Passage to Mutiny

11. “Make The Best Of It”

JAMES RAYMOND ignored the seamen who were spreading awnings above the quarterdeck, while others swayed out boats for lowering alongside. He had come out to Tempest within minutes of her dropping anchor in the mushroom-shaped bay, and was almost beside himself with anger.

Bolitho watched him grimly, seeing his efforts to build a picture for himself of what had happened. Not that it was difficult, especially for one who travelled so far and so often as Raymond.

“I just will not accept it! I cannot believe that a King’s ship, a thirty-six-gun frigate to boot, could be thwarted and almost sunk by a damned pirate!”

There was no point in arguing, Bolitho thought wearily. There was enough to do without trying to change Raymond’s opinion. One he had been holding and preparing for some while. Probably since his lookout had first sighted the returning vessels. The little schooner had hurried on ahead to prepare him. Then Tempest’s silhouette, her missing topgallant mast and yard which had left such an obvious gap to mar her beauty, would have added more fuel to the fire.

He saw Isaac Toby, the carpenter, his owl-like face almost as red as his familiar waistcoat, rolling amongst his depleted crew, pointing at damage, marking a splintered timber with his knife, or indicating something which needed immediate restoration. He would be missing his mate, Sloper, Bolitho thought.

Some of the more badly wounded had already been ferried ashore. The rest had to work all the harder. Especially now. He looked across the shining water, knowing Raymond had stopped his ranting to study his reactions. Poised above her reflection like one of a matched pair, the French frigate Narval swung easily at her cable. Her awnings were spread, and there were boats in the water, while a solitary cutter pulled around her on guard duty.

Raymond snapped, “You may well look yonder, Captain. You turn up your nose at a Frenchman because his ideas are different from your own. How d’you think I feel, eh? A representative of King George and a country which supposedly supports the world’s finest navy is made to ask for the service of aforeign man-of-war! God damn it, Bolitho, if the Emperor of China offered me a ship I’d take her, and double-quick, believe me!” He moved about the deck, his shoes catching on splinters. “Always the same. I am expected to perform miracles. Opposed by hidebound fools and pig-headed soldiers!” He glared at him, oblivious to the heat. “Sailors too, it seems!”

Herrick came aft and touched his hat. “All the wounded listed by the surgeon have gone ashore, sir. I’ve ordered the boatswain to begin work on the topgallant-”

Raymond interrupted sharply, “Quite right, too. Make her nice and pretty again, so that Mathias Tuke can have another game with her!”

Bolitho jerked his head and Herrick withdrew. He said, “Mr Herrick does not warrant that, sir. He is a brave man and an excellent officer. Some good men died, one just this morning.” It had been the wretched marine, Watt. Gwyther had said he was surprised he had survived that far with such a wound. “I command this ship, and I am responsible.” He looked at Raymond squarely. “Tuke is cleverer than I thought. Perhaps I only saw what I wanted to see. But either way, it was my decision.” He dropped his voice as Keen hurried past. “It will only make things worse if we allow personal feelings to become involved.”

Raymond replied, “I had not forgotten who commands the Tempest. And I shall make sure you get a full report when I send my despatches to London. And you do not have to tell me how to behave. I have made my feelings towards you quite clear, I think. So it is quite useless to start asking favours now that your stars are less agreeable, eh?”

“Is that all, sir?”

Bolitho clenched his fists behind him, realizing how neatly he had been goaded into the trap. Maybe he was just too tired, or, like Le Chaumareys, was losing his grip on reality.

“For the present.” Raymond mopped his face. “I will be calling a conference shortly to plan a campaign against Tuke and any of his associates. If in the process we can recapture the French prisoner for de Barras, then all well and good. Under the circumstances it is the very least we can do.” He sounded less sure as he added, “De Barras has the authority of his country, and the means to execute his orders. We are not at war, and he at least seems to know what he is about.”

