To Glory We Steer (24 page)

Belsey added, “Maybe the
Phalarope
will stand out to sea agin, sir? Surely they'll not send boats out in this lot?”

Bolitho was glad the others could not see his face. A change of weather would make little difference to Vibart's determination to produce a victory, he thought. From the moment the signal had been flashed down the hillside to the hidden defenders he had felt a growing despair, the fretting certainty of calamity and destruction for the
Phalarope
and her company. And he was powerless to help a single man.

He felt a sudden pressure at his shoulders as the ship heeled in a deep swell. She was snubbing at her cable at regular intervals now, and he could feel the deck lifting and then sliding back with each shuddering jerk.

He found himself thinking again of his brother, and wondered what he was doing at this moment. His earlier eagerness at the proposed massacre of
Phalarope
's boarding party must have given way a little to the anxiety for his own ship's safety. At any other time he would have made sail and headed for the more sheltered side of the island. It was strange how the unexpected change of weather had taken a part in the game. Not that it could have any final effect. It merely prolonged the misery of waiting.

Farquhar said absently, “I wish something would happen! This waiting is getting on my nerves!”

Bolitho shifted his position to stare at the brightly lit crack in the storeroom door. Occasionally a shadow blotted out the tiny sliver of light as a sentry moved his position in the narrow passageway beyond. As he rearranged his cramped limbs Bolitho felt the warm touch of steel against his leg and remembered the hidden dirk. For all the use it was now he could have left it in the cabin, he thought wearily.

It was strange that the guards had not bothered to search him. But they were so openly confident, and with such good reason, that it was only to be expected. Even his brother had found time to see him just as he was being led below to the storeroom.

Hugh Bolitho had been wearing his father's sword, as well as a brace of pistols, and seemed to have gained new life and excitement from the impending battle.

“Well, Richard. This is your last chance.” He had stood easily on the swaying deck, his head on one side as he had watched his brother with something like amusement. “Just one decision, and it is yours to make!”

“I have nothing to say to you. Not now. Nor ever!” Bolitho had tried not to stare at the sword. It had been like a final insult.

“Very well. After this I may see little of you. I will have much to do.” He had stared up at the angry sky. “The wind is rising, but I expect to have visitors none the less!” He had added in a harder tone, “You will have to take your chances with the French authorities. I must take
Andiron
to join the combined fleets.”

He had seen his brother's immediate caution and had continued calmly, “I can tell you now, Richard. For you will be unable to take part. The French admiral, de Grasse, will join with a Spanish squadron. Together with our ships they will attack Jamaica.” He had made a curt gesture as if to demonstrate the finality of the campaign. “I am afraid King George will have to find fresh fields to conquer elsewhere!”

Bolitho had said to his guard, “I wish to go below.”

His brother had called after him, “You are foolish, Richard. And what is worse, you are
wrong!
”

As he sat in the swaying storeroom Bolitho found plenty of time to relive the bitterness and the sense of defeat.

There was a scraping of metal as the bolts were drawn from the door, and Belsey groaned. “Comin' to gloat again! God rot their bloody souls!”

But as the lamplight flooded the storeroom and seared their eyes Bolitho could only stare with surprise. Stockdale stood blinking in the doorway, a heavy boarding axe swinging from his hand.

Bolitho struggled to his feet and then caught sight of the sentry sprawled below the swinging lantern, the back of his head smashed in like an eggshell.

Stockdale said humbly, “I am sorry it took me so long, Captain! But I had to win their confidence.” He grinned sheepishly. “Even now I'm not sure I done as you expected.”

Bolitho could hardly speak. He gripped the man's massive arm and muttered, “You did rightly, Stockdale. Have no fear of that!” To the others he said, “Are you with me?”

Farquhar replied dazedly, “Just tell me what to do, sir!”

“Quick, Stockdale!” Bolitho stepped into the passageway and peered into the darkness beyond the lantern. “Tell me what is happening!”

The ex-prizefighter answered thickly, “They're getting worried up top, sir. No sign of an attack, an' the ship is taking the wind badly.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe we could swim for the beach, sir?” He nodded with rare excitement. “Yes, we could do it with luck!”

Bolitho shook his head. “Not yet. They will be watching like hawks. We must not think of ourselves. We must try to save the
Phalarope
before it is too late!”

Stockdale glanced at the corpse by his feet. “They change the guard in half an hour, sir. There's not much time!”

“I see.” Bolitho tried to stifle the excitement and urgency in his mind and think more clearly. “We cannot fight the whole crew, but with luck we might still surprise them!”

Belsey said, “I'd like to take a few of the buggers with me!”

Bolitho drew the dirk from his breeches and held it glinting in the lamplight. “Lead the way, Stockdale. If we can get to the forecastle there is something which we can do to provide a diversion!”

Farquhar picked up the dead guard's cutlass and murmured bleakly, “Are you thinking of the cable, sir?”

Bolitho shot him a swift glance of approval. “The ship is already dragging hard at her anchor. If we could cut the cable she would be in serious danger. Our men are out there somewhere, and they will soon pull clear when they see
Andiron
drifting towards the point!”

Belsey broke in excitedly, “The
Andiron
'll have to make sail, sir! Even then she might not be in time! She'll run hard aground with the wind in this quarter.”

“Begging your pardon, sir.” Stockdale looked at Bolitho sadly. “They've already got a strong anchor party in the bows looking out for trouble!”

Bolitho smiled coldly. “I'm not surprised.” He gestured to the others. “Come, we have little time.” As they crept along the passageway he added, “Remember that nine-pounder on the forecastle, Mr Farquhar?”

Farquhar nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Yes, sir. One of the bow-chasers!”

