Success to the Brave

3 Man of Action

For a full week after weighing anchor Achates was the victim of feeble and perverse winds. There was barely an hour when all hands were spared the tasks of trimming the sails in order to avoid losing steerage-way or being forced back over their previous course.

The deadly monotony was having its effect on the ship's company. After all the haste and excitement of getting away from the land, the sudden torpor had resulted in more than one flogging at the gratings because of frayed tempers and bursts of insubordination.

Bolitho had watched Keen's face after one of the floggings. Some captains would have cared nothing for the routine of punishment, but Keen was different. It was typical of Bolitho that it never occurred to him that Keen had gained his experience under his command.

Keen had remarked, 'The worst part of it is I can understand their feelings. Some have not set foot ashore since returning from the Indies. Now they're off again. Grateful to be spared the poverty of being without work, but resentful at what is little better than pressed service.'

The start of the second week brought a freshening wind from the north-east, and with spray bursting beneath her weathered figurehead it had brought life to the ship once more.

The masthead lookouts had sighted only a few sails on the blurred horizon, and these had changed tack and headed away immediately. Home-bound ships, out of touch for many months with the events in Europe, would take no chances when sighting a man-of-war. War might have broken out again for all they knew. Some masters might still not know that an armistice had even been signed.

It was as if the ship had the ocean to herself. Keen took the opportunity to get to know his command and for his men to recognize his standards. Sail and gun drill, musket practice for the marines, experienced lieutenants and warrant officers replaced by new and often barely trained counterparts. Keen may have gained their respect, but was roundly cursed at the start of each testing exercise.

Bolitho knew from hard experience there was nothing more likely to breed discontent in a ship's close confines than too much leisure.

He was having a breakfast of thinly sliced fat pork when Keen asked to see him.

Bolitho gestured to a chair, 'Coffee, Val?'

Keen sat down and said, 'I believe we are being stalked by another vessel, sir.'

Bolitho put down his knife. Keen had never been one to exaggerate or imagine things.

'How so?'

'Two days ago my best lookout sighted a sail. Well up to wind'rd. I thought little of it at the time. She might have been a merchantman on the same tack as Achates.'

He sensed Bolitho's curiosity and added simply, 'I did not wish to alarm anyone. But yesterday you will recall I was hove to while we exercised the starboard twelve-pounders on some driftwood. That sail was still there, and the moment I came about the stranger followed suit and stood clear.' He waited for Bolitho's reaction and said grimly, 'She's there now.'

The door opened and Adam entered the cabin with a chart beneath his arm.

Bolitho smiled at him. They had said little of his gesture towards his nephew since the day the ship had weighed anchor in the Beaulieu River. Yet there was a new closeness between them. Something which went beyond words.

He remembered Belinda's encouragement and insistence that he acted as he had. She had known from the beginning how Bolitho felt about his nephew, what they had been through.

He could almost hear her saying, 'When our child is born I do not want Adam to feel shut out, excluded. Do it for we, as well as for Adam.'

'Have you seen the ship, Adam?'

'Aye, sir. I went aloft at first light today. I believe she's a frigate. I took the signals telescope with me. There was a lot of haze, but I judge her rig to be that of a big fifth-rater. She's too agile for an Indiaman or some westbound trader.'

Keen said glumly, 'And if that vessel holds to wind'rd I'll never be able to beat up to him.'

Bolitho shook his head. 'It would lose valuable time too.'

But the news was unsettling all the same. If she was a ship-of-war she represented a menace no matter what his orders dictated. But whose and for what purpose?

His mission was supposed to be secret, but Bolitho knew ships as well as he understood the men who served them. Keen had been surprised at Adam's official change of name, but it had gone through the ship in seconds. A piece of really important information could spread through a shipyard, a town, even across the English Channel in no time at all.

'Keep me informed. If the wind changes in our favour we shall investigate. If not . . . He shrugged. 'We'll have to wait for him to show his intentions.'

