Allday swung the tiller and grinned at Bolitho’s back.
That was more like it.
The dusk which quickly enclosed the harbour was like a seductive velvet curtain. It helped men to forget the heat of the day and the strain of re-provisioning the ship with anything which Benjamin Bynoe, the hard-eyed purser, could obtain at the lowest barter.
Bolitho leaned back on the bench beneath the open stern windows and watched the lights winking from every level of the town. It was to be their second night at anchor in Sydney, but his first on board. Commodore Sayer had kept him busily engaged, mostly ashore, meeting the assistant governor, his superior being elsewhere in the colony attending to some petition from those damned farmers, as he described them. The first settlers, even with the available if reluctant aid of the convict labour, were not finding their lives easy.
Bad crops, some floods and theft by natives and escaped prisoners had left them in no mood for tolerance.
Bolitho had also met the officers of the local military. He had got the distinct impression they were not eager to discuss their affairs with anyone from outside the colony. He had said as much to Sayer, who had smiled at his doubts.
“You are quite right, Bolitho,” the commodore had said. “At first the governor was content to use marines to keep order and contain the transported convicts. But they were required in England, and most have been shipped home. These ‘soldiers’ you spoke with are some of the New South Wales Corps. They are specially recruited at high expense, and in many cases are more dishonest than those they are supposed to be guarding! I would not wear the governor’s coat for a sack of gold.”
Bolitho’s impressions of Sydney had been equally mixed. The dwellings were rough, but well sited for the most part, with ready access to the waterfront. Some, like the huge windmills behind the town, standing on the slopes like gaunt onlookers, showed signs of the Dutch influence. Practical and well designed.
Bolitho was well used to the crudity and drunkenness of seaports in many countries, but Sydney’s rash of grog shops and worse made some he had seen appear quite mild. Sayer had told him that many of the shanty-keepers were actually employed by the officers of the Corps, who openly encouraged immoral liaisons between their own men and the convict women who served in such places. He had scornfully described the men who enlisted in the Corps as either “blacklegs” or “blackguards,” and none in it for anything but personal gain.
Aboard his own ship again he was able to find some satisfaction and escape from the busy life ashore. Sayer had discovered nothing more of Tempest’s new instructions, which would eventually come from the governor upon his return.
Opposite him, lounging contentedly in another chair, was Herrick. They had dined together on an excellent mutton pie which Noddall, the cabin servant, had obtained specially from an unknown source ashore. They had consumed all of it, and Bolitho realised it was the first meat not taken from a salt cask he had eaten for months.
He said, “I think some claret, Thomas.”
Herrick grinned, his teeth white in the glow of a solitary lantern. They had soon found that to increase the light only encouraged a host of buzzing insects which immediately destroyed the blessing of the cool air.
He said, “No, sir. Not this time.” He beckoned Noddall from the shadows. “I took the liberty of getting some good French wine from the barracks’ quartermaster.” He chuckled. “They may not be much as soldiers, but they live well enough.”
Noddall busied himself at the table with his wine cooler.
Bolitho watched him, recognizing every movement. Noddall was small, like a little rodent. Even his hands, which when not in use he held in front of his body, were like paws. But he was a good and willing servant, and like some of the others had come to the ship from Bolitho’s Undine.
Herrick stood up, his head clear of the deck beams as evidence of Tempest’s generous proportions, and raised his goblet.
He said, “To you, sir, and your birthday.” He grinned. “I know it was yesterday in fact, but it took me a day to discover the wine.”
They continued almost in silence, their long pipes lit, their glasses readily refilled by the watchful Noddall.
Overhead, through the skylight, they could see the stars, very large and close, and hear the regular footsteps of a master’s mate as he paced back and forth on watch, the occasional shuffle of boots from the marine sentry beyond the bulkhead. Bolitho said, “It will be late autumn in Cornwall now.” He did not know why he had said it. Maybe he had been thinking of Sayer. But he could see it all the same. Gold and brown leaves, a keener edge to each dawn. But still fresh and bright. It always held off the winter in Cornwall. He tried to recall the ordinary sounds. The ring of chipping hammers as the farm workers used their time building or repairing the characteristic stone and slate walls which separated their fields and houses. Cattle and sheep, the fishermen tramping up from Falmouth to one of a dozen tiny hamlets at the end of the day.
