Command a King's Ship (30 page)

Allday said quietly, “Poor lad. He'll never get used to this sort of thing.”

Bolitho looked at him gravely. “Did you? Did I?”

Allday shrugged. “We learned to hide what we thought, Cap- tain. It's all a man can do.”

“Perhaps.” He saw Davy kicking dust across the drying blood. Then he looked at Carwithen's dark features as he examined the dead man's pistol. “Although there are some who have no feelings at all, and I have always found them to be less than men.”

Allday followed him back into the shade. Bolitho's mood would soon change at a hint of action, and for the present it was best to leave him to his thoughts.

14
THE
BRISTOL
S
AILMAKER

“T
IME
TO
move, is it, sir?” Davy watched Bolitho as he craned over the rocks, his shirt pale against the darkening sky.

“I believe so. Tell Carwithen to muster the hands.”

He shivered as the sea-breeze explored his body. Once the sun had dipped over the hills at his back it grew cool, even cold, in minutes. They had been too long in the heat, plagued by sun and thirst, and a multitude of flies which had appeared as if by magic. He watched the anchored schooner's outline, the soft glow of lights from poop and forepeak. The fire on the beach had died to a blotch of red embers, and he could see nobody near it, but guessed the lookout was still in his refuge beyond the pools.

Allday whispered, “All ready, Captain.” He held his cutlass clear of the rocks. “Mr. Davy's making sure they all know what to do.”

Bolitho nodded without answering, trying to gauge the dis- tance they must cover. Surprisingly, it seemed greater in the growing darkness, but he was reassured by the occasional snatches of voices from the vessel to show they had given no heed to their missing comrade.

Davy slithered down beside him. “I've sent Carwithen's party away, sir.” He looked at the sky, the isolated puffs of light cloud. “Wind's steady enough.”

“Yes.” Bolitho checked his pistol and tightened his belt. “Fol- low me. Single file.”

Like ghosts they topped the last rock barrier, the sounds of loose stones and rubble seemingly very loud in the gloom. But as Davy had observed, the wind held steady, and was making a lively chop along the beach and narrow spur of headland. Noisy enough to drown any small sound they might be making.

Once, as they followed the curve of the hillside they all froze in their tracks as two dozing sea-birds rose flapping and screaming almost from under their feet.

Bolitho waited, listening to his heart, to the sharp breathing of the men at his back. Nothing. He lifted his arm and they began to move forward and downwards again.

When he looked across his shoulder he saw the rough edge of the rock barrier, where they had waited fretting for sunset, far above his slow-moving party. They were almost down to beach level now, and he heard a man curse quietly as he slipped in the first of the small pools. Davy's party were having to wade in the shallows to his right, and he hoped none of them would fall headlong into one of the rock pools there, now hidden by the rising tide.

He thought momentarily of the ship, anchored on the other side of the islet. The familiar sounds and smells. Herrick waiting anxiously for news of success or disaster. If it was to be the latter, he could do nothing to help this time. His would be the task of contacting the “enemy” and making what he could of it. It was easier to think of them as the enemy. It never helped to picture them as men. Flesh and bone like himself.

Allday touched his arm urgently. “Boat coming inshore, Cap- tain!”

Bolitho held up his hand and brought both parties to a shuf- fling silence. The boat must have come around the schooner's hidden side. He could see the splash of oars, the lively froth of the stem as it bounced across the first leaping surf.

He thought of Carwithen and his handful of men who were creeping up and around the solitary lookout. They should have been there by now. He recalled Carwithen's brutal madness with the boarding axe, and wondered if he had been the one to strike the luckless lookout down.

A voice echoed suddenly in the darkness, and for an instant Bolitho imagined Carwithen had been delayed, or that the lookout was calling in alarm. But the voice came from the boat, louder this time, and despite the strange tongue, Bolitho knew the man was calling a question. Or a name perhaps.

Allday said, “They've come alooking for their mate, Captain.” He dropped to one knee to keep the grounding boat framed against the surf. “Six of 'em.”