Bolitho thought of the cabin, the rich carpets and the frightened boy with the wine. Above all, de Barras’s indifference to brutal and sadistic treatment of his own men.

He made himself ask, “How did Hardacre take the news?”

Raymond shrugged. “I am not certain which he grieves over the most. His precious natives who killed his men as well as some of yours, or the fact that he no longer has his own army to crow over! I’ll be satisfied only when I get some proper soldiers here. I cannot abide amateurs in any walk of life!”

Raymond moved to the gangway and paused, looking down into his boat.

“There will be a brig from England shortly. She will call here on passage to New South Wales. She can take the guards back to Sydney where they came from. Then there will be no excuse for not sending me some troops.”

Despite his hatred for the man, his hurt over what had happened, Bolitho sensed an inner warning.

The burning village and what Herrick had told him about the natives of North Island made a mockery of Hardacre’s hopes. Revenge for what Tuke had done to them had killed Finney’s militiamen and had nearly done for Herrick. The old hatreds could soon come alive again and turn island against island, tribe against tribe.

One of the most noticeable things he had seen when Tempest had re-entered the bay had been the absence of canoes and swimming villagers. The same girls and young men had been there well enough. On the beaches and below the thick green fronds. But they had kept their distance, as if fearful that by coming too close they would gain some infection and lose their simplicity and safety which they must have come to take for granted.

“And until they arrive, sir?” He already knew the answer.

“The responsibility will be yours, Captain. Hardacre has enough men still to take care of the settlement. The protection of its progress I am giving to you, and will be saying as much in my report. It is a heavy responsibility.” He looked round, his eyes almost hidden in shadow. “I will be interested to watch your, er, success.” Then with a curt nod to the side party he lowered himself into his boat.

Herrick walked across the deck and said bluntly, “I could live very well without that one!”

Bolitho shaded his eyes to peer at the settlement with its palisades and rough blockhouses. She might be watching the ship, knowing of her husband’s eagerness to get out to Tempest, if only to add weight to the captain’s burden.

Apart from the lack of laughing islanders, things seemed much as before. The little schooner was already being loaded with bales and baskets, and he guessed she would soon be sailing to other islands nearby. To keep trade moving. To regain confidence. Hardacre was taking a great chance, but then he had done that for a long time now.

He said, “I want this ship ready for sea as quickly as possible. Work the hands while there’s daylight, and make sure you put a picket ashore if you’re sending anyone for fruit or water.”

Herrick nodded. “I couldn’t help but hear the last thing he said, sir. I think it’s damned unfair to hand you the extra role of guarding over the convicts.”

Bolitho smiled gravely. “The convicts will be no trouble. I doubt if they’ll want to stray far from the settlement.” He turned away to watch new cordage being hauled aloft. “However, we do what we are paid to do.” He walked towards the companionway. “Tell Noddall…” He stopped short.

Herrick looked at him. “Sir?”

“Nothing. I’d forgotten.” He vanished below.

Herrick walked slowly to the nettings and looked at the inviting beaches. Inviting? He thought of the great bloody stain on the sand, the human fragments rotting in the sun, and shivered. Just to see St Anthony’s light in the English Channel once more. To walk beside the Medway, to smell the fruit trees, and the farms. He would not want to stay ashore too long. But to know he would be able to see it again.

Borlase joined him. “Now, sir, about the promotion to quartermaster. I’ve a good man in my division.”

Herrick moved his shoulders inside his coat. Like getting back into things. Men had to be moved, a shortage of hands in one watch must be remedied from the other. The whole watchbill would have to be rearranged, with the unfit men put to work where they would find it less of a burden but still do a good job.

Someone would have to be found to replace poor Noddall.

He turned as the gangway sentry called, “Jolly boat returnin’!”

Borlase said harshly, “The pickets are bringing off the two who deserted! They should be flogged senseless after what we’ve been through!”

“I think not.” Herrick watched the approaching boat, the two figures sitting dejectedly between some marines. “We need every fit man, and by God are those two going to work!”