Later, as Bolitho took his regular stroll up and down the weather-side of the quarterdeck, he found himself wondering about his mission and how the people of San Felipe would accept their new position. He thought too of the ship which was obviously stalking Achates with the persistence of a hunter after deer.

French most likely. Ready to support their own viewpoint if required, even at the point of a gun.

Up and down, his feet avoiding ring-bolts and tackles without conscious effort.

Some of the faces among the watchkeepers and the afterguard had become as familiar as those in previous ships. Bolitho hated the invisible wall which cut him off from closer contact. Even Keen as captain was free to talk with his men if the mood took him. More than once Bolitho stared up at his flag and tried to accept the enforced loneliness it had brought him.

He paused by the compass and glanced at it even though it had barely altered for days. He could feel the helmsmen avoiding his eye, and Knocker, the sailing-master, becoming suddenly absorbed in the midshipman of the watch's report.

Hallowes, the fourth lieutenant, had the watch, and even he was bent over the quarterdeck rail with exaggerated attention as he watched the eighteen-pounders at drill.

A boatswain's mate strode along the lee gangway and something about him made Bolitho look at him more closely.

The man hesitated, swallowed hard, and then came towards him.

Bolitho asked, 'Do I know you?' Then the man's name seemed to paint itself in his mind. 'Christy, isn't it?'

The man nodded and beamed hugely. 'Aye, 'tis that, sir. Maintopman in the old Lysander, I was. With you at the Nile, sir.'

'I remember. You were nearly lost that day when they shot the t'gallant mast away.' He nodded as the memory closed round them shutting out all else.

The boatswain's mate said, 'Were a sore hard fight, sir. The worst I seen, ever.'

Bolitho smiled and continued with his walk.

The man named Christy hurried away shaking his head. He remembered him. Out of all these men.

Quantock, the first lieutenant, who was doing his morning rounds with Rooke, the boatswain, and Grace, the carpenter, paused and beckoned to him.

'Knew your name, did he?'

Christy knuckled his forehead. 'Aye, sir. He did that.' Quantock snapped, 'Well, don't stand there like a moonstruck farm boy, there's work to be done!'

Christy made his way aft. Why was the first lieutenant in a temper? He thought of that awful day at the Nile, the thunder of the broadsides, and of Bolitho walking amidst the smoke and carnage with that old sword gripped in his hand. And his face as they had cheered him when the enemy had finally struck their colours.

Quantock checked his list, the unending task of every good first lieutenant. The ship had had a refit but the work was always piling up. Sails to be renewed and patched, boats repaired, pumps and tackles overhauled.

He was angry with himself for his sudden hostility towards the boatswain's mate. Christy was a good seaman, and a volunteer as well.

Quantock stole a glance to the weather-side where the vice-admiral was walking up and down. What was so special about him anyway?

The boatswain, a great crag of a man with a lined and battered face, waited patiently for his superior to continue with the morning rounds. He had been irritated by the lieutenant's unwarranted attack on one of his assistants.

Rooke, Big Harry as he was respectfully known, guessed the reason for Quantock's temper. He was a good first lieutenant, if you happened to be the captain, that was. But he was hard with the people, unrelenting in matters of discipline.

Captain Glazebrook, who had died after a long bout of fever, had been too ill to see what was happening. Quantock probably thought he should be promoted, even be given command of Old Katie. Rooke did not like the first lieutenant, and the thought of him being in command of this ship was like blasphemy.

Quantock said sharply, 'Standards, we must maintain them. I'll not allow anything to interfere with the efficient running of this ship!"

Rooke saw the new captain crossing the deck from the companion. He might have warned another lieutenant but Quantock's outburst was still annoying him.

'And further - '

'Mr Quantock.' Keen waited for the lieutenant to join him where he could not be heard by the men on watch. 'I admire your high standards. I would, however, prefer that you voiced your views to me in future, not the ship's company en masse.'

Bolitho had seen most of it and guessed the rest.

Did his flag at the masthead really make that much difference? Even Keen seemed on edge, regretting perhaps this appointment which was leading nowhere.

