Command a King's Ship (37 page)

He snapped, “Hands to the braces, Mr. Davy! We will be full and bye directly!” He heard the men groping and cursing as they lurched to obey the orders, the protesting squeak of swollen cord- age being hauled through blocks while yards were trimmed to hold the ship on her larboard tack. He called, “Bring her up a point!”

Men slithered around the big double wheel, and he saw Carwithen punch one of the helmsmen as he bowed under the sheeting rain.

“Nor' by west, sir. Full an' bye she is!”

“Hold her so!”

Bolitho mopped his face with his sleeve. The probing down- pour helped to clear his aching mind, to make him accept what was happening. If the wind continued to veer, even if it stayed where it was, Herrick would be unable to place his schooner in position where he could destroy Muljadi's battery. The disastrous change of wind made the rain feel like tears. Tears for all their hopes, their pathetic determination, which minutes ago had made even the impossible seem undaunting.

He lurched to Mudge's side and shouted, “How far now, d'you reckon?”

“Four or five mile, no more, sir.” Mudge was staring at the rain with dismay. “This lot'll pass over quick enough. But then . . .” He shrugged.

Bolitho looked away. He knew well enough. A rising wind was most likely once the sun appeared. A wind which would do no service to Herrick, and keep Le Chaumareys in the safety of his anchorage.
Undine
would be helpless. She would be made to stay offshore until the enemy's double strength was prepared and ready to fight on their terms. Or they could turn and run for Pendang Bay with nothing to offer but a final warning.

Davy shouted, “By God, life is hard!”

Mudge glared at him. “Life's a bloody rear-guard action, Mr. Davy, from the day you're born!”

Bolitho swung round to silence both of them and then saw that the master's mate's face was clearer than before. He could even see Carwithen scowling at the same luckless helmsman. The dawn was forcing itself to be taken notice of.

He felt the blood racing in his head as he snapped, “We will attack as before! Pass the word to all hands!”

Davy gaped at him. “Without destroying the battery, sir?”

“It might not have worked anyway.” He tried to sound calm. “The enemy will be listening to the rain and thanking God for being at anchor.” He added harshly, “Are you deaf, man? Tell Mr. Soames to prepare for loading, once the rain is passed!”

Davy nodded jerkily and hurried to the rail.

Captain Bellairs strode to Bolitho's side and remarked coolly, “Damn risky thing, sir, if you'll pardon my sayin' so.”

Bolitho felt his shoulders beginning to sag under the rain, the sudden spark deserting him.

“What would
you
have me do?”

Bellairs turned up his collar and pouted. “Oh, I'd fight, sir, no choice in the matter, what? Pity though, all the same. Waste. Damn bloody waste.”

Bolitho nodded heavily. “No argument there.”

“Deck there! Land ho!”

Bolitho walked stiffly to the lee side, his shoes squeaking on the puddled deck. A darker blur, reaching out on either bow, de- ceptively gentle in the feeble light.

A voice said, “Rain's goin'.” He sounded surprised.

As if to mark its passing, the dripping forecourse lifted and boomed dully to receive a fresher gust of wind. It made Bolitho shiver and grit his teeth.

“Tell Mr. Soames. Load, and prepare to run out when I pass the word.”

He looked around for Keen. “Run up the Colours, if you please.”

Another voice muttered, “No chance, mates. They'll do for the lot of us.”

Bolitho heard the halliards squeaking as the ensign dashed up to the peak and broke out to the wind, unseen as yet in the clinging darkness.

“As soon as it is light enough, Mr. Keen, have your party make a signal to the schooner.
Discontinue the action.
Mr. Herrick can stand off and retrieve our boats.”

Keen said, “Aye, aye, sir, I'll see to it when—”

He turned angrily as a voice murmured from the shadows, “Pick up our bloody corpses, more's the like!”

Keen shouted, “Keep silence there! Master-at-arms, take that man's name!”

Bolitho said quietly, “Easy. If it helps them to curse, then let it be so.”

Keen faced him, his fists doubled at his sides. “But it's not
fair,
sir. It's not your doing.”

Bolitho smiled gravely. “Thank you, Mr. Keen.”

He recalled with sudden clarity his lieutenant in his first com- mand, the little sloop
Sparrow.
An American colonist, he had endured the worst of the war, serving his King, but fighting his own kind at the same time. What would he have replied?
I ain't so sure.
Bolitho could almost hear him, as if he was present at this very moment.

He turned quickly to starboard, seeing the glowing rim of sun- light as it probed above the bare horizon. Very soon now.

He discovered he was dreading the daylight, that which would lay them naked under the guns as they drove into the narrow chan- nel where he had met Le Chaumareys.

Bolitho heard a step behind him and Allday's voice. Firm, un- ruffled. “Better go below and get out of those wet things, Captain.”

He swung towards him, his voice cracking with strain. “Do you think I have nothing else to do?”

The coxswain regarded him stubbornly. “Not just yet, you haven't.” He added in the same flat tone, “You remember the Saintes, Captain?” He did not wait for an answer “It was a bad time. All those Frogs, the sea abounding with their damned ships until it was nigh on bursting. I recalls it well. I was right forrard on one of the carronades. The lads were all quaking with fright at what was to come. Then I looked aft and saw you pacing the quar- terdeck, like you were going to church instead of to hell.”

Bolitho stared at him, his mind suddenly steady. “I remember.”

Allday nodded slowly. “Aye. You wore your best uniform.”

Bolitho looked past him, recalling another voice. His coxswain who had died that day.
They'll want to see you.

He replied quietly, “Very well. But if I'm called . . .”

Allday gave a slow smile. “
Immediately,
Captain.”

