He wanted to pinch himself to stay alert. It was dark beyond the tall windows, with just the lights from the houses on the shore and the moored vessels nearby. Almost as dark as when he had been called to go on deck, only this morning . . .
Bethune must have made some sort of signal. Tolan and the cabin servants had disappeared, and Troubridge was standing, framed against the screen door, like a sentinel.
Bethune said quietly, “Lord Sillitoe is here, in the Indies. Baron Sillitoe of Chiswick. Why was I not told?”
Swinburne stared at him. As if he were hearing a foreign language.
“I had no instructions, Sir Graham! He is a man of influence, once the Prince Regent’s Inspector General.”
Bethune did not hide the sarcasm. “And his good friend, too, as I recall.”
Swinburne made another attempt. “He is here to conduct enquiries, matters which concern his business, and the City of London.” He ended lamely, “The governor left no instructions.”
Bethune said, “He is a very dangerous man, and his father was the most successful slaver on record.”
Swinburne picked up his glass. It was empty. “I know that Lady Somervell was with him. But I thought . . .”
Bethune actually smiled. “You hold a good appointment here. Others might be envious. Think on it, eh?” He snapped his fingers. “Now we can sup in peace.”
Troubridge had left the screen door and stood right aft by the stern windows.
“Your first lieutenant wishes to speak with you, sir.” He glanced at the servants, who were arranging chairs again, lighting candles on the table. In the flickering light his young features looked suddenly grave, angry. “And, no, sir. I did not know that Lady Somervell was here in Antigua.”
Adam looked past him. “I shall not be a moment, Sir Graham.” But Bethune was lifting the silver cover from the dish and gave no sign of having heard him. He touched Troubridge’s sleeve. “Thank you for that.” He saw Tolan bringing more wine from the pantry. “I thought I was the only one who didn’t know!”
He found Stirling waiting by the companion ladder, his head bowed beneath the deckhead beams. There was probably ample room to stand upright, Adam thought; it was merely habit, born of a lifetime at sea in every class of ship.
“I am sorry to disturb you, sir.” His eyes glinted in the swaying watch light as he glanced at the white-painted screen, and the Royal Marine sentry at the door to the admiral’s quarters. In the dim light, the scarlet uniform looked black.
Stirling lowered his voice.
“The sloop Lotus anchored an hour or so back, sir. Her commander is come aboard to report an action with a slaver.”
“Why so long?” It gave him time to mark down the sloop, like an entry in the log. She was one of the commodore’s chain of patrolling vessels. But that was all.
“He went to the commodore’s residence first. Said he knew nothing about Athena’s arrival here. All aback, he was.” He turned again as the sentry shifted his boots. “I put him in the chartroom and told him to wait.”
“You did right. I’ll see him now.” He thought he heard a glass shatter beyond the screen, and somebody laugh. It sounded like Swinburne.
They climbed the companion ladder together, Stirling breathing heavily, but Adam felt glad to have shifted the responsibility so quickly.
On the quarterdeck the air was cool, clean, after the admiral’s cabin. A few figures stood grouped by the starboard nettings. Beyond and below them Adam could see a boat, almost motionless, hooked on to the mainchains.
Stirling paused outside the chartroom, one large hand on the clip.
“His name is Pointer, sir. First command, apparently, six months on this station.”
“Thank you. That’s a big help, believe me.”
“Sir?” He could feel Stirling peering at him through the darkness, as if he was expecting or searching for a trap.
It seemed unusually bright in the chartroom after the quarterdeck and its silent watchkeepers.
Pointer, Lotus’s commander, was tall and thin with a narrow, bony face and clear, intelligent eyes. Still only a lieutenant, but already after so short a spell of command he carried an air of quiet authority.
Adam held out his hand, and saw a brief start of surprise.
“I’m Bolitho. I command here. Flag-Captain.”
