In Gallant Company

15

Another Chance

Bolitho stood in the shadow of the mainmast's massive trunk and watched the busy activity around the ship. It was October, and for two months Trojan had been here in English Harbour, Antigua, headquarters of the Caribbean squadrons. There were plenty of ships needing repairs and overhaul, but mostly because of the wear and tear of storms or old age. Trojan's arrival had aroused plenty of excitement and curiosity as Captain Pears had brought her to rest, with the ensign at half-mast for her many dead.

Now, looking around the taut rigging and shrouds, the neatly furled sails and skilfully repaired decks, it was hard to picture the battle which had raged here.

He shaded his eyes to look at the shore. Scattered white buildings, the familiar landfall of Monk's Hill. A busy procession of boats, yard boys, water lighters and the inevitable traders offering doubtful wares to the inexperienced and the foolish.

There had been a lot of changes, not only to the ship herself. New faces from other vessels from England, from ports up and down the Caribbean. All to be tested and worked into the rest of the company.

A Lieutenant John Pointer had arrived aboard, and because of his seniority had been made fourth lieutenant, as Bolitho had once been. A cheerful young man with a round Yorkshire dialect, he seemed competent and willing to learn.

Young Midshipman Libby, stripped of his acting rank, had gone to the flagship on one fine morning to face his examination for lieutenant. He had passed with honour, although he was the only one to show surprise at the verdict. Now he had gone, appointed to another two-decker without delay. But his parting had been a sad occasion, both for him and the other midshipmen. There were two more of those as well. Fresh from England, and in Bunce's view, 'Less than useless 1'

Of Coutts they had heard nothing, other than he had returned to New York. Promotion or disgrace seemed unimportant in the face of the latest news which even now seemed impossible to grasp.

In America, General Burgoyne, who had been operating with some success from Canada in the earlier stages of the revolution, had been directed to take control of the Hudson River. He had advanced with his usual determination with some seven thousand troops, expecting to be reinforced by the New York regiments. Someone had decided that there were insufficient soldiers in New York and barely enough to defend the city.

General Burgoyne had waited in vain, and this month had surrendered with all his men at Saratoga.

There had been news of greater activity by French privateers, encouraged, and with good cause, by the military defeat.

Trojan would soon be ready to rejoin the fight, but Bolitho could see no way of retaining a grasp of a rebellious colony even if Britain commanded the sea-lanes. And with more French involvement, that was no certainty either.

Bolitho moved restlessly to the netting to watch another trading boat passing Trojan's glittering reflection. It was hot, but after the earlier months, and the torrential tropical downpours, it seemed almost cool.

He glanced aft, at the flag which hung so limp and still. It would be even hotter in the great cabin.

He tried to see Quinn as a stranger, someone he had just met. But he kept recalling him as the most junior lieutenant, when he had just come aboard. Eighteen years old and straight from the midshipman's berth, beginning as Libby was now for himself. Then again, gasping in agony from the great slash across his chest. After all his quiet confidence, his determination to be a sea officer when his wealthy father wished otherwise.

These last weeks must have been hell for him. He had been released from his duties, and even if he retained his appointment would now be junior to the new officer, Pointer.

Because of the activity within the local squadrons, and the general air of expectancy of a French intervention in strength, uinn's troubles had taken a low position in priorities.

Now, in this October of 1777, he was being examined by a board of inquiry in Pears' cabin. Just one short step from a court martial.

Bolitho looked at the other ships, so still in the sheltered harbour, each paired above her image in the water, awnings spread, ports open to catch the slightest breeze. Very soon these vessels and more beside would endure what Trojan had suffered under Argonaute's guns. They would not be fighting brave but untrained rebels, but the flower of France. Discipline would be tightened, failure not tolerated. It made Quinn's chances seem very slim.

He turned as Lieutenant Arthur Frowd, officer of the watch, crossed the deck to join him. Like Libby, he had gained his coveted promotion, and now awaited an appointment to a more suitable ship. The most junior lieutenant, he was still the oldest in years. In his bright new uniform, with his hair neatly tied to the nape of his neck, he looked as good as any captain, Bolitho thought admiringly.

Frowd said uneasily, 'What d'you reckon about him?' He did not even mention Quinn by name. Like a lot of other people he was probably afraid of being connected with him in any way.

'I'm not certain.'

Bolitho fidgeted with his sword hilt, wondering why it was taking so long. Cairns had gone aft, as had D'Esterre and Bunce. It was a hateful business, like seeing the court martial Jack on a man-of-war, the ritualistic procession of boats for a flogging around the fleet, or a hanging.