He saw Jury coming towards him with one of his petty officers and the carpenter’s red waistcoat looming from the opposite direction. Questions, things wanted, things destroyed. He smiled. All in a day’s work for any first lieutenant.

It was a mixed gathering. Raymond, very composed and unsmiling, sitting at a large, locally carved table. John Hardacre, his bushy hair and beard, his strange, loosely folded robe very much at odds with Raymond’s neat elegance.

Seated at the far end of the room, one leg negligently crossed over the other, Narval’s captain, the Comte de Barras, with his senior lieutenant whose name was Vicariot, made bright figures of blue and white, while de Barras’s curled wig added another touch of unreality. Both the Frenchmen were so smartly attired that Bolitho felt crumpled by comparison, and when he glanced at Herrick he guessed he was thinking much the same.

A scar-faced overseer from the settlement, a half-caste called Kimura, who looked more like an executioner than anything else, completed the gathering.

Bolitho tried to sit easily in the cane chair, wondering how this place would have changed in a year or so. A big, well-built house and a thriving community of traders and administrators. Clerks and managers, experts on this and that from England. Or would it be like others he had seen in the Great South Sea, overgrown again by the jungle, deserted even by the natives who had once come to depend upon such outposts?

Through a long window, well-screened with plaited mats, he could see the end of the bay, a dark green point of land, with the sea rising beyond it like water penned in a dyke.

Tempest had been at anchor for five days. Days of ceaseless work and short tempers. Three men had been flogged over incidents which at any other time would have been trivial enough to be overcome. Bolitho detested unnecessary punishment, just as he despised those who preferred it to righting the wrongs.

It had been made worse by the nearness of the French ship, the faces lining her gangways to watch the bitter ritual of punishment under the lash.

Bolitho had been ashore several times to report progress to Raymond, to consult with the Corps guards, who had come with the convicts from Sydney, on the matter of security. Also, he had had plenty of opportunity to meet the deported prisoners for himself. Even after all the long months awaiting trial and making the voyage to the opposite end of the earth, they seemed dazed. But they looked well enough, and were not so cowed as when Bolitho had seen some of them aboard the Eurotas.

He wondered about the Eurotas. Why she could be spared merely to lie idle in the bay. Accommodation ship she was not, and apart from her depleted company, she appeared to provide nothing but a possible way of escape if things went wrong. Bolitho knew that Herrick had been across to her on two occasions to try and obtain men for Tempest. He had, by means which Bolitho could only guess at, procured six new hands, all seamen. No matter what it had cost him in patience and humour, they were worth their weight in gold.

No doubt like all the other hints and promises in Sydney somebody would eventually arrive with a new warrant to work the Eurotas in the government’s service, and she would sail away.

He tried to concentrate on the men around him, to fit them into the puzzle. But it was too easy to think instead of Viola Raymond. He had seen her once only since his return while her husband had been aboard the French frigate enjoying de Barras’s hospitality. Just for an hour he had stayed with her. But not alone. To save her as best he could from further gossip, Bolitho had accompanied her to the new clearing where some of the convicts were building a line of huts for their own occupation.

Her silent maid, the only female deportee to be allowed in the Levu Islands, had followed them, looking neither right nor left as they had passed amongst the amateur builders.

He had said, “There is a brig coming from England soon.” He had looked at her, the way she held her head, the rich hair shining beneath her large straw hat. If anything she was lovelier than ever. “If you insist on going in her to Sydney, her master cannot refuse. And neither can your husband. You obeyed his wishes. The gesture was made. Nothing can be gained by your staying, and I’ll not let him stand by and watch you endanger your health.”

It was then that she had stopped and had taken his hands, pulling him round to face her.