Bolitho said quietly, “Stand fast, lads. Let them come to us.”

He heard a man clicking his jaws together. Tense, nervous. Probably terrified in these unfamiliar surroundings.

Allday said, “One of 'em's going up the cliff to the lookout.”

Bolitho drew his sword very carefully. Of course. It would be the first place a searcher would go. Ask if the missing man had been seen.

He watched the other five strolling up the beach, swinging their weapons casually, chatting as they approached.

Bolitho glanced behind him. His men were barely visible as they crouched or knelt amongst fallen rocks, or squatted in the sea itself. He turned to study the oncoming shadows. Twenty yards, fifteen. Surely one would see them soon.

A terrible cry tore the stillness apart, hanging above the ridge long after the man had died.

Bolitho saw the five shadows turn in confusion, knew the dy- ing scream must have been the man sent to the lookout.

He yelled, “At 'em, lads!”

Without a shout or a cheer they were all up and rushing after the five figures who had turned back towards the surf.

One of them slipped and fell headlong, tried to rise, but was slashed into a sobbing heap by a seaman's cutlass as he dashed past.

The others had reached the boat, but deprived of two of their strength, were unable to shift it. Steel gleamed in the shadows, and as the seamen charged amongst them the fight became confused and deadly. A seaman caught his foot in the boat-rope and before he could recover his balance was pinned bodily to the shingle by a long sword. His killer died almost simultaneously. The remaining two threw down their weapons and were instantly clubbed into unmoving heaps by the maddened sailors.

Davy snapped tersely, “One of ours is dead, sir.” He rolled the man over on to his back and dragged the cutlass from his fingers.

Bolitho eased the sword back into its scabbard. His legs felt shaky from running, from nervous tension. He looked at the an- chored schooner. No shouts, no calls to arms. He thought he heard the same sing-song voice chanting above the seething surf, remote and vaguely sad.

Davy said hoarsely, “Damned poor lookout, sir.”

Bolitho watched his men gathering around the two boats. The one which had been there all day was furthest up the shingle and would need the more men to move it.

He replied, “Would
you
have expected trouble, in their place?”

Davy shrugged. “I suppose not.”

Carwithen came hurrying down from the ridge, his helpers hard put to keep up with him.

He said savagely, “That bloody fool Lincoln was too slow with his dirk!” He glared at the watching men around him. “I'll see to him later!”

Bolitho said, “Boats in the water.” He sought out the six ma- rines. “You take the second one. You know what to do.”

One, the man who had first sighted the schooner, grunted. “We knows, sir. We holds the boat where we can see the poop, an' pin down anyone who tries to pass the lanterns there.”

Bolitho smiled. “Captain Bellairs was right about you.”

Allday whispered, “This way, Captain.”

He felt the surf engulfing his legs and waist, the boat's scarred planking as Allday reached down to drag him over the gunwale.

“Shove off!”

Bolitho restrained the urge to watch the frantic oars, the ef- forts to steer the boat clear of the surf. Just one blast of canister would be enough to nip his flimsy plan in the bud.

The boat lifted and then surged heavily forward, the blades taking control as the hull freed itself from the strong undertow. Bolitho saw the schooner's tall masts rising to greet him, the trac- ery of rigging and shrouds almost lost against the sky.

Allday stood straddle-legged and wary, the tiller bar held lightly in his fingertips.

“Easy all!” He craned forward as if to impress them more. “Bow-man, ready!”

Astern Bolitho heard the regular splash of oars as the other boat pulled hastily towards the schooner's bows.

Allday said quickly, “It's now or never, Captain!” His teeth were bared with concentration so that some men in the forward part of the boat thought he was smiling.

Bolitho stood up beside him and reached out to fend off the overhanging quarter, as like a moving object it loomed right above the boat.

“Now!”

There was a yell and a quick clatter as the bow-man hurled his grapnel up and over the bulwark. With a jerking, grinding crash the boat came alongside, some men falling in confusion, while others climbed eagerly over their sprawled bodies and entangled oars as if using a living bridge to reach the vessel's main deck.