He said, 'I was afraid. So it must have been a lot worse for him. But – '

Frowd said vehemently, 'But, aye, sir, that small word makes a world of difference. Any common seaman would have been run up to the mainyard by now!'

Bolitho said nothing and waited for Frowd to walk away to speak with the guard-boat alongside. Frowd did not understand. How could he? To reach a lieutenant's rank was hard enough for any youth. By way of the lower deck it was much, much

harder. And Frowd had done it with his own sweat and little education. He would see Quinn's failure as a betrayal rather than a weakness.

Sergeant Shears marched across the quarterdeck and touched his hat smartly.

Bolitho looked at him. 'Me?'

'Yessir.' Shears glanced quickly at the men on watch, the sideboys and the sentry. 'Not doin' very well, sir.' He dropped his voice to a whisper. 'My captain give 'is evidence, and one of the board says, all 'aughty-like, "wot does a marine know about sea officers!" ' Shears sounded outraged. 'Never 'card the like, sir!'

Bolitho walked quickly aft, gripping his sword tightly to prepare himself.

Pears' day cabin had been cleared, the furniture replaced by a bare table, at which were seated three captains.

There were others present too, seated on chairs to either side, mostly strangers to Bolitho, but he saw the earlier witnesses, Cairns, D'Esterre, and alone, with his hands folded in his lap, Captain Pears.

The senior captain looked at him coolly. 'Mr Bolitho?'

Bolitho tucked his hat under his arm and said, 'Aye, sir. Second lieutenant.'

The captain to the right, a sharp-faced man with very thin lips, asked, 'Were you present on deck when the events which led to this investigation took place?'

Bolitho saw the clerk's pen poised above his pile of papers. Then for the first time he looked at Quinn.

He was standing very stiny by the door of the dining cabin. He looked as if he was finding it hard to breathe.

'I was, sir.' How absurd, he thought. They all knew exactly

where everyone was. Probably right down to the ship's cook. 'I

was in charge of the upper gundeck when we engaged the enemy to starboard.'

The president of the court, a captain Bolitho remembered

seeing in New York, said dryly, 'Forget the formality, if you

can. You are not on trial here.' He glanced at the captain with

the thin lips. 'It would do well to remember that.' His level gaze

returned to Bolitho. 'What did you see?'

Bolitho could feel those behind him, watching and waiting. If only he knew what had been said already, especially by the captain.

He cleared his throat. 'We'd not been expecting to fight, sir. But the Argonaute had dismasted Spite without any challenge or warning. We had no option.'

'We?' The question was mild.

Bolitho flushed and felt clumsy under the three pairs of eyes. 'I heard the admiral express the view that we should fight if need be, sir.'

'Ah.' A small smile. 'Continue.'

'It was a bloody battle, sir, and we were sorely short of good hands even before it began.' He sensed the scorn in the thinlipped captain's eyes and added quietly, 'That was not meant as an excuse, sir. Had you seen the way our people fought and died that day, you would have known my meaning.'

He could sense the silence, like the terrible calm before a hurricane. But he could not stop now. What did they know about it? They had probably never had to fight with such inexperienced officers and so few seasoned hands. He thought of the man on the surgeon's table pleading for his leg, the marine who had been the first to die, falling from the top to drift in the sea alone. There were so many of them. Too many.

He said, 'The Frenchman came up to us and drove hard alongside. They boarded, or tried to…' He faltered, seeing the French lieutenant falling between the grinding hulls, his own sword red with blood. 'But we fought them off.' He turned and looked directly at Quinn's stricken face. 'Mr Quinn was assisting me up to that moment, and stood under the enemy's fire until action was broken off.'

The president added, 'Then you were taken below. Correct?'

He looked at Bolitho's terse features and asked, 'How old are you?'

'Twenty-one, sir. This month.' He thought he heard someone snigger behind him.

'And you entered the Navy at the age of twelve, I understand. As did most of us. In addition, you come from a distinguished seafaring family.' His voice hardened suddenly. 'In your experience as a Kings officer, Mr Bolitho, did you at any time during this series of unfortunate events consider that Y.:

Quinn's behaviour was lacking in skill or courage?'

Bolitho replied quietly, 'In my opinion, sir – ' He got no further.

The president persisted, 'In your experience.'

Bolitho felt desperate, trapped. 'I do not know how to answer, sir.'

He expected to be rebuked, even dismissed from the court, but the president merely asked, 'He was your friend, is that it?'

Bolitho looked across at Quinn, suddenly hating the three captains, the gaping spectators, everything.

He said firmly, 'He is my friend, sir.' He heard the murmur of surprise and expectancy but added, 'Maybe he was afraid, but so was I, as were many more. To deny it would be foolish.'

