Napier continued, 'She was attacked, sir. A two-decker to all accounts, although —
Bolitho could see it as if he had been there himself. Just as their attacker had fired on Achates. Without warning, except that this time her victim had been hopelessly outgunned even if Duncan had been expecting trouble.
'How many?'
Again the young commander could barely speak above a murmur.
'Twenty-five, sir, and some of those are in a poor way.'
Bolitho felt his skin go cold. Twenty-five, out of a company which had numbered two hundred souls.
'Any officers?' He barely recognized his own voice.
'None, sir. Just a midshipman. First commission too.'
Bolitho eyed him bitterly. Duncan had perished with his ship. He could picture him without effort. Duncan had even been to his wedding at Falmouth. A good man, strong and reliable.
It was impossible. A nightmare.
The commander took his silence for displeasure and hurried on, 'The midshipman said that the third lieutenant was in another boat but was badly wounded in the face and neck by splinters. During the night the boats drifted apart, and then the sharks came.' He looked at the deck.
'Bring the midshipman to me.' He saw his hesitation. 'Is he wounded?'
'No, sir.'
Keen said shortly, 'See to it.'
As the commander hurried away Bolitho said, 'Send word to my flag-lieutenant. He must return at once. Fast horse, anything.'
Keen stared at him. 'It was the same ship, wasn't it, sir?'
'I'm certain of it.' He eyed him steadily. 'Ask the surgeon to help with the wounded. The rest of Sparrowhawk's people can be signed on to your books. I want them to be with us when we run that butcher to earth!'
Bolitho strode aft to the cabin. He knew he must look different in some way. Chase had a glass poised in the air, Ozzard was frozen in the act of refilling it. Fane's eyes followed him to the stern windows before he asked, 'Bad news, Admiral?"
Bolitho looked at him and tried to fight the sudden all-consuming anger which coursed through him like fire.
'I am leaving harbour as soon as all my people are aboard.'
Chase shifted in his chair as if to see him better.
'Not waiting for your frigate after all?'
Bolitho shook his head.
'I'm heartily sick of waiting.'
He saw the brig's boat going alongside again. It was cruel to send for the young midshipman after what he had endured. But he had to know everything the boy could tell him.
He said quietly, 'Sparrowhawk's been sunk.'
He heard Chase's quick intake of breath.
Bolitho added, 'So you see, gentlemen, there may be thunder before we can settle things to everyone's satisfaction.'
6
No Easy Way
Captain Valentine Keen sat with legs crossed on one of Bolitho's chairs and watched his superior as he read through a despatch for the Admiralty. It would be put aboard the brig Electra and eventually be transferred to a fleet-courier so that it would be completely out-of-date by the time Admiral Sheaffe was able to examine it.
Keen glanced through the open stern windows and silently cursed the oppressive heat. It seemed to pin the whole ship down so that even the smallest movement was uncomfortable.
Bolitho signed the last page where Yovell had indicated and looked questioningly at his flag-captain. 'Well, Val, are we ready for sea?'
Keen nodded and instantly felt a trickle of sweat run down his spine.
"The water-lighters have cast off, sir. There's just your - ' Bolitho stood up as if pricked by a thorn and strode to the windows.
'My nephew. He should be back on board by now.'
He was thinking aloud. The ship was waiting to weigh anchor. Boats were hoisted, and all hands accounted for. He stared hard at the little brig which had brought the news of Sparrowhawk's loss. Napier, her young commander, would be glad to rid himself of his responsibility to an admiral other than his own. His tiny command would soon be free of Bolitho and hurrying to Antigua to pass the news of the mysterious assassin, the ship which bore no name and showed no colours. Bolitho would have given a lot to hold on to the Electra, but the need to spread the word of the unknown attacker was paramount. Other ships might be lost in the same fashion.
Keen watched the emotions as they chased each other across Bolitho's features. They had seen and done so much together in every kind of action. Now, supposedly in peacetime, they were faced with something which was both baffling and terrible.
