Command a King`s Ship

7. Herrick's Decision

The sporadic bang of musket fire was almost drowned by the mingled cries and screams from the terrified slaves. Bolitho heard men tumbling into a boat on the opposite side of the brigantine, and confused yells which were probably to encourage their companions in the camp.

He gestured to Allday. 'Now! Over the bows!'

His limbs were like lead as he hauled himself up and across the small beakhead, his heart pounding his ribs, hearing the gasps and frantic whispers from the men below him.

As they climbed on to the forecastle he saw groups of manacled natives, their naked bodies crowded together while they watched what was happening on the land. Two armed seamen stood beside a swivel gun, but as the boat pulled away from the side they were unable to fire without hitting their comrades.

Allday bellowed, 'At 'em, lads!' Then he was flying along the deck, his heavy cutlass taking a man across the neck and felling him without even a cry.

The second guard dropped on one knee and aimed a musket as more and more of Bolitho's party scrambled aboard. Faces lit up in the flash, and Bolitho felt the ball whine past, the sickening sound as it smashed into flesh and bone.

More of the brigantine's crew were dashing wildly from the poop, firing as they came, regardless of the screaming slaves who fell dying in their path.

A naked girl, her body shining with sweat, was trying to reach one of the fallen slaves, her arms pinioned by a length of chain. Husband? Brother? Bolitho had no time even to guess as one of the crew hacked her down with his cutlass in order to bar the way aft.

Bolitho felt his sword jerk in his hand. as he crossed blades with the girl's killer. He saw the hatred on the man's bearded face, the madness in his eyes as they pressed forward and apart, feet sliding in someone's blood, bodies balanced to withstand each parry.

All round the deck others were fighting and slashing in the shadows with only an occasional pistol shot to throw light on friend and enemy.

Bolitho pushed the man against the main mast, forcing him backwards over the spider-band while their hilts stayed locked below his throat. He could feel the other man's anger giving way to fear, saw the sudden anguish as he jerked the hilt free and struck him hard across the mouth with it. As he fell away, gasping for breath, Bolitho turned and thrust. The man gave one shriek, lifting an arm as the blade drove under his shoulder and deeper still.

Allday dashed to his side and gasped, 'Well done, Captain!' He rolled the man away with his foot. Then he snarled, 'And another, by God!'

The seaman had jumped from the shrouds. To take them by surprise from above, to escape the unexpected attack, Bolitho did not know. All he heard was Allday's quick breathing, the swish of his blade as he slashed the man down and then finished him with one more terrible blow.

'Two boats comin', sir!'

Bolitho ran to the bulwark, and then ducked as a ball slammed hard into the rail by his fingers.

He yelled, 'Train that swivel on them!'

Someone scuttled past him firing a pistol as he fled from Allday's cutlass. Bolitho spun round, sobbing as the pain lanced into his thigh. But when he felt his leg and the jagged tear in his breeches there was no blood, no agonising splinter of broken bone.

The man who had fired had inadvertently run too close to the yelling slaves. Chains swung like serpents, and he vanished beneath a struggling heap of screaming, shining bodies.

Allday threw his arm around Bolitho's waist. 'Where are you hit, Captain?' His anxiety was clear even amidst the din of shouting and screaming.

Bolitho pushed him aside, gasping between his teeth, 'Hit my watch, damn his eyes!'

Allday grinned and ducked after him. 'I think his time has stopped, too!'

Bolitho only glanced at the thing which had rolled away from the panting slaves. They had literally torn him to pieces.

He dragged Allday clear. 'Stray too close and you will follow him!'

'Ungrateful dogs!'

Bolitho reached the abandoned swivel and swung it towards the nearest long boat.

'Probably think we are a different lot of slavers.'

He jerked the lanyard, feeling the hot breath from the muzzle as the canister exploded across the crowded boat. Screams and curses, bodies splashing in the water, and others still firing from the sternsheets.

He twisted round, trying to see where Soames had reached on the shore. But it was impossible to be certain. Shots stabbed and whimpered over the inlet, and once he thought he heard, steel on steel.

Then he turned and looked inboard. 'How many?' He caught Keen's wrist as he lurched past, a dirk gleaming in one hand, an empty pistol held like a club in the other.

Keen stared at him dazedly. 'We seem to have lost five of our people, sir. But the slavers have either been killed or have jumped overboard.'

Bolitho strained his ears for the sounds of more oars, the one thing which would tell him Soames was coming to his aid.