No, it was not that. It was uncertainty. An emptiness which the coming of peace had brought. They were used to action, expected it even.

'Deck there! Sail on th' weather-bow!'

Keen looked up and then turned questioningly to Bolitho. Their companion was still there, lurking just below the horizon like an assassin.

Perhaps they would get all the action they wanted even though the ink was barely dry on the peace agreement.

Bolitho continued his pacing with renewed energy, as if he wanted to tire himself out.

He was imagining things, he decided angrily. He was the one who craved excitement, if only to take his mind off the relentless passing of time.

Achates would still be making for Boston when Belinda gave birth. It was like being trapped. Helpless.

Bolitho saw Adam at the forward end of the gun-deck talking with Hawtayne, the young marine lieutenant.

I am as bad as Admiral Sheaffe.

I am envious. Not of success but of youth.

He was so lucky to have Belinda. He was after all ten years older than she. And now that she needed him he was marooned out here like a castaway on a rock.

Why you? He could still hear her voice when she had spoken out in the darkness. Why him indeed?

He stopped and allowed his body to sway with the ship as she rode contemptuously across a long Atlantic trough.

Perhaps it was a kind of madness which had never left him. Being taken prisoner by the French, the escape, the lives it had cost in that final battle with Remond's Flying Squadron had been too much and too soon after being badly wounded.

The pain stabbed through his wound again as if to taunt him. He tried to remember her soft touch in the night, when she had soothed the pain of the scar with her love.

But the picture would not form.

He called, 'Captain Keen, we shall douse all lights and change tack tonight. As soon as it is dark alter course to the nor'-west. By dawn I want to see that strange sail where we can run down on it."

Keen opened his mouth as if to protest but instead touched his hat. Then he said, ‘I’ll get every stitch on her, sir.'

Bolitho strode into the poop's shadow and made his way aft to his quarters.

He had acted hastily, even childishly, some would say.

Achates was a solitary ship, and yet his responsibility was as great as if he commanded a squadron or even a fleet.

Those around him had not asked to be here. Keen, Quantock, the embittered first lieutenant, even the boatswain's mate named Christy who had been so grateful that he had remembered him, they all deserved better from the man who commanded them.

But there was a difference. To Keen the ship and her company came before all else, and the mission was secondary.

To Bolitho Achates had to remain a symbol and, if necessary, a weapon to enforce his wishes.

It was probably the first time he had considered what his new responsibility entailed, and the realization steadied him.

Allday padded into the cabin and replaced the old sword on its rack. Cleaning it made little difference but it gave him an excuse to come and go as he pleased.

He glanced at Bolitho as he sat on the bench seat by the stern windows, his black hair ruffling in the wind across the quarter.

Bolitho looked calm enough. The sudden squall had passed.

'I was wondering, sir ...

Bolitho turned, only half aware he was no longer alone. 'What about?'

'Well, I mean, sir, if you was the governor of this island we're about to toss away to the mounseers, what would you do?'

Bolitho got to his feet and strode to the wine cabinet where he poured two glasses of brandy.

He handed one to the astonished Allday and replied, 'Thank you. You have put your ringer on it.' The brandy burned his lips. 'Do, Allday? I'd stand and fight. And so probably will he.'

Allday breathed out slowly. He did not quite understand what he had done, but it was good to see the frown gone from Bolitho's features.

Bolitho eyed him warmly, 'You should have been in Parliament, Allday.'

Allday put down his empty glass. He had never seen him in quite this mood before.

'I'm too honest, sir.'

Bolitho laughed and turned to watch the patterns and colours twisting in the ship's wake.

There would be no easy solution for San Felipe.

Maybe that was why Sheaffe needed his 'man of action'.

And it had taken Allday to discover it.

'Hands at quarters, sir, ship cleared for action.'

Keen's voice came out of the gloom and Bolitho could barely distinguish him from the other dark figures at the quarterdeck rail.

The Achates' previous captain and Keen's regular drills had made their mark, he thought. All hands had been roused early and had a hot meal before the galley fire had been doused and the ship prepared for battle.