Pointer grasped his hand firmly; the grip was bony, too. “Yes, sir, I just heard.” He looked at the unsmiling first lieutenant. “And about Sir Graham Bethune. I have been out of contact with the commodore, you see. We did not know.”
Stirling said impatiently, “The courier was blown up.”
Adam gestured to the rack of charts, all neatly folded, numbered, and in order: knowing Dugald Fraser, they would be. Like his notes and personal log, even the gleaming dividers and rules were each in its place.
“Show me.”
Pointer opened a chart and flattened it on the table.
“Two weeks ago, it was, sir.” His forefinger touched the chart. “I was in my usual patrol sector. I’ve had it since I commissioned Lotus, so I think I have the feel of it by now.” The finger moved. “The sector runs from the Bahama Bank, westward to the Florida Straits. A regular run for slavers if they can slip past us.”
Adam sensed his pride, in what he was doing, more so perhaps in his command. He could easily picture the small ship, quite alone in that great span of islands and the countless channels that separated them. You could hide a fleet there, if the need arose.
Pointer said, “We had been working the Straits for some time. The bigger slavers cross from Cuba to Florida to unload their cargoes before heading out into the Atlantic again. Some of them are large vessels, new and fast. They can often outrun our patrols.” The pride again. “But not Lotus.”
Pointer had pulled a ragged pad from his coat. This he laid on the chart. There were scribbled calculations and compass bearings, but Adam’s gaze settled on the date, June sixth, the day after they had sifted through Celeste’s pathetic remains and had found her only survivor.
He stared at the chart and the outline of Cuba, but for only a few seconds he saw Falmouth. June the sixth was his birthday, and it had completely slipped his mind.
Pointer had not noticed his expression. “A big barque, she was, standing out of Havana, probably heading for Florida, under a full press of canvas. Sighted us and broke out the American flag, so I ordered her to heave-to and await a boarding party.” He smiled and the strain showed itself for the first time. He was speaking to himself, reliving it. As if there was nobody else here.
“They often do that. The Yankees make such a huff-and-puff about any foreign officers trying to board one of their ships, and it often works, so the slaver gets clean away.” He peered at the charts again. “So I ran out my guns and fired a couple of shots to warn him that I meant business.” He nodded slowly. “I was ready for him. I’d heard about the heavy pieces some of those slavers carry. He went about and ran for the shore, back to Havana. He had the wind under his coattails and I could scarcely keep pace with him, the crafty bastard!” He stared at Adam, and but for his tanned skin might have blushed. “I beg your pardon, sir!”
The door opened two inches. It was Troubridge. “I’m sorry, sir, but Sir Graham has asked me . . .” He fell silent, as if he were gripped by the tension and could not proceed.
Pointer said, “I followed him into the harbour, and I anchored Lotus and was boarded by an army of officials. I insisted that the barque was a slaver, and under the Agreement I wanted to search her and confirm this. It is well known amongst our patrols that the Spanish captain-general in Havana is quite prepared to accept false papers and offer clearance to a ship’s master, even if he is a known slaver. A lot of money must change hands in the process.”
“But you found nothing?”
He shrugged. “I was treated with every courtesy, but I was not allowed to search the ship. The captain-general’s aide was surprised that I should imagine that in a civilized city li
ke Havana slaves could be landed and moved elsewhere without the authorities knowing. A day later I was allowed to put a party on board. They found nothing, and the flag was Spanish by that time. I can still hear the jeers and the curses as we weighed and put to sea.”
“Perhaps you were lucky. An ‘accident’ might have been arranged for you and your Lotus.”
Together they walked from the chartroom, and into the shadows. Pointer stopped momentarily and looked up into the darker patterns of shrouds and stays.
“If this ship had been there, they would have sung a different tune!” Yet he said it without bitterness, as if it was he who had failed in some way.
Almost as an afterthought, he dragged a canvas envelope from his coat. “My full report, sir.” The smile returned. “Addressed to the commodore, of course.”
