In Gallant Company (39 page)

Since the
Kittiwake
had left Antigua anything might have happened. Peace with the American rebels, war with France.

With a start he realized they were all looking at him.

He said, ‘Get aloft, Mr Quinn. Take a glass and tell me what you see.'

Frowd groaned as Quinn hurried past. ‘God damn this leg! I should be up there, not, not . . .' By the time he had thought
of a suitable insult Quinn was already hurrying up the shrouds.

Bolitho paced rapidly back and forth, trying to stay calm and unmoved. She was quite likely a Spaniard, southward bound for the Main and all its treasures. If so, she would soon haul off. She might think
White Hills
to be a pirate. In these waters you could choose from a dozen sorts of enemy.

‘Deck, sir! She's a brig!'

One of the wounded men gave a thin cheer. ‘She'll be one of ours, lads!'

But Frowd rasped painfully, ‘You know what I'm thinking, don't you?'

Bolitho looked at him, his brain suddenly ice-cold.

Of course, it made sense. Cruel sense. And they had got so far. This time, he had believed, with success.

There was still a chance.

He held his voice steady as he called, ‘Keep watching her!' To Couzens he added more quietly, ‘We shall have a closer look at her soon enough, I imagine.' He saw the understanding clouding Couzens' eyes. ‘Clear for action, if you please. Then load, but do not run out.'

He glanced along the deck, at the brig's small defences. Enough guns to rake the defenceless yawl, but if the oncoming vessel was Captain Tracy's previous command, they would be all but useless.

BOLITHO WAITED FOR
the deck to steady again and then trained his telescope across the larboard bow. He could see the other brig's topsails and topgallants sharply etched against the blue sky, but the rest of the vessel was lost in distance and haze.

If the vessel was the
Revenge
, her master would recognize the
White Hills
as soon as she was within reasonable distance. He might have done so already. To alter course away, to wear completely and fly with the wind would tell him what had happened quicker than any challenge.

Bolitho looked up at the masthead pendant. The wind had backed a point or so further. It was tempting to turn and run, but if the wind went against them again, and they were repeatedly made to change tack, the other brig would soon overhaul them. With only a small prize-crew to work the ship, Bolitho knew it would be asking too much of any man.

He said, ‘Let her fall off a point, Stockdale.'

From the mainmast he heard Quinn call, ‘I can see her better now! She's the old
Mischief!
I'm almost certain!'

Frowd swore. ‘Bloody hell! We'd better show her a clean pair of heels!'

Stockdale said, ‘Nor'-east by east, sir.'

Bolitho cupped his hands. ‘Man the braces! You, Buller, put more men on the weather forebrace!'

He watched narrowly as the yards moved slightly to allow each sail to fill to capacity. But not enough to betray an attempt to escape.

Couzens came running aft, his hands filthy, his shirt torn in several places.

‘Cleared for action, sir. All guns loaded.'

Bolitho smiled tightly. By
all guns
, Couzens meant the
White Hills
' eight six-pounders. She was designed to carry fourteen, and some swivels, but the sinking of the yawl had put paid to that. Eight guns, and only four on either beam. To try and shift a full battery to one side would certainly be seen by the other brig. She was growing in size at a surprising speed, and Bolitho could see the sun reflecting on metal, or perhaps the glass of several telescopes.

She was closing with the
White Hills
on a converging tack, bowsprit to bowsprit.

The
White Hills
' original crew had been new and raw, but the
Revenge
's master would certainly know Tracy by sight. They must try and stand off. Keep up some sort of bluff until dusk.

‘Land on the lee bow, sir!' The look-out had been keeping his eyes open too while Quinn watched the other brig.

Bolitho looked at Frowd, seeing his despair. The land was most likely to be one or more of the tiny islands which marked their course past Nevis and then fifty miles on to Antigua. It made it seem much worse. So near, yet so far.

‘Brig's altered course, sir!' Then another cry, ‘She's run up her flag!'

Bolitho nodded grimly. ‘Hoist the same one, Mr Couzens.' He watched as the red and white striped flag ran up to the gaff and broke to the wind.