He thought of his own house below Pendennis Castle. Square and grey, the home of the Bolithos for generations. Now, apart from Ferguson, his steward, and the servants, there was nobody. All gone, either dead or, like his two sisters, married and living their separate lives. He remembered his feelings when he had met the marine captain, Prideaux, for the first time, and his attendant rumours of duels fought and won. It had reminded him of his own brother, Hugh. He had killed a brother officer over a gambling debt and had fled to America. To desert his ship had been a bad enough shock for their father, but when he had joined the Revolutionary Navy and had risen to command a privateer against his old friends and companions it had been more than enough to speed his death. And Hugh was gone, too. Killed, it seemed, by a runaway horse in Boston. Life was difficult to fathom out.
Herrick sensed his change of mood.
“I think I should turn in, sir. I have a feeling we’ll all be up and about tomorrow. Two days in harbour? Tch, tch, someone high-up will say! It’ll never do for the Tempest, and that’s the truth!” He grinned broadly. “I truly believe that if all our people were allowed ashore in this place, we’d never get ’em back!”
Bolitho remained by the stern windows long after Herrick had gone to his cot, or more likely the wardroom for a last drink with the other officers.
Herrick always seemed to know when he needed to be alone. To think. Just as he understood that it only made the bond stronger between them.
He watched the smoke from his pipe curling slowly out and over the black water which surged around the rudder. It was bad to keep thinking of home. But he had been away so long now, and if he was to be banished he would have to do something to change his future.
He heard a violin, strangely sad, from below decks, and guessed it was Owston, the ropemaker, who played for the capstan crew, and entertained the hands during the dog watches.
Tempest would make a fine picture from the shore, if anyone was watching. Gunports open, lit from within like yellow eyes. Riding light and a lantern on the starboard gangway for the officer-of-the-guard to climb aboard without losing his footing in the darkness.
He thought of some of the convicts he had seen. Surely none could be here for serious offences? They would have been hanged if they were hardened criminals. It made him ashamed to think how he had just been brooding on his own separation from home. What would these transported people be suffering if they could see his ship, know that she would eventually weigh anchor and perhaps sail for England? Whereas they . . .
He looked up, off guard, as there was a rap at the outer door. It was Borlase, the second lieutenant. As officer-of-the-watch he was no doubt the only officer aboard in full uniform. He was twenty-six years old, tall and powerfully built, and yet his features were rounded, even gentle, and his expression was usually one of mild surprise that he should be here. Bolitho guessed it had originally been a guard to hide his feelings, but had since become permanent.
Borlase had been first lieutenant in a small frigate. The ship had r
un hard aground near the Philippines and had been a total loss. Fortunately, there had been an East Indiaman nearby, and all but three hands had been rescued. At the hastily convened court martial the frigate’s captain had been dismissed from the Navy for negligence. Borlase had been officer-of-the-watch at the time, and his evidence had helped to send his captain into oblivion.
Bolitho asked, “Well, Mr Borlase?”
The lieutenant stepped into the lantern light.
“The guard boat has sent this despatch for you, sir.” He licked his lips, another childlike habit. “From the governor.”
Bolitho saw Noddall hurrying from the dining compartment carrying another lantern, his little shadow looming giantlike against the white-painted screen.
As he slit open the canvas envelope he found time to wonder if Borlase’s part at the court martial had been as much to clear himself as to bring down his captain.
He read swiftly along the neatly written paper. All at once the stresses and anxieties of the past weeks faded, and even Borlase, who was watching him with a gentle smile on his lips, seemed to have vanished.
He said sharply, “My compliments to the first lieutenant, Mr Borlase. I’d like to see him directly.”
