Richard Bolitho – Midshipman

6. Face to Face

'EASY there! Watch your stroke! ' Hope, the Gorgon's fifth lieutenant, hissed in the darkness, craning forward from the sternsheets as if to seek out the noise. Bolitho crouched beside him and turned to peer astern. Only an occasional feather of white spray or a trailing glow of phosphorescence around the oars betrayed the position of the other cutter. It was very dark, and after the cloudless day, surprisingly cold. Which was just as well, he thought, for they had come a long way. The boats had been lowered and manned before dusk, and while Gorgon made more sail and went about to leave them to their own resources they had settled down to a long, steady pull towards the slab of headland. When darkness had arrived it had been sudden, like the fall of a curtain, and Bolitho found himself wondering what was going on in the lieutenant's mind. It was a far cry indeed from the time when he had thrown open the door of the Blue Posts at Portsmouth and bellowed at the midshipmen. He remembered what Grenfell had said then about Hope's worries of promotion. The memory saddened him. Grenfell was dead, and Hope would indeed be moving up a place when the captain chose to accept that the lieutenant who had been in charge of the City of Athens was also killed. Eden was leaning against him, his head lowered almost to the gunwale. Bolitho said quietly, 'Still a way to go yet, torn.' It was an eerie sensation. The cutter thrusting jerkily across the inshore currents, the oars rising and falling on either beam like pale bones, their usual noise muffled by rags and thick layers of grease. Ahead of the boat there was a darker wedge to show the division between sea and sky, and Bolitho thought he could smell the earth, sense its nearness. In the bows, bent over the stem and a viciouslooking swivel gun, was a leadsman, his boat's lead and line sounding the way above sandbars and hidden rocks. Turnbull, the master, had explained to the two lieutenants that it was best to creep right inshore, so that once around the headland they would lie'somewhere between the beach and the anchored ships. It had all sounded so easy. Not now, as a man caught his foot in a cutlass and set it clattering across the bottom-boards, and Hope snarled, 'God, Rogers, I'll have you beaten senseless if you make another sound! ' Bolitho looked at his profile, a shadow against the oars' spray alongside. A lieutenant. A man who knew that Tregorren was following close astern, depending on his ability to lead the way. Thirty men. For a press-gang, or for manning a couple of heavy guns, it was ample. For taking a ship against odds, and without surprise, it was disaster. A strong eddy pushed the hull aside, so that the coxswain had to use his strength at the tiller to bring it back on course. The air felt different again and the sea across the larboard beam looked livelier. Bolitho ventured, 'We are round the headland, sir.' Hope swung on him and then said, 'Yes. You'd know, of course. You must have grown up with rocks like these in Cornwall.' He seemed to be studying him in the darkness. 'But a long pull yet.' Bolitho hesitated, unwilling to break the little contact between them. 'Will the marines attack the battery, sir?' 'Some mad scheme like that.' Hope wiped his face as spray lanced into the boat. 'The captain will tack as close as he dares to the seaward end of the island and pretend to attempt a landing. Plenty of noise. Major Dewar will be good at that, he's got plenty to say in the wardroom! ' The whisper came back along the oarsmen. 'Vessel at anchor on th' starboard bow, sir! ' Hope nodded. 'Steer a point or so to larboard.' He twisted round to make sure the other boat was following. 'That must be the first of 'em. The brig is anchored beyond her, a couple of cables yet.' Someone groaned, more worried apparently at the prospect of pulling a heavy oar for another four hundred yards than the possible closeness of death. 'Watch out! ' The bowman dropped his lead and line and seized a boathook. The oars went into momentary confusion as something large and black, like a sleeping whale, loomed over the cutter, banging into the blades and making what seemed like a tremendous noise. Eden murmured shakily, 'It's p-part of the b-barquentine,

Dick! ' 'Yes.' Bolitho could smell the charred timbers, could even recognise a part of the City of Athens ' taffrail before it lurched away into the darkness. The unexpected appearance of part of the wreck had quite an effect on the seamen. There was something like a low growl, and tired though they were, the oarsmen started putting an extra power into their stroke. Hope said softly, 'These are seasoned hands, Bolitho. They have been in Gorgon together for a long while and had plenty of friends aboard the prize.' He stiffened as the sweeping masts and yards of an anchored vessel passed slowly abeam. 'There she goes. Nary a damn sound.' Bolitho peered at the darkened ship. Moored alongside the Gorgon she would look dwarfed. Out here, and from the cutter, she appeared enormous. Hope was thinking aloud. 'Small frigate most likely. Not English. Too much rake on her masts.' He sounded completely absorbed. 'This devil has gathered quite a fleet, it seems.' 