Frowd was straining up on the hatch cover. ‘No use, blast his eyes! He's closing, and making sure he can keep the wind-gage!'

‘He'll want to speak with us. To find out if we got the guns and powder. This brig was probably meant to join with him at some point.' Bolitho was thinking aloud and saw Frowd nod in agreement.

Stockdale pulled at Couzens' sleeve. ‘Get the
real
flag ready, Mr Couzens. I can't see our lieutenant fighting under false colours. Not today.'

Frowd said despairingly, ‘How can we fight, you fool! These privateers are always armed to the gills! They need to smash an enemy into submission as fast as they can, and before help can be sent to drive 'em off!' He groaned. ‘Fight? You must be mad!'

Bolitho made up his mind. ‘We will begin to shorten sail directly, as if we are about to speak with him. If we can get near enough without rousing suspicion, we'll rake his poop, do for as many of the after-guard as possible and then run for it.'

Stockdale nodded. ‘Later we could shift two guns aft, sir. A stern chase is better'n nothin'.'

Bolitho made himself stand quite still, to give his mind time to work. He had no other choice, and this was not much of one. But it was either a sudden act of daring, or surrender.

‘Take in the mains'l.'

Bolitho watched the few spare hands swarming up the ratlines. The other master would see the depleted crew, and might imagine they had been in a battle. The gash through the bulwark made by
Trojan
's eighteen-pounder must be plain enough to see.

He levelled his glass on the other vessel, ignoring the shouts and curses as his men fought with the rebellious canvas. Frowd was right. She was heavily armed, and there were plenty of men about her deck, too.

He wondered what had happened to her original captain when she had been captured from under him. Fourteen guns and a determined company would make her a formidable enemy. Bolitho watched her tilting towards him, revealing her main-deck, the line of guns on the opposite side. None was manned, but on this side he could see a few heads peering over the sealed gunports, and guessed they were probably loaded and ready.

Moffitt crossed the deck and said dourly, ‘You'll be needin' me, sir? I know how to speak to them bastards!'

‘Be ready.'

He studied the set of each sail, the lively froth around the privateer's stem as she edged over even further, her yards moving as if controlled by one hand.

Half a mile. Not long now.

He shifted his glance inboard, seeing the quick, anxious gestures of his small company, even the wounded were craning their heads and trying to see above the weather bulwark.

‘Come down, Mr Quinn!' Bolitho looked at Stockdale and Buller. ‘See that our people keep their weapons out of sight.
When I give the word, I want those four guns run out as smartly as you like and fire at will. If we can mark down her officers we may use the surprise to fight clear.'

Quinn arrived beside him, breathing fast, his eyes towards the enemy.

‘D'you think they are on to us?'

‘No.' Bolitho folded his arms, hoping that across the glittering pattern of waves and spray he would appear more relaxed than he felt. ‘They would have run down on us before now. They have all the advantage.'

If the wind chose this moment to change . . . He shut his mind to the possibility and concentrated on the sails and masthead pendant. The wind, which was fresh and steady, came from the north-west. The
White Hills
had her yards well braced, heeling on the larboard tack, the wind across her quarter. If they could just delay the other captain's suspicions, and then hold him off until dark, they might well lose him amongst the islands when daylight returned.

And even then, if the privateer's captain was so set on another victory and made further contact, they might be able to give him the slip further north, or in the narrows between Nevis and St Christophers. In those treacherous waters, off some deadly place like the Scotch Bonnet, they might even tempt their pursuer aground.

The only ally at this precarious stage was the wind. Both brigs were carrying the bulk of their sails, so either could tack or come about with agility if need be.

Stockdale observed, ‘She must be steerin' almost sou'-east, sir. The wind right astern of 'er.'

Bolitho nodded, knowing Stockdale wanted to help, if only by making a professional comment.

The range had dropped to a mere quarter-mile, and it was possible to see the watching figures on the other vessel's poop and forecastle.