Before he turned back to the table he saw Quinn lift his chin with pathetic defiance.

Bolitho said, 'His record has been a good one. And I have had him with me on several difficult missions. He has been badly wounded and -'

The thin-lipped captain leaned over to look at his corn. panions. 'I think we have heard enough. This witness has little to add.' He glanced at Bolitho. 'I understand that you declined a new appointment which Rear-Admiral Coutts was prepared to offer? Tell me, was that lack of ambition on your part?'

The president frowned, and then turned as feet moved heavily on the deck.

Without looking, Bolitho knew it was Pears.

The president asked, 'You wished to say something, Captain Pears?'

The familiar harsh voice was remarkably calm. The last question. I feel I should answer. It was not lack of ambition, sir. In my family we call it loyalty, dammit i'

The president held up his hand to still the sudden excitement, 'Quite so.' He looked sadly at Bolitho. 'However, I am afraid that in the case of Lieutenant Quinn loyalty is not enough.' He stood up, and throughout the cabin the spectators and witnesses lurched to their feet. 'The inquiry is adjourned.'

Outside, on the sunlit quarterdeck, Bolitho waited for the visitors to leave.

Dalyell and the new lieutenant, Pointer, were with him when Quinn appeared on deck.

He crossed over to him and murmured, 'Thank you for what you said, Dick.'

Bolitho shrugged. 'It didn't seem to help much.'

Dalyell said quietly, 'You have more courage than I, Dick. That cold-eyed captain scared hell out of me, just looking at him!'

Quinn said, 'Anyway, the president was right. I could not move. It was like being dead, unable to help.'

He saw Cairns approaching and added quickly, 'I shall go to my cabin.'

The first lieutenant leaned over the rail and watched the boats alongside.

Then he said, 'I hope we can get back to sea soon.'

The others moved away and Bolitho asked, 'Did the captain kill Quinn's chances, Neil?'

Cairns eyed him thoughtfully. 'No. I did. I witnessed it, but was less involved than you. Suppose you had been marked down by one of the Frenchman's sharpshooters, or broken by chainshot. Do you think Quinn could have held the fo'c'sle and driven off the boarders?' He smiled gravely and gripped Bolitho's arm. 'I'll not ask you to betray a friendship. But you know, as well as I, that we would have been made to strike to the Argonaute if Quinn had been left in charge forrard.' He looked along the deck, probably remembering it, as Bolitho was. He said, 'There are more lives at stake than the honour of one man.'

Bolitho felt sick. Knowing Cairns was right, but feeling only pity for Quinn.

'What will they decide?'

Cairns replied, 'The admiral who commands here will be aware of this. It has taken long enough to come to light. He will also know of Quinn's father, his power in the City.'

Bolitho could feel the man's bitterness as he added, 'He'll not hang.'

After lunch the court was recalled, and Cairns was proved' correct.

The court of inquiry had decided that Lieutenant James Quinn had been rendered unfit by cause of injury in the King's service to continue with active duty. Upon confirmation from the commander-in-chief, he would be sent ashore to await passage home to England. After that he would be discharged from the Navy.

Nobody outside would know of his disgrace. Except the one man who really cared, and Bolitho doubted very much if Quinn could carry that final burden for long.

Two days later, with Quinn's fate still unconfirmed, Trojan weighed and put to sea.

It would, it appeared, take a little longer.

Two and a half days after leaving English Harbour Trojan was steering due west, under reefed topsails and forecourse in a stiff following wind. It was a good opportunity to exercise the old and new hands together in sail drill, as with spray bursting over the poop and quarterdeck the two-decker pointed her jib at the misty horizon.

Apart from a few tiny islands far away on the starboard bow, the sea was empty. An endless deep blue desert, with long cruising rollers and white crests to display the power of the wind.

Bolitho waited on the larboard gangway, the taste of strong coffee warming his stomach, while he prepared to take over the afternoon watch in fifteen minutes' time. With so many new faces and names to grapple with, the constant efforts to discover the skilled hands from the clumsy ones, all of whom seemed to have five thumbs on each fist, Bolitho had been kept very busy. But he could sense the atmosphere in the ship all the same. Confused acceptance by the lower deck and an air of bitterness from aft.

Trojan was ordered to Jamaica, her lower decks crammed with a contingent of marines which the admiral was sending to enforce law and order at the governor's urgent request. Bad weather had wrecked many of Jamaica 's local trading vessels, and to make matters worse there had been news of another slave uprising on two of the larger plantations. Rebellion seemed to be in the air everywhere. If Britain was to hold on to her Caribbean possessions she must act now and not wait for the French and possibly the Spanish to blockade and occupy some of the many islands there.