'Ease the stroke! ' The coxswain whispered fiercely, 'Here comes t'other one! Hope rose to his feet, steadying himself on Bolitho's shoulder. Bolitho could feel the power of his grip, could imagine his anxieties at this moment. Hope said, 'If only I could look at my watch.' The coxswain grinned. 'Might as well send the devils a signal, sir.' 'Aye.' Hope sighed. 'Let's pray that Major Dewar and his bullocks are punctual.' He peered over the gunwale, watching the swirl of the current, testing the wind against his face. He seemed satisfied. 'Easy all! ' The oars rose dripping from the water and stayed motionless, the cutter moving steadily ahead in complete silence. Bolitho saw the anchored brig for the first time. Swinging stern-on, her gilded cabin windows showing more brightly than the lower hull as she pivoted very slowly away from the land. He could just make out her two masts and furled sails, the blacker angles of her shrouds, before they too merged with the night. Bolitho tried to put himself in the place of those aboard. They had fought and captured the barquentine, robbed her holds and killed her crew. At the sight of a large man-of-war they had sheered off and come back here to count their gains. Gorgon's appearance offshore would have caused a lot of speculation, but under the guns of the old fortress they would have felt secure enough. The fortress had been here for a few hundred years, the captain had said. It had changed hands several times by treaty, or because of a trading agreement, but had never been taken by force. Just a few men at those carefully sited guns, some heated shot, and the rest was easy. Even if Captain Conway had commanded several small, agile ships, and ten times as many men, the fortress would still have held the key to victory. And in time of peace it was doubtful if either the Admiralty or the men of Parliament would be prepared to condone a full-scale siege on this tiny pinprick of Africa, with all the losses entailed. Equally, they would expect Captain Conway to do something. To recapture the brig for a beginning. A shaft of silver ran up the brig's foremast shrouds, and Hope snapped, 'The anchor watch in the bows! Checking the cable! ' The lantern's beam died away just as quickly. The drift of the current was taking the cutter crabwise towards the brig's counter. Hope must have realized there was no more time left. He said quietly, 'Boat your oars! Stand by, bowman! ' The oars rumbled across the thwarts, but Bolitho knew from experience that the noise which seemed deafening on the cool breeze would be nothing to a man up on the brig's forecastle. Eden whispered, 'What's Mr T-Tregorren going to do?' Bolitho could feel his spine chilling under the tension. He heard Hope drawing his sword very carefully from its scabbard, crouching to peer up at the brig's poop as it rose steadily above the boat. He replied, 'Once we have boarded her, he will attack from the bows, cut the cable and -' Hope snapped, 'Ready, lads! 'There was a sudden explosion which seemed to come from far out to sea. A dull red glow spread and glittered on the water, making each part of the swell shine like silk. Another explosion, and still another. Hope exclaimed, 'Dewar's marines have started already! ' He staggered and all but fell as the cutter ground into the brig's quarter and the bowman hurled his grapnel up and over the rail. 'At 'em, lads! ' Hope's voice, after the stealth and the suspense, was like a thunderclap. 'Come on! ' Scrambling and yelling like madmen they swarmed up the side and open gunports in a solid mass of bodies. Someone encountered a loosely rigged boarding net, but even as voices shouted with alarm from below the net was severed, and with Hope and his coxswain in the lead they swept on to the unfamiliar deck. It was like a scene from an inferno. The British seamen charging across the deck, their faces and wild eyes revealed in the reflected red flashes and the exploding charges at the end of the island. Two figures ran from the forecastle and a pistol cracked out from a companion-way. A seaman fell sobbing, another jabbed down one of the running figures with his cutlass and hacked him across the neck as he fell for good measure. More shots now, the balls slamming into the planking or hissing away over the sea. The brig's crew were crowding through the two main hatches, and a ragged volley of pistol and musket fire cut down several of Hope's men. The lieutenant yelled, 'Bring the swivel from the cutter! ' He caught a man who was hurled aside by a musket ball and lowered him roughly to the deck, adding between gasps, 'Where is that bloody Tregorren?' The forepart of the brig now seemed full of men, pale and crouching. Darting between familiar objects to take cover and fire on the retreating boarding party. Hope said desperately, 'If we can't get to grips, we're done for! ' With a pistol in his left hand, his curved hanger in the other, he shouted, 'Close quarters, lads! ' Then he charged along the deck and threw himself amongst the nearest marksmen. Shouts of surprise gave way to screams and yells as Hope fired his pistol into a man's chest and slashed another with his hanger. Cursing and cheering the remaining boarders followed him, striking out at anything which moved. Bolitho fired both