There was a loud thud from aft, and he guessed that another boat was grappling in readiness for boarding. He peered at his little party. Five dead, one obviously wounded. It was not enough.

Allday shouted hoarsely, 'We can manhandle one of the guns to the hold and put a ball through her bottom! If we can hold 'em on the poop while-'

Bolitho shook his head, pointing at the slaves. 'They are held by more than one chain. They would go down with the ship.'

He could feel the fight dying in his surviving men, like fire under heavy rain. Most of them were staring aft, each unwilling to be the first to challenge this new attack.

They did not have long to wait. The poop doors burst open and a group of men charged along the littered deck, their voices yelling wildly in what seemed like a dozen different languages.

Bolitho balanced himself on the balls of his feet, the sword angled across his body.

'Cut the cable! We'll let her drift ashore in the shallows!'

A ball shrieked above his head, and he turned to see one of his men sprawled headlong, blood gushing from his throat. He had been struck by a marksman somewhere in the shrouds.

Allday yelled, 'Stand fast, you bastards!'

But it was useless, the remaining seamen were clambering forward again, dropping their weapons in their frantic haste to get away.

Only Keen remained between him and the beakhead, his arms at his sides, his young body swaying with exhaustion.

Allday said, 'Come on, Captain! It's no use!' He fired a pistol into the advancing shadows, and grunted with satisfaction as a man screamed in agony.

The next seconds were too blurred to understand. One moment Bolitho was astride the bowsprit, and the next he was swimming towards the black wall of trees. He could not remember diving or regaining the surface, although his lungs were raw from shouting, from keeping alive.

Feathers of spray spurted nearby, and he heard feet stampeding along the brigantine's deck as more men climbed from boats or swam out from the shore. Shots whimpered above his head, and there was one short cry as a seaman was hit and disappeared beneath the surface.

'Keep together!'

It was all he could do to speak, and the foul-tasting water was slopping again and again into his mouth.

He saw a white figure splashing down the beach, and when he groped for his sword he stumbled headlong, his feet stubbing against sand and stone beneath him.

But it was Soames, his chest heaving from exertion, his hair wild as he pulled Bolitho to dry land.

Bolitho gasped at the air. They had failed. They had lost several good men. For nothing.

Allday was hauling Keen from the water, and two more figures lay on the sand like corpses, only their fierce breathing telling otherwise. There were no others.

A gun banged out from the brigantine, but the ball went wide, splintering through the trees to a chorus of shrieks from birds and slaves alike.

Soames said harshly, 'I could only capture one boat, sir.. The slaver had a large party ashore.' He sounded angry. Despairing. 'When they fired at that damn Spaniard my lads started to attack. It was too soon. I'm sorry, sir.'

'Not your fault.' Bolitho walked heavily along the water's edge, searching for one more swimmer. 'How many did you lose?'

Soames replied indifferently, 'Seven or eight.' He gestured to several dark shapes along the beach. 'But we took a dozen of the others!' He added with sudden fury, 'We could have taken that damn ship! I know we could!'

'Yes.' Bolitho gave up his search. 'Muster our people and lead me to the boat. We must pick up Mr. Fowlar and his party while it's dark. The slaver will be ready for us by dawn, I'm thinking.'

It was not much of a boat, and leaked badly from a couple of stray musket balls.

One by one the weary seamen clambered into it, hardly looking at each other, or even caring where they were. If they were called on to fight now they would fail completely.

Bolitho watched them anxiously. Vaguely he recalled Herrick's words all those weeks back. Different in peacetime. Perhaps they were.

The wounded men were sobbing quietly, and he pushed Keen towards them. 'See to them.' He saw the youth draw back, knew that he, too, was close to breaking. He reached out and squeezed his shoulder. 'Hold on, Mr. Keen.'

To Soames he said quietly, 'Mr. Fowlar's party can take the oars. They'll be in better shape.'

He turned as a new sound intruded from the trees. Like one huge beast stamping its feet, while a combined chorus of yells echoed and re-echoed around the inlet.

Allday muttered, 'What in the name of God is that?'

'The slaves at the camp.' Soames was standing beside Bolitho as the boat edged away from the land. 'They know something we don't.'

Bolitho swayed as the overloaded craft rocked dangerously in the current. The slaves must realise that, despite the brigantine's presence, and the power of her guns, they would not now be taken as captives to the other side of the world. Not this time anyway. He thought of the native craft Herrick had sighted. They might be here already.