But Bolitho guessed that Pears saw his role through different eyes. While the fleet was preparing for the inevitable spread of war, when every ship of the line would be desperately needed, he was being ordered to Jamaica. His Trojan had taken on the task of transport and little more.

Even the admiral's explanation, that Trojan needed no escort, and was therefore releasing other vessels for work elsewhere, had had no effect. Daily Pears walked his quarterdeck, still watchful for his ship and the routine which ran her, but alone and quite removed from everyone else.

It could rot be helping him now, Bolitho thought, to realize that hidden just below the horizon was the south-eastern shore of Puerto Rico, so near to where Coutts had committed all of them to a hopeless battle. In some ways it would have been better if the Argonaute had not broken off the fight. At least there would be a total victory to hold on to. Maybe the French had used their captain as a scapegoat, too?

But, as Cairns had said, it was better to be at sea and be kept busy than to swing at anchor, moping over what might have happened.

He looked down at the gundeck, at the milling scarlet uniforms and piled weapons as D'Esterre and the captain in charge of the marine contingent inspected and checked everything for the hundredth time.

'Deck there!'

Bolitho looked up, the sun searing his face like sand. 'Sail, sir! On the starboard bow!'

Dalyell had the watch, and it was at moments such as this that his inexperience showed through.

'What? Where?' He snatched a telescope from Midshipman Pullen and rushed to the starboard shrouds.

The look-out's voice was drifting with the wind. 'Small sail, sir! Fisherman, mebbee!'

Sambell, who was master's mate of the watch, remarked sourly, 'Lucky Admiral Coutts ain't here. He'd have us chasm' the bugger!'

Dalyell glared at him. 'Get aloft, Mr Sambell. Tell me what

you see.' He saw Bolitho and smiled awkwardly. 'So long with

out sighting anything, I was off guard.'

'So it would appear, sir.' Pears strode on to the quarterdeck, his shoes squeaking on the seams. He glanced at the set of the sails and then moved to the compass. 'Hmm.'

Dalyell peered up at the master's mate, who seemed to be taking an age to make the long climb.

Pears walked to the rail and watched the marines. 'Fisherman. Maybe so. There are plenty of small islets there. Good places for water and firewood. Not too dangerous if you keep one eye open.'

He frowned as Sambell yelled, 'She's sheered off! Makin' for one of the islands!'

Dalyell licked his lips and watched the captain. 'Sighted us, d'you suppose, sir?'

Pears shrugged. 'Unlikely. Our masthead has a far greater vision than some low-lying hull.'

He rubbed his chin, and Bolitho thought he saw a sudden gleam in his eyes.

Then Pears said harshly, 'Hands to the braces, Mr Dalyell. We will alter course three points. Steer nor'-west by north.' He banged his big hands together. 'Well, jump to it, sir! 'Pon my soul, you'll have to do better than this!'

The shrill of calls and the immediate rush of seamen brought Cairns on deck, his eyes everywhere as he looked for a ship.

Pears said, 'Vessel on starboard bow, Mr Cairns. Could be a fisherman, but unlikely. They usually keep in company in these hard times.'

'Another privateer, sir?'

Cairns was speaking very carefully, and Bolitho guessed he had taken much from Pears' tongue in the past few weeks.

'Possibly.'

Pears beckoned to D'Esterre, who was being pushed and jostled by the extra marines as they sought to avoid the seamen at the braces and halliards.

'Captain D'Esterre!' Pears peered aloft as the yards squeaked round and the deck heeled over to the change of course. 'How d'you propose to land your men at Jamaica if there has been a further uprising?'

D'Esterre replied, 'In boats, sir. Land by sections above the port and take the high ground before seeking the local commander.'

Pears almost smiled. 'I agree.' He pointed at the boat tier. 'We will exercise landing the contingent at dusk.' He ignored D'Esterre's astonished stare. 'On one of those islands yonder.'

Bolitho heard him say to Cairns, 'If there is some damned pirate there, we will swamp him with marines. Anyway, it will be good practice for them. If Trojan is to act as a troop transport, then she will do it well. No, better than well.'

Cairns smiled, grateful to see a return of Pears' old enthusiasm. 'Aye, sir.'

The helmsman shouted, 'Nor'-west be north, zur!'

'Steady as you go, man.' Cairns waited impatiently for Bolitho's watch to relieve Dalyell and then said, 'I wish to God we could catch one of them again. Just to show Rear-Admiral bloody Coutts a thing or two!'

Pears heard him and murmured, 'Now, now, Mr Cairns. That will do.' But that was all he said.

