Alexander Kent - Success to the Brave

But Lieutenant Scott snatched a boat-hook and dragged the dead lieutenant towards him.

The survivors must have been too shocked and weak to push their officer over the side, Bolitho thought. He watched them being carried and helped to a companion-way. They still did not seem to know what was happening.

Keen said, 'Mr Scott has found something, sir.'

He could not hide his eagerness to get under way again, to fight back to their original track.

The dead officer rose above the gangway, water running from his mouth and his uniform as he swung above the gun-deck like a felon on the gallows.

Scott hurried aft and touched his hat. 'He had this tied to his waist, sir. I saw it when the boat tilted over.'

Bolitho looked at Keen. It was like robbing the dead. The French lieutenant lay on the deck, his arms and legs stretched out, one eye part open as if the light was too strong for him.

Black Joe Langtry, the master-at-arms, covered the corpse with a piece of canvas, but not before he had removed a pistol from the man's belt. It had probably been his only means of maintaining some order on that terrible night when his ship had been overwhelmed.

Keen said, 'All the same, sir. Lorient to Martinique.'

Bolitho nodded. 'My thoughts entirely.'

It took a few moments to open the thick canvas envelope and break the imposing scarlet seals.

Bolitho watched the purser's lips move as he scanned the carefully worded despatch which was addressed to the admiral in command of the West Indies Fleet at Fort de France.

No wonder the dead lieutenant had tried to save the package.

The purser looked up from the table, uncomfortable under their combined gaze.

He said, 'As near as I can tell, sir, it says that upon receipt of these orders hostilities against England and her possessions will be resumed immediately.'

Keen stared at Bolitho. 'That's near enough for me!'

Bolitho walked to the stern windows and watched the quarter-boat being warped round in readiness for hoisting. It gave him time to think, to weigh chance and coincidence against a small act of humanity.

He said, 'For once a storm was a friend to us, Val.'

Keen watched as Bolitho tipped a handful of pistol balls from the envelope, to carry it to the sea-bed rather than let it fall into the wrong hands. But the lieutenant had been killed before he could act, and his men had been too ignorant or too frightened to care.

Keen said, 'So it's no longer just a threat. It's war.'

Bolitho smiled gravely. 'At least we know something which others do not. That is always an advantage.'

With her yards retrimmed and her helm hard over Achates turned her jib-boom away from the drifting pattern of flotsam and the waterlogged boat which would sink in the next storm.

That evening at dusk the dead lieutenant was buried with full honours.

Bolitho watched with Adam and Allday close by as Keen said a few prayers before the corpse was dropped alongside.

The next Frenchman they met would not be so peaceful, Bolitho thought.

'Well, Sir Humphrey, I believe you wish to speak with me.' Bolitho kept his tone level but was shocked to see the change in Rivers' appearance and demeanour. He looked ten years older, and his shoulders were bowed as if he was carrying a great burden.

Rivers seemed surprised when Bolitho indicated a chair for him and sank into it, his eyes wandering around the cabin without recognition.

He said, 'I have written down all I know of the plot to seize my – ' He faltered. 'To seize San Felipe. Rear-Admiral Burgas, who commanded the squadron at La Guaira, was to govern it until Spanish ownership was recognized.'

'Did you know about the Spanish mission, that it might be used to shelter an invading force?'

'No. I trusted the captain-general. He promised me more trade along the Spanish Main. I could see nothing but improvement.'

Bolitho took the papers from him and scanned them thoughtfully.

He said, 'These might help with your defence in London, although…"

Rivers shrugged. 'Although. Yes, I understand.'

He looked at Bolitho and asked, 'If you are in England during my trial, would you be prepared to speak for my defence?'

Bolitho stared at him. 'That is an extraordinary thing to request. After your action against my ship and my men…"

Rivers persisted, 'You are a fighting officer. I want no defence for what I did, but understanding of what I had been trying to do. To keep the island under the British flag. As it is now, thanks to you.'

When Bolitho remained silent he continued, 'After all, had the Dons made their move before you came, my actions might have succeeded, and I would have been seen in a very different light.'

Bolitho eyed him sadly. 'But they did not. You must know from past experience, Sir Humphrey, that if a captain fires upon or seizes an enemy ship, or what he believes to be a foe, only to discover when he reaches port that their two countries are at peace, what then? That captain could have had no way of knowing the facts, and yet…

Rivers nodded. 'He would be blamed nevertheless.' He stood up. 'I should like to return to my quarters now.'

Bolitho rose too. 'I have to tell you that we shall be in sight of land within the week. After that your affairs will be taken out of my hands.'

'I understand. Thank you.'

Rivers walked to the door and Bolitho saw two Royal Marines waiting for him.

Adam, who had been present throughout the brief interview, said, 'I feel no sorrow for him, Uncle.'

Bolitho touched his scar beneath the rebellious lock of hair.

'It's too easy to judge.'

Adam grinned. 'If you had been appointed governor, Uncle, would you have behaved as he did?' He saw Bolitho's confusion and nodded. 'There you are then.'

Bolitho sat down. 'Young devil. Allday was quite right about you.'

Adam watched him, his features suddenly serious.

'I was glad to join you as your flag-lieutenant, Uncle. Being with you for such a long period has taught me a lot. About you, about myself.' He looked wistfully around the cabin. 'I shall miss the freedom more than I can say.'

Bolitho was moved. 'The same applies to me. I was warned against bringing you. Too close, Oliver Browne said. Perhaps he was right in some ways, but when we reach Falmouth things will -

They both looked up at the skylight as a lookout's voice pealed down, 'Deck there! Sail to the sou'-east!'

Bolitho stared at the square of blue above the skylight. He felt his heart quicken, an unexpected dryness in his throat. Like the hunter caught off guard when he needed his vigilance the most.

He crossed to his chart on the table and examined it, following the neat calculations, the unerring line which led all the way to the Cornish coast. It was unlikely that a merchantman would be outward-bound from either England or France if war had just been declared. It would take time for the rules to be accepted or broken. 'I'm going on deck.'

He strode to the door and out into the sunlight. The sea was lively with white-caps, and the wind still steady from the south so that Achates had her yards tightly braced to hold her on a starboard tack.

Men stood about in small groups or stared up at the seaman in the mizzen cross-trees.

Keen cupped his hands. 'Mizzen topmast-head there!'

'Sir?' The man peered down at his captain far below.

'What does she look like?'

'Man-o'-war, sir!'

Keen beckoned impatiently. 'Get aloft with a glass, Mr Mountsteven, that fellow is a madman!'

He saw Bolitho and touched his hat. 'I beg your pardon, sir.'

Bolitho looked at the empty sea, suddenly apprehensive. Did going home mean so much? Was it that different now?

Keen said, 'From the sou'-east, it seems, sir. Too far out for the Bay.'

Mountsteven had reached his precarious perch beside the lookout.