Was he to be the last captain? He listened to the clank of pawls around the capstan, the crack of a starter across someone's back as a boatswain's mate drove the men on the bars to greater efforts. Their weight and muscle to shift Achates' bulk against wind and sea.
He glanced once more at the crossed yards, the great rippling shapes of loosened sails where the topmen clung and waited to free them to the wind.
There was no sign of a light. The burning boom had vanished. Perhaps Allday had been prevented from reaching his objective. He would have given his life if so. One more picture rose in his mind. Of himself gasping and sobbing in agony. A mere midshipman with a great wooden splinter thrust into his groin like a spear. Of Allday, suddenly gentle, carrying him below and cutting the splinter away rather than trust his life to the ship's drunken surgeon.
'Anchor's awei . . . ' The rest was lost as the ship toppled to one side with waves rearing above the gangways and nettings like breakers on a reef.
'Loose tops'ls'.'
The helmsmen slithered and fell but clung stubbornly to the big double wheel as the ship swung madly with the wind, the freed topsails crashing out from their yards, the sound of the gusts through canvas and shrouds drowning the cries of officers and seamen alike.
Keen forced his eyes to remain open as the sea dashed over the nettings and drenched him from head to toe. The water felt warm, jubilant in its efforts to throw the ship out of control.
He saw the Sparrowhawk's midshipman, little Evans, clinging to a stay, his feet kicking at air as the deck plunged and yawed beneath him.
A dark object fell from the mizzen, hit the gangway with a sickening crack and vanished into the waves alongside. The man must have been torn from his precarious perch by the straining canvas. He had not even time to cry out.
Voices ebbed and died through the terrible chorus like souls already lost.
'More hands to the weather fore-brace there!'
'Mr Rooke, send two men aloft ..."
'Take this man to the surgeon!'
'Lively there! The gig's breaking adrift!'
Suddenly the master shouted hoarsely, 'Answering, sir!'
Keen turned and peered towards him. He could feel the wind flaying his mouth so that his lips were forced apart in a wild grin. But she was answering. With her main-yard braced hard round, the sails forcing her over so that the sea boiled through the sealed gun-ports in fierce jets, Achates was beginning to turn her full length into the teeth of the storm.
Broken rigging streamed down-wind like dead creeper, and Keen had already heard the rip of tearing canvas from overhead and knew that men were there to fight the damage with their bare hands.
'Nor'-east by north!' The man sounded breathless. 'Nor' by east!'
Keen gripped the rail until his fists ached. She was trying. Doing the impossible as with every second the wind drove her towards the blacker shadows of the land.
The yards creaked again and Keen watched the seamen straining wildly at the braces, some with their pale bodies almost touching the deck as they hauled with all their strength. Quantock's harsh voice was everywhere, harrying, threatening, demanding.
The deck seemed to lean forward and down in a great single thrust, and the sea roared through the beak-head and over the forecastle in a solid flood. Men tumbled and were washed aside like puppets, and it was a marvel that none of the guns was torn from its lashings. Keen had seen that too. A great gun thundering about the deck like an insane beast, crushing men who tried to snare it, smashing anything which stood in its path.
He watched with chilled fascination as the bows rose very slowly, the sea cascading away with a subdued roar. The ship was pointing towards the land. At the solid, unmoving barrier.
To confirm his disbelief he heard Knocker yell, 'Nor'-west it is, sir!'
There was still no signal. Nor would there be, he thought.
He should have felt despair for what he had done. Quan-tock had been right. There would have been no blame. Officially. He had been ordered to force the entrance rather than face the carefully sited battery in broad daylight. Achates was the only King's ship, Bolitho the only flag-officer here to act and decide. Nobody could have laid the blame on Keen's shoulder.
Now he might lose the ship and every man-jack aboard, and the island's defiance would remain as if they had never come to this damned place.
Yet in spite of the realization he was glad. He had tried. Bolitho would know it. And other ships would come to avenge them, British or French, it would make no difference in the end.