Bolitho watched his men settling down to their duties while the rest went below to eat. He still believed that what Coutts had tried to do had been right. But his reasons were less certain.

Why was Pears taking the trouble to land marines for so trivial a sighting? Hurt pride, or did he expect to face an eventual court martial at Coutts' instigation over the Argonaute encounter?

He heard Pears say to Bunce, 'I intend to stand off as soon as we have landed the marines. I know these waters very well. I've an idea or two of my own.'

Bunce gave a rough chuckle. That you do know 'em, Cap'n. I think it may be God's will that we be here today.'

Pears grimaced. 'Most probably, Mr Bunce. We shall have to see.' He turned away. 'And pray.'

Bolitho looked at Cairns. 'What does he mean?'

Cairns shrugged. 'He certainly knows this part of the world, as much as the Sage, I would think. I have studied the chart, but apart from reefs and currents, I see no cause for excitement.'

They both faced Pears as he strode across the quarterdeck.

He said, 'I am going aft to take lunch. This afternoon we will muster all hands and prepare the boats. Swivels in the bows of cutters and launches. Only hand-picked men will go.' He glanced at Bolitho. 'You can supervise the landing arrangements, and will take Mr Frowd as your second. Captain D'Esterre will command the land force.' He nodded and strode aft, hands behind his back.

Cairns said softly, 'I'm glad for him. But I'm not so sure he is acting wisely.'

Bunce muttered, 'My mother used to 'ave a saying, zur, about too wise'eads on too young shoulders. Not good for'em, she'd say.' He went to the chart room chuckling to himself.

Cairns shook his head. 'Didn't know the old bugger ever had a mother!'

Trojan closed to within a mile of the nearest island and then lay hove to while the business of lowering boats and filling them with marines was begun.

Most of the marines had been in Antigua for a long time and had only heard about the war in America from visiting ships. Although few of them knew why they were being sent across to the island, and those who did regarded it as something of a joke, they carried out their part willingly and in good humour.

The cheerful atmosphere made Seargeant Shears exclaim angrily, 'My Gawd, sir, you'd think it was a bloody 'oliday, an' no mistake!'

The sea was still very choppy and lively, and it took more time than calculated to get the boats fully loaded and headed for the shore. It was growing dark, and the sunset painted the wave crests amber and dull gold.

Bolitho stood in the sternsheets of the leading cutter, one hand on Stockdale's shoulder as he controlled the tiller-bar. It was difficult to see the cove where they were supposed to land, although it had looked clear enough on the chart. The grim truth was that nobody really knew the exact position of every

reef and sand-bar. Already they had seen several jagged rocks, shining in the strange light and bringing a few anxious remark.i from the crowded marines. In their heavy boots and hung about with weapons and pouches, they would go to the bottom before anything else if the boats were capsized.

D'Esterre was saying, 'Fact is, Dick, we may have been sighted already. They'll not stop to fight all hose marines, but we'll not find them either!'

Another seething rock passed down the starboard oar blades, and Bolitho signalled with a white flag to the boat astern, and so on down the line. Trojan was only a blurred shadow now, and she had been making more sail even as the boats had pulled clear. She would use the prevailing wind to ride in the island s lee for some sign of results.

'Land ahead, sir!'

That was Buller in the bows. A good hand, as he had shown, his wood splinters apparently forgotten. He was lucky to be able to forget so easily, Bolitho thought.

Like darkly hooded monks some tall rocks rose on either side of the boat, while directly across the bows and the loaded swivel gun lay a bright strip of sand.

'Easy all! Boat yer oars!'

Seamen were already leaping and splashing into the surf on either beam to steady the boat as she drove ashore.

D'Esterre was out, waist-deep in water and calling his sergeant to lead the first pickets to the higher ground.

It was a tiny island, no more than a mile long. Most of the others were even smaller. But there were rock pools for gathering fresh water and shellfish, and wood to burn for any small and self-sufficient vessel.

Bolitho waded ashore, thinking suddenly of Quinn. Ile had heard him asking, pleading with Cairns to be allowed to come with the landing party.

Cairns had been coldly formal, almost brutal. 'We want experienced, picked men, Mr Quinn.' The last part had been like a slap in the face. 'Reliable, too.'

Midshipman Couzens was arriving with the next cutter, and the Trojan's red-painted barge was following her. Bolitho smiled tightly. Frowd and the other marine captain were in her. Being held back in case the first boats had fallen under a deluge of shot and fire.

'Take your positions! Boat-handling parties stand fast!'

Stockdale strode from the shallows, his cutlass across one shoulder like a broadsword.