Feet thudded overhead, and calls trilled as the watch on deck was ordered to some new task under the first lieutenant's eye.
Bolitho did not see Keen's sympathetic scrutiny. His mind kept swinging from tack to tack, as if he was imprisoned by his own thoughts. Wait in Boston or set sail for San Felipe? It was his decision alone, just as his decision had cost Duncan his life. Keen had spoken with the one surviving midshipman, Evans, but had got little out of him. Bolitho had asked Allday to speak with the boy in his own way and the result had been startling. Allday had that casual, effortless way of talking to people, especially youngsters like Evans, and as he had described what Evans had told him Bolitho had been able to relive that brief, savage encounter which had ended with Sparrowhawk's total destruction.
It was a wonder a boy like Evans had not collapsed completely, Bolitho thought. It was not like going to war with the fear of death a constant companion. It was Evans' very first commission, his only voyage in a man-of-war. He did not even come from a naval family but was the son of a tailor in Cardiff.
To see his best friend, a fellow midshipman, smashed down like a slaughtered animal, to be the last one to speak with the mortally wounded Duncan while the ship exploded around him was more than most could have withstood. Perhaps later, months later, the shock would show itself.
Allday had explained how Evans had sensed an explosion even as his boat had pulled away from the sinking frigate.
The gallery fire had not been doused. Flames had probably spread to the magazine or powder-room, so that for many of the ship's company the end had been quick and the horror of the sharks held back for the others.
Another of the survivors, an experienced gunner's mate, had told Allday that the cannon fire had sounded flatter and louder than he would have expected. She was carrying far heavier weapons, he thought, even though the numbers had been reduced.
Bolitho glanced at the eighteen-pounder near his desk. Probably thirty-two-pounders. But why?
The door opened cautiously and the clerk, Yovell, peered in at them.
Bolitho said, 'Despatches are ready to go.'
What did they matter anyway? He knew it, and so did Keen. Words, words, words. The facts were plain as they were brutal. He had lost a fine ship with most of her people. And there was Duncan and his pretty widow. He had been a good friend. A brave officer.
Yovell remained hovering in the screen doorway.
"There is a mail-packet coming to anchor, sir.' He hesitated. 'From England.'
Bolitho stared at him and was shocked to see the anxiety on Yovell's round features.
My God. he's afraid of me. The shock hit him like a fist. He's terrified because there may be no word from Belinda.
The realization did more to steady his apprehension and doubts than anything. He recalled how only yesterday, as he had waited for Adam to return on board, Yovell had said something to put him at ease. Bolitho had exploded and had cursed him roundly for his interfering. Yet Bolitho had always hated martinets who used their rank and authority to terrorize their subordinates. And it was all too easy. A captain was like a god, so an admiral could do no wrong at all in his own eyes.
He said, 'Thank you, Yovell. Take the quarter-boat and pass my despatches to the Electra. Also any letters from our people.' He watched the man's uncertainty and added, 'Then go over to the mail-packet, will you? There may be something, eh?'
As the clerk made to leave he said quietly, 'I treated
you badly. There was no cause for that. Loyalty deserves a whole lot better.'
Keen watched the clerk's wariness change to gratitude, and as the door closed he said, 'That was good of you, sir.'
Bolitho made himself sit down and tugged his shirt free from his moist skin.
'I have been hard on you too, Val. I apologize.'
Keen gauged the moment and said, 'As your flag-captain, I have the freedom to suggest and warn if the occasion arises.'
'You do.' Bolitho smiled grimly. 'Thomas Herrick was quick to use that freedom, so speak your mind.'
Keen shrugged. 'You are beset from every side, sir. The French will not discuss San Felipe with you, nor do they need to as our two governments have signed an agreement on its future. The Americans do not wish to have the French on their doorstep as it could make their own strategy difficult in any future conflict. The governor of the island will fight you all the way, and I suspect that Admiral Sheaffe knew that from the beginning. So why should we worry? If the governor refuses to submit we can arrest him and put him in irons.' His tone hardened. 'Too many men have died to make his position count. Better we take command of the island than to leave its future with him. He probably craves independence from the Crown and will play one faction against the other if we allow it.'
