Command a King's Ship (7 page)

Raymond walked round the table as the babble of conversation broke out again. He whispered fiercely, “That damned fellow! One more day with him and I would have told him a thing or two!”

Bolitho asked, “In which vessel will you be sailing? Mine's a fine ship, but smaller by far than the Spaniard.”

Raymond twisted round to watch the Spanish captain who was discussing something with his companions in a low voice.

“Sail in the
Nervion?
If your ship were a damned collier brig I'd take her in preference!”

Davy whispered, “I think they expect us to leave, sir.”

Raymond scowled. “I will come to your ship and arrange things there. Where no ears listen even to one's breathing!”

Bolitho saw his escort waiting outside the door and smiled to himself. Raymond seemed to have a very vital role in things. Tact, however, was beyond him.

They returned to the jetty with hardly a word, but Bolitho was very conscious of the tension within the man Raymond. On a knife edge. Tortured by something. His work was over-reaching him perhaps.

As the scarlet-coated oarsmen propelled the Governor's barge towards
Undine
Bolitho felt a sense of relief. A ship he could un- derstand. Raymond's life was as alien as the moon.

Raymond clambered up from the barge and stared vaguely at the assembled side-party, at the comings and goings of
Undine
's seamen as they worked the tackles on the opposite side. Casks and nets of fruit, and straw hats to protect the unwary from sunburn.

Bolitho nodded to Herrick. “All well?” He touched Raymond's arm. “Mr. Raymond will be a passenger with us.” He turned sharply as he heard a shrill of laughter from the cabin hatch. “Who let that woman on board? In God's name, Mr. Herrick, this is not the Nore or Portsmouth Point!”

Then he saw the girl. Small and dark, in a bright red dress, she was talking to Allday, who was obviously enjoying himself.

Raymond said heavily, “I had hoped to explain earlier, Captain. That girl is a maid-servant. My
wife's
maid.” He looked as if he was going to be sick.

Herrick tried to dispel Bolitho's sudden anger. “She came out with her lady just an hour back, sir. She had authority.” He looked worried. “I had little choice in the matter.”

“I see.”

Bolitho strode aft. All those thousands of miles in a small crowded ship-of-war. Raymond was bad enough, but his wife and a maid were too much. He saw some seamen nudging each other. They had probably been waiting just to see his reactions.

Very calmly he said, “Perhaps you would, er, introduce me, Mr. Raymond?”

They went aft together, and Davy whispered, “God's teeth, Mr. Herrick, what a mixed gathering we are fast becoming!”

Herrick glared at him. “And I suppose you have been out there damn well enjoying yourself!”

“A little wine. Some fair company.” He chuckled. “But I thought, too, of you,
sir.
”

Herrick grinned. “To hell with you! Get into your working clothes and help with this loading. You need a million eyes today!”

In the meantime Bolitho had reached his cabin, and stared at it in dismay. There were boxes everywhere, and clothing spilled across furniture and guns, as if there had been a violent robbery aboard.

Mrs. Raymond was tall, unsmiling, and almost beside herself with anger.

Her husband exclaimed, “You should have
waited,
Viola. This is our captain.”

Bolitho bowed slightly. “Richard Bolitho, ma'am. I had just mentioned that a thirty-two-gun frigate has barely the room for luxury. However, since you have chosen to sail with us, I will do all that I can to—” He got no further.

“Chosen?”
Her voice was husky with scorn. “Please do not de- lude yourself, Captain.
He
does not wish me to travel in the
Nervion
.” Her mouth twisted in contempt. “He fears for my safety when I am with Spanish
gentlemen!
”

Bolitho noticed Noddall hovering anxiously by the dining compartment and snapped, “Help Mrs. Raymond's maid to stow all this”—he looked round helplessly—“gear.” He saw Raymond slump down on the bench seat like a dying man. No wonder he looked troubled. “And pass the word for the first lieutenant.” He glanced around the cabin, speaking his thoughts aloud. “We will have these twelve-pounders removed temporarily and put quakers in their place. That will allow a little more room.”

Raymond looked up dully. “Quakers?”

“Wooden muzzles. They give an appearance that we are still fully armed.” He forced a smile. “Quakers having an opposition to war.”

Herrick appeared by the door. “Sir?”

“We will rig extra screens here, Mr. Herrick. A larger sleeping compartment for our passengers. To larboard, I think.”

Mrs. Raymond said calmly, “For me and my maid, if you please.” She looked at her husband. “He will bed elsewhere on
this
ship.”