From tumbling confusion and whispered threats from the sergeants and corporals, the marines formed into neat little sections. At a further command the,

moved up the slope, boots

squelching on sand and then on rough, sun-hardened earth.

An hour later it was dark and the air was heavy with damp smells, of rotten vegetation and seabird droppings.

While the marine skirmishers hurried away on either side, Bolitho and D'Esterre stood on a narrow ridge-backed hill, the sea ahead and behind them, invisible but for an occasional gleam of surf.

It seemed deserted. Dead. The unknown vessel had gone to another island, or had sailed north-west towards the Bahamas. If Sambell had not seen her for himself, Bolitho might have thought the look-out mistaken by a trick of light and haze.

'This is no Fort Exeter, Dick.' D'Esterre was leaning on his sword, his head cocked to listen to the hiss of wind through fronds and bushes.

'I wish we had those Canadian scouts with us.' Bolitho saw some seamen lying on their backs, staring at the sky. They were quite content to leave it to others. They merely had to obey. To die if need be.

They heard a nervous challenge and then Shears strode up the hill towards them. He carried a clump of grass or creeper to cover his uniform, which was why the sentry had been so startled. It reminded Bolitho of Major Paget's little cape.

'Well?' D'Esterre leaned forward.

Shears sucked in gulps of air. 'She's there, right enough, sir. Anchored close in. Small vessel, yawl by the looks of 'er.'

D'Esterre asked, 'Any signs of life?'

'There's a watch on deck, an' no lights, sir. Up to no good, if you ask me.' He saw D'Esterre's smile and added firmly, 'One of the marines from Antigua says they'd have lights lit and lines down right now, sir. There's a special sort of fish they goes after. No real fisherman would lie an' sleep!'

D'Esterre nodded. 'That was well said, Sergeant Shears. I'll see that the man has a guinea when we get back aboard. And you, too. You must have something about you to inspire an unknown marine to offer his confidences!' He became crisp and formal. 'Fetch Mr Frowd. We will decide what to do. Pass the word to watch out for anyone coming ashore from the yawl.'

Shears said cheerfully, 'They got no boats in the water, sir,

'Well, watch anyway.'

As the sergeant hurried away D'Esterre said, 'Well, Dick, are you thinking as I am? A surprise attack on them?'

'Aye.' He tried to picture the anchored vessel. 'The sight of all your marines should do it. But two armed cutters would be safer. In case they are unimpressed by your little army.'

'I agree. You and Mr Frowd take the cutters. I'll keep the midshipman with me and send him with a message if things go wrong. So work your way round. No risks, mind. Not for a damned yawl!'

Bolitho waited for Frowd to join him, thinking back to Pears' casual reference to these small islands. It had all been clear to him. If the vessel was an enemy, or up to no good, she would run at the first hint of trouble. Towards the land and the marines, or more likely use the prevailing wind and put to sea again or hide amongst the islands. Either way she would find Trojan lying there, using the offshore current and wind. Waiting like a great beast to overwhelm her in a matter of minutes.

At sea, in open waters, there was hardly a vessel afloat which could not outsail the slow-moving Trojan. But in confined space, where one false turn of the helm could mean a grounding at best, Trojan's massive artillery would make escape impossible.

Frowd remarked dourly, 'Boat action then.'

Bolitho watched him curiously. Frowd could probably think of nothing but his next appointment, getting away from the ship where so many had been his equals and were now expected to knuckle their foreheads to him.

'Yes. Pick your men, and let's be about it.'

He noticed the sharpness in his own voice, too. Why was that? Did he see Frowd's attitude as a challenge, as I owhurst had once vied with Quinn?

With muffled oars the two cutters pulled away from the other moored boats and turned east towards the far end of the island, the wind making each stroke of the oars harder and more tiring.

But Bolitho knew his men by now. They would rally when the time came. They had done it before. It was strange to be pushing through the choppy water without doubts of these silent, straining men. He hoped they held some trust in him also.

It would be funny, if after all this stealth, they found only terrified traders or fishermen rising to the marines' rough awakening. It would not seem so amusing when they had to tell the captain about it.

'Somebody must be comin', sir!'

Bolitho scrambled through the cutter to join the look-out in the bows. He could see the two seamen he had put ashore, framed against the sky, one moving his arm above his head very slowly.

I-low loud everything sounded. The water sluicing around the two moored boats, the distant boom of surf and the hissing roar as it receded from some hidden beach.

They had reached this tiny inlet several hours ago and had made fast to get as much rest as possible. Most of the seamen appeared to have no trouble. They could sleep anywhere, indifferent to the rocking boats, the spray which occasionally spattered across their already damp clothing.