He snapped, 'Easy there! I can see Mr. Fowlar!'

The master's mate peered into the boat with obvious dismay. 'I'll never get my party in, too, sir!' Soames jerked his thumb towards the trees. 'You will if you wish to stay alive!'

Allday took the tiller and checked each man as he climbed into the boat. Somehow they all got in, barely leaving the oarsmen room to pull, and with the hull so low in the water

there was hardly six inches of freeboard. 'Shove off!'

He winced as a gun banged out, the long orange flame of fire darting from the vessel's side like a vicious tongue. The ball hissed astern of the boat and pounded into the sand.

Bolitho called, 'Easy now! Watch the stroke, lads!'

Too many splashes and the gunners would have an aiming mark.

Keen whispered, 'One of them has just died, sir.' He added hoarsely, 'Hodges.'

'Heave him over the side. Watch the trim, lads. Keep her steady.'

Poor Hodges. He would not walk in the marshes again. Never feel the North Sea on his face, or see the ducks in flight. He shook himself angrily. What was the matter with him?

The corpse drifted clear, and another man shifted along the thwart.

Soames observed, 'They've ceased firing. Probably licking their wounds, like us.'

'Most likely.'

Bolitho felt the bitterness rising again. The slaver had lost several men, but had still enough captives to make his visit profitable whether he retrieved the rest from the camp or not. Whereas… He tried not to face the fact that they had failed.

His men had fallen back, probably because they had lost whatever faith they had held in him.

Nervion's attacker was as much a mystery as before. A slaver's crew was usually made up from the sweepings of many ports and many tongues. Perhaps Davy had been right after all, and he should never have attempted to capture the brigantine.

His head was aching to match the bruise on his thigh. He was barely able to think any more.

Fowlar said, 'Mr. Mudge has explained it to me, sir. The ship will have to stand well out tomorrow because of the shoals hereabouts. The slaver's master doubtless knows a better passage, but…' He left the rest unsaid.

'Very well.' Bolitho saw an overhanging clump of trees reaching out across the water like a partly demolished bridge. 'We will make fast here. Rest the men, and share out the last of our water and rations.'

Nobody replied, and some of them appeared to be sleeping where they sat or crouched like so many bundles.

He tried not to think about the brigantine. But for his action she would be in ignorance of Undine's presence. It was obvious they had not seen her, nor had they understood who had attacked and tried to capture their ship. After all, it was not unknown for one slaver to prey upon another for extra profit.

But now, because of his persistence, her master would recognise Undine as soon as he stood out to sea. Undine would be unable to venture too close inshore, and a long chase would prove just as fruitless. So, if he had been involved in delaying Puigserver's mission, he would now know that Undine at least was on her way.

He clenched his fingers around his sword until the pain steadied him. But for Rojart they would have succeeded. How many battles had been lost by a single, stupid oversight? Poor Rojart. The ship which had destroyed his Nervion was the last thing he had seen on earth. Then she had murdered him just as brutally.

The bowman called, 'I can see a beach to larboard, Cap'nl Looks safe enough!'

Allday glanced at Bolitho's shoulders, feeling his despair as if it were his own.

Bolitho said, 'Take her there, Allday.' He pushed his other thoughts aside with something like physical force. 'We will work in three watches. Two hours at a time.' He tried again. 'Post sentries, and keep a good lookout.'

The bowman leapt over the stem and waded into the shallows, a line across his ragged shoulder like a halter. The boat nudged on to hard sand, tilting drunkenly to the current and the sudden shift of men as they staggered ashore.

Bolitho listened to Soames as he picked out his sentries for the first watch. Had he been in charge of the boarding party, would he have hesitated? He doubted it. Soames would have done what he saw ass his duty, helpless slaves or not, and put a ball through the brigantine's bottom or touched off her magazine. In this climate she would have been gutted in minutes, leaving the slavers isolated and easy to capture at leisure.

Because he had not been able to destroy the slaves, Bolitho had gained nothing. And he had lost nearly a third of his original party as well.

Allday slumped down beside him and handed him a water flask.

'I've secured the boat, Captain.' He yawned hugely. 'I just hope we don't have to pull too far in it, that's all.' Then he said, 'Don't you fret, things aren't that bad.' When Bolitho remained silent he added, 'We've seen an' done much worse in our time. I know some of our people took to their heels instead of rallying when they were most needed, but times are different, or seem so to many of 'em.'