The lieutenant named Foord yelled wildly, 'The signal! Hell's teeth, the signal’ He was almost weeping with disbelief.
Keen said sharply, 'Control yourself, man! Mr Knocker! Bring her up a point to starboard!'
He tried to relax his limbs one at a time as he watched the hissing glow against the swift-moving clouds. Men ran to the braces again, and he heard the fore-topgallant sail boom out from its yard and knew that the topsail had been the one torn apart by the wind.
There it was. No mistake. Allday had done it.
'Nor'-west by north, sir! Steady as she goes!'
They seemed to be tearing through the water at a tremendous pace, like a runaway coach, its horses gone mad.
But Keen had heard something different in the gaunt sailing-master's voice. Not merely surprise or relief. Respect perhaps?
'Leadsmen in the chains!'
Keen pushed himself from the rail and walked to the opposite side to watch a leaping hurdle of breakers. The reefs looked close enough to touch with a pike.
He heard the cry of a leadsman but had no idea what the depth would be.
He saw the land suddenly close alongside, more spray, and felt the deck shiver as the keel ploughed into dangerous shallows.
Knocker was passing more helm orders, his voice suddenly loud as the ship ran past the headland where the boom had once been.
There were vague explosions. Musket fire and the occasional boom of artillery. But it was unreal. Nothing to do with the plunging two-decker and her men.
Keen heard shouts from forward and then caught his breath as the ship gave a violent lurch. Then down the side he saw the dark outline of a small vessel, battered from her moorings by Achates, and capsizing slowly as they continued up the harbour.
The flare was still burning fiercely and Keen could see the flames reflecting on a paler shape nearby, Allday's barge. He snatched a telescope from a midshipman and trained it across the larboard bow.
In the reflected glow he could see the bargemen standing and waving their tarred hats as they saw the ship heading towards them. Achates must make quite a sight, Keen thought. Sails shining in the flare, while her hull remained locked in darkness.
'Prepare to shorten sail, Mr Quantock!'
Keen found that his whole being was shaking uncontrollably, like a man on the verge of death.
Then he saw the lights of the town for the first time, glittering through the spray like tiny jewels. They were almost there. It was incredible. Impossible, some would say.
Somewhere another cannon banged out, but Keen had no idea where the ball fell.
'Stand by to wear ship, Mr Quantock.'
There was still plenty of real danger. If the ship failed to respond this time they could drive on to the beach or become entangled with anchored shipping like a porpoise in a net.
Perhaps they had created their own trap? Keen found he could consider it without emotion. It would not matter now. If they could not leave, neither would anyone else. He pictured Bolitho's grave features and hoped he had seen Achates drive into the harbour like a phantom ship.
If it could only be settled in a battle of wills, he knew who would emerge the victor.
'Man the lee braces!' Quantock loomed towards him. 'I've ordered both anchors to be ready, sir, and put a lieutenant in charge of the compressor. In this gale the cable might part if ..." He left the rest unsaid.
Keen regarded him calmly. 'Carry on, if you plea
se.'
There was no change in Quantock and Keen felt strangely glad. It seemed wrong that he should change in any way because of a single reckless act. When you considered it, Keen thought, there was no other description for it.
'Tops'l clew-lines!'
Keen watched the flurry of activity above the deck. Those men had done well, he thought. To preserve their lives, their ship and their pride as only sailors could.
'Helm alee!'
Once again the deck tilted over, Allday's barge swinging away from the jib-boom as if it had taken flight. But the wind and sea had lost their punch. Momentarily. They would bide their time. There was always another battle.
'Let go!'
Keen heard a splash and felt the planking quiver slightly as the second anchor banged against the hull as it swung from its cat-head in readiness to drop if the other failed.
Blocks squealed, and slowly but surely the unseen topmen kicked and fisted the rebellious canvas to each yard and secured it.
The motion eased immediately, and Keen said as calmly as he could, 'Lower the remaining boats. I want a warp run out from aft. Tell Mr Rooke to report to me.' He turned away from Quantock's bitter silence. 'I also want a muster of all hands immediately. Casualties and serious injuries too, if you please.'