There was little impression of danger or anxiety, however. It was peacetime, so why should they worry?

Bolitho said, 'That was quietly done.'

He shivered as the cold, damp wind whipped over the deck. In an hour or so the sunlight would raise steam from the planks and melt the tarred seams like toffee. 'Steady on west by north, sir.'

Bolitho nodded. That was Knocker's voice, the sailing-master. At the helm and compass he was king. He was a man who rarely smiled. Thin and gaunt with a priest's face, Bolitho thought. But his chartwork and his grip over the ship's daily progress was as good as any master he had ever known.

Some of the gun crews around the quarterdeck were whispering and nudging each other. Anything which broke the regular routine was welcome. What did it matter if their admiral was mad enough to clear for action because of some stupid stranger?

Another voice said, 'Dawn coming up, sir.'

The lieutenant who had spoken sounded awed by the occasion.

Bolitho turned to look astern and saw the horizon begin to betray the division between sea and sky. How many hundreds of dawns must he have watched, he wondered? And how many had he thought might be his last?

Someone remarked, 'The bugger might have slipped us during the night.'

The sergeant of marines tapped his hand-pike on the damp planking and muttered, 'Easy, lads. Stow the chat!'

The cross-belts of the marines who lined the poop nettings were already brighter, and when Bolitho looked up to the mainmast truck he saw it was touched with pale gold, like the tip of a lance.

The lookouts in the cross-trees or crouched in the swaying tops would see the other ship first. If she was still there.

All night long Keen had worked his ship upwind, a slow, wearying task with the yards so often close-hauled that they seemed to reach above the deck in a single barrier of spars and canvas.

All they had said of Achates was true. She handled well, and responded to sail and rudder like a thoroughbred.

Bolitho listened to the sluice of water below the lee side, the occasional creak of gun tackles as they took the strain.

The light seemed to spill down from the horizon like a separate layer, as if it was in pursuit of the ship which lay over to the wind just out of reach.

'There she is! Fine on the lee bow!'

Everyone was talking at once, and Bolitho saw Keen's teeth, very white in a grin, as he nodded to the sailing-master.

They had done even better than expected. Had taken, and could now hold the wind-gage if it came to a chase.

Bolitho stared at the distant shadow as the other vessel took on shape and substance against the dark water.

Keen closed his telescope with a snap. "Bigger than a fifth-rate, Mr Pas—, er Bolitho.'

Several of those nearby chuckled, and Bolitho was glad Adam was here with him.

He heard his nephew say, 'I agree, sir. A cut down two-decker seems more likely.'

Keen crossed to Bolitho's side. 'What orders, sir?'

'Wait a while longer. He has not sighted us yet. But when he does, tell him to identify himself.'

It seemed incredible that Achates had got so near and yet remained unseen. The other ship lay less than a cable now across the larboard bow, and they could see the white tail of her wash beneath the counter. Even the din of Achates' canvas and drumming stays and shrouds seemed loud enough to wake the dead, but Bolitho knew from experience it was an illusion.

Suddenly above the noise of sea and wind Bolitho heard a shrill whistle. He could picture it exactly. A sleepy lookout, who had most likely been ordered to seek out Achates as soon as it was daylight, the watch on deck thinking of little but being relieved and getting something warm to eat and drink. It was all normal enough.

Quantock said sharply, 'She's setting her t'gan's'ls!"

Keen said, 'They're making a run for it, sir. So they are up to something.'

Bolitho felt a chill run through his body as if it was the first time. Elation, excitement or madness, who could say?

'As soon as it is light enough, make your signal. Until then hold him on the larboard bow.'

Keen nodded. The excitement was infectious. With him it had always been the same even as a midshipman a million years ago in another ocean.

'Hands aloft, Mr Quantock, if you please. We must make more sail.'

Calls trilled and the seamen swarmed up the ratlines on either side, their bodies and limbs glowing suddenly as they climbed higher and the pale sunlight discovered them.

'Bring her up a point. Hands to the braces there!'