of Marrack's pistols into the crowd and thrust them into his belt. He drew his own hanger and parried away a pike which plunged towards him like a spear. Despite all the danger and terror he found he was able to remember his first boarding attack. A lieutenant had taken away his midshipman's dirk and had said scornfully, 'That's only fit for playing games. You need a man's weapon for this kind of work! ' He thought of Grenfell's dirk hanging in the Gorgon. He had left his behind, too. A face loomed above him, the man screaming like a fiend, although in what language Bolitho could not tell. He felt a violent blow on the side of his head and saw the man's arm going up, his sword pale against the black sky. Bolitho twisted his body round and struck upwards with the hanger. He felt the pain of the blow lance up his arm, saw the man and sword fall into the gasping, struggling figures as if swallowed up. He heard a shrill cry and saw Eden groping on the deck, while above him a figure swung a musket like a club. A pistol exploded, revealing the man's glaring eyes, his fierce concentration giving way to a distorted mask of agony as a pistol ball flung him down. Bolitho dragged Eden to his feet, hacking out at a running figure, but feeling the blade slice through the air. Hope shouted, 'Swivel gun! ' He gestured to the little rail across the poop. 'Lively there! Fall back! ' They needed no bidding. Parrying and slashing, dragging the wounded as best they could, the survivors fought their way aft to the poop. Hope bellowed, 'Down, lads! ' He thrust at a charging man with his hanger even as the coxswain put a match to the swivel gun which he had mounted on the rail. The man cut down by Hope's sword must have been carrying a loaded pistol, for as the swivel let out a savage bang and sent a packed charge of canister shot into the advancing shadows the pistol hit the deck and fired even though its owner was dead. The ball struck the lieutenant in the shoulder and he fell beside the smoking swivel without a sound. As their ears recovered from the swivel's vicious detonation Bolitho heard the cries and screams of men caught in the deadly canister. No wonder old seamen called a swivel 'the daisy-cutter'. Then from right forward in the beakhead he heard the familiar harsh tones of Lieutenant Tregorren, the sudden rush of feet and the cheers of the other boat's crew. It was more than enough for the brig's company. Sharks or not, they were leaping overboard, ignoring the yells and curses of their comrades who were too badly hurt to follow. Tregorren strode aft, pausing merely to bring a belaying pin down on the skull of someone trying to climb on to the main chains. He peered at the men by the rail. 'Take care of Mr Hope! ' The belaying pin pointed and gestured like an obscene fist. 'Two men on the wheel! Mr Dancer, pass the word to cut the cable! ' He rocked back on his heels, his eyes searching amongst the rigging. 'Hands aloft and loose tops'ls! Come along, jump about, my children, if you don't want to run ashore! ' Bolitho knelt beside the wounded lieutenant, feeling his pain, his strength ebbing away. He said, 'That was a brave thing you did, sir.' Hope said between his teeth, 'Nothing else I could do.' He tried to pat Bolitho's arm. 'You'll know what I mean one day.' Tregorren towered above them. 'Mr Eden! Take charge of this officer! ' He faced Bolitho. 'So you're still with us, eh?" He shrugged. 'Well, get aloft and chase those laggards! ' The brig was already heeling in the offshore breeze, her hastily released topsails flapping and cracking like musket fire as she tilted free of her severed cable. 'Put up your helm! ' Several shots whimpered overhead, fired by whom, nobody knew. 'Loose the heads'ls! ' Tregorren seemed everywhere.

'Lay her on the starboard tack! ' Bolitho clung to the shrouds and stared abeam where a fire was still burning fiercely to show where the marines had created a diversion. Tiny lanterns moved this way and that, and he realized they were on the other vessel, which had already changed her bearing considerably. After the long pull around the headland, the apprehension and fear, the actual cutting-out had taken less than twenty minutes. It seemed incredible, and as he paused to think of the nearness of death he felt the sweat like ice-rime on his spine. He slid down a backstay and found Tregorren bellowing orders down the after companion. Dancer ran across the deck and said, 'God, I was worried for you! I thought we were never going to engage! ' He turned as a man yelled, 'Sir! There's a whole lot of British seamen battened down 'ere! ' Tregorren snapped, 'See to them! No doubt they are some of the brig's own company.' He caught the man's arm. 'But prisoners, sick or bloody well dying, I want 'em up here on deck! ' He lowered his face to the compass box. 'Hold her steady, quartermaster. As close to the wind as you can. I want no mauling from that battery! ' 'Aye, aye, sir.' The men at the wheel eased the spokes deftly. 'Full an' bye, sir! West by south! ' Bolitho watched the figures emerging from the main hatch. Even in the darkness he could sense their disbelief as they were helped and pushed on to the open deck. One man lurched aft and touched his forehead. 