‘When she tries to hail us, Moffitt, tell her captain that Tracy is sick, badly wounded after a brush with the British.' He saw the man tighten his lips. ‘It's no lie, so keep it simple, eh?'

Moffitt said coldly, ‘I'll see that he don't recover if them buggers board us, sir!'

Along the weather side the seamen were crawling on their hands and knees, like strange worshippers around the four small cannon. Ball and grape to each gun. It would not even be felt by a stately two-decker like
Trojan
. But one good blast across the enemy's quarterdeck might do the trick. Time, time, time. It was like a hammer on an anvil.

Two small shadows moved on the
Revenge
's side, and Bolitho heard a murmur of anxiety from some of the wounded seamen.
Revenge
had raised two of her forward port lids, and as he watched he saw the sunlight touch a pair of black muzzles as she ran out the guns.

Frowd muttered uneasily, ‘He
knows
, the bugger!'

Bolitho shook his head. ‘I think not. He would run out a broadside if he was sure of an enemy, and maybe tack across our stern.' Again, it was like sharing his thoughts with those around him. ‘He'll have been watching us all this time, as we have him. Tracy's absence from the deck will have been noted. If
Revenge
's captain is newly appointed, he'll be wary of taking a chance, but unwilling to show fear or uncertainty to his men. Following a man like Tracy must be quite a task.'

He saw some of his seamen glance at each other, for support, to discover a new confidence. But he knew he was only guessing out of sheer hope.

Revenge
's captain might be even more experienced than Tracy. And at this very moment was using the
White Hills
' unchanged tack for one terrible bombardment, his guns already manned and ready to fire.

Moffitt took a speaking trumpet and climbed casually into the weather shrouds. It was far too early, but it might lull the enemy's caution.

If not, the fight would explode across this deck within fifteen minutes.

Bolitho said evenly, ‘You men, carry Mr Frowd and the other wounded below. If we have to abandon, the quarter boat will be used for them only.'

Frowd swivelled round on his hatch cover like an enraged terrier.

‘Damn your eyes, I'll not die like a sick woman!' He grimaced as the pain stabbed through him, and he continued in
a more controlled tone, ‘I meant no disrespect, sir, but try and see it my way.'

‘And which way is that?'

Frowd swayed about like a bush in a wind as the hull lifted and sliced through the choppy water.

‘If your plan works, sir, and I pray to God it does, it will be a chase which only luck and superior seamanship can win.'

Bolitho smiled. ‘Perhaps.'

‘But, as I suspect, we may have to fight, for God's sake let me play my part. I have been in the Navy all my remembered years. To end my time cowering below when the metal flies overhead would make my life as worthless as that of any gallows-bird.'

‘Very well.' Bolitho looked at Couzens. ‘Help the lieutenant aft and see that he is supplied with enough powder and shot to reload the pistols and muskets to give an impression of strength and greater numbers.'

Frowd exclaimed, ‘That's it, sir. I ask for nothing more. Those devils will outnumber us four to one, maybe more. We can take a few with us if we can maintain rapid fire.'

It was incredible, Bolitho thought. The prospect of sudden death had been made suddenly stark and inevitable by Frowd's words, and yet the previous apprehension seemed to have gone. The waiting had been the worst part, the simple task of fighting and dying was something they all understood. It was like hearing Sparke all over again. Keep them busy. No time to moan and weaken.

He turned to watch as the
Revenge
's jib and staysails quivered and flapped like tapered wings, and knew she was falling off a little more to run even closer to the
White Hills
. Nearer, she looked impressive and well armed.

Her hull was weatherbeaten and the sails stained and patched in several places. She must have been made to work and fight hard against her previous owners, Bolitho thought grimly.

‘We will give her a few more minutes, Stockdale, and then you can bring her round to steer due east. It will be the obvious thing to do if we are to draw close enough to speak.'

He winced as a handspike clattered across the deck and a
man retrieved it under a stream of threats and curses from Buller.

He saw the cutlasses and pistols by each man, the way they kept tensing their muscles as if carrying some great load while they waited and lived out each agonizing minute.