Herrick studied her curiously but said, “Mr. Raymond to star- board then. And what about you, sir?”

Bolitho sighed. “Chart space.” He looked at the others. “We will dine together here, if you agree.”

Nobody answered.

Midshipman Keen hovered by the door, his eyes on the woman.

“Mr. Soames's respects, sir, and the captain of
Nervion
is about to board us.”

Bolitho swung round and then gasped as his shin cracked against a heavy chest.

He said between his teeth, “I will endeavour to be hospitable, Mr. Herrick!”

Herrick kept his face blank. “I am certain of it, sir.”

It was early morning by the time Bolitho had pulled himself wearily into his cot, his mind still reeling from entertaining Capitan
Triarte and some of his officers. He had been made to go across to the
Nervion
where the captain had again made a point of comparing the spacious comfort with
Undine
's over-crowded quarters. It had not helped at all. Now the ship lay quiet again, and he tried to picture Mrs. Raymond who was sleeping beyond the newly-rigged screen. He had seen her in the cabin when the Spanish officers had come aboard. Aloof yet tempting, with little to reveal her true feelings for her husband. A dangerous woman to cross, he thought.

How still the ship felt. Perhaps, like himself, everyone was too weary to move. Guns had been trundled away and lowered with difficulty into the holds. More stores and heavy gear had had to be swayed aft to readjust the trim once again. It was surprising how much larger the cabin looked without the guns there.

He groaned as his head found some new ache to offer him. He would not see much of it though. He turned his face to the pillow, the sweat running across his chest with the effort. One thing was certain. He had rarely had better incentive for a fast passage.

He was up and about at first light, eager to get his work done before the heat of the day made thinking more difficult. In the afternoon, to the distant strains of a military band and the cheers of a crowd along the waterfront,
Undine
weighed anchor, and with
Nervion
in the lead, her great foresail displaying a resplendent cross of scarlet and gold, worked clear of the roads before setting more canvas to the wind.

Some small craft followed them across the glittering water, but were soon outpaced by the graceful frigates. By dusk they had the sea to themselves, with only the stars for company.

4
DEATH
OF
A
S
HIP

E
ZEKIEL
M
UDGE
,
Undine
's sailing master, sat comfortably in one of Bolitho's chairs and peered at the chart which was laid across the desk. Without his hat he looked even older, but there was assur- ance in his voice as he said, “This wind'll freshen in the next day or so, sir. You mark my words.” He tapped the chart with his own brass dividers which he had just fished from one of his pockets. “For now, the nor'-east trades will suit us, and we'll be up to the Cape Verde Islands in a week, with any luck.” He sat back and studied Bolitho's reactions.

“Much as I thought.”

Bolitho walked to the stern windows and leaned his hands on the sill. It was hot, like wood from a fire, and beyond the frigate's small, frothing wake the sea was blinding in the glare. His shirt was open to the waist, and he could feel the sweat running down his shoulders, a dryness in his throat like dust.

It was almost noon, and Herrick would be waiting for the midshipmen to report to him on the quarterdeck to shoot the sun for their present position. A full week, but for a few hours, since they had sailed from Santa Cruz, and daily the sun had pinned them down, had defied the light airs which had tried to give them comfort. Today the wind had strengthened slightly, and
Undine
was ghosting along on the starboard tack with all sails drawing well.

There was little satisfaction in Bolitho's thoughts. For
Undine
had suffered her first casualty, a young seaman who had fallen overboard just as darkness had been closing in the previous day. Signalling his intention to the Spanish captain, Bolitho had gone about to begin a search for the luckless man. He had been working aloft on the main topsail yard, framed against the dying sunlight like a bronze statue. Had he been a raw recruit, or some heavy- handed landsman, it was likely he would still be alive. But he had been too confident, too careless perhaps for those last vital seconds as he had changed his position. One cry as he had fallen, and then his head had broken surface almost level with the mizzen, his arms beating at the sea as he tried to keep pace with the ship.

Davy had told him that the seaman was a good swimmer, and that fact had given some hope they might pick him up. They had lowered two boats, and for most of the night had searched in vain. Dawn had found them on course again, but to Bolitho's anger he had discovered that the
Nervion
had made no attempt to shorten sail or stay in company, and only in the last half-hour had the masthead reported sighting her topgallant sails once again.

