Command a King's Ship (19 page)

Conway was spreading thick treacle on a biscuit, his wispy hair ruffling in the breeze from the stern windows.

“What time is it, Bolitho?”

“Time, sir?”

Conway eyed him wryly before taking a mouthful.

“I observed that you had your, er, new watch in your hand and assumed that time was of some importance?”

Bolitho stared at him, the midshipman in front of his captain again.

Then he grinned. “It was a memory, sir, that was all.”

Conway sniffed. “That I can well believe!”

“It makes a fine sight, Thomas.”

Bolitho lowered the telescope and wiped his forehead with the back of one hand. The noon sun was merciless, but like most of the men around him, or standing high in the shrouds, he was momen- tarily unaware of it. Fifteen days out of Madras, and in spite of the wind's perversity,
Undine
had done well. Bolitho had made many landfalls in his time, but the sight of any shore after the hazards and doubts of navigation never failed to move him.

And now, just visible through the glare of sea and sky, he could see a smudge of green across the larboard side, and felt a fresh excitement and satisfaction. The narrowest part of the Malacca Strait. To starboard, hidden even to the masthead lookout, was the great scimitar-shaped island of Sumatra, poised as if to squeeze the strait shut and leave them sailing in a wilderness forever.

Herrick said, “It seems a mite too narrow for comfort, sir.”

Bolitho smiled at him. “It is wider than the English Channel even here, Thomas. The master assures me it is the safest course to take.”

“Perhaps.” Herrick shaded his eyes again. “So that is Malacca, eh? It is hard to believe we have reached this far.”

“And in five days or so, with God's good grace, we'll anchor in Pendang Bay.” He paused, seeing the doubt in Herrick's blue eyes. “Well, come on, Thomas, let us see that smile again!”

“Yes, sir, I
know
it is a good and fast passage, and I am well satisfied, as you are.” He fidgeted with his belt buckle. “But I am more concerned with something else.”

“I see.”

Bolitho waited, knowing what was coming. He had seen the worry mounting in Herrick's face over the past fifteen days. Hav- ing to spend much of his time with the admiral, Bolitho had had little chance of enjoying Herrick's company. A walk together be- fore dusk, a pipe of tobacco and a glass of wine.

Herrick said bluntly, “Everyone knows about it, sir. It's not my place to speak on your behaviour, but . . .”

“But that is exactly what you are about to do?” Bolitho smiled gravely. “It is all right, Thomas, I am not going to snap your head off!”

Herrick would not relent. “It is no joke, sir. The lady is the wife of an important government official. If this sort of tale ever reached England, you would be in real danger, and that's the truth.”

“Thank you for your concern.” He glanced ahead where far beyond the gently spiralling bowsprit he saw
Rosalind
leading the way through the shallows and sandspits as she had no doubt done many times before. “But it is something I do not wish to discuss. Even with you if you are to disagree with everything I say.”

“Yes, sir, I'm sorry.” But Herrick added stubbornly, “I can't stand by and see you in irons because of others, sir, not without trying at least to help.”

Bolitho gripped his arm. “Then we will say no more of the matter, Thomas. Agreed?”

“Aye, sir.” Herrick regarded him, unhappily. “If it is the way you want it.”

A seaman left the galley and darted down an open hatch below the forecastle. He was carrying a bucket and swab.

Herrick said wearily. “The surgeon is sick again. That man must be going to clean out his quarters.”

Bolitho looked at him. “Drunk, I suppose?”

“It would seem so. But there is little to occupy him, sir, and our people have been remarkably free of illness.”

“That is just as well.” Bolitho felt unreasonably angry. “What in hell's name am I to do with him?”

“He has a lot on his mind, sir.”

“So have many others.”

Herrick kept his voice even. “He saw his young brother hanged for a crime of which he was later proved innocent. Even if he had been guilty it would still have been a terrible thing to watch.”

Bolitho swung round from the rail. “How did you discover this?”

“At Madras. He came aboard drunk. I was a mite harsh with him and he started to rave about it. It is destroying him.”

“Thank you for telling me, even if it is somewhat late.”

Herrick did not flinch. “You have been rather busy, sir. I did not wish to trouble you.”

Bolitho sighed. “I take your point. But in future I would like to hear everything. Most ship's surgeons are no more than butchers. Whitmarsh has been something more, but as a drunken sot he is a menace to everyone aboard. I am sorry for his brother; I for one can appreciate his feelings.” He looked steadily at Herrick. “We will have to see what we can do to put things right for him, whether he likes it or not.”

Herrick nodded gravely. “I agree, sir. The one afflicted is not always the best judge of his own malady.” He tried not to grin. “If you see what I mean, sir.”