Figures were already dashing from the forecastle, but as a man ran wildly from aft there was a muffled bang, the well-aimed mus- ket ball hurling him round like an insane dancer, his agony clearly silhouetted against the poop lanterns.

Bolitho felt rather than saw a figure coming at him from the scuppers. Something hissed above his head even as he ducked round and struck for his attacker with his sword. The swaying fig- ure backed and came on again, and Bolitho realised he was holding a huge axe, swinging it from side to side as he advanced.

Carwithen exclaimed, “A plague on that bastard!” and fired his pistol full in the man's face. To Bolitho he snarled, “That'll teach him!”

Another of the crew had climbed frantically into the foremast shrouds and was being pursued by a yelling seaman. Once again a musket stabbed the darkness from the other boat, and with a faint cry the man fell headlong to the deck where he was promptly des- patched by a waiting cutlass.

Allday yelled, “Most of 'em have gone below, Captain!” He ran to a hatchway and fired his pistol into it. “The fight's gone out of 'em now, I'm thinking!”

Bolitho peered aft at the poop lanterns. “Call the other boat to give assistance!”

It was suddenly very quiet on the schooner's deck, and as Bolitho walked slowly towards the small cabin hatch just forward of the wheel he was conscious of his own footsteps and the feeling the fight was not yet over.

He moved warily around the outstretched corpse which had been the first to fall to a marine sharpshooter, its face shining in the lantern light, the lower jaw broken away as if by an axe stroke.

Allday said, “Stand aside, Captain!”

But a seaman was already clambering over the hatch coaming, his face suddenly screwing up in terrible agony as a pistol exploded beneath him.

A shadow darted through the pluming smoke, and Bolitho saw it was the scarfaced seaman called Lincoln, his eyes like stones as he allowed his lean body to drop straight through the hatch, using his dead companion to cushion the fall. His feet thudded into the corpse, and as he turned he whipped a knife from between his teeth, hitting out twice in the darkness, the second blow bringing a scream of pain.

More men were swarming down after him, and Bolitho yelled, “Bring a lantern! Drag those men clear!”

Feet pounded over the planking, and he heard Armitage call- ing anxiously from the boat alongside.

Carwithen was already down on the cabin deck, knocking a seaman aside even as he made to finish the wounded pirate with his dirk.

Bolitho paused on the ladder, searching for Davy, his mind still able to grapple with the realisation that Allday had saved his life. But for his warning, he and not that poor seaman would be lying there dead.

“Mr. Davy! Hoist both boats inboard once you have secured our prisoners!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” He sounded jubilant.

“And mount a guard on them. I want no fanatic opening the bilges to the sea before we can even make sail!”

He followed Allday down the ladder, the sea-noises suddenly muffled and lost.

A seaman kicked open the cabin door and darted inside with a levelled pistol.

“Nothin', zur!” He swung round as a shadow moved beyond an upended chair. “Belay that, zur! There's another rascal 'ere! I'll get 'im for 'ee!”

Then he fell back in horror. “By Jesus, zur! 'E's one of us!”

Bolitho stepped into the cabin, ducking low between the deck- head beams. He could appreciate the seaman's shocked rise. It was a small, cringing wreck of a man. He was on his knees, fingers interlocked as in prayer while he swayed bark and forth in time to the ship's motion.

Bolitho sheathed his sword stepping between the quivering creature and his fierce-eyed seaman.

“Who are you?”

He made to move closer and the man threw himself bodily at his feet.

“Have mercy, Captain! I done nothin sir! I'm just an honest sailorman, sir!”

He gripped Bolitho's shoes, and when he reached down to pull him to his feet Bolitho saw with horror that every nail had been torn from his fingers.

Allday said harshly, “On your feet! You are speaking to a King's officer!”

“Easy.” Bolitho held up his hand. “Look at him. He has suf- fered enough.”

A seaman dropped his cutlass and lifted the man into a chair. “Oi'll get 'im a drink, Cap'n.”