The lieutenant opened his mouth as if to put a question, and shut it again.
Bolitho walked to the stern windows and leaned as far out as he could, letting the sea air explore his throat and chest. He wished he had not drunk so much or dined so well on the mutton pie.
He tried to clear his mind, to concentrate on the despatch. Tempest was to weigh and put to sea as soon as it was prudent to work clear of the harbour limits. He felt the air cooling his hair and cheek. It felt stronger, but would it last? He checked his racing thoughts and heard Herrick coming into the cabin.
“Sir?”
“We are ordered to sea, Thomas. A transport ship is overdue, although she was reported safely on passage three weeks ago by the mail packet. The packet’s master made signal contact with her south-east of Tongatapu.”
Herrick tucked his shirt into his breeches, his face frowning.
“But that’s over a couple of thousand miles from here, sir.”
Bolitho nodded. “But the ship, she’s the Eurotas, is a regular visitor. She supplies the colony and some other islands as required. Her master is well versed with these waters. It is no use deluding ourselves. She should have been here, at anchor, days ago.” He recalled the grog shops and the brazen-eyed girls at the windows. “The governor knew she was expected. He kept it a secret, even from his subordinate. The Eurotas is filled with guns, powder and supplies. And money to pay the military and civil authorities.”
“And you think the Bounty mutineers may be in that area, sir?”
Bolitho did not reply immediately. He was thinking of the governor’s instructions, feeling their anger and urgency. Most of all he was remembering the last paragraphs. The Eurotas, apart from her valuable cargo, was also carrying more convicts, and he could almost see the rest in his mind. The newly appointed adviser and acting governor for yet another colonial project, James Raymond, and his wife were passengers.
He turned from the glittering lights and reflected stars. They had gone cold.
“Rouse the master, Thomas. Find out the first possible moment we can proceed. I’ll warp her clear with boats if need be. It may be a false alarm. Eurotas might have put into an island for water or wood. Or she could have been becalmed as we have often enough.”
Herrick was studying him, his eyes very still.
He said, “Doubtful.”
Bolitho walked past him, touching the chairs without feeling them, and the old sword which hung on the bulkhead, where Allday watched over it like a keeper.
He continued, “Sayer will be sending the courier brig when she returns, and the governor will despatch two small schooners to the north and east.”
“Like a needle in a haystack, sir.”
Bolitho swung on his heels. “I know that, damn it! But we must do something!”
He saw the instant look of surprise and hurt on Herrick’s homely features and added, “I’m sorry. Too much wine.” Herrick would have to know sooner or later. Bolitho thrust the papers across the table. “Read them for yourself.” He walked to the door and said to the sentry, “Call the midshipman-of-the-watch. I want all officers in the cabin without delay.” He turned aft again and saw Herrick watching him.
Bolitho said simply, “I know, Thomas. I even know what you have been thinking. But it was five years ago. A long while to remember.”
Herrick eyed him grimly. “Aye, sir. If you say so. I’ll go and assemble the officers outside and bring them in together.” He left the cabin.
Bolitho sat down on the bench seat and after a slight hesitation drew the watch from his pocket. It was a very good timepiece, made by Mudge and Dutton, and it had a neat cylinder escapement and a firm, air-tight guard.
He saw none of these things, but clicked open the guard to read the engraved inscription on the inside.
Conquered, on a couch alone I lie,
Once in dream’s deceit you came to me,
All dreams outstripped, if only thou were nigh!
He closed the guard and thrust it into his pocket. His head and mind were quite clear, and when his officers filed into the cabin they saw nothing to make them believe he was in any way different. Except for Herrick, and he could do nothing about it.
2 ISOLATION
BOLITHO paused on the companion ladder and allowed his eyes time to adapt to the harsh glare.
It was almost eight bells, with the men of the forenoon watch listlessly assembled below the quarterdeck rail to make the changeover.
