Alexander Kent - Passage to Mutiny

“Very well.” Bolitho turned slightly towards Herrick. “Nothing, Thomas. Not even smoke from a fire.”

Herrick replied, “I don’t like it.” He too had a glass trained on the islands. “At this crawl any lookout would have sighted us long ago.”

As if to confirm his words six bells chimed out from the forecastle. Eleven o’clock. A long while since dawn.

Bolitho bit his lip. Too long. He did not know the Eurotas, but she was a well-found ship and no stranger to these waters. Her captain, James Lloyd, had an equally sound reputation. But even if the ship had foundered on a reef, surely some survivors would have got clear in the boats?

He lowered the glass and watched a shark rise momentarily to show the whole of its sleek back to the sunlight, barely an oar’s length from the side.

Midshipman Swift said, “Cutter’s signalling, sir.” Even his voice was hushed. Like the hot breeze. Like the ship.

Bolitho raised the glass again and saw Starling, one of the master’s mates, standing upright in the sternsheets, his arm outstretched.

“Take note, Mr Lakey.” Bolitho shut the glass with a snap. “The boat has sighted shoals to the nor’-west.”

He looked up, shading his eyes with his forearm. Under topsails and jib only Tempest was making poor headway. But they had to stay alert. Be ready to come about, in a baby’s breath if necessary, and fight clear of those hidden reefs.

He watched the sails, barely filling, and the shortened shapes of the lookouts. Just to watch them made him feel dizzy. One was not even holding on to his perch in the crosstrees, and Bolitho could see his leg jerking up and down, probably in time with a song only he could hear.

Lakey left the wheel, where two helmsmen stood crushed by the blazing sunlight, and walked to the quarterdeck rail.

Bolitho turned to face him, dragging at his shoe which had stuck to the deck seams.

Lakey said quietly, “Been thinking, sir. There’s another island. To the nor’-east. On the chart it shows no name, but sailors call it the Island of Five Hills.” He shrugged. “For the hills are all there are of it. I went ashore there some years back when I was serving in the old Fowey. The hills give good shelter to an anchorage, and there’s a beach, too. We put in looking for water.” He sighed, remembering. “But apart from rock pools we were unlucky.”

Herrick said, “Well, Eurotas is hardly likely to be there, is she?” He could barely hide his impatience. Like most of those around him he was feeling the strain.

Lakey was unmoved. “It’s not that, sir. If the ship was damaged, holed mebbe. Well, she could be beached in safety, with far less chance of attack by natives an’ the like than on the larger islands.” He frowned. “I should have thought of it earlier.”

Bolitho looked at him, thinking hard. “No matter. It makes good sense, and as we have to pass through the islands anyway, we’ll lose nothing by extending the search a little.”

“Mr Starling’s signalling again, sir.” Swift’s tanned face was screwed up with concentration as he watched the cutter through the big signals telescope. “Reefs close to larboard, but still no bottom.”

Lakey breathed out slowly. “The chart is right about that, anyway.”

Bolitho plucked the shirt away from his chest. It was wringing wet.

“Nevertheless, we will begin sounding ourselves. Pass the word forward to the leadsman.”

It must be like a great spiky cavern down there, Bolitho thought. He could picture Tempest’s hull as it would be seen by fish or merman. Dull against the glittering surface, idling forward between the reefs, while far beneath her keel the sea fell away to blackness. To a silent world.

Somebody must have sighted the ship. Even if the lookouts could see no sign of life there would be other eyes about. The word would be passed through the islands quicker than any known signal. A ship was near. A man-of-war. Once Tempest had passed by the people would emerge to continue their lives in their own way. Preying on each other, hunting, fishing. Killing.

“No bottom, zur!”

Bolitho watched the cutter thoughtfully. “Call away the quarter boat, Mr Borlase. Take her yourself, and run close inshore once we are through the reefs. No risks, but keep an eye open for wreckage washed into caves or on the beaches. Arm your people and mount a swivel in the bows.”

Borlase, who had been a spectator like most of the ship’s company, forced his sun-dulled mind to react.

“Aye, sir.” He cupped his hands. “Quarter boat’s crew lay aft!”

Tempest was moving so slowly that it was not even necessary to heave to while the men tumbled into the boat and thrust off from the side.

Bolitho watched until Borlase had got his men working the boat properly and had a sail hoisted to the solitary mast. It was better to do something than merely stand still and brood.

It would also confuse any hostile eye on the shore. Boats in the water without obvious purpose could mean anything, and would delay the passing of messages until the reason became clearer.

“By th’ mark twenty, zur!” A pause as the leadsman hauled in his line hand-over-hand. “Rocky bottom!”

Bolitho looked at Herrick. If the tallow in the bottom of the lead held no sand it was likely they were right above the reef at its safest point. Twenty fathoms were as secure as a hundred.

Starling in his cutter would not even have known it was there, for with a boat’s smaller lead and line of half that length he would be unaware that the worst was over. But his sounding was still essential. A sudden uplift of reef, an uncharted pinnacle, no matter how small, could tear out Tempest’s bilge like an axe through a hammock.

He watched the surf writhing beneath another headland. No wonder old sailormen kept their audiences enthralled with tales of sirens and mermaids luring ships to their deaths. It all looked so peaceful, so inviting.

“No bottom, zur!”

Bolitho moved restlessly to the starboard side and tried not to think of fresh, cool drinking water. Like that which you found in streams and brooks in Cornwall. So clear and refreshing it was like wine.

He saw Keen watching him, his face in a frown. Probably thinks me mad to keep on looking, searching.

He heard the rattle of canvas and blocks as another weak gust filled the sails to make the masthead pendant lick out like a long tongue. Few of the seamen and marines were speaking, or even showing much interest in the passing islands. The gurgle of water alongside, the creak of the wheel were the loudest sounds to be heard.

“Deep nineteen!” It was like a dirge as the leadsman hauled in his line yet again.

Lakey said suddenly, “There’s the island, sir! Fine on the starboard bow. The hills overlap from this bearing, but five there are, with the anchorage beneath the second and third, as I recall.”

Bolitho took a glass from Midshipman Romney who had been hovering nearby with his sextant in readiness for the noon ritual of shooting the sun under Lakey’s demanding eye. Poor Romney could not even do that properly. The other three midshipmen were now as proficient as any lieutenant. Better than some.

He saw the hills, stark and bald of vegetation nearer the top. But for Lakey’s hoard of sea knowledge he would never have guessed there were five hills in a row. What a terrible place to be shipwrecked or marooned. No vessel, unless driven off course by a storm or on some unlawful mission, would pass this way. A man could die of madness as easily as of thirst.

“By the mark fifteen!”

Bolitho touched Romney’s shoulder, feeling his skin jump beneath the grubby shirt.

“You keep an eye on Mr Borlase’s boat. If it becomes hidden around a point, or lost from view for any time, inform Mr Herrick at once.”