Command a King's Ship (28 page)

Bolitho beckoned to Davy. “Get the courses on her now.” To Mudge he called, “How long, by your consideration?”

Mudge pouted. “Two hours, sir.”

“Good. Then once the sails are drawing well we can send both watches for their meal.”

He watched the scurrying figures clawing along the yards, oth- ers standing below on deck ready to sheet home the great fore and main courses.

Herrick nodded approvingly. “Bit different from when they came aboard, sir.”

Bolitho found he was desperately hungry. “I think that applies to most of us.”

He strode to the cabin hatch, knowing that the unknown ves- sel might be harmless, or an old wreck long abandoned. Or one more trick to delay or deceive him.

Noddall watched him warily. “It's salt beef again, sir.”

“That will be excellent.” He ignored the amazement on Nod- dall's rodent features. “And I'll take some claret to wash it down.”

He leaned over the sill and stared at the frothing wake below the counter.

Chance, luck, call it what you will, he thought. It was all they had, and he intended to make good use of it.

“By th' mark seventeen!” The leadsman's cry rose easily above the sounds of flapping canvas as
Undine,
her courses again brailed up to the yards, glided steadily towards the islet.

Bolitho saw Shellabeer touch the leadsman's shoulder and reach out to feel the tallow arming in the bottom of weight before calling, “Rocky bottom, sir!”

Bolitho nodded. As Mudge had described it, the small islet was more like an isolated rock pile than part of the sea-bed.

“Prepare to anchor, Mr. Herrick.”

He took a glass from Penn and moved it slowly over the ragged outline. They were five cables offshore, but it was close enough to see that the first smooth impression of a surfaced whale had changed severely. The rocks were blue-grey, like Cornish slate, and cut by wind and tide into massive steep gullies, as if some giant had hacked the islet into slices. Apart from a few clumps of gorse or rock flowers, it looked bare and unwelcoming, but there were plenty of sea-birds perched in little clefts, or circling busily above the highest point, which he estimated to be some three hundred feet above the water.

He heard Herrick shouting his orders, the creak of rigging as
Undine
dipped and rose again in a sudden swell. The water looked deep, but it was an illusion. He could see some narrow, stony beaches at the foot of the nearest cliff, and guessed that the safest anchorage was on the opposite side where the other vessel lay hid- den. There was surf, too, steep and angry as it licked and spluttered around the one visible landing place.

“Helm a'lee!”

He moved his glass in time with the ship as she turned easily into the wind, watching for any sign of life, the merest movement to show their approach had been seen.

“Let go!”

The sound of the anchor hitting the water seemed unusually loud, and he imagined he could hear it echoing back from those desolate cliffs.

Herrick shouted, “Lively, lads! Secure those lines!” To Davy he added, “Lowering parties, man the tackles!”

Bolitho said, “Have the leadsman watch his line now and see that the anchor is holding fast. If we begin to drag because of the rocky bottom we will veer more cable directly.”

“Aye, sir.”

Herrick hurried away, his face totally absorbed in his own duties.

With the ship swaying and pulling lazily to her cable, it was even quieter, and Bolitho saw some of the birds quitting their pre- carious perches to fly and circle above the mastheads.

Herrick returned, breathing heavily. “We seem safe enough, sir. But I've told the anchor-watch to keep alert.” He squinted to- wards the shore. “It looks like a graveyard.”

“We will need two boats.” Bolitho spoke his thoughts aloud. “Gig and cutter will suffice. They will have to run smartly through that surf. The beach is steep by the look of it. So put a good cox'n in the cutter.”

He saw Allday signalling with his fist as the gig rose jerkily from its chocks, the guy-ropes tautening to swing it round and above the gangway.

He added with a smile, “I think my boat is in safe hands.”

Herrick looked at him anxiously. “Are
you
going, sir?”

“It is not for want of glory, Thomas.” He lowered his voice, watching the chosen hands as they mustered by the arms' chests. “But I need to know what we are against, if anything.”

Herrick sounded unconvinced. “But if the other craft is one of the pirate's, sir, what then? Surely you'll want to sweep round and rake the devil as he slips his cable?”

“No.” He shook his head firmly. “He will be safely anchored yonder. In shallower water than I'd dare enter close enough to rake him. Once clear he could lead us a merry maypole dance, and I fear we would never match his agility in these conditions.” His tone hardened. “Besides which, I want to
take
him!”

“Boats lowered alongside, sir.” Davy came aft, a curved hanger dangling from his belt.

Bolitho touched his own sword-hilt and saw Captain Bellairs watching the boats with visible irritation at being left behind.

He called, “Captain Bellairs, I would be obliged if I could have three of your very best sharpshooters in each boat!”

Bellairs brightened considerably and snapped at Sergeant Coaker, “Well, lively, Sar'nt! Although they should
all
be excellent marksmen, what?”

Herrick grinned. “That was thoughtful, sir.”

“Perhaps.” Bolitho shifted the glass again to watch some birds landing delicately along the clifftop. They would never do that if men were close by. “But if seamen are better at scaling cliffs, there is no beating a well-aimed ball at the right moment!”

He nodded to Davy. “Man your boats.” To Herrick he added casually, “If things go wrong, you will find the admiral's orders in my cabin.”

“You can rely on me, sir.” Herrick was looking troubled again. “But I'm certain that—”

Bolitho touched his arm and smiled. “Yes. But just bear it in mind. If you have to, act upon them, as
you
see fit.”

He walked slowly towards the entry port, seeing the watching seamen and marines as he passed. Familiar now, he could put a name and a value on all of them.

Midshipman Armitage was looking confused and embar- rassed. “Sir! The sharpshooters will not remove their coats, sir!” He blushed as some of the oarsmen in the boats nudged each other and chuckled.