“You don’t understand at all, do you, Richard?” She had smiled up at him, her eyes shining. “What if I did as you suggest? Take the next available ship to England, pack my belongings and go to your house in Falmouth?” She had shaken her head before he could protest. “I love you dearly, and because of that I want to stay. I need to be here! To be hundreds and hundreds of miles away, wondering, fearing for you and waiting for your ship to anchor would only add to my torment. Here, at least, I can see you. Touch you. Be near to you. I know that if I allow us to be parted again, it will be forever. If you are ordered to New South Wales, to India, to the ends of the globe, then I will go to your Falmouth, and gladly.” She had shaken her head again. “But leave you at James’s hands, never!”

Bolitho thought about it as he watched Raymond’s fingers leafing through his official papers.

She had been right. He had not understood. All he had considered had been her safety, her freedom from Raymond. But love pushed caution aside and made a fool of prudence.

“And now, gentlemen.” Raymond looked up. “This is what I believe to be our next objective. For myself, the expansion and protection of this settlement and its trade routes is important.” He smiled at de Barras’s finely chiselled features. “And you, M’sieu le Comte, will wish to recover your renegade and return to your homeland as originally intended.”

De Barras nodded slightly, his lips pursed, cautious, unwilling to show his hand too soon.

Raymond looked at Hardacre. “I know how you feel about what has happened, but I imagine it has been coming for months. Those who live in the midst of a problem are often the last to be aware it exists.” A gentle smile. “However, we are here, and whether they like it or not a few natives are going to have to put up with us. This is not one of John Company’s concessions now, nor a private enterprise. These islands are claimed by the Crown and are entitled to its protection.”

Bolitho watched de Barras. That last part had made him glance quickly at his lieutenant. Raymond was making his own position very clear, just supposing that the French might also have their eyes on the Levu Islands.

Then he looked at Herrick. Arms folded, blue eyes on the opposite wall. He was feeling out of place, uncomfortable. He was probably thinking of the ship. Repairs done, and all that still awaited his attention.

For a moment he saw Herrick again on that terrible beach. Sword in hand, his face towards a pack of angry, blood-maddened natives. A minute-no, seconds longer, and that chair would now be empty.

Raymond went on smoothly, “With the assistance of the Narval and her excellent crew, I trust that all our objectives can be gained. It is in our interest that the pirate Mathias Tuke and his men be excised and punished without further loss to us.”

Bolitho knew de Barras was looking across at him, to remind him no doubt of their other meeting. They were almost his exact words.

Raymond said, “In return we will do all we can to recapture the Comte’s prisoner.” He looked directly at the French captain. “I am certain that when I send my despatches to London to announce our success they will be equally well received in Paris, eh, M’sieu le Comte?”

De Barras stretched his legs and smiled. “I understand.”

And so do I. Bolitho would not have believed it, had he not been present. De Barras must have entertained Raymond very well, there was even a goodly supply of wine being carried into the settlement by some of his seamen as Bolitho had arrived. And yet, like all tyrants, de Barras was still open for compliments, ready to accept Raymond’s hint of a word in high places which could eventually benefit him in France. If, as Bolitho suspected, de Barrashad been given his lonely command to keep him out of his own country until some trouble had been forgotten, then Raymond’s

casual offer would mean even more.

The door opened slightly and one of Hardacre’s servant girlspeered inside, obviously overwhelmed by the presence of so much authority.

Raymond snapped, “See what she wants.”

The half-caste, Kimura, muttered something and then said, “The chief is here.” He gestured to the window. “He waits in the yard.”

“Let him wait.” Raymond seemed ruffled by the interruption.

Hardacre said, “Tinah is a great chief, Mr Raymond. A good friend. It would be wrong to treat him in this fashion.”

“Oh, very well. You go to him if you must.” Raymond eyed him coldly. “But none of your promises, d’you hear?”

Hardacre strode out, his big sandals flapping on the rush mats. “I hear.”

“Ah well.” Raymond realized the overseer was still present.

“You can leave, too.” He smiled. “It is hard for them to appreciate progress.” The smile disappeared. “The youth who came from North Island with the news of the attack has not been found.”