Bolitho looked at him dully, but could not see his expression.

'How so?'

Allday shrugged. 'They don't see the sense in getting killed for a few slaves, or a ship they know nothing about. In the old Phalarope it was different, y'see. A flag to follow, an enemy you could recognise.'

Bolitho laid back against a tree and closed his eyes, hearing the jungle coming alive for the night. Squeaks and roars, groans and rustlings.

He said, 'You mean that they do not care?'

Allday grinned. 'If it was a proper war, Captain, a real one

like the last, we'd soon make 'em into fighters.'

'So, unless they are threatened personally they will not fight for those less fortunate?' Bolitho opened his eyes and studied the stars overhead. 'Before this voyage is done, I fear that some of them may come to understand otherwise.'

But Allday had fallen asleep, his cutlass across his chest like a dead knight.

Bolitho stood up quietly and walked to the boat to see how the wounded man had settled down for the night. He saw the stars reflected on the sluggish water, and was surprised to discover he was feeling less despairing.

He looked back at the trees, but Allday's shape was lost in darkness. By accident or design he did not know, but it had often happened with Allday. He seemed to hit upon the very thing which was troubling him in his simple, open manner. Not dispel it completely, but stand back from it and keep it in its proper perspective.

When he reached the boat he found the seaman sleeping heavily, his rough bandage very white against the planking.

Keen looked up, startled. 'Sorry, I did not see you, sir.'

Bolitho replied, 'Rest, easy, Mr. Keen. We are snug here for the night.'

As he walked away, Fowlar, who had been washing his face and hands in the water, moved to the boat and said admiringly, 'What a man, eh? Never a one to weep an' wail when things go hard.'

Keen nodded. 'I know. I hope I'm like him one day.'

Fowlar laughed, the sound bringing more cries from the forest. 'Bless you, Mr. Keen, I'm sure he'd be flattered to know that!'

Keen turned back to watch the wounded seaman. Under his breath he said fervently, 'Well, I do, and that's an end to it!'

In the pale glow of morning both sea and sky were joined by a filtered, milky haze. As the overcrowded longboat moved ponderously away from the trees and tiny beaches which lined both sides of the inlet, Bolitho watched for some sign of life or movement which might betray an ambush. A few birds floated overhead, and far beyond the last jutting spit of land he saw open water, colourless in the strange light.

He turned his attention to the men in the boat. Their brief rest seemed to have had little effect. They looked tired and anxious, their clothes filthy with dirt and dried blood, faces dark with stubble. There was little to associate them with a King's ship.

Soames was standing upright beside Allday, peering ahead, watching the men who baled away the seeping water, keeping an eye on the remaining wounded sailor. His eyes were never still.

Keen was right forward, squatting on the stemhead, his bare legs and feet dangling in the water while he watched the nearest bank, his body sagging as if from a great weight.

The hull lifted and dipped as the first inshore swell rolled into the inlet. Some of the men croaked with alarm, but most merely stared listlessly in front of them, beyond caring.

Bolitho said, 'We will turn to larboard when we get into open water. It will make our meeting with Undine's boats all the quicker.'

Soames glanced at him. 'Could be hours before they come. It'll be like a damned oven today, I'm thinking.'

Bolitho groped for his watch and winced as his fingers touchqd the bruise. When he lifted the watch from his pocket he stared at it for several seconds, seeing where the ball had lanced from it, smashing both shield and mechanism to fragments, but saving him from injury. But for it, he would probably be dying now, or at best a prisoner aboard the brigantine.

Soames said quietly, 'Made short work of that, sir.'

Bolitho nodded. He could remember exactly when his mother had given it to him. He had just been commissioned lieutenant. The watch had meant a lot to him, partly because it reminded him of her, of her gentleness and forbearance over losing her family to the sea.

The boat tilted, and several voices shouted in protest, and. he saw Keen struggling back into the hull, his face shocked as he yelled, 'Ahead, sir! Larboard bow!'

Bolitho stood up, one hand on Allday's shoulder as he stared at the two low shapes which were emerging around the last spit of land. They were moving quite fast, the long paddles plunging and rising in perfect unison as they headed purposefully into the inlet.

Fowlar said harshly, 'War canoes. I seen plenty on 'em in my time. There'll be more close by, if I'm not mistaken.' He dragged out his pistol and fumbled with a powder horn.