Bolitho had been on deck two hours earlier, as was his habit. Then, even with the sure knowledge of another scalding day to come, it had seemed refreshing and alive. There had been a dampness on canvas and rigging to add to the deception, but now the sun’s heat had expanded and magnified, and as he stepped on to the quarterdeck he found himself wondering just how long they could continue searching for the Eurotas.
Since leaving Sydney they had made good two thousand five hundred miles. Nearer three thousand with all the changes of tack and the maddening perversity of the wind. Herrick had remarked that it felt twenty times that much.
Three weeks of searing heat and endless, empty miles.
Bolitho squinted his eyes to try and see beyond the gently pitching bowsprit, but the glare was already so fierce that the sea appeared as polished silver without division between it and the sky.
Slowly he examined the set of each sail. Drawing, but only just, with the yards braced round to hold the vessel on a starboard tack.
He heard the master’s mate report to Lieutenant Borlase, “The watch is aft, sir.”
Then Borlase’s heels squeaked as he crossed the deck, his shoes clinging to the hot pitch between the seams.
Both he and Keen, who was relieving him, were well aware that their captain was present, but were used enough to his ways to know he would not interfere with the routine of changing the watch.
Bolitho heard Keen say, “Aye, sir. Nor’-east by east. Full and bye.”
Then Borlase, curt and impatient. “As usual, nothing to report. I have logged Peterson for insolence. The first lieutenant can deal with him later.” He wiped his streaming face and neck. “Relieve the wheel, if you please.” Then with a nod he vanished through the companionway.
The hands went about their allotted duties and the watch began another long four hours.
Bolitho had seen Herrick right forward with the boatswain and some working parties. The tasks were unending. The ship, like any other, was like a finely tuned instrument, with every inch of rigging and canvas designed and arrayed to play its part. Splicing and stitching, painting and blacking-down rigging, Tempest took a lot of sweat and backbreaking effort.
Herrick saw him and strode aft along the weather gangway, his stocky frame barely angled to the sun-dried planking. It was hardly surpri
sing, for even with courses and topsails set to the wind the hull was hardly heeling to its thrust.
Herrick observed, “Another hard one, sir.” He looked at each mast in turn. “I’ve had the hands turned-to early. It’ll save them from the worst of it. Mr Jury has some heavier tasks on the orlop for this afternoon.”
Bolitho nodded, watching Keen as he moved restlessly around the wheel and compass. Like the other officers he was dressed only in shirt and breeches, and his fair hair was plastered across his forehead with sweat.
He said, “Good, Thomas. I know they’ll curse us for the heavy work, but it will save them from other troubles.”
Herrick knew as well as any officer that too much leisure under these conditions could lead to arguments and worse. In cabin and wardroom it was bad enough. For the company crammed together in their screened quarters or messdecks it would be like part of hell.
Herrick watched him, judging the right moment.
“How much longer, sir?” He stood his ground as Bolitho turned towards him. “I mean, we have covered the full distance. That mail packet reported Eurotas in these waters, safe and on passage. She must have run into trouble. We could barely miss her at this snail’s pace.”
Bolitho walked to the quarterdeck rail and gripped it with both hands. The heated woodwork helped to steady his mind, hold back his uncertainty.
He saw Jacob Twig, the cook, walking purposefully beneath the shadow of a gangway, on his way to see the purser, no doubt. The fresh food and extra stores they had obtained from Sydney had to be eked out within the usual issue of meat from the cask. Salt beef, salt pork, some so hard it was like the ship’s teak. Twig was very dark and extremely tall. When he was in his evil-smelling galley he loomed over the pots and platters like some kind of sorcerer brewing potions.
Bolitho said slowly, “I agree that we have run the full course.” He tried to picture the missing ship, guess what could or might have befallen her.
In the whole three weeks they had spoken with only two other vessels, small Dutch trading schooners. They had been a week apart, but neither of the masters had reported sighting anything except the usual clusters of native craft amongst the many islands. And it was always prudent to give them a wide berth.
Passage to Mutiny Page 3