Bellairs snapped, “Can't have my fellows tramping about like damn vagrants, what?” He saw Bolitho and added quickly, “I mean, can we, sir?”

Bolitho slipped out of his blue coat and tossed it to Noddall who was hovering by the quarterdeck ladder.

“It is all right.” He nodded to the unsmiling marines. “If I can shed a little authority, I am certain your men can.” He saw the sergeant gathering up the red coats and shakos, honour apparently restored. He added, “And it will be a rough climb, with who knows what at the end of it.”

He paused above the swaying boats, trying to think of some- thing he might have missed or forgotten.

Herrick said quietly, “Good luck, sir.”

Bolitho ran his glance along the crowded gangway and up to the men in the shrouds.

“And you, Thomas. Have the people stand-to, watch and watch about. You know what to do.”

He saw Armitage staggering between the oarsmen in the gig. It was almost cruel to take him. A liability. But he had to begin somewhere. It was a marvel he had ever got to sea at all with a mother like his. If Keen had been here, he would have taken him. He saw Penn peering wistfully from the gun deck. He would have gone with the boats like a shot. He smiled to himself. No wonder the seamen called him “The Tiger.”

Then he climbed down into the gig. No ceremony this time. As the boats shoved away from the side he was conscious of sudden tension.

“Take the lead, Allday.”

He watched the rocky cliffs rising higher and higher with each pull of the oars, and could feel the strong undertow as the inshore swell frothed and mounted into seething lines of breakers. When he glanced astern he saw the cutter's stem lifting and plunging through the flashing spray, Davy's head and shoulders swaying above the oarsmen while he, too, peered at the land. What was he thinking about? Being killed in this Godforsaken place? Taking a step nearer that badly needed prize-money? Bolitho wiped the spray from his face and concentrated on the swift approach. There was more chance of being drowned than of anything in the imme- diate future.

He glanced at Allday who was standing in a half crouch, one fist gripping the tiller-bar, as he peered from bow to bow, gauging the set of the angry surf, the diagonal lines of breakers as they hurried noisily into the shadows below the cliffs. No need to warn him. Any suggestion at all might have the opposite effect and bring disaster.

Allday remarked, “Very steep beach, Captain.” His sturdy fig- ure swayed with the hull. “Go in fast, put her bow round at the last moment t'wards the surf and beach her broadside-to.” He glanced down at him quickly. “Does that sound fair, Captain?”

Bolitho smiled. “Very fair.” It would also give them time to scramble ashore and help the cutter as she followed them in.

He felt a sudden chill and realised that the shadows had finally reached out to cover them, and he heard the slap of water, the creak of oars in rowlocks echoing back from the cliffs, as if there was a third and invisible boat nearby.

They almost planed across the last of the surf, the oars desper- ately keeping with the stroke until Allday yelled,
“Now!”
And as he slammed the tiller hard round he added, “Back-water to larboard!”

Floundering and tilting dangerously the gig came to the beach almost broadside, the keel grinding across loose pebbles and weed in a violent, protesting shudder.

But men were already leaping into the spray, holding the gun- wale, guiding the gig to safety with sheer brute-strength.

“Clear the boat!”

Allday steadied Bolitho's arm as with Armitage and the others he waded, reeled and finally walked on to firm beach.

Bolitho ran to the foot of the cliffs leaving Allday to supervise the business of getting the gig safely secured.

He waved his arm towards the three marines. “Spread out! See if you can find a way to the top!”

This, they understood, and with barely a glance towards the onrushing cutter they loped up the first crumbling rock-slide, their muskets primed and held ready.

Bolitho waited, staring up at the jagged clifftop, the pale blue sky above. No heads peering down. No sudden fusillade of musket balls.

He breathed more evenly and turned to watch the cutter as it edged round and plunged wildly before driving on to the beach and amongst the waiting seamen.

Davy staggered towards him, gasping for breath, but loading his pistol with remarkably steady fingers.

Bolitho said, “Muster the men, and send your three marines after the others.”

He looked for Armitage, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“In God's name!”

Davy grinned as the midshipman came round a large boulder, buttoning his breeches.

Bolitho said harshly, “If you must relieve yourself at such times, Mr. Armitage, I would be obliged if you would remain in sight!”

Armitage hung his head. “S-sorry, sir.”

Bolitho relented. “It would be safer for you, and I will try and hide any embarrassment you might cause me.”

Allday crunched over the loose shingle, chuckling as he, too, loaded a brace of pistols with fresh, dry powder.

“Bless me, Mr. Armitage, but I can understand how you feel!”

The youth stared at him unhappily. “You can?”

“Why, once, I was hiding in a loft.” He winked at the cutter's coxswain. “From the bloody pressgang, believe it or not, and all I could think of was pumping my bilges!”

Bolitho said to Davy, “That seems to have helped his mind a little.”

He forgot Armitage's troubles and said, “We'll leave four hands with the boats.”

He saw
Undine
swaying like a beautiful model; her stern win- dows flashing in the sunlight, and imagined Herrick watching their progress. He could send aid to the beached boats if trouble arrived. He looked up at the cliffs again. Damp, clammy, decep- tively cool. That would change as soon as they reached the top and the waiting sun.

Bolitho waited for Davy to rejoin him. “Best be moving off.”

He examined his landing party carefully as Allday waved them towards the cliffs. Thirty in all. Apart from Davy and Armitage, he had brought a master's mate named Carwithen, knowing the man would have resented being left behind after Fowlar's previous involvements. A dark, unsmiling man, he was, like Bolitho, a Cornishman; and hailed from the fishing village of Looe.