A tiny figure appeared at his elbow. It was Ozzard, Bolitho's molelike servant. 'Here, sir.'
He held out a silver tankard, one of Bolitho's own.
Keen held it to his lips and almost choked on rum. But it did what Ozzard intended and he handed him the tankard.
"That was thoughtful. Thank you.'
They both watched as the gig and then the jolly-boat were hoisted from the tier and swayed out above the gangway. More men were bustling aft while boatswain's mates bawled instructions for laying out a massive warp. Against the pale planking the huge rope looked like an endless serpent.
Ozzard asked timidly, 'Will he be safe, sir?'
Keen saw a lieutenant and Harry Rooke, the boatswain, hurrying towards him for orders, but there was something in Ozzard's voice which held him.
Safe? It was a word rarely considered in the King's service.
Faith had more meaning. Faith to enter a strange harbour despite the hazards and possible consequences. Faith of men like Allday who would risk anything because of Bolitho's word and reputation.
He smiled before turning towards his waiting subordinates.
'He will be expecting a lot from us tomorrow, Ozzard, that I do know.'
Ozzard bobbed and nodded. It was good enough for him.
9
A Close Thing
Bolitho felt a hand touch his arm and tried not to groan as the stiffness plucked at his wound. Had he really been asleep? The realization shocked him into immediate alertness. 'What is it, man?'
Lieutenant Mountsteven watched him curiously, as if he did not really believe he was sharing a small rough gully with his vice-admiral.
'Dawn soon, sir. I've roused all hands.'
Bolitho sat up and rubbed his eyes. They felt raw and tired, and he noticed for the first time that the wind had almost died.
Looking back, it still seemed unreal, an impossible hallucination. He peered over the edge of the ground and saw the vague glint of water, as if he expected to see Achates forcing the entrance, her sails bulging like metal breastplates, burnished gold by the spluttering flares. Achates was only a small sixty-four, but in the eerie glare she had seemingly filled the harbour and had brought wild cheers and not a few tears from Bolitho's seamen.
Around him he heard men gathering up their weapons and recalled the Royal Marine corporal who had been sent by Captain Dewar to report that all his men were ashore and in position.
That too seemed like part of a dream, the corporal apparently unmoved and immaculate in his scarlet uniform.
He grinned, despite his anxieties. By comparison he felt' like a vagrant in his stained shirt and his hair full of grit and blown sand.
The fortress was still lost in darkness, but the old volcano had a fine rim of grey light around its summit.
Mountsteven handed him a flask and said, 'I've put a good lookout to watch for the ship, sir. The marines will prevent any attempt to move a cannon from the town to fire on her.'
Bolitho held the flask to his lips and felt his eyes water as the raw brandy burned his tongue. So much depended on Rivers. Given time he could move his heavy battery to another wall where with ordinary shot he could pound Achates to fragments. With heated shot he could achieve it in minutes.
It was as if the whole island was unwilling to wake, to enter the new day. He doubted if Rivers had had much sleep, wherever he was.
He looked round as somewhere a cock crowed defiantly in the damp air.
The third lieutenant scrambled down the slope and said breathlessly, 'They're moving artillery in the fortress, sir. I put a picket as close as I could.' He too took the flask from the other lieutenant and raised it to his lips. He grimaced and added, 'But the gates are still shut.'
Bolitho nodded, his mind grappling with such frugal intelligence. Rivers must be regaining confidence, whereas the first excitement of the landing and breaking the boom was already fading with the dawn.
Bolitho stood up carefully and wiped his face with his sleeve. What a wretched situation it was. People in England would question the need for men to die for such a cause when the French would gather all the spoils anyway. He cursed angrily and knew he was thinking only of himself, of his hopes for a future with Belinda. No wonder youthful lieutenants like Mountsteven and Scott eyed him with some curiosity. He should have known, have remembered his own service as a lieutenant. Then he had never considered the personal problems of his superiors, their wives, or that they might be as apprehensive as their subordinates when the time came to fight.