Frowd, in the boat alongside, said, 'It's gone wrong, I expect.'

Bolitho waited, realizing that the men on the shore were easier to see, more sharply defined against the dull sky. It would be dawn soon.

Stockdale said feelingly, 'It's Mr Couzens, not the enemy!'

Couzens came slithering down the slope and then waded and floundered towards the cutters.

He saw Bolitho and gasped, 'Captain D'Esterre says to start the attack in half an hour.'

He sounded so relieved that Bolitho guessed he had got lost on his way here.

'Very well.' Attack. That sounded definite enough. `What is the signal?'

Stockdale hoisted the midshipman unceremoniously over the gunwale.

'One pistol shot, sir,' Couzens sank down on a thwart, his legs dripping on the bottom board

'Good. Recall those men.' Bolitho rriade his way aft again acid held his v, atch against a shaded horn lantern. There was not much time. 'RRouse the hands. Make ready to cast off,'

Men stirred and coughed, groping around to get their bearings.

From the s=et of the current Bolitdio could picture how the yawl would be swinging to her cable. He thought suddenly of Sparke, deciding on his attack. Pushing sentiment aside after he bloody fighting was over.

'Load your pistols. Take your tune.'

If he hurried them, or shared his own anxiety over the brightening sky, somebody was bound to get muddled and loose off a ball. It only took one.

Stockdale swayed through t_: e boat and then returned. 'All done, sir.'

'Mr Frowd?'

The lieutenant waved to him. 'Ready, sir!'

In spite of his tense nerves Bolitho felt he wanted to smile. Sir. Frowd would never call him by his frst name in a hundred years.

'Out oars,' He raised his arm. 'Ersy, lads. Like f eld mice!' Stockdale sounded approving. 'S,hove o f forrard! Give way larboard!'

Very slowly, with one set of oars pulling the boat round like a crab, they moved away from their tiny haven.

Frowd was following, and Lolitho saw the bowman training the swivel from side to side as if to sniff the way.

Couzens whispered, 'There's the corner, sir!'

Bolitho watched the jutting sour of rock, Couzens' 'corner'. Once round it, they would be en exposed water and visible to my vigilant sentry.

It was brigltei° ng so rapidly that he could see a touch of green on the land, the L ter of spray over some fallen stones.

Weapons too, and in the bows, leaning forward like a figurehead, the topman, Buller.

`Christ, there she be, sir!'

Bolitho saw the swaying mainmast and the smaller one right aft on the anchored yawl, stark against the sky, even though the hull was still in shadow.

A yawl, or dandy, as they were usually termed, would be just the thing for using amongst the islands.

He heard the gurgle of water around the stem, and from astern the regular, muffled beat of Frowd's oars.

Stockdale eased the tiller over, allowing the cutter to move away from the island to lay the yawl between him and D'Esterre's marines.

Soon now. It had to be. Bolitho held his breath, drawing his hanger carefully, although he knew from past experience that a tired look-out would hear little but his own shipboard noises. An anchored vessel was always alive with sound and movement.

But there was a long way to go yet. He said, 'Roundly, lads! Put your backs into it!'

The cutter was moving swiftly and firmly towards the yawl's larboard bow. Bolitho saw the anchor cable beneath the polelike bowsprit, the casual way the sails were furled and brailed up.

The crack of a pistol shot was like a twelve-pounder on the morning air, and as somebody gave a startled cry aboard the yawl, an undulating line of heads, closely linked with muskets and fixed bayonets, appeared along the top of the island, then touches of scarlet as the marines continued to march in a long, single rank up and then down towards the water.

'Pull! All you've got!' Bolitho leaned forward as if to add weight to the fast-moving cutter.

Figures had appeared on the yawl's deck, and a solitary shot lit up the mainmast like a flare.

Across the water they all heard D'Esterre shouting for the yawl to surrender, and more confused cries, followed by the sound of cordage being hauled madly through blocks.

Bolitho momentarily forgot his own part in it, as with unhurried precision the line of shadowy marines halted and then fired a volley across the vessel's deck.

There was no movement aboard after that, and Bolitho shouted, 'Stand by to board! Grapnel ready there? From a corner of his eye he saw Frowd's boat surging past, a grapnel already streaking towards the yawl's bulwark, while the selected men charged up with drawn cutlasses.

Yelling and cheering, the seamen clambered on either side of the bowsprit, seeing the crew crowding together near the mainmast, too shocked by what had happened to move, let alone resist. A few muskets had been thrown down on the deck, and Bolitho ran aft with Stockdale to ensure that no more men were hiding below and even now attempting to scuttle their vessel.