Soames slitted his eyes to watch the two low canoes, his face like a mask.

'God's teeth, there must be thirty men in each of 'em!'

One of the seamen shouted wildly, 'It ain't fair! We got no reason to fear 'em, lads! We ain't no slavers!'

'Silence, that man!' Fowlar cocked the pistol and rested it on his forearm. 'To them we're all the bloody same, so hold your noise P

Bolitho said, 'Speed the stroke. They may let us pass.'

Allday kept his eyes on the oars. 'If you say so, Captain.'

Another man called, 'Astern, sir! I can see the brigantine's tops'ls!'

Bolitho turned carefully to avoid unsettling the oarsmen. The man had not been mistaken. Far astern, and moving at a snail's pace above some low trees, was a limp square of sail. The slaver must have taken stock of his position and got under way before dawn. The lifeless canvas told Bolitho that the ship was being warped downstream with the aid of her boats. But once in open water she would be free and away. He glanced again at the advancing canoes. Whereas he and his men would stay here and die. If they were lucky.

Soames asked, 'What can we do, sir? We can't outpace those canoes, and they'll not let us get near enough to grapple.' He was fidgeting with his sword-hilt, showing anxiety for the first time.

Bolitho called, 'Check the powder and shot.'

There would not be much left. What with the confused battle ashore and his own boarding party leaving their weapons behind, he could hope for very little.

Fowlar reported, 'Bare enough for one shot per man, sir.'

'Very well. Send the two best marksmen aft. Give them all the powder you have.' To Soames he added softly, 'We might hold them off until our own boats come for us.'

The canoes had stopped, their paddles glinting as they backed at the water, holding the slim hulls motionless like a pair of pike.

Bolitho wished he had a telescope, but that too lay somewhere in the jungle. He could see the natives clearly enough, their skins very black, their bodies angled to the paddles in readiness to move at a second's notice. In the stern of each hull was a tall man wearing a bright head-dress, his body hidden by an oval shield. He thought of the slaves in the clearing. The girl who had been killed on the brigantine's deck. These silent watchers would show no mercy for anyone. He saw the spears glinting in the growing sunlight. Only blood would satisfy them.

Nearer and nearer, until less than half a cable separated them from the poised canoes. Bolitho looked at the two muskets in the sternsheets. Fowlar had one, and a scar-faced seaman held the other. Between them the pile of powder and shot seemed even smaller now.

'Bear to starboard, Aliday.' He was surprised how unemotional he sounded. 'They will have to move soon.'

As the longboat swung heavily towards the centre of the opening both canoes came alive, the paddles darting into the water at a great pace, the air suddenly filled with the beat of a drum and the animal cry of a single warrior in the prow of the leading craft.

Bolitho felt the boat thrusting ahead beneath his feet, saw the sweat on the oarsmen's faces, the eyes which turned to watch the oncoming canoes widening with fear.

He shouted, 'Take care! Keep the stroke! Eyes in the boat!'

Something hit the water alongside and threw spray over his leg. It must have been a heavy stone, for immediately a whole volley of them rained down on the heads and backs of the struggling seamen, knocking some of them unconscious. The stroke was failing, and one oar had drifted away as still more jagged stones plunged amongst them.

Bolitho said, 'Open fire!'

Fowlar squeezed his trigger, and cursed as the ball went astray. The other musket banged out, and one of the natives screamed and pitched from his canoe.

Soames yelled, 'Keep baling!'

He fired his pistol abeam, and swore with satisfaction as another black figure plunged into the water.

Both canoes were swinging round in a wide arc to follow astern, one on either quarter. They were cut off now from each side of the inlet, and ahead the sea was opening up to greet them, mocking them with its emptiness.

Fowlar fired again, and had better luck, bringing down a plumed figure who was apparently beating out the time for the paddles.

The seamen were all so busy at the oars, or peering fearfully astern, that hardly any of them saw the real threat until it was almost too late.

Bolitho yelled, 'Get forrard, Mr. Fowlar! Fire when you can!'

He stared fixedly at the canoes which had suddenly swept around the green hump of land, spreading out like a fan as they surged towards him. A dozen at least, all filled with whooping, screaming savages. The first shot made them falter, but only for minutes. Then they came on again, the canoes cutting through the inshore swell like sword-blades.

Some of the seamen were whimpering and pulling haphazardly at their oars, others tried to stand up, while a few began to gather fallen stones to defend themselves.