Bolitho slapped his shoulder. “By God, Thomas, you go too far! I am not surprised your father sent
you
to sea!”

Then he walked up the tilting deck to the weather side and left Herrick to supervise his watch.

So they knew all about it, did they? He touched the bulge in his breeches pocket. What would Herrick say if he saw the inscrip- tion inside the watch-guard, he wondered?

“We will wear ship directly, Mr. Herrick.” Bolitho strode to the compass and peered over Mudge's untidy shoulder. “Steer nor' nor'-east.”

Herrick touched his hat. “Aye, aye, sir.” He was equally formal.

It was five days since they had discussed Viola Raymond and the doctor's personal problem, and in that time Bolitho had never felt better. The ship had settled down to a regular, unhurried rou- tine, and even the drills had passed off without complaint. At gunnery
Undine
's company still had a lot to learn, but at least they moved as a team and not a stumbling, confused rabble.

He raised his glass and studied the new shapes and patterns which parted sea from sky. Mudge had assured him that Pendang Bay lay some five miles distant, but it was difficult to accept that they had all but arrived at their destination. Over fifteen thousand miles. Another world. A different life.

“Hands wear ship! Man the braces there!”

Shoes scraped on the planking, and Bolitho turned to study Conway's reaction as he came on deck. It was early morning, and for a few seconds he thought he was imagining what he saw.

Conway was wearing his rear admiral's uniform, complete with laced cocked hat and sword. The latter he held like a pointer, as if unsure of his reception.

Bolitho said, “Good morning, sir.”

He saw Herrick staring at them, his speaking trumpet in mid-air.

Conway joined him by the rail and raised his head to watch as the great yards creaked round in unison, while the straining sea- men hauled and panted at the braces.

“Well?” His tone was wary. “What do you think?”

“I think you look right for the occasion, sir.”

He saw the quick tightening of Conway's mouth, the lines on either side deepening still further. It was moving, if pathetic, to see Conway's gratitude, for that is what it was.

“It is a bit creased of course. I was merely trying it on to see if it required alteration.” He added sharply, “If I am to be governor, I'll land as I intend to continue, damn their eyes!”

Midshipman Armitage was watching the brig as she trimmed her yards to take station off
Undine
's lee.

He remarked nervously, “Thunderstorm, sir.”

But Bolitho was already snatching a telescope.

“Not this time, Mr. Armitage.” He looked at Herrick. “Shorten sail, if you please, and then beat to quarters.”

He saw them all gaping at him. Like total strangers.

“That
thunderstorm
is of a kind I have come to respect!”

10
A
NOTHER
FLAG

“S
HIP
CLEARED
for action, sir.” Herrick watched Bolitho's face anx- iously.

Bolitho moved the telescope slowly from bow to bow, trying to avoid the overlapping mesh of shrouds and stays as he stared fix- edly at the shore. Because of the glare which filtered through the morning haze it was impossible to fix any proper mark or to take an accurate bearing.

He replied, “Too long, Mr. Herrick. I want the time cut to twelve minutes.” He was speaking merely to give himself another moment to gather his thoughts.

The distant gunfire had stopped, but there had been at least a dozen shots. Sharp and loud, despite the range. Probably small pieces.

He swung the glass further to starboard, seeing the low-lying wedge of land reaching out to lie parallel with their slow approach. The eastern headland of Pendang Bay. There was no room for further doubt.

Something dark intruded into the lens, and he saw the brig tilting to the low breeze, her yards alive with tiny figures as she finished reefing. A huge Spanish flag had been hoisted to her peak, blinding white in the glare, and he found time to won- der how
Rosalind
's master was reacting to Puigserver's show of national pride.

Almost without intending to speak aloud he said, “I wish the Don was here with us. I think combined thought and action may be called for.”

He heard Conway grunt. “Unnecessary. Ours is the ship of war, Bolitho. I want no damned Spaniard under my feet today.”

Herrick asked quietly, “What d'you make of it, sir?”

Bolitho shook his head. “An attack on the settlement maybe. But I understand the place is well defended and—”

Conway interrupted harshly, “All this fuss over a few bloody savages!”

Herrick was standing beside Mudge and whispered, “I expect that is what poor Captain Cook said!”

Bolitho turned sharply. “If you've all nothing better to do than make stupid remarks . . .” He swung away and added, “Two good leadsmen in the chains immediately. Begin sounding!” To Mudge he snapped, “Let her fall off a point.”

The edge in his tone was having the right effect. Men who seconds earlier had been chatting and gossiping about what might be happening ashore were now silent and alert, standing to their guns, or grouped at halliards and braces for the next command.

