Alexander Kent - Passage to Mutiny

He said, “Let her alone.” Then he stooped and aided the girl to her feet. The poor, demented creature was staring at him, her eyes brimming with tears.

Bolitho said gently, “I loved her, too.” It took all his strength to keep his voice level. “As you did.”

But she shook her head and pressed her face against his hand.

Allday was at the foot of the stairs. “She can’t believe it, Captain.” He gestured to a marine. “Take her to safety, but don’t touch her.”

“I cannot believe it either.”

Bolitho stood in the blazing sun, his eyes smarting in the glare. He realized dully that Allday carried a bared cutlass. He must have drawn it as the girl had hurled herself from the shadows. To defend him.

He added simply, “Who will take care of her, Allday?”

“I dunno, Captain.” He fell in step beside him. “There should be a place for everybody.” He looked away, his voice suddenly husky. “The bloody world is big enough surely!” He sheathed his cutlass angrily. “I’m fair sorry about that, Captain. I forgot myself.”

Bolitho said nothing. I would have it no other way.

Then he took the watch from his pocket, and found he could do so without hesitation. Her strength was still with him.

He said, “Come. We’ll go round the defences and see for ourselves.”

Allday grinned, relieved and strangely moved. “Aye, Captain.”

As they walked towards the gates and a marine sentry stamped his boots together, Prideaux remarked, “God’s teeth, Mr Swift, you would think they were on Plymouth Hoe!”

The youth nodded, aware he was seeing something fine, and yet unable to put a name to it.

Prideaux stared at him and exclaimed, “Not you, too! Be about your duties, sir, or acting-lieutenant or not, I’ll set my sword to your rump, damme if I don’t!”

For the remainder of the day, and all through the following one, boats plied busily between Tempest and the shore. Bolitho seemed to be everywhere, listening to ideas, which slow to come at first, grew and became more adventurous at the slightest encouragement.

Allday stayed with him the whole time, guarding and worrying, seeing the strain and determination laying firm hold in his captain. He did not care that even the shamefaced members of the Corps had returned to their duties at the settlement and had taken Prideaux’s orders without a murmur. Nor did he find comfort in the fact that even the laziest and most unreliable seaman was working through each watch without a rest, and with little more than a grumble. He knew better than most that without Bolitho none of the plans would be worth more than a wet fuse.

As Bolitho stood on the hillside watching the seamen gathering bales of dried grass and palm leaves, or shoring up the battered palisade, Allday waited. He saw the way he seemed to grow more content with each new challenge. As if he was trying to please someone nobody else could see. And he knew well enough who that was.

Just before the darkness threw shadows over the bay the lookouts reported a sail to the east.

Bolitho returned to his ship, strangely calm and without any sort of tiredness.

The sand had run out, and he was glad. One way or the other, they would end it here.

HERRICK hesitated by the screen door and watched Bolitho for several seconds. He must have fallen asleep at the desk, and as he lay with his face pillowed on his arms the lantern which swung from the deckhead threw his shadow from side to side, as if he and not the ship were moving.

“It’s time, sir.”

Herrick laid his hand on Bolitho’s shoulder. Through the shirt his skin felt hot. Burning. He hated disturbing him, but even Herrick would not risk his displeasure on this morning.

Bolitho looked up slowly and then massaged his eyes. “Thank you.” He stared around the dark cabin and then at the windows. They too were black and held only the cabin’s reflections.

“It will be dawn in half an hour, sir. I’ve sent the hands to breakfast, like you said. A hot meal, and a tot to wash it down. The cook will douse the galley fires when I pass the word.”

He paused, annoyed at the interruption as Allday entered the cabin with a jug of steaming coffee.

Bolitho stretched and waited for the coffee to burn through his stomach. Strong and bitter. He imagined his men eating their extra ration of salt pork or beef, jesting with each other about the unexpected issue of rum. Yet he had slept like the dead, and had heard nothing when his ship had awakened to a new day. For some, if not all of them, it might well be the last.

“Will I fetch Hugoe, Captain?”

Allday poured some more coffee. He had been out of his hammock and down to the galley for Bolitho’s shaving water much earlier, but showed little sign of fatigue.

“No.” Bolitho rubbed his hands vigorously up and down his arms. He felt cold, and yet his mind was crystal-clear, as if he had enjoyed a full night’s sleep in his bed at Falmouth. “He’ll be sorely needed in the wardroom.”

Allday showed his teeth, knowing that was not the reason at all. “Very well then. I’ll get some breakfast for you.”

Bolitho stood up and walked to the windows. “I couldn’t eat. Not today.”

“You must, sir.” Herrick gestured to Allday and he left the cabin. “It may be a while before we get another chance.”

“True.”

Bolitho peered down at the water below the counter. But there was only the merest glint to show the pull of the current. It still surprised him at the speed with which the dawn broke. Many throughout the ship would be wishing it might never come.

He said quietly, “If we fail today, Thomas.” He stopped, uncertain how to continue. He did not wish Herrick to accept a possibility of defeat, but he needed him to know how much his friendship meant, how it sustained him.

Herrick protested, “Bless you, sir, you mustn’t talk like that!”

Bolitho turned and faced him. “There is a letter in the strongbox. For you.” He held up his hand. “If I fall, I want you to know that I have arranged some benefits for you.”

Herrick strode to him and exclaimed, “I’ll hear no more, sir! I-I’ll not have it!”

Bolitho smiled. “So be it.” He walked up and down the cabin. “I would it were as cold as this for a whole day. A sea-fight is blistering enough without the sun’s distractions!”

Herrick dropped his gaze. Bolitho was shivering badly. Lack of sleep, total exhaustion from the open boat, it was all starting to show.

He said, “I’ll be off, sir.”

“Yes. We will go to quarters as soon as they have eaten.”

He saw Herrick’s apparent satisfaction and waited for him to leave. Then he sat down and started to go over his plans again, searching for flaws, or improvements.

He poured another mug of coffee, picturing his ship as she lay in darkness. Two guard boats pulled around her at all times, while on shore Prideaux had mounted pickets to patrol the beach and headland. They would have to be withdrawn when it was light. Tempest was so shorthanded, whereas the enemy… he shivered and drained the last of the coffee. Enemy. How easily the word came. He recalled the French he had seen when he had visited Narval. With such cruel treatment they would probably have mutinied anyway, revolted against de Barras and his sadism. The uprising in France gave them even wider scope for vengeance. A battle would seem a small price to pay for their release.

Bolitho tried to form an image of Tuke, but the memory of the livid brand on Viola’s shoulder made him close his mind to him. Instead he thought of her, hanging on to each detail, afraid something might be lost in his memory.

Allday brought his breakfast, but said nothing as Bolitho pushed it aside. In silence he shaved him, and brought a clean shirt from the chest as he had seen Noddall do so many times.