Fowlar yelled, 'That is my last ball, sir!' He cursed as a heavy stone, hurled at extreme range by a sling, glanced off the gunwale and cut open the back of his hand.

The leading canoe was drawing very near, the din of chanting and the drum almost deafening.

Bolitho drew his sword and shouted, 'Ready, lads!' He looked at his cowering men. 'Close quarters!'

But it was not to be. Instead, another volley of stones clattered over the boat, striking one seaman so badly that he fell overboard. The man with the musket fired and brought down two savages with one shot. The canoe swung away, some of the paddles being dropped so that the floundering seaman could be hauled up into their midst.

Bolitho watched, sickened, as they dragged the man to his feet, pinioning his arms and holding him so that he faced -the slow-moving longboat. He could see the blood on his neck where the stone had hit him, imagine his screams which were drowned by the yelling figures who held him. One, with a high head-dress, waved a knife above his head, back and forth, back and forth, so that the captured seamen followed it with his eyes as if watching a snake, his mouth like a black hole as he continued to scream.

The knife came down very slowly, the blood shining in the sunlight and making several of the seamen retch and groan with horror.

Allday said tightly, 'Jesus Christ, they're skinning him alive!'

Bolitho seized the marksman's shoulder, feeling him jump as if he was dying with the man in the canoe.

'Do what you can.' He had to force the words out.

When he looked astern again he saw that the man was still alive, writhing like a soul in hell as the knife did its work.

The musket bucked against the sailor's shoulder, and Bolitho turned away, fighting back the nausea.

Soames said thickly, 'The only way, sir. I'd not let a dog suffer like that.'

Fowlar shouted, 'Brigantine's away, sir!'

The slaver had slipped into deeper water almost without anyone noticing her. Boats hoisted inboard, and already her foresail set and drawing well as she rode clear of the protecting land.

The canoes were forming into two arrowheads again, the drums getting wilder as they manoeuvred for the final attack.

Bolitho held his sword towards the hazy horizon. 'Pull, lads! We'll not go under without a fight!'

It was an empty speech, but it was better than merely standing and watching them overwhelmed, tortured and killed without lifting a finger.

Allday whispered, 'Here they come.' He held the tiller between his legs and drew his cutlass. 'Keep close, Captain. We'll show the bastards.'

Bolitho looked at him. They were outnumbered ten to one, and his men were already fit to drop, the fight gone out of them.

He said simply, 'We will, Allday.' He touched his thick forearm. 'And thank you.'

A great yell made him turn, and as the boat swayed dangerously to the sudden shift of bodies he saw the crisp topsails and jib, the figurehead shining in the milky glare like pure gold, as Undine tacked around the headland, her starboard battery run out in a line of black teeth.

Soames bellowed, 'Sit down! You'll have us in the sea otherwise!'

Allday said hoarsely, 'Now, there is a sight, Captain.'

Fowlar called, 'She's going about, sir! In God's name, she's a'comin' through the shoals!'

Bolitho could barely breathe as he watched Undine's graceful outline shortening, her sails in momentary disarray until the yards had been trimmed again. If she struck now she would share Nervion's fate, and worse, when the survivors were taken by the war canoes.

But she showed no hesitation, and he could see the bloodred coats of the marines along the quarterdeck nettings, and even imagined he could discern Herrick and Mudge beside the wheel as the frigate heeled heavily to the wind, her gunports almost awash.

Keen was yelling, 'Huh.Za! Huh.Za, lads!' He was cheering and weeping, waving his shirt above his head, the closeness of danger forgotten.

The brigantine had already changed tack, clawing clear of a dark smudge below the surface while she set more sail to carry her to the south.

Fowlar said with disbelief, 'She's goin' after the slaver! They must be mad!'

Bolitho,did not speak. Just watching his ship was enough. It told him what Herrick was thinking and doing, as if he had shouted it aloud. Herrick knew he could not engage all the canoes in time to save Bolitho and his small party. He was going to stop the brigantine and so distract the war canoes in the only way he knew.

As the realisation came to him, Undine opened fire. It was a slow, carefully-aimed broadside, the guns belching smoke and flame at regulated intervals while the frigate swept further and further amongst the hidden shoals.

Someone gave a cracked cheer as the brigantine's foretopmast shuddered and then curtsied down into the sea alongside in a tangle of rigging and canvas. The effect was immediate, and within seconds she was paying off to the wind, her hull broadside on as another volley crashed and ricocheted all around her. One twelve-pound ball struck the sea near her quarter and shattered into fragments, so near was the shoal to the surface.