Spray burst over the beak-head and bowsprit and spattered across the forecastle like tropical rain.

The other ship had also set more canvas and appeared to be drawing away.

Bolitho felt the deck quiver as Achates lifted and smashed down into a shallow trough. He could sense the rising power of the extra sails, and watched the huge main-course spread and thunder out to the wind as the seamen freed it from its yard.

Bolitho climbed on to a gun-truck and steadied his glass on the leading ship. The light was strengthening rapidly and already he could see the gilded gingerbread around the other vessel's poop and quarter gallery, the pale sunlight reflecting in her stern windows as if she had taken fire.

Keen said, 'Not a Frenchie."

Someone else suggested, 'Dutch maybe.'

They were all wrong. Bolitho had seen ships very similar to this one and could be pretty certain which yard had laid down her keel.

He said, 'Spanish. I've crossed swords with her like before."

Nobody spoke and Bolitho hid a smile. Right or wrong, you never argued with an admiral, no matter how junior. Keen nodded. 'I agree with the flag-lieutenant, sir. She's too large for a frigate. She's well armed by the look of her, fifty guns at least, by my reckoning.' 'Signal her to shorten sail.'

Bolitho sensed the sudden indifference of the men near him. The game was over before it had begun.

Flags soared up the yards and broke to the wind. Above the other ship's deck nothing appeared, not even an acknowledgement.

'She's falling off a mite, sir.'

Bolitho trained his glass again. He thought he saw the sun glint on a telescope near one of her poop lanterns. Achates' change of station during the night must have surprised them if nothing else.

Keen called, 'Follow her round. Alter course to west by south.' He glanced at Bolitho's impassive features.

Bolitho said, 'Keep the signal hoisted.'

Both vessels were in line now, as if the other one was towing Achates on an invisible cable.

Keen strode this way and that as he tried to estimate the stranger's next move. If he fell off to leeward Achates would hold the advantage. If she tried to claw upwind with so close a chase she would lose ground and precious time and Achates could drive alongside if so ordered.

The lieutenant of the after-guard lowered his glass.

'She does not acknowledge, sir. Even the Dons should know our signals by now!'

Quantock shouted, 'Take those men's names, Master-at-Arms!' He gestured angrily with his speaking-trumpet towards an eighteen-pounder's crew who had left their positions to peer at the other ship. 'God damn it, what are they thinking of!'

Keen was saying, 'If the wind holds I'll get the stuns'ls on her ... '

Bolitho wiped his eye and raised the glass yet again. Achates was keeping pace with the other ship, even though the stranger had set her royals in an effort to draw away. But the wind might drop or go altogether. If they could not catch up before nightfall they might never know what she was doing.

It was very strange. He concentrated on the small, silent world within the telescope's lens. She was well painted, as if freshly out of a dockyard like Achates. But the broad red band across her counter had no name upon it. She had either put to sea with great haste or wished her identity to remain a secret.

He heard Achates' wheel begin to creak as the other ship's rudder moved further to leeward.

He blinked and peered through the glass again. For an instant he thought the light or his eye was playing tricks. On either side of the ship's rudder a gun-port had opened, and even as he watched he saw the daylight play across a pair of long stern-chasers.

Quantock exploded, 'Hell's teeth, he'd never dare fire on a King's ship!'

The air cringed from a double crash of cannon fire, and as the smoke rolled downwind in a thick cloud Bolitho felt iron smash hard into Achates' bows like a giant's fist.

Voices yelled to restore the sudden pandemonium, and faces peered aft to the quarterdeck as if each man was too astonished to move.

Bolitho snapped, 'Load and run out, Captain Keen.'

It was sheer stupidity for the other captain to try and mark down a sixty-four. In a moment Keen would stand away and loose off a full broadside. Men would be killed, and for what purpose?

Along Achates' side the port lids opened as one, and to the blast of a whistle the eighteen-pounders rolled squeaking down the tilting deck until they showed their muzzles to the sea and sky. On the deck below the main armament of twenty-four-pounders would be just a few feet above the water as it curled along the rounded hull. Achates was carrying such a pyramid of sails it was a wonder the sea was not already lapping through the lower ports.