He shook the mood aside like an old cloak. To live without Belinda would be unbearable. But to live without honour would be beyond him.
There was a startled challenge from the waterside and Bolitho heard Allday's voice, hushed but fierce as he retorted, 'It's me, you blind fool! Hold your noise or I'll spit you, so I will!' He stumbled down the slope and peered uncertainly at the three officers.
Bolitho smiled. 'You performed a miracle. It was well done!'
Allday seemed to realize that one of the dishevelled shapes was Bolitho and bared his teeth in the gloom. 'Thankee, sir.'
Scott said, 'Thought you might have run into a guard-boat, Allday.'
Allday looked at him as if to consider if a mere lieutenant was worth his attention, then said,' We did, sir.' He drew his hand across his throat. 'No bother at all.'
The violent crash of a single cannon made several of the men gasp with surprise. Birds rose screaming and squawking in pale clouds from land and water alike, and as the sailors watched the smoke drift from the ramparts they all heard the unmistakable thud of a direct hit.
Bolitho fastened his sword-belt and snapped, 'They've found Achates.'
As if in answer to his words there was a swift response from the direction of the town. Musket fire for the most part, and then the sounds of horses clattering along a road.
Rivers' militia intended to attack them before they had found their proper bearings on the island, while a re-sited battery would concentrate on the anchored ship.
Bolitho said, 'Captain Keen will have to be quick. We must win him some more time.'
He peered round and noticed that already the landscape and the nearest huddle of seamen had grown sharper in the feeble light.
Mountsteven asked quietly, 'What do you intend, sir?'
'Flag of truce.' Bolitho saw his look of amazement and added sharply, 'Two volunteers, if you please.'
He tried not to flinch as the gun fired again. He did not hear the ball strike, but in a few moments the gunner would have his target in full view.
Allday said bluntly, 'One volunteer. I'm comin', sir.'
Bolitho walked from his patch of cover and faced the track which wound its
way up to the fortress. A bluff? He had nothing else to offer.
With Allday breathing hard at his side, and the boatswain's mate, Christy, a step or so in the rear, Bolitho strode along the rough ground. Christy was carrying a shirt on a boat-hook as a flag of truce and was quietly whistling to himself as he followed his admiral. He had even managed to make a joke of the fact that the shirt belonged to one of the two midshipmen who were with the landing party. 'The only young gentlemen with one clean enough for the occasion,' as he had put it.
Bolitho was astonished that he could still raise a grin or two with his remark.
'Halt.' That's far enough!'
Bolitho stood quite still, the fortress looming over him like a grey cliff. He thought he heard a scrape of metal and imagined a marksman taking careful aim at him, white flag or not. Again he felt the same bitterness welling up inside him. Who would care? Hundreds, thousands of sailors and soldiers had died all over the world for one cause or another, but who ever remembered why?
He cupped his hands. 'I want to speak with Sir Humphrey Rivers!'
There was a derisive chuckle. 'Don't you mean parley, sir?'
Bolitho pressed his hands tightly to his sides. He had been right. Rivers was inside. Otherwise the unknown men above the gates would have said so, to mock him for his mistake.
Allday muttered, 'I'll give that bugger parley!'
'Oh, it's you, Bolitho! I thought we had some beggars at the gates, what?'
Bolitho found he could relax now that he knew Rivers was really here.
'And pray, what can I do for you before I take you and your ruffians into custody?'
Bolitho felt his heart pumping against his ribs as if it was the only part of his body still able to respond. Surely the light was brighter? But for the storm the whole fortress would already be visible.
Somewhere beyond the wall he heard a man yell, 'Ready to fire, sir!'
But Rivers was enjoying himself. 'A moment longer, Tate! I must hear the gallant admiral's request.'
Bolitho said in a whisper, 'They cannot shoot while Rivers is there. The ship is in direct line with him.' He raised his voice again, 'I ask you to hold your fire and stand down your men. You have no chance of defeating us, and your people must know full well of the consequences for their actions against a King's ship.'
Success to the Brave - Bolitho 15 Page 12