Not a plan lost, and across the water he saw the marines waving their hats and cheering.

I Frowd snapped, 'Privateers, right enough!' He dragged a man from the crowd. He had thrown his weapons away, but was so loaded with pouches of shot and cartridges that he looked like a pirate.

Bolitho sheathed his hanger. 'Well done, lads. I'll send word across to the marines and -'

It was Couzens who had shouted with alarm. He was pointing across the bows, his voice breaking, 'Ship, sir! Coming round the pointV

He heard D'Esterre calling through his speaking trumpet, his voice urgent and desperate. 'Abandon her! Man your boats!'

Frowd was still staring at the neat array of braced yards and sails as the approaching vessel tilted suddenly to a change of tack.

He asked, 'What the hell, is she?'

Bolitho felt fingers tugging his sleeve, and he saw Buller, his eyes on the newcomer.

'It's 'er! Th' one I saw, zur! Th' brig which went about when Spite were dismasted!'

It was all tumbling through Bolitho's mind like a tide in a

mill-race. The brig, the yawl waiting to load or unload more weapons and powder, D'Esterre's last order, his own decision which lay frozen in his reeling thoughts.

There was a flash, followed by a dull bang, and a ball whipped overhead and smashed down hard on the island. The marines were falling back in good order, and Bolitho could sense the change in the yawl's crew. Fear to hope, and then to jubilation at their unexpected rescue.

'What'll we do?' Frowd was standing by the capstan, his sword still in his hand. 'She'll rake her as she passes with every gun she's got!'

Bolitho thought of Pears, of Coutts' disappointment, of Quinn's face at the court of inquiry.

He yelled, 'Cut the cable! Stand by to break out the mains'i! Mr Frowd, take charge there! Stockdale, man the helm!'

Another ball came out of the misty light and smashed into one of the cutters which was bobbing beneath the stem. Before it heeled over and sank, its loaded swivel gun exploded, and a blast of canister cut down a seaman even as he ran to sever the cable.

With only one boat there was no chance to obey D'Esterre's order. Bolitho stared at the brig, his heart chilling with anger and unexpected hatred.

And he knew, deep down, that he had had no intention of obeying.

The great mainsail swung outboard on its boom, thundering wildly as the anchor cable was hacked away to allow the yawl to fall downwind, out of command.

'Put up your helm!'

Men were slipping and stumbling at the halliards, ignoring the dumbfounded crew as they fought to bring the yawl under control.

Bolitho heard a ragged crash of gun-fire, and turned in time to see the small after mast pitch over the rail, missing Stockdale by a few feet.

'Hack that adrift!'

Another crash shook the hull, and Bolitho heard the ball slamming through the deck below. She could not, take much of this.

'Put those men on the pumps!' He thrust his pistol into Couzens' hand. 'Shoot if they try to rush you!'

'I've got 'er, sir!' Stockdale stood, legs wide apart, peering at the sails and the freshly set jib as the land swam round beneath the bowsprit. He looked like an oak.

But the brig was gaining, her deck tilting as she tacked round to hold the wind and overreach her adversary.

The yawl had two swivels, but they were useless. Like a pike against a charge of cavalry. And all the hands were better employed at sheets and braces than wasting their strength on empty gestures.

A bright ripple of flashes again, and this tine the balls battered into the lower hull like a fall of rock.

Bolitho saw the flag at the brig's gaff, the one he had been hearing about. Red and white stripes, with a circle of stars on a blue ground. She looked very new, and was being handled by a real professional.

'We'm makin' water fast, sir!

Bolitho wiped his face and listened to the creak of the pumps. It was no use. They could never outreach her.

Small, vicious sounds sang past be helm, and he knew they were in musket range.

Somebody screamed, and then he saw Frowd stagger and

fall against the bulwark, both hands clutching a shattered knee. Couzens appeared at the hatch, his back towards the deck as

he trained the pistol down tile companion ladder.

'We're sinking, sir! There's water bursting into the hold!'

A ball burst through the mainsail and parted shrouds and

stays like an invisible sabre.

Frowd was gasping, `Run her ashore! It's our only chance!'

Bolitho shook his head. Once on firm sand, the yawl's cargo, and he had no doubt now that she was loaded with arms for the brig, would still be intact.

With sudden fury he climbed on to the shrouds and shook his fist at the other vessel.

His voice was lost on the wind and the answering crash of cannon-fire, but he found some satisfaction as he yelled, 'I'll sink her first, damn you!'

Stockdale watched him, while beyond the bows and the sea which was being churned by falling shot he saw the headland sliding away.

Please God she'll be there, he thought despairingly. Too late for us, but they'll not live neither.