The wheel creaked, the sound very loud in the sudden stillness, and the helmsman called, “Nor'-east by north, sir!”

“Very well.”

Bolitho glanced at Conway's profile, the glassy intentness in his eye.

From forward came the leadsman's cry, “No bottom, sir!”

Bolitho looked at Mudge, but the master's heavy face was ex- pressionless. He probably thought it was a waste of time to take soundings. The chart, and all available information, told them the water was deep until the last cable or so. Or maybe he thought his captain was so nervous that he was afraid to leave anything to chance.

Another single crack echoed out from the mist-shrouded coast and died away very gradually.

Bolitho tugged out his new watch and stared at it. At this speed it would take near on an hour to close the land. But it could not be helped.

“No bottom, sir!”

He said, “Pass the word for Captain Bellairs. I'll want a full landing party. Tell Mr. Davy to prepare the boats for lowering once we have anchored. He will take charge of them.”

Conway said briefly, “Good beach, I'm told. The settlement and fort are on a slope to the western side of the bay.”

Herrick strode aft and touched his hat. “Shall I order the guns to load, sir?” He sounded guarded.

“Not yet, Mr. Herrick.”

Bolitho trained his glass across the larboard bow. Settlement, fort, they could have been imagination. The blurred green outline of the land looked totally deserted.

He heard the marine sergeant bellowing orders, the stamp of boots as his men were divided and sub-divided in readiness to dis- embark. Bellairs was watching them from the starboard gangway, his face completely blank, but his eyes missing nothing.

“By the mark twenty!” The leadsman sounded triumphant.

Mudge nodded gloomily. “About right. Twenty fathoms here- abouts.”

Some small birds darted across the sea's face and circled above the braced yards. Bolitho watched them, recalling the swifts flying about the grey stone house in Falmouth. It would be fine there today. Sunshine, bright colours. The hills dotted with sheep and cattle. The town itself busy with farmers and sailors, each depend- ing on the other, as it had always been.

He saw Herrick nearby and said quietly, “Forgive my anger just now.”

Herrick smiled. “No matter, sir. You were right. We have been caught unawares already on this venture. Trouble will not fade away merely because we turn our backs on it.”

“
Rosalind
's settin' 'er fores'l again, sir!”

They turned to watch as the brig dipped to the wind and gath- ered way.

Conway snarled, “By God, the Don intends to lead us inshore, blast him!”

“It is his right, sir.” Bolitho trained his glass on the other ves- sel, seeing the busy figures above and below, the great slash of her ensign with its crowned shield bright in the sunlight. “It is still the territory of the Spanish Royal Company until he says otherwise.”

Conway scowled. “That is mere formality.” He stared hard at him. “Fire a warning shot, Captain!”

Bolitho looked at Herrick. “Pass the word forrard. One ball. But mind it drops well clear of the brig.”

The leadsman called again, “Deep eighteen!”

Bolitho shut his ears to the squeak of gun trucks as the fore- most twelve-pounder was run out. The gun captain was peering along the muzzle, and as the light touched him Bolitho saw that one hand was a metal hook. Turpin.

Herrick shouted, “Ready, sir!”

“As you will then.”

The gun crashed out, and seconds later a thin waterspout rose like a feather far beyond the brig's bowsprit.

Bolitho said, “Well, at least they will know we are coming, sir.”

Conway snapped, “Savages. I'll soon get to the bottom of this little matter.”

Bolitho sighed as the brig fell off slightly, her foresail already being brailed up in response to his rough signal. The thought of having a poorly armed brig lying between an enemy and his own artillery was a worry he could not afford. And she was aboard
Rosalind,
too.

He turned round sharply, angry with himself for allowing his thoughts to drift. Right now he needed to be completely clear. His mind like steel.

“Mr. Mudge, d'you know much of this place, other than you have already told me?”

The master shrugged. “Very few people 'ave seen inland, sir. 'Ead 'unters, warrin' tribes there are a'plenty, I'm told. But the na- tives are often sailors, pirates from the north of Borneo. Sea-Dyaks they calls 'em. Many a good ship 'as been overrun at anchor by them devils.” He shook his jowls. “Then it's snip, snip with their long knives, an' poor Jack is no more!”

At that moment a seaman beside a six-pounder pointed aloft as the masthead pendant licked out with renewed energy.

Like a long, low curtain the sea mist began to move and shred itself, vanishing into the land, and laying bare endless stretches of beach, thick jungle, and finally the overlapping hills beyond.