He was almost asleep on his feet. He must have driven his ship without a break, a passage of some fourteen hundred miles. Adam could still recall when he had commanded a vessel not very different in size and performance, in which her captain was always the last to go off watch.
Troubridge took the envelope. “I’ll tell Sir Graham, sir.” But he was regarding the bony lieutenant with barely disguised awe.
He was back in a few minutes, or so it seemed.
“Sir Graham’s compliments, and would you return to your ship and remain ready to proceed to sea . . .” He faltered, sharing Pointer’s exhaustion. “Tomorrow, before sunset, as ordered by the Flag.”
Adam walked with him to the entry port where Lotus’s boat was already preparing to cast off.
“I am glad we met. I shall see you now when I hear the name of your command.”
They shook hands, and Pointer said, “I remember when I was chasing a slaver, months ago, just before all the new rules had been agreed upon. I was almost up to him when he began pitching his slaves over the side. He did not have many left, but there were enough. The sharks were in a frenzy, and I shall never forget those last screams, and the silence.”
Adam touched his hat and watched him clamber down the side and into his boat.
He walked aft again, shadowy figures turning to watch him as he passed.
He could even feel the sentry’s eyes beneath his leather hat as the door was opened for him.
Bethune sat at the table, Lieutenant Pointer’s report carelessly spread across his knees.
He gestured with a knife. “Didn’t wait for you. Sir Baldwin must return to his headquarters. He has a lot to do because of this.” His tone hardened slightly. “Some of it won’t wait until tomorrow.”
Adam looked at the empty dishes and patches of spilled wine, like blood. He thought of Unrivalled, and the long patrols off the slave coasts of Africa. Freetown, and the bodies packed so tightly in the holds of captured ships that they could scarcely move or breathe. Human cargo. Like Pointer, he would never forget either.
The commodore came through the other door, Tolan and one of the servants at his elbows.
Bethune smiled, but did not stand up. “Go with Sir Baldwin, will you, Flags? Explain to his duty officer what is required for tomorrow.”
Troubridge snatched up his hat and followed the swaying trio from the cabin.
Jago was already there, a bosun’s chair rigged and ready for lowering the commodore into the gig alongside. He glanced sharply at Adam.
“You all right, Cap’n?”
Adam said only, “When you get back aboard, lay aft to my cabin and have a wet with your captain.”
Jago bared his teeth, but did not smile. “O’ course, Cap’n, if the tackle was to run free while the commodore was bein’ swayed outboard, I could be there all the faster!”
It had been a close thing. Adam gripped his arm.
“This is not what we have learned to accept, Luke, or been trained to fight. It’s like chasing shadows.” He half turned as if to listen to the Lotus’s boat pulling away from the side. “I almost envied that officer just now, at least for his freedom to act as he thinks fit!”
Jago relaxed slightly as the mood changed.
Adam stifled a yawn and grinned. “Almost.”
11 TRICK-FOR-TRICK
LIEUTENANT Roger Pointer, Lotus’s gangling commanding officer, swung away from the rail, his weariness giving way to a broad grin as Bolitho, the flag-captain, appeared on deck. In the navy it was amazing how quickly sailors could adapt, adjust to any kind of change unexpectedly thrown upon them.
Like Vice-Admiral Bethune’s order to be ready for sea by sunset the day after his fast passage from Havana, the jeers still ringing in his ears after being refused permission to board the ship he knew to be a slaver. Hardly enough time to take on fresh water and to snatch a few casks of fresh fruit from the market. And even then they had been ordered to weigh at noon, not wait until sunset.
The other surprise had been the arrival on board of Bethune’s flag-captain, his emissary to be carried to meet Havana’s captain-general, with a protest or warning Pointer was not sure. He had expected to feel resentment, but common sense made him realize the value of Bethune’s decision. He was still not certain how Bolitho felt about it.
They were three days out of English Harbour, with favourable winds making Lotus lift and plunge through the blue water like a thoroughbred.