Mudge said hoarsely, “That was fool advice, man! The cap'n'll make a fine target for sharpshooters in 'is gold lace!”

Allday eyed him angrily. “I know. He does, too. He also knows we are depending on him today, and that means
seeing
him.”

Mudge shook his head. “Mad. You're all mad!”

“Deck there! Schooner fine on th' weather bow!”

Keen called, “Hoist the signal to recall her!”

Allday was standing with his arms folded, his eyes on the spreading carpet of early light as it reached towards the islands.

“Mr. Herrick won't see it.”

Davy glared at him. “It will be light enough very soon now.”

“I know, sir.” Allday looked at him sadly. “But he'll not see it. Not Mr. Herrick.”

Without furniture or fittings the cabin felt strangely hostile, like an empty house which mourns a lost master and awaits another. Bolitho stood by the shuttered stern windows, his arms limp at his sides, while Noddall clucked around him and patted the heavy dress coat into position. Like the boat cloak, it had been made by a good London tailor with some of his prize-money.

Through the wide gap left by the screens, which had now been bolted to the deckhead, he could see straight out along the gun deck, the shapes and restless figures still only shadows in the frail light. Even here, in the cabin where he had found peace in solitude, or had sat with Viola Raymond, or shared a pipe with Herrick, there was no escape. The chintz covers had gone from the twelve- pounder, and had followed the furniture to a safer stowage below the waterline, and by the guns on either beam the crews stood awkwardly, like unfinished statuary, conscious of his presence, wanting to watch him as he completed dressing, yet still held apart by the rigidity of their calling.

Bolitho cocked his head to listen to the rudder as it growled and pounded in response to the helm. The wind was fresher, heel- ing the ship over and holding it so. He saw the nearest gun captain checking his firing lanyard and noted how his body was angled to the deck.

Noddall was muttering, “More like it, sir. Much more like it.” He said it fervently, as if repeating a prayer. “Cap'n Stewart was always most particular, afore a fight.”

Bolitho wrenched his mind back from his doubts and misgiv- ings. Stewart? Then he remembered.
Undine
's last captain. Had he felt the same, too, he wondered?

Feet stamped over the deck above, and he heard someone shouting.

He snapped, “That will have to suffice.”

He snatched up his hat and sword and then paused to pat Noddall's bony shoulder. He looked so small, with his hands held in front of him like paws, that he felt sudden compassion for him.

“Take care, Noddall. Stay down when the iron begins to fly. You're no fighting man, eh?”

He was shocked to see Noddall bobbing his head and tears running down his face.

In a small, broken voice he said, “
Thankee,
Cap'n!” He did not hide his gratitude. “I couldn't face another battle. An' I'd not want to let you down, sir.”

Bolitho pushed past and hurried to the ladder. He had always taken him for granted. The little man who fussed over his table and darned his shirts. Content in his own small world. It had never occurred to him that he was terrified each time the ship cleared for action.

He ran up the last steps and saw Davy and Keen with tele- scopes trained towards the bows.

“What is the matter?”

Davy turned, and then stared at him. He swallowed hard, his eyes still on Bolitho's gold-laced coat.

“Schooner has not acknowledged, sir!”

Bolitho looked from him to the streaming flags, now bright against the dull topsails.

“Are you sure?”

Mudge growled, “Yer cox'n seems to think she won't neither, sir.”

Bolitho ignored him, his eyes exploring the spread of land across the bows. Still lost in deep shadow, with only an occasional lip of light to betray the dawn. But the schooner was clear enough. In direct line with
Undine
's plunging jib-boom, her canvas looked almost white against the cliffs and ragged hills.

Herrick must have seen the recall. He would have been antici- pating it as soon as the wind veered. He peered up at the masthead pendant. God, how the wind had gone round. It must be west- south-west.

He shouted, “Hands aloft, Mr. Davy! Get the t'gallants on her!”

He swung round, seeing them all in those brief seconds. Mudge's doubts. Carwithen behind him, his lips compressed into a thin line. The helmsmen, the bare-backed gun crews, Keen with his signal party.

The calls shrilled, and shadows darted up the ratlines on either beam as the topmen hurried to set more canvas.

Davy shouted, “Maybe Mr. Herrick intends to go ahead with the plan, sir!”

Bolitho looked at Allday, saw the way he was watching the schooner.

He said quietly, “It would seem so, Mr. Davy.”

Under a heavier press of sail
Undine
thrust her shoulder into the creaming water with added urgency, the spray hurling itself above the forecastle and nettings in long spectres of foam. The hull shook and groaned to the pressure, and when he peered aloft Bolitho saw the upper yards bending forward to the wind. From the peak the ensign was clearly visible, like the marines' tunics as they stood in swaying lines by the hammock nettings, or knelt in the tops by their muskets and swivels. Like blood.

He heard himself say, “Repeat the signal, Mr. Keen!” He barely recognised his own voice.

Soames stood on the breech of a twelve-pounder, gripping the gangway with both hands as he stared towards the land.

Then he looked aft at Bolitho and gave a brief shrug. In his mind, Herrick was already dead.

Keen said huskily, “It will not work! The wind'll carry the schooner clear! At best she'll explode in the centre of the channel!”

Penn shrilled from the gun deck. “I heard a trumpet!”

Bolitho wiped his eyes, feeling the salt, raw and smarting. A trumpet. Some sentry on the fortress had left the protection of the wall to look seaward. He would see the schooner immediately, and
Undine
within the next few minutes.

The sea noises seemed louder than ever, with every piece of rigging and canvas banging and vibrating in chorus as the ship drove headlong towards the land, and the pale arrowhead which marked the entrance to the channel.