Alexander Kent - Passage to Mutiny

It should have been for later. If and when Narval tried to force the entrance to the bay, the smoke was to have confused her gun crews so that Tempest could draw her to close action while she was near the reef. But that was before this had happened. Anyway, the wind might have changed and reversed the advantage.

Herrick said, “Lady Luck is with us, sir.”

Then with a wave to the quarterdeck he lowered himself into the big launch. The two boats began to pull away immediately, the oars’ speed indicating the measure of time and survival.

In the cutter, Jack Miller, boatswain’s mate, crouched intently by the tiller, a boarding axe protruding from his belt.

Allday said softly, “God help those buggers if he gets amongst ’em!”

It would take over half an hour for the boats to get anywhere near the anchored vessel. The smoke had to stay as thick as ever until then. Also, the schooner’s crew must not suspect that anything untoward was happening.

Bolitho said, “Mr Borlase, we will commence firing with the starboard battery. Load and run out, if you please.”

Borlase stared at him anxiously, a nerve jumping in his neck. “At what target, sir?”

“To the right of the schooner. I want them to see our shots dropping short. It will make them believe in their safety, also that we are not attempting to weigh anchor and use the smoke ourselves.”

Minutes later the starboard twelve-pounders crashed out one by one in a slow broadside, the smoke rolling downwind to join the rest. The schooner had all but vanished beyond it now, and when Bolitho looked for the two boats he saw only the wake of the rearmost one, the hulls, like the headland, completely hidden.

He pulled out his watch. The sun was well up, and no longer could they rely on shadows to protect the settlement. He wondered briefly what Raymond was doing. If he was thinking of Viola.

“Signal from the hilltop lookout, sir!” Fitzmaurice had his telescope to his eye.

Bolitho walked beneath the mizzen shrouds and shaded his face against the growing glare. The stench from the burning hillside was bad enough here, what it was like in the boats was hard to imagine. He felt sick and suddenly dizzy, and wished he had taken Allday’s offer of breakfast.

He felt angry with himself. Well, it was too late now.

He saw the flash of light from near the hilltop, the reflected sun caught in a mirror, as he had seen the foot soldiers do it in America. It was limited but very quick, provided you had invented enough simple signals well in advance.

Fitzmaurice said in his haughty voice, “Sail to the north, sir.”

Bolitho nodded. It was like the start of a great drama in which no one was certain of his role. The sail must be the Narval, sweeping down from some hiding place in the north, expecting to find the schooner in sole possession of the bay or its approaches.

He tried to remember the time on his watch. Where the two boats would be. How long before the other ship hove in sight around the headland.

He moved to the rail above the gundeck and watched the twelve-pounders being hauled up to their ports again.

Swift was looking aft towards him. “Again, sir?”

Bolitho heard Lakey say, “Can’t see nothing of the schooner or the reef now. God, what a fog!”

Allday was standing by the companion, his arms folded as he watched the idle crews around the quarterdeck guns. He turned to watch the captain and saw him stagger and almost fall. Everyone else was watching the smoke or the men at the twelve-pounders.

He reached Bolitho’s side in three strides. “I’m here, Captain. Easy now.” He looked at Bolitho’s face. It was shining with sweat, and his eyes were half-closed as if in terrible pain.

Bolitho gasped, “Don’t let them see me like this!” He swallowed hard, his arms and legs shivering violently in gusts of icy cold. As if he were on the deck of a North Atlantic patrol.

Allday murmured desperately, “The fever. It must be. I’ll fetch the surgeon.” He saw one of the seamen staring and barked, “Watch your front, damn you!”

Bolitho gripped his arm and steadied himself. “No. Must hold on. This is the worst time. You must see that!”

“But, Captain!” Allday was pleading. “It’ll kill you! I’ll not stand by and let it happen!”

Bolitho took a breath and thrust himself away from Allday’s support. Between his teeth he said deliberately, “You… will… do… as… I… tell… you!”

He made himself walk slowly to the nettings, and curled his fingers into them as he tried to control his shaking body.

He said, “Tell them to continue firing.” The din might help, if only to keep their minds off him.

The crash of the broadside thundered across the water, the balls going downwind into the smoke.

He heard himself say, “Please God let Thomas succeed. We cannot move with so few hands.” The words spilled out of him and he could not prevent it. “No way to die.” He let go of the hammock nettings and walked carefully to the compass. “We’ll have to lie here and fight!”

A blurred shape hurried past, carrying a shot-cradle. It paused and then turned towards him. It was Jenner, the American.

“Couldn’t help but hear what you said, Cap’n.”

He seemed to swim in Bolitho’s vision as if under water.

“I heard tell of somethin’ durin’ th’ war. Of an English captain who was so short-handed his sloop was almost run ashore and taken by the Frenchies. I also heard tell that the captain was you, sir.” He ignored Allday’s threatening look and added, “You used wounded soldiers instead, right, sir?”

Bolitho tried to see him properly. “I remember. In the Sparrow.” He was going mad. It had to be that. Speaking like this about the past.

“Well, I got to thinkin’, why not use them convicts?”

“What?” Bolitho stepped forward and would have fallen but for Allday.

“I just thought…”

Bolitho seized his wrist. “Fetch Mr Keen!”

Keen’s voice came from his side. “I’m here, sir.” He sounded worried.

“Send the other boats ashore immediately and go with them. You worked at the settlement, they know you better than the rest of us.” He leaned closer and added fervently, “I must have men,

Val.” He saw Keen’s expression and knew he had used Viola’s name for him without realizing it. “Do what you can.”

Keen said despairingly, “You’re ill, sir!” He glanced at Allday’s grim features. “You must have caught…”

“You’re delaying!” He pushed him away. “Get them here. Tell them I’ll try and obtain their passage back to England. But don’t lie to them.”

The guns crashed out again, the trucks hurling themselves inboard on their tackles.

“Enough.” Bolitho tugged at his neckcloth. “Cease firing. Sponge out and reload.”

He saw the surgeon standing directly in his path, his face grave as he snapped, “You will go below, sir. As the surgeon it is my duty…”

“Your duty is on the orlop!” He dropped his voice. “Just fetch some drops, anything to keep my mind alive. A few more hours.”

“It will certainly kill you.” Gwyther shrugged. “You are a stubborn man.”

Bolitho walked unaided to the weather side and stared at the nearest land.

“I’m so cold, Allday. Some brandy. Then I will be myself again.”

“Aye, Captain.” Allday watched him helplessly. “At once.”

Lakey had been near the wheel with his quartermaster and had seen Keen’s anxiety and the hasty arrival of the surgeon. As Allday hurried to the companion he opened his mouth to ask what was happening. Allday always knew. Instead, he turned away, unable to believe what he had seen.

Mackay, his quartermaster, spoke his own thoughts aloud. “In God’s name, Mr Lakey, there were tears in his eyes!”