Bolitho paused below a narrow ladder, straining his eyes towards the hatch above. It might just work. They would all die for their efforts, but he knew that each man now understood that well enough.

He said quietly, “The gun was lashed there while the rail was being repaired from
Phalarope
's mauling. If it were cut loose now, in this gale, it would run amuck like a maddened bullock!”

Belsey sucked his teeth. “My God! A nine-pounder weighs well over a ton! It'd take a bit of holding down!”

Bolitho said, “If I cut the lashings, Stockdale, could you . . . ?”

The man grinned down at him. “Say no more, Captain!” He swung the heavy axe. “Just a few minutes is all I'd need!”

“A few minutes are all you'll get, my lad!” Bolitho eased himself up the ladder and peered through the hatch. Again the whole deck area was deserted. He stared up the next and final ladder, then said, “You can stay behind, Belsey. You can't fight with one arm.”

“Nor can I sit an' do nothin', sir!” Belsey eyed him stubbornly. “Never mind me, sir. I can still do a bit.”

Any sound made by their stealthy footsteps was drowned by the creak of spars and the thrumming rattle of shrouds and rigging. Bolitho peered quickly at the nearest line of lashed guns and the shadowed shapes of their crews. Most of the men were lying on the deck or resting against the bulwark, and only a few were stiff on their feet. And they were watching outboard, their eyes only just raised above the hammock nettings.

Bolitho saw the solitary nine-pounder, its long outline jutting aft towards the main deck. He could hear it creaking gently, as if angered by the lashings which held it tethered and impotent beside the capstan.

Bolitho brushed the sweat from his eyes and cursed the painful beating of his heart against his ribs. It was now or never. At any moment they would be seen for what they were and the gesture would have been in vain. While the others watched him with fixed fascination he stood up and sauntered openly towards the gun. Then he seated himself noisily on the deck and folded his arms across his chest as if trying to sleep.

Farquhar said between his teeth, “God, look at him! Surely one of those men will realise who he is?”

But the very openness of Bolitho's movements seemed to have killed any immediate interest, and while the
Andiron
rolled from one sickening arc to another the ship's forecastle remained quiet and undisturbed.

Belsey turned on his side by the hatch coaming and croaked, “Look! There's an officer coming!”

They watched in stricken silence as the blue and white shape of a ship's lieutenant made its way slowly forward from the main deck towards the forecastle ladder. The officer had to pause halfway up the ladder as a heavier squall than usual struck the ship's side with a crash of spray which made the foremast vibrate like a young tree.

Then Stockdale who had turned his gaze back to Bolitho said, “He's done it!”

As the frigate's bows lifted and yawed against her anchor cable the nine-pounder began to move. At first the movement was hardly noticeable, then with its small chocks squealing it thundered down the full length of the forecastle to smash with shivering force against the foot of the foremast.

Everyone was yelling and shouting at once. Some of the shouts changed to cries of fear as the gun swung malevolently as if controlled by invisible hands and then charged crazily back across the sloping deck.

The lieutenant called, “You men! Get handspikes and fresh lashings! Lively there, or it'll smash through the side!”

The anchor watch rose from their concealed positions and ran back from the bows to join the stampede of men at the break of the forecastle. In the centre of the confusion, jubilant and deadly, the long nine-pounder turned its muzzle as if to sniff out new havoc, and then careered squeaking and rumbling towards the opposite side. It crashed against another gun and scattered a shot rack like loose pebbles. The rolling cannon balls added to the pandemonium, and some could be heard thudding on the deck below.

A braver seaman than some leapt across the gun's breech, his hands already fastening a rope's eye around the muzzle. But as the gun trundled back again he screamed and fell against the bulwark to receive the twenty-six hundredweight of wood and metal full on his chest.

Bolitho seized Farquhar's arm and snapped, “Look! They've got a wedge under the carriage! We've not long now.”

Even as he spoke some of the seamen around the gun turned and stared, their expressions of shock and disbelief changing to cold fury. Bolitho and his two companions slowly retreated towards the bows, the wind and sea at their backs, a converging mass of men driving towards them, all the more terrible because of their complete silence.

Then, to break the spell, a man bellowed, “Kill them! Cut the bastards down!”

Pressed on by the men behind, the whole mob swept forward, only to sway to an uncertain halt as something like a gunshot echoed around the deck, followed instantly by Stockdale's great shout of triumph.

“It's parted! The cable's cut!”

For a moment longer the
Andiron
's seamen started at one another, and then as the realisation of their unexpected peril dawned on their minds they hesitated no longer. An officer was yelling from the main deck, and the cry was carried forward by men who had still managed to keep their heads.

“Hands aloft! Hands aloft! Loose tops'ls!”

From aft Bolitho heard his brother's voice magnified and hardened by his speaking trumpet. “Man the wheel there!” And then as the ship trembled from stem to stern like a released animal he shouted, “Mr Faulkner! Drive those men to the braces!”

Bolitho leaned against the rail, his dirk still held across his body as the frigate heeled still further and began to fall away. Men were running wildly up the shrouds, and already a small patch of canvas was billowing and flapping against the dark sky.

The speaking trumpet called again. “Cover those men on the fo'c's'le! Shoot them down if they try to escape!”

Belsey wiped his forehead and muttered, “If our lads
is
out there they'll not want to try an' board!” He peered at Bolitho's tense face. “I can die in peace now, sir! I reckon we did right well tonight!”

Bolitho saw his face light up with a bright orange glow, and as he turned in surprise the air around him seemed to come alive with the searing whine of gunshot. Stays and halyards parted, and beyond his feet the deck planking splintered and cracked as a thousand balls swept across the forepart of the ship.