'Starkie, sir. Master's mate of the Sandpiper' He swayed, and would have fallen but for Bolitho. Tregorren was watching the released seamen, his chin sunk on his neckcloth. 'You the senior?' 'Aye, sir. Cap'n Wade and the other officers were killed.' He dropped his eyes. 'We have been in hell, sir.' 'Possibly.' Tregorren strode to the foot of the mainmast and squinted up at the flapping topsail. 'Get some of those hands to work and set the spanker and then the fores'l. I want to get some sea-room.' He turned and added shortly, 'Well, Mr Starkie, you can take charge aft as you are the best qualified.' He looked him slowly up and down, as if his eyes could pierce the darkness. 'Although it would seem you are less so for defending one of His Majesty's ships, eh?' He hurried away, shouting for Dancer and thrusting through the dazed seamen like a plough. The master's mate consulted the compass and the set of the topsail and said harshly. 'He had no cause to speak like that. We had no chance.' He looked at Bolitho and added, 'You fought well back there. Some of these devils were laughing at what they would do if your ship tried to force home an attack.' 'But who are they?' Starkie let out a great sigh. 'Pirates, corsairs, call 'em what you will, but I swear I have seen none worse, and I have been at sea all my years.' Bolitho saw two men carrying Lieutenant Hope to the companion and prayed he would be strong enough to survive. Several seamen had died, and it was a miracle there were not more to be buried. Starkie said, 'They kept us aboard to crew the poor Sandpiper. Like galley slaves we were. Beaten and treated like scum. They had only enough hands for the guns. But enough to keep us cowed, I can tell you.' Eden had joined them. 'Any midshipmen, w-were there?' Starkie looked at him for several seconds. 'Two. Only two. Mr Murray died in the attack. Mr Flowers, he was about your age, well, they killed him later.' He turned away. 'Now leave me be, I don't want to think about it.' Tregorren came aft again. He sounded almost jovial as he called, 'She answers well, Mr Starkie. A fine little vessel. Fourteen guns too, I see.' Eden said, 'Mr S-Starkie says that the pirates are the worst he's s-seen, sir! ' Tregorren was still studying the brig, his head cocked as the sails shuddered and banged before the rudder brought the ship back on course again. 'Indeed, indeed. Well, the other pirate vessel has weighed.' He faced Starkie. 'And where would she be going, d'you reckon?' Starkie shrugged. 'They have another rendezvous to the north of here. Cap'n Wade was searching for it when we were attacked.' 'I see.' Tregorren walked aft to the taffrail. 'Be first light in an hour or so. We will be able to signal Gorgon. Put a good man aloft as lookout. We may be able to catch that one and give him a nice dance at the end of a halter.' He swung angrily on Eden. 'Well, what arejyow gaping at? I hear you were useless during the attack! Weeping for your mother, were you? Nobody to protect you?' Bolitho said, 'Easy, sir, some of the people are listening.' 'And damn you for your impertinence! ' Tregorren's mood had changed like a savage squall. Til have no more of it! ' Bolitho stood his ground. 'Mr Eden was knocked down during the boarding, sir.' He could feel his caution dropping away, his future already in ruins. But he was sick of Tregorren's sarcasm and brutality towards those unable to fight back. 'We were, you recall, outnumbered, sir. We had been expecting some support.' Tregorren stared at him as if suffering a seizure. 'Are you suggesting -' He tugged at his neckcloth. 'Are you daring to suggest that I was late in boarding?'

He leaned forward, his face inches from Bolitho's. 'Well, are you?' 'I was saying that Mr Eden did well, sir. He had lost his weapon, and he is twelve years old, sir.' They faced each other, oblivious to everything about them. Then Tregorren nodded very slowly. 'So be it, Mr Bolitho. You will join the masthead lookout until I say differently. When we return to the ship I intend to have you put under arrest for gross insubordination.'

He nodded again. 'See how the family likes that, eh?' Bolitho felt his heart pumping against his ribs like a hammer. He had to repeat over and over in his mind: He wants me to strike him. He wants me to strike him. It would make Tregorren's actions complete, and for Bolitho final. 'Is that all, sir?' He barely recognized his own voice. 'Aye.' The lieutenant swung away, his sudden move making the mesmerized spectators scatter like rabbits. Tor the present.' Dancer walked to the main shrouds with him and said hotly, 'That was a foul thing to say! I felt like knocking him to the deck, Dick! ' 'So did I. ' Bolitho swung himself on to the ratlines and stared up at the mainyard. 'And he knew it.' Dancer said awkwardly, 'Never mind. We took the brig. That must count for something with Captain Conway.' 'It is all we have.' He started to climb. 'Be off, Martyn, or he'll have you all aback, too.' 'When you have finished, Mr Dancer! ' The voice searched him out from the shadows. 'Be so good as to find a cook and have the galley fire lit. These people look like scarecrows, and I can't abide filth! " Dancer called, 'At once, sir! ' He looked up at the black shrouds, but Bolitho had already vanished.