He knew Bolitho’s record and reputation almost as well as that of his famous uncle. Athena’s captain was now probably completely out of his element, but rank was rank and the navy had its own firm divisions in any ship, two-decker or lowly sloop.
It came as a surprise that Bolitho seemed prepared to accept the role of passenger, keeping his distance from the watch-by-watch affairs of the ship, but approachable in a manner Pointer had never expected or experienced before.
Adam walked to the weather side, feeling the sting of spray as it drifted aft from the forecastle, the elation of the lively hull, the din of canvas and rigging.
He had known full well what Pointer must have thought when Bethune’s unexpected orders had been issued; he had suffered it himself when he had first taken command of the brig Firefly. After three full days at sea the barriers had dropped. There were still stares and surreptitious nudges when he took his daily walks on deck, but he understood the strength and the camaraderie of a small ship, and was heartened by the sudden willingness to talk, or speak of their lives and homes without it seeming an interrogation at a court martial.
He could even feel a certain envy of Pointer and his command. Lotus was like a smaller version of a frigate, well armed for her size, with sixteen 12 -pounders and a pair of carronades, and a total complement of one hundred and fifteen souls, including her captain. And no marines to mark the unseen boundary between quarterdeck and common seaman.
He shaded his eyes to stare abeam, at the faint, darker blur on the horizon. Haiti, a place always hated and avoided by sailors, even in their search for fresh water. Superstition, strange and cruel rituals . . . there was many a messdeck yarn to frighten new hands on their first passage. Even under French rule it had been bad enough, but since the slave rebellion and the retreat of the colonial army it had become even more dangerous.
Cuba was close by, and Adam wondered if the captain-general might see Haiti’s change of ownership as a grim warning, a threat to himself and Spanish rule altogether.
Or perhaps, like Commodore Swinburne, he only wanted an uneventful existence in which to finish his career?
He looked inboard again. A small ship, one hundred and ten feet on the gun-deck, not much more than four hundred tons. No wonder he had felt unsteady on his first morning at sea, after Athena’s massive timbers and heavy artillery.
He smiled to himself. It was different now, after only three days.
He called, “Good morning, Roger. The wind is still an ally— it does you credit!”
Pointer touched his battered hat. He was still unprepared for it, no matter what he told himself. The youthful-looking figure, hatless, dark hair blowing “all anyhow,” as his boatswain had put it, open shirt, and a
coat which had lost most of its true colour along the way: the admiral’s trusted flag-captain, perhaps poised for that next step up the ladder. Like all the rest of us.
He said, “We should be off the Iguanas tomorrow forenoon, sir.” The grin returned. “I’d not care to run through them in the dark!”
Adam nodded agreement, pushing the hair from his eyes. “Then Cuba. A fast run indeed.” He saw the unspoken questions on Pointer’s face. What it might mean for his ship, and for his reputation. “I shall deliver Sir Graham’s despatch as instructed, so that the captain-general or his representative is informed of the change in command.” He thought of the scattered wreckage and added bitterly, “If he is not already aware of it.”
Pointer said, “I have heard, unofficially, you understand, sir, that the captain-general always speaks through an interpreter.” He spread his big, bony hands. “But that he speaks perfect English, when he chooses.”
Adam smiled. “Well said, Roger. I have walked into that trap before.”
He recalled Bethune’s last words to him before he had been pulled across to the Lotus.
“I have decided that you should represent me in this matter of negotiation, and our right to search suspect vessels. A show of force would be pointless, even if I had the ships to do it. I shall send for reinforcements to increase the patrols. A few captures, some rich prizes, and we’ll soon see a change of heart where the money lies.” Then, at the last minute, he had touched Adam’s arm. “Watch out for Sillitoe. I think he’s desperate. So be on your guard.”
Adam had not seen Troubridge again before leaving the flag-ship. Deliberate? Or was he, too, under strict orders?
Pointer excused himself and walked away to deal with his first lieutenant, who had been hovering nearby.
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