'Bow-chasers'.'

Keen had his hands clasped behind his back, and Bolitho could see the force of his grip betrayed by the pale knuckles. What did he see? An unexpected prize, or his own ruin?

Bolitho could hear Allday's heavy breathing behind his shoulder and sensed Adam on his other side. Extensions of himself. Each needing the other in a different way.

The other ship fired again, and Bolitho tried not to flinch as a ball ripped through the main-course and the wind tore it into a great flapping slash.

Achates' gunner had been caught napping. The bow-chasers would probably not even bear on the enemy, Bolitho thought.

Every gun-captain along the upper deck had his hand in the air.

Keen said tersely, 'Be ready to come about, Mr Knocker! We'll cross his stern and rake him. That'll give him something to ponder on.'

He sounded angry. Hurt that this should happen.

'Lee braces there! Stand by on the quarterdeck!" Quantock's magnified voice seemed to be everywhere.

At that moment the other ship fired again. Bolitho thought he saw the blur of falling shot before one heavy ball crashed through the forward gangway and the other hissed above the forecastle at extreme elevation.

A last desperate attempt to break off the chase, and it worked.

There was a single, terrible crack, and seconds later the whole of the fore-topgallant mast, the spars and wildly thrashing canvas plunged down to the deck. With torn canvas and rigging trailing after it like serpents, the broken mast thundered across the lee gangway and into the water with a tremendous splash.

Bolitho heard one of the midshipmen stifle a cry of terror as some seamen were plucked bodily over the side with the broken rigging, their voices lost in the din.

Like a great sea-anchor the trailing spars and cordage were already having effect as they pulled the ship's head round, further and further, until all the sails, so carefully set for the chase, were in wild confusion.

Rooke, the boatswain, was already among the chaos with his men, axes flashing as they hacked the debris clear.

The gun crews were working feverishly with tackles and handspikes, but as the ship was dragged still further down wind their muzzles pointed blindly at the sea, their target already standing well away.

Bolitho tried to relax his limbs but his whole body felt like a taut lashing which was about to snap.

In the blink of an eye, Achates had been rendered helpless.

Had this been a fight in earnest, their attacker would already be tacking about to rake them from stem to stern.

High above the deck the topmen yelled to one another as they tried to shorten sail before the ship was completely dismasted.

Keen exclaimed despairingly, 'I'll never forget this. Never!' He looked at Bolitho as if for an answer. 'They fired on us without cause.'

Bolitho saw order being restored, the motion becoming easier as Achates responded to the helm, her shorn topgallant mast poking above the confusion like a broken tusk.

He said, 'They had a cause right enough, and I intend to discover what it was. When that happens we shall be ready.'

Keen saw some of his lieutenants hurrying aft for orders. The older hands would be comparing him with the previous captain. Whatever they thought, it was not a good beginning.

Bolitho said, 'Stand down the people and get the ship under way.'

It was all he could do to keep his voice level. They had been hit, and men had been lost, unless the quarter-boat had found any survivors among the flotsam astern.

But for some instinct, a sense of warning, he might never have ordered Keen to close with the stranger.

It was pointless to pursue the chase, the other ship was already drawing away under every sail she could carry.

He felt sorry for Keen. After all his work to obey his admiral's wishes, his success at surprising the other captain, when the trap had been sprung the enemy had been ready, Keen had not.

Tuson, the ship's surgeon, his white hair ruffling in the wind, was gesturing towards the piles of tangled rigging. Some other men must have been caught there too.

Keen listened to his lieutenants, his face pale and grim.

It was a lesson he would not forget, Bolitho thought.

He saw Adam watching him anxiously. Thinking perhaps of his father. When he had flown false colours and fired on Bolitho's ship.

Bolitho walked to the poop and ducked his head as he strode into the shadows between decks.

I too had forgotten the lesson. It could have been the last dawn after all.