Alexander Kent - With All Despatch

Bolitho watched the sky giving itself colour. The driving wind had swept the snow away; he could see no clouds, just a hostile grey emptiness, with the faintest hint of misty blue towards the horizon.

Queely was speaking to his first lieutenant. Bolitho saw Kempthorne bobbing his head to his commander's instructions. Despite his uniform and his surroundings he still managed to look out of place.

Queely walked up the slanting deck and said, "He's going aloft with the big signals glass in a moment, sir." He saw Bolitho's expression and gave a quick smile. "I know, sir. He'd be happier as a horse-coper than a sea-officer, but he tries!"

He forgot Kempthorne and added, "We shall draw near to the French coast again, sir. If Tanner intends to change allegiance and steal the King's ransom, he may stand inshore as soon as it's light enough." He was thinking about that last time, the French luggers, the boat blowing up, and the dead girl they had returned to the sea.

Bolitho said, "We shall take him anyway. I'll brook no interference from French patrol vessels!"

Queely studied him curiously. "Strange how a man of influence like Tanner could change loyalties."

"I have always seen him as an enemy." Bolitho glanced away. "This time he'll have no hope of escaping justice because of his damned toadies in high places!"

Kempthorne was hauling his lanky frame up the weather shrouds, his coat flapping in the wind as it pressed his body against the ratlines. Bolitho watched, conscious that he could now see the masthead sharply etched against the sky, the vibrating shrouds, even a solitary lookout who was shifting his perch as the lieutenant clawed his way up beside him.

Queely remarked unfeelingly, "Just the thing to clear your head on a day like this!"

He looked at Bolitho's profile and asked abruptly, "Do you regard this as a day of reckoning, sir?" He sounded surprised, but without the doubt he had once shown.

Bolitho replied, "I believe so." He shivered and pulled his boat-cloak more tightly about his body. Suppose he was mistaken, and Tanner's ship still lay at Flushing, or had never been there at all?

He added in a hard tone, "It is a premonition one has from time to time." He saw Allday lounging beside the companionway, his arms folded. There was nothing careless or disinterested in his eyes, Bolitho thought.

"As I see it, Tanner has nowhere else to run. Greed and deceit have made escape impossible."

He thought again of Tanner's own words. No hiding place. Even then he had lied, must have laughed as Brennier and his companions played directly into his hands.

"Deck there!"

Queely peered up. "Where away?"

Kempthorne called lamely, "Nothing yet, sir!"

Several of the seamen nearby nudged one another as Queely snorted, "Damned nincompoop!"

Bolitho took a telescope from the rack and wiped the lens carefully with his handkerchief. As he lifted it and waited for the deck to rear upright again, he saw the sea tumbling away across the larboard bow, reaching further and still further, individual banks of crested rollers and darker troughs forming into patterns in the growing daylight. A grey, blustery morning. He thought of Falmouth and wondered how young Matthew had enjoyed his Christmas. Probably had had the household enthralled with his tales of smuggling and sudden death. Bolitho was glad he was back where he belonged. The land needed boys who would grow into men like his father had been. He glanced at Allday. Let others do the fighting so that they could build, raise animals, and make England safe again.

"Deck there!"

Queely scowled.

Kempthorne's voice cracked with excitement. "Sail on the lee bow, sir!"

Queely's dark eyes flashed in the poor light. "By God, I'd never have believed it!"

"Easy now. Let us hold on to caution, eh?" But his face made a lie of his words. It was the ship. It must be . No other would risk running so close to the French coast.

Queely yelled impatiently, "What is she?" His foot tapped on the wet planking. "I'm waiting, man!"

Kempthorne called hoarsely, "A-a brigantine, I think, sir!"

Bolitho said, "It must be difficult to see, even from that height."

Queely turned. "You think I'm too hard on him, sir?" He shrugged. "It may save his life and a few others before long!"

Bolitho moved to the narrow poop and clung to a dripping swivel gun. A brigantine. It seemed likely. They and schooners were most favoured in the Trade, and Tanner had probably selected this one as soon as Marcuard had taken him into his confidence. He thought of the grand house in Whitehall, the servants, the quiet luxury of day-to-day life in the capital. This was a far cry from Marcuard's careful planning, but Bolitho had no doubts as to where the blame would be laid if Tanner and the treasure disappeared.

The master said to nobody in particular, "A spot o' sunshine afore the glass is turned."

Queely glared at him, but knew him well enough to say nothing.

Kempthorne, his voice almost gone from shouting above the wind and sea, called, "Brigantine she is, sir! Holding same tack!"

Bolitho grasped his sword beneath his cloak. It felt like a piece of ice.

"I suggest you prepare, Mr Queely."

Queely watched him, his features more hawklike than ever. "The people know what to do, sir. If we are wrong, they might lose confidence."

"Not in you. You can blame it all on the mad captain from Falmouth!"

Surprisingly they were both able to laugh.

Then Queely shouted, "Pipe all hands! Clear for action!"

It was still strange for Bolitho to see the preparations for battle completed without drums, the rising urgency of a ship beating to quarters. Here, it was almost by word of mouth, with only the watch below summoned by the squeal of calls.

"Cast off the breechings!"

The master let out a sigh. "Told you."

A shaft of watery sunlight plunged down through the spray and sea-mist, giving the water depth and colour, personality to the faces and figures working around the guns.

From his dizzy perch Lieutenant Francis Kempthorne wrapped one arm around a stay until he felt it was being torn from his body. As the sturdy hull lifted and dipped beneath him, the mast itself reached out and across the surging crests far below, and he saw the mainsail's shadow on the water, as if it were rising to snatch him down. The motion was sickening although the lookout at his side seemed indifferent to it.

He gulped and tried again, counting the seconds while he levelled the heavy telescope, not even daring to think what Queely would say if he dropped it. The bows lifted streaming from a jagged breaker and Kempthorne held his breath. The brigantine must have risen at exactly the same moment. He saw her fore-course and topsail, the big driver braced hard round as she steered on the same tack as her pursuer.

Just for those few seconds he saw her name across the counter, the gilt paint suddenly sharp and bright in the feeble glare.

He shouted, " La Revanche , sir!" He was almost sobbing with relief, as if it would have been his fault had she been another vessel entirely.

The lookout watched him and shook his head. Kempthorne was popular with most of the hands, and never took it out of offenders like some. The seaman had been in the navy for twelve years but could still not fathom the minds of officers.

Kempthorne was glad, pleased that he had sighted the other vessel. Yet within hours he might be dead.

Of course there might easily be prize money if things went well…

Down on the streaming deck Queely stared at Bolitho and exclaimed, "We've found her, sir!" His eyes flashed with excitement, Kempthorne's part in it already forgotten.

Bolitho levelled his glass, but from the deck the sea still appeared empty.