hour at a time since leaving Falmouth.

  Bolitho touched his salt-stained hat. `Wind's holding steady, sir. Still southerly.'

  It had backed during the night and was pounding into the Avenger's great mainsail from almost hard abeam, thrusting her over until the lee scuppers were awash.

  Gloag's untidy shape detached itself from the opposite side and muttered, `If it rises again or veers, sir, we'll 'ave to be thinkin' about changin' tack.' He pouted doubtfully, unwilling, to add to his commander's worries, but knowing his responsibility was for them all.