Bolitho smiled. 'I have thought of that. But Sparrowhawk's loss and the unwarranted attack on this ship do not fit the pattern. That ship was Spanish-built, if I'm any judge, and yet His Most Catholic Majesty has voiced no protest about San Felipe. So we either have an attempted coup in the offing or piracy on the grand scale. Hell's teeth, Val, after all these years of war there would be plenty with the experience and the desperation to play for such high odds."
Keen placed his fingertips together. 'And I know you are deeply concerned for your wife, sir.' He watched, waiting to see Bolitho's grey eyes give a flash of danger. 'The waiting has been hard on you, especially after your experiences as a prisoner of war.'
A boat pulled below the counter and Bolitho strode to the windows to examine her passengers. But they were only a few sight-seers, a local trader or two still trying to bargain with the sailors on the upper deck.
Adam was not here.
Keen read his thoughts and said, 'He is young, sir. Maybe it was a wrong choice to appoint him flag-lieutenant.'
Bolitho swung on him hotly. 'Did Browne say as much?'
Keen shook his head. 'I formed my own opinion. Your nephew is a fine young man, and I have nothing but affection for him. You have watched over him from the beginning, treated him like a son.'
Bolitho faced him again. He had no fight left. 'Was that wrong too?'
Keen smiled sadly. 'Certainly not, sir.'
Bolitho walked past his chair and rested his hand momentarily on the young captain's shoulder.
'But you are so right. I did not accept it because I did not wish to.' He waved down Keen's protest. 'I never saw Adam's mother, nobody did. The one good thing she ever did was to send him across the country to Falmouth, to me. But you were correct about me. I love him like a son, but he is not my son. His father was Hugh, my brother. Maybe there is too much of Hugh in him —
Keen stood up quickly. 'Let it stop there, sir. You are tiring yourself to no good purpose. We all look to you. I believe we are in for trouble. I do not think we would have been sent otherwise.'
Bolitho poured two glasses of claret and handed one to Keen.
'You are a good flag-captain, Val. It took courage to say that. And it is true. Personal feelings do not come into it.
Later maybe, but now the slightest anxiety may transmit itself through this ship.' He held the glass to the sunlight. 'And Old Katie will have enough to contend with. She can manage without an admiral who is so wrapped up in his own troubles he can think of nothing else.'
There was a nervous tap at the door and Yovell entered, his eyes fixed on Bolitho.
Keen looked away, unable to watch as Bolitho took the single letter from his clerk's hand.
He wanted to leave but, like the clerk, was unwilling to snap the spell.
Bolitho read the short letter and then folded it with great care.
'Get the ship under way, if you please. The wind will suffice to clear the harbour.' He met Keen's even stare.
'The letter is from my sister in Falmouth. My wife . . . His lips hesitated on her name as if they were afraid. 'Belinda is not well. The letter was written some time ago for the packet made another landfall before Boston. But she knew that the packet was sailing. And she wanted to let me know she was thinking of me.' He turned away, his eyes suddenly stinging. 'Even though she was too ill to write.'
Keen looked at Yovell's stricken face and gave a quick jerk of the head.
When the clerk had gone he said gently, 'It was what I would expect her to do, sir. And that is how you must see it.'
Bolitho looked at him and then nodded. 'Thank you, Val. Please leave me now. I shall come up directly.'
Keen walked through the adjoining cabin space and past the motionless marine sentry at the outer screen door.
Herrick would have known what to do. He felt helpless and yet deeply moved that Bolitho had shared his despair with him.
He saw Allday beside an eighteen-pounder and gestured to him.
Allday listened to him and then gave a great sigh. It seemed to come from the soles of his shoes, Keen thought.