Herrick lowered his telescope and exclaimed, “And is
that
the settlement, sir?”

Bolitho steadied his own glass, not daring to look at Conway's face. What he had first taken to be a heap of lopped and piled trees was shaping itself into long, spiked palisades, supported and guarded at regular intervals by squat, timbered blockhouses. As the mist slipped away he saw what must be the governor's residence. It had to be, for it was the largest building in sight. Again, it was built entirely of timber, with an upper and lower rampart and one spin- dly watchtower in its centre, above which the Spanish flag lifted occasionally in the sea breeze.

Conway said thickly, “In God's name!” The words were wrung from his throat.

Bolitho watched the distant fort for some sign of life other than the flag. The place looked crude, but was well sited, easy to defend. There must be settlements like this all over the world, he thought. But what about
before?
Someone had first to wade ashore from a boat, or march through swamp and jungle to plant a flag. To claim the land for his own country. He had heard of islands in the Pacific which were regularly claimed and re-claimed by half a dozen nations, sometimes out of the genuine desire to colonise, but often merely because their ships paused there for no other reason than to find water and firewood.

“By the mark ten!”

He looked at Herrick. “We will anchor in eight fathoms.” He saw Allday scrambling over the gig on its chocks. “Then boats away as fast as you can.”

He turned his attention to the cruising wavelets which had risen to enjoy the freshening breeze. It was a large but well- sheltered bay. It was said that the Spanish Royal Company had claimed it years earlier almost by accident. They had intended to place their settlement further north, to gain access for trade with the Philippines. But fever, losses in ships and resources had found them here instead. It was easy to understand why the Spaniards had lost heart, easier still to realise how much more important it would be to the British. Within reach of both India and the vast, barely-tapped resources of the China Seas, it could be a vital link, given time and skilful handling. With the French and Spaniards gone from the area, only the power of the Dutch East Indiamen offered any sort of competition. He glanced quickly at Conway's stiff features. But was he the one to begin it, he wondered?

Fighting men rarely saw much further than the strategy and tactics of the moment. And one made bitter and desperate by past mistakes would be less inclined to compromise.

“People leaving the palisade, sir!”

Bolitho raised the glass again. Twos and threes, some carrying muskets, others limping down the sand towards the water's edge and a long, partly-constructed pier of rough timber and piles. Most of them were so dark-skinned they could be natives, but the uniforms were Spanish well enough.

Not one of them waved. They merely stood or sat dejectedly watching the frigate's careful approach.

Herrick said under his breath, “God, they look like scare- crows!”

“What did you expect, Mr. Herrick,
sir?
” Unseen and un- heard, the surgeon had appeared on the quarterdeck, his face and neck like raw meat.

Bolitho watched him impassively. “You are recovered, it seems, Mr. Whitmarsh?”

The surgeon turned his gaze on him. His eyes were red- trimmed with strain, so that they looked too hot for their sockets.

He muttered vaguely, “We have arrived, I see, sir.” He reached out for support and, finding none, almost fell headlong. He mumbled, “Pattern never changes. First they hand over their power of protection to us. With ships and men if needed to give power to that
protection
. When all is safe the traders will come, and the Company's flag will be supreme.”

Bolitho asked coldly, “And then what?”

Whitmarsh regarded him emptily. “The place will become a colony, a possession. Or if we have cleaned it out like an empty shell, we will simply . . . ,” he retched, “. . . discard it. Cast it away!”

Conway seemed to hear him for the first time. “Get off this deck, you drink-sodden creature!” His face was working with de- spair, a need to release his anger. “Or by heaven you will be sorry!”

The surgeon gave an awkward bow. “But I
am
sorry, believe me! Sorry for you, sir, at being given this wretched task.” He swayed towards Bolitho. “For the good captain, who will eventu- ally be made to stand between justice and tyranny. And more sorry perhaps . . .” He pitched forward in an untidy heap and lay com- pletely still.

“By the mark eight!”

The leadsman's call brought Bolitho back to reality.

He snapped, “Have him taken to his quarters.”

As some seamen seized the inert surgeon and carried him to the ladder, he caught the sour odour of vomit and spilled wine. The stench of a man's decay.

Conway was still staring at the deck. “Another second and I'd have had him in irons!” He glared at Bolitho.
“Well?”

“There was something in what he said, sir. What is on a sober man's mind is often on a drunkard's tongue.”

Herrick called, “Close enough, I think, sir.”

Bolitho hurried to the quarterdeck rail, glad to be free of Conway's mood. He studied the lie of the smaller headland to lar- board, the great eastern one on the opposite beam, thrusting out to sea, and already a delicate green in the early sunlight.