'She's struck!'

Everyone was yelling and screaming like a madman, hugging each other and sobbing with disbelief.

Bolitho dragged his gaze from the brigantine which had slewed round either on a shoal or a sandspit, her canvas in pandemonium while she continued to drive ashore.

He held his breath as Undine shortened sail, the tiny figures on her yards like ants, her copper glinting brightly as she thrust round again on the opposite tack. Another half a cable, and she would have been aground.

Allday shouted, 'She's hove-to, Captain, an' there's a boat being dropped!'

Bolitho nodded, unable to answer.

The canoes were paddling furiously towards the helpless brigantine, and more canoes had appeared around the headland, the latter very careful to stay clear of Undine's bared guns. The frigate's big launch was speeding across the choppy water, and when one of the canoes turned towards it the crash of its swivel gun was enough to make the yelling natives join their companions elsewhere.

Davy stood in the sternsheets, very erect and proper. Even his oarsmen seemed totally unreal against the tattered, cheering remnants of Bolitho's landing party.

The captured longboat was already sinking, more planks having been stove open by stones, and Bolitho doubted if they could have lasted another half-hour even without the attacking canoes.

As the launch. grappled alongside, and hands dragged the gasping survivors to safety, he turned to watch the listing brigantine. Even at this distance it was possible to hear the muskets, the baying chorus from the canoes as they surrounded her for the final attack. Revenge or justice, the slaver's end would be terrible indeed.

Davy took his wrist and helped him into the other boat. 'Good to see you again, sir.' He looked at Soames and grinned. 'And you, of course.'

Bolitho sat down and felt his limbs beginning to quiver uncontrollably. He kept his eyes on the ship as she grew and towered above him, very conscious of his own feelings for her, and those who had risked their lives for him.

Herrick was waiting to greet him, his anxiety matched only by his relief as he took Bolitho's hands and said, 'Thank God you're safe!'

Bolitho fought for time, looking at the loosely flapping sails, the watching marines, the gun crews who had paused in their swabbing to look at him and grin. Herrick had taken a terrible chance. It had been sheer lunacy. And he could tell from Mudge's expression, beaming and nodding by the compass, that his was an equal share.

But there was something new here, which had been lacking before. He tried to name it.

Herrick was saying, 'We heard the shooting, sir, and guessed you might be in trouble. Instead of sending boats, we came in strength, so to speak.' He let his glance move along the busy figures at the guns and waiting by the braces. 'They did well. They were glad to be here.'

Bolitho nodded, understanding. Pride. That was it. To find it had cost them dear, and it could have gone much worse.

He said, 'Get the ship under way, if you please. Let us stand away from this damnable coast.' He paused, searching for the words. 'And, Thomas, if you ever doubt your ability to command again, I will remind you of today. You handled her to perfection.'

Herrick looked at Mudge and almost winked. 'We have a good captain, sir, and are beginning to feel the benefit of his drills and exercises.'

Bolitho turned aft, suddenly spent. 'I shall not forget.'

Then he walked to the cabin hatch with Allday at his heels.

Mudge ambled to Herrick's side. 'A near thing, Mr. 'Errick. If you 'adn't given the order, I don't know if I'd 'ave 'ad the will to persist through them shoals.'

Herrick looked at him, remembering Bolitho's expression, the guard no longer hiding his thoughts.

'Well, Mr. Mudge, I reckon it was well worth it.'

He stared at the misty shore line and at a growing plume of smoke. The brigantine must have caught fire, he thought. For a while longer he held on to the picture of the battered, listing boat, with Bolitho upright in the sternsheets, that old tarnished sword in his hand. If he had not disobeyed Bolitho's order to put the ship's safety before all else, he would indeed be in command now, and Bolitho back there, dying in agony.

'Get the hands to the braces!' He walked to the rail with his speaking trumpet. 'And God bless lady luck!'

Below the cabin hatch Bolitho heard Herrick laugh, and then the clatter of blocks as the seamen went to their stations for getting under way again.

Allday asked quietly, 'Can I fetch you some wine, Captain? Or something a mite more powerful?'

Bolitho leaned against the mizzen mast trunk and felt it vibrating urgently to the pressure of wind and canvas high overhead.

'D'you know, Allday, I think that after all the trouble we went through to get it, I would like a glass of fresh water.'