Then Allday said, 'I'll go aft, sir. He needs a friend just now.' His face tried to grin. 'He'll no doubt take me to task for my impertinence, but what the hell? He'll crack like a faulty musket barrel if we allows it, an' that's no error.'
Keen strode out into the noon sunlight, adjusting his hat as his lieutenants and the master turned to face him.
'Stand by to get under way, Mr Quantock. I want to see your best today with half the port watching us.'
As the officers hurried to their stations and the boatswain's mates sent their shrill calls below decks, Keen ran lightly up a poop ladder and looked briefly at the anchored shipping, at the angle of the masthead pendant.
Then he glanced at the open skylight on the poop deck and thought of the man beneath it.
He cupped his hands. 'Mr Mountsteven, your men are like cripples today.'
He saw the lieutenant touch his hat and bob anxiously.
Keen made himself breathe out very slowly.
That was better. He was the captain again.
The negro groom wiped his hands on a piece of rag and announced, 'Wheel all fixed, sah.'
Adam helped the girl to her feet and together they walked reluctantly from the shade of some trees and down to the dusty road.
The carriage had shed a wheel as it had rounded a bend in the road and had dipped into a deep rut.
There had been momentary confusion, the carriage lurching over and a door opening to reveal the road rising to meet them. Then in the sudden silence Adam had realized his unexpected good fortune. What might have ended in injury and disaster had become a perfect conclusion to the visit.
As the carriage had bounced to a halt Adam had acted instantly and without conscious thought other than to save his companion from hurt. Then as the dust settled, and the coachman and groom had hurried fearfully to look inside, Adam had found the girl held tightly in his arms, her fair hair pressed against his mouth, her heart pounding to match his own.
It had taken longer than expected to repair the damage, but Adam had barely noticed. Together they had walked through the green woodland, had held hands while they had watched a stream and spoken of anything but their true feelings.
The whole visit to Newburyport had been an adventure, and Adam had been taken to visit a small, comfortable house by Robina and her father, and they had watched him, fascinated, while he had walked through every room with the owner, a friend of the family, and had touched the walls, the fireplaces, and one old chair which had always been in the house.
Robina had tried not to weep as he had sat in the big chair, his hands grasping the well-worn ar
ms as if he would never let go.
Then he had said quietly, 'My father once sat here, Robina. My father.'
He still could not believe it.
She slipped her hand through his arm and nestled her cheek against his coat.
'You must go, Adam. I have made you late enough as it is.'
Together they moved back to the coach and climbed inside.
As the horses came alive again in their harness, the girl said softly, 'We shall be in Boston very soon.' She turned and looked directly into his eyes. 'You may kiss me now if you wish, Adam.' She tried to make light of it by adding, 'No one can see us here. It would not do for local folk to think that Robina Chase was a fizgig!'
Her mouth was very soft and she had a perfume like fresh flowers.
Then she gently pushed him away and dropped her eyes.
"Well, really, Lieutenant ..." But the jest eluded her. She said breathlessly, 'It's love, isn't it?'
Adam smiled, his mind in a daze. 'It must be.'
The coach rolled across cobbles and on to a stretch of old ships' timbers.
Several people paused to glance at the fair-haired girl and the young sea officer who helped her protectively from the coach.
Adam stared in astonishment and then looked at the girl on his arm.
'What shall I do now, Robina?'
It was like a douche of cold water. Achates had gone.
'So here you are.' Jonathan Chase nodded to his niece and then said grimly, 'Sailed yesterday. Your admiral was hellbent for San Felipe.'
He toyed with the idea of telling the young lieutenant about the Sparrowhawk's end, but as he looked from him to his niece he decided against it.
Instead he said, 'You'd better come home with me, young fella. Tomorrow I'll see what I can do about arranging passage for you. You'd not want to miss your ship, eh?'
He saw their hands touch and knew they had not heard a word.
Chase led the way to his own carriage, his face frowning in thought. His niece was the apple of his eye, but you had to face the facts squarely as you did a problem at sea.
Success to the Brave - Bolitho 15 Page 8