The seaman's death had been an additional thorn to prod at his determination to weld the ship together. He had seen the Spanish officers watching their first attempts at gun drill through their telescopes, slapping their thighs with amusement whenever some- thing went wrong, which was often. They themselves never drilled at anything. They seemed to treat the voyage as a form of enter- tainment.

Even Raymond had remarked, “Why bother with gun drill, Captain? I do not know much about such matters, but surely your men find it irksome in this damned heat?”

He had replied, “It is my responsibility, Mr. Raymond. I daresay it may be unnecessary for this mission, but I'll take no chances.”

Raymond's wife had kept aloof from all of them, and during the day spent much of her time under a small awning which Herrick's men had rigged for her and the maid right aft by the taffrail. Whenever they met, usually at meal times, she spoke only briefly, and then touched on personal matters which Bolitho barely understood. She appeared to enjoy hinting to her husband that he was too backward, that he lacked assurance when it was most needed. Once he had heard her say hotly, “They ride right over you, James! How can I hold up my head in London when you suffer so many insults! Why, Margaret's husband was knighted for his services, and he is five years your junior!” And so on.

Now, as he turned to look at Mudge, he wondered what he and the others were thinking of their captain. Driving them all too hard, and for no purpose. Making them turn to and work at those stubborn guns while aboard the Spaniard the offwatch hands sprawled about sleeping or drinking wine like passengers.

As if reading his thoughts, Mudge said, “Don't mind what some o' the buggers are sayin', sir. You're young, but you've a mind for the right thing, if you'll pardon the liberty.” He plucked at his great nose. “I've seen many a cap'n taken all aback 'cause he worn't ready when the time came.” He chuckled, his small eyes vanishing into his wrinkles. “An' as you well knows, sir, when things
do
go wrong it's no blamed use slappin' yer hip an' blastin' yer eye, an' blamin' all else.” He tugged a watch the size of a turnip from an inner pocket. “I must away on deck, if you can spare me, sir. Mr. 'Errick likes me to be there when we compares our reckonin'.” It seemed to amuse him. “As I said, sir, you stand firm. You don't 'ave to
like
a cap'n, but by God you've got to trust 'un!” He lumbered from the cabin, his shoes making the deck creak as he passed.

Bolitho sat down and tugged at his open shirt. It was a begin- ning.

Allday peered into the cabin. “Can I send your servant in now, Captain?” He darted a glance at the table. “He'll be wanting to get your meal laid.”

Bolitho smiled. “Very well.”

It was stupid to let small things prey on his mind. But with Mudge it was different. Important. He had probably sailed with more captains than Bolitho had met in his whole life.

They both looked round as Midshipman Keen stood in the doorway. Already he was well tanned, and looked as healthy and fresh as a veteran sailor.

“Mr. Herrick's respects, sir. Masthead has just reported sight- ing another vessel ahead of the Spaniard. On a converging tack. Small. Maybe a brig.”

“I will come up.” Bolitho smiled. “The voyage appears to agree with you, Mr. Keen.”

The youth grinned. “Aye, sir. Though I fear my father sent me away for other reasons but my health.”

As he hurried away Allday murmured, “Young devil, that one! Got some poor girl into trouble, I'll wager!”

Bolitho kept his face impassive. “Not like you, of course, Allday.”

He strode out past the sentry and climbed quickly to the quar- terdeck. Even though he was expecting it, the heat came down on him like the mouth of an open furnace. He felt the deck seams sticking to his shoes, the searing touch on his face and neck as he crossed to the weather side and looked along his command.

With her pale, lightweight canvas bent on, and her deck tilting to the wind,
Undine
was moving well. Spray leapt up and round the jib boom at irregular intervals, and far above his head he saw the pendant streaming abeam like a thin whip.

Mudge and Herrick were muttering together, their sextants gleaming in the sunlight like gold, while two midshipmen, Armitage and Penn, compared notes, their faces screwed in worried concen- tration.

Soames was by the quarterdeck rail and turned as Bolitho asked, “About this newcomer. What is she, do you reckon?”

Soames looked crushed with the heat, his hair matted to his forehead, as if he had been swimming.

“Some trader, I expect, sir.” He did not sound as if he cared. “Maybe she intends to ask the Spaniard for her position.” He scowled. “Not that they'll know much!”

Bolitho took a glass from the rack and climbed into the mizzen shrouds. Moving it gradually he soon found the
Nervion
, far ahead on the larboard bow, a picture of beauty under her great spread of canvas, her hull gleaming in the sun like metal. He trained the glass further to starboard and then held it steady on the other vessel. Almost hidden in heat haze, but he could see the tan- coloured sails well enough, the uneven outline of her rig. Square on the fore, fore-and-aft on the mainmast. He felt vaguely angry.

