Alexander Kent - Stand into Danger

Bolitho waited wearily by Dumaresq’s table in Destiny’s cabin, his aching limbs at odds with the frigate’s motion. Dull daylight had revealed the brigantine’s name to be Heloise, outward bound from Bridport in Dorset to the Caribbean, by way of Madeira to take on a cargo of wine.

Dumaresq finished leafing through the brigantine’s log-book and then glanced at Bolitho.

“Do sit, Mr Bolitho. Before you fall down.”

He rose and walked to the quarter windows, pressing his face against the thick glass to seek out the brigantine which was lying in Destiny’s lee. Palliser and a fresh boarding party had gone across earlier, the first lieutenant’s experience in much demand as they sought to repair the damage and get the vessel under way again.

Dumaresq said, “You performed well. Extremely so. For one so young and as yet inexperienced in leading men, you achieved more than I’d dared to hope.” He clasped his powerful hands behind his coat-tails as if to contain his anger. “But seven of our people are dead, others badly injured.” He reached up and banged the skylight with his knuckles. “Mr Rhodes! Be so good as to find out what the damned surgeon is about!”

Bolitho forgot his tiredness, his previous resentment at being ordered from his prize to make way for the first lieutenant. It was fascinating to watch the slow rise of Dumaresq’s anger. Like a smouldering fuse as it edges towards the first cask of powder. It must have made poor Rhodes jump to hear his captain’s voice rising from the deck at his feet.

Dumaresq turned to Bolitho. “Good men killed. Piracy and murder, no less!”

He had made no mention of the miscalculation which all but wrecked or dismasted both ships.

He was saying, “I knew they were up to something. It was evident at Funchal that too many ears and eyes were abroad.” He ticked off the points on his strong fingers. “My clerk, just to get the contents of his satchel. Then the brigantine, which must have quit England about the same time as we left Plymouth, happens to be in harbour. Her master must have known I could not beat to wind’rd and make a chase of it. So long as he kept his distance he was safe.”

Bolitho understood. If Destiny had clawed round to approach the other vessel in daylight, the Heloise would have had the advantage of the wind and the distance. The frigate could outpace her in any fair chase, but under cover of darkness the brigantine would easily slip away if expertly handled. Bolitho thought of the gaunt man he had cut down in the fight to hold the deck. He could almost pity him. Almost. Dumaresq had ordered him to be brought across so that Bulkley, the surgeon, could save his life, if that were possible.

Dumaresq added, “By God, it proves something, if more proof were needed. We are on the right scent.”

The marine sentry called, “Surgeon, sir!”

Dumaresq glanced at the perspiring surgeon. “And about bloody time, man!”

Bulkley shrugged, either indifferent to Dumaresq’s explosive temper or so used to it that it meant nothing to him.

“The man is alive, sir. A bad wound but a clean one.” He glanced curiously at Bolitho. “He’s a strong fellow, too. I’m surprised and gratified to see you in one portion!”

Dumaresq snapped, “Never mind all that. How dare that ruffian interfere with a King’s ship. He’ll get no mercy from me, be certain of it!”

He calmed slowly. It was like watching the sea receding, Bolitho thought.

“I must find out what I can from him. Mr Palliser is searching the Heloise’s hull, but in view of what Mr Bolitho took pains to discover, I think it unlikely we will gain much. According to the log she was launched last year and completed just a month back. Though she’s hardly big enough for useful commerce, I’d have thought.”

Bolitho wanted to leave, to try and wash the stain of combat from his hands and mind.

The surgeon remarked, “Mr Jury is well enough. A nasty cut, but he is a healthy boy. There’ll be no after effects.”

Dumaresq gave a smile. “I spoke with him when he was brought up from the cutter. A touch of hero-worship there, I think, Mr Bolitho?”

“He saved my life, sir. He’s no cause to praise me for that.”

Dumaresq nodded. “Hmmm. We shall see.”

He changed tack. “We shall be sailing in company before nightfall. Keep all hands busy, that’s the thing. Mr Palliser will need to rig a jury topgallant mast on that damned pirate, but it must be done.” He glanced at Bolitho. “Pass the word to the quarterdeck. Change masthead lookouts every hour. We’ll use this enforced respite to keep our eyes open for other would-be followers. As it stands, we have a fine little prize, and nobody yet knows anything about it. It might assist in some way.”

Bolitho stood up, his legs heavy again. So there was to be no rest.

Dumaresq said, “Turn up the hands at noon to witness burial, Mr Bolitho. We’ll send the poor fellows on their last journey while we lie to.” He scattered the sentiment by adding, “No sense in wasting time once we are under way.”

Bulkley followed Bolitho past the sentry and towards the ladder which led below to the main-deck.

The surgeon gave a sigh. “He has the bit between his teeth now.”

Bolitho looked at him to try and understand his feelings. But it was too dark between decks, with only the ship’s sounds and smells rising around them for company.

“Is it the bullion?”

Bulkley lifted his head to listen to the muffled shouts from a boat coming alongside, booming against the hull in the deep swell.

“You are still too young to understand, Richard.” He laid a plump hand on Bolitho’s sleeve. “And that was no sort of criticism, believe me. But I have met men such as our captain, and I know him better than many. He is a fine officer in most respects, if a trifle headstrong. But he yearns for action like a drunkard craves the bottle. He commands this fine frigate, but he feels deep down that it is too late or too early for him. With England at peace, the chances of distinction and advancement are few. It suits me very well, but…” he shook his head. “I have said enough, but I know you will respect my confidence.”

He ambled to the ladder, leaving an aroma of brandy and tobacco to join the other smells already present.

Bolitho walked forward into the daylight and then ran quickly up a ladder to the quarterdeck. He knew that if he did not keep moving he would fall asleep on his feet.

Destiny’s gun-deck was littered with broken rigging, amidst which the boatswain and the ropemaker stood and discussed what might still be saved. Above the decks the seamen were busy splicing and hammering, and the torn sails were already brought down to be patched and stowed away for emergencies. A ship-of-war was self-sufficient. Nothing could be wasted. Some of that canvas would soon be gliding into the sea-bed, weighted down with round shot to carry the dead to the place where there was only darkness and peace.

Rhodes crossed to his side. “Good to have you back, Dick.” He dropped his voice as they both turned to look across at the drifting brigantine. “The lord and master was like an enraged lion after you’d broken free from the side. I shall tread very warily for the next week.”

Bolitho studied the other vessel. It was more like a dream than ever now. It was hard to believe he had managed to rally his men and take the Heloise after all which had happened. Men had died. He had probably killed at least one of them himself. But it had no meaning. No substance.

He walked to the rail and saw several of the faces on the deck below turn up towards him. What did they think, he wondered? Rhodes seemed genuinely pleased for him, but there would be envy, others might feel he had been too lucky, too successful for one so junior.