“A brigantine, Mr. Soames.”

“Aye, sir.”

Bolitho looked at him and then climbed back to the deck.

“In future, I want a full report of each sighting, no matter how trivial it might appear at the time.”

Soames tightened his jaw. “Sir.”

Herrick called, “It was my fault, sir. I should have told Mr. Keen to pass a full description to you.”

Bolitho walked aft. “Mr. Soames has the watch, I believe.”

Herrick followed him. “Well, yes, sir.”

Bolitho saw the two helmsmen stiffen as he moved to the compass. The card was steady enough. South by west, and with plenty of sea room. The African coast lay somewhere across the larboard beam, over thirty leagues distant. There was nothing on their ocean but the three ships. Coincidence? A need to make con- tact perhaps?

Soames's indifference pricked at his mind like a burr and he snapped, “Make certain our watchkeepers know what they are about, Mr. Herrick.” He saw Keen leaning against the nettings. “Send
him
aloft with a glass. An untried eye might tell us more.”

Mudge ambled towards him and said gruffly, “Near as makes no difference, sir. Cape Blanco should be abeam now.” He rubbed his chin. “The most westerly point o' that savage continent. An' quite close enough, if you ask me!”

His chest went up and down to a small wheezing accompani- ment. It was as near as he ever got to laughing.

Keen's voice came down from the masthead. “Deck there! Brigantine is still closing the
Nervion!
”

Herrick cupped his hands. “Does she show any colours?”

“None, sir!”

Herrick clambered into the shrouds with his own telescope. After a while he called, “The Dons don't seem worried, sir.”

Mudge growled. “ 'Ardly likely to be bothered about that little pot o' paint, is they?”

Bolitho said, “Bring her up a point, Mr. Mudge. It would be best if we regain company with our companion.”

He turned as a voice asked, “Are you
troubled,
Captain?”

Mrs. Raymond was standing by the trunk of the mizzen mast, her face shadowed by a great straw hat which she had brought from Teneriffe.

He shook his head. “Merely curious, ma'am.” In his crumpled shirt and breeches he felt suddenly clumsy. “I'm sorry there is not more to amuse you during the day.”

She smiled. “Things may yet improve.”

“Deck there!” Keen's voice made them all look up. “The other vessel is going about, sir!”

Herrick called, “He's right. The brigantine's going to cross clean over the Don's bows!” He turned, grinning broadly. “That'll make 'em hop about!”

The grin vanished as a dull bang echoed and re-echoed over the water.

Keen yelled, “She's fired on the
Nervion!
” A second bang reached the quarterdeck and he cried again, “And another!” He was almost screaming with excitement. “He's put a ball through her forecourse!”

Bolitho ran to the shrouds and joined Herrick.

“Let me see.”

He took the big glass and trained it on the two ships. The brigantine's shape had shortened, and she was presenting her stern to him even as she idled across the frigate's broader outline. Even at such a distance it was possible to see the confusion aboard the Spanish frigate, the glint of sunlight on weapons as her company ran to quarters.

Herrick said hoarsely, “That brigantine's master must be mad. No one but a crazy man would cross swords with a frigate!”

Bolitho did not reply. He was straining his eye to watch the little drama framed in his lens. The brigantine had fired two shots, one of which, if not both, had scored a mark. Now she was tacking jauntily away, and it was evident, as the
Nervion
began to spread more sail, that Capitan
Triarte intended to give chase.

He said, “
Nervion
'll be up to her within the hour. They're both changing tack now.”

“Perhaps that fool imagined
Nervion
was a fat merchantman, eh?” Davy had arrived on deck. “But no, it is not possible.”

Herrick followed Bolitho down from the shrouds and watched him dubiously.

“Shall we join in the chase, sir?”

Mudge almost pushed him aside as he barked, “Chase be damned, I say!”

They looked at him.

“We must stop that mad Don, sir!” He waved his big hand across the nettings. “Off Cape Blanco, sir, there's a powerful great reef, an' it runs near on a 'undred miles to seaward.
Nervion
's in risk now, but if 'er master brings 'er up another point he'll be across that damned reef afore 'e knows it!”

Bolitho stared at him. “Get the royals on her, Mr. Herrick! Lively now!” He walked quickly to the helm. “We must make more speed.”