Bolitho said, “He probably thought he would be seen as a traitor, sir. But it does prove that even on North Island there are some who trust Hardacre enough to come to him for aid.”

“Maybe. But the damage is done now. Tuke attacked your ship, but that was the deed of a felon and a murderer. Those friendly natives tried to kill your people and butchered most of

Hardacre’s militia. That, in view of what you were trying to do at the time, is unforgivable!”

“They did not understand any difference between Tuke’s men and my own, and why should they?” Bolitho knew it was useless.

“Well, they will now, damn them!” Raymond swung round in his chair as Hardacre came in again. “What is it?”

Hardacre replied, “The chief says that his people are ashamed of what happened to my men.” He looked at Bolitho. “And yours. But the chief of North Island was killed at the first attack. Less stable heads are in charge there now. It has never been the most friendly of islands, and now because their boats are burned they will be in hard times. Our people here are afraid to visit them.”

Raymond sniffed. “I’m not surprised. And what did you promise them? A ship full of fat pigs and new boats?”

De Barras chuckled.

“I promised that you would give them help, sir, leave them unpunished-”

“You did what?”

Hardacre went on stubbornly, “In return they will bring news of Tuke. Do all they can to help in his capture. They have no cause to like him, and every reason to fear your reprisals.”

Raymond dabbed his mouth. “Help in his capture, you say?” He looked at de Barras. “Well now.”

He made up his mind. “Captain Bolitho. Go and speak with this, er, chief. Tell him you were a personal friend of Captain Cook, anything you like. But get him to talk with you.”

Hardacre followed Bolitho out of the room and stood outside the door breathing heavily, the planks creaking beneath his weight.

“He is a great chief! Not an idiot child!” He turned to Bolitho. “I could kill that man with less emotion than crushing a beetle.”

Bolitho went down the wooden stairway and towards the glaring sunlight. In the middle of the compound yard, on a small, ornate stool, the chief was sitting very erect and still, his dark eyes fixed on the empty gibbet. He was younger than Bolitho had expected, with thick, bushy hair and a small beard. His garment was of green cloth embroidered with coloured beads, and around his neck he wore a simple loop of gold wire.

His eyes shifted to Bolitho as Hardacre said, “Tinah, this is the English captain. From the ship.” He hesitated before adding, “A good man.”

Tinah’s eyes had not flickered or moved from Bolitho’s face during the introduction, but now he smiled, suddenly and disarmingly.

Bolitho asked, “What you have told Mr Hardacre about the pirates: is it possible you can find them for us?”

“Everything is possible.” His voice was deep, his accent halting, but Bolitho doubted if anyone could have looked more like a chief. “We have peace now. We wish to keep it, Captain. Your men were attacked. But what would your heart say if you saw your women being used and then killed, your home burned before your eyes? Would you stop to say, these men are good, those are bad?” He raised a thick, intricately carved rod and drove it hard into the ground. “No. You say, kill!”

Herrick came out of the building and looked at the seated chief and his small group of retainers who were waiting by the gates of the compound.

He said, “Pardon the interruption, sir, but Mr Hardacre is wanted upstairs.” He smiled. “I almost said, on deck, sir. It seems the gallant French captain wishes to enquire about water and provisions on the surrounding islands.”

Hardacre nodded grimly. “I’ll go. It is vital that his ship enters each anchorage in a peaceful manner. I don’t want these people to see him as an enemy.” He added, “No matter what I think.”

Herrick looked hard at the chief. “There was a man taken prisoner. His name was Finney.”

“I knew Finney.” Tinah glanced at the building. “I did not tell my friend how he died. Just that he did die.”

Herrick asked harshly, “Can you tell me?”

“If your captain wishes.” The chief sighed. “North Island is not like this one. Finney was tied to a stake and covered with clay taken from the stream. His breath was kept for him by a reed through the clay.” His eyes were fixed on Herrick’s. “Then his body was held over a very slow fire.”

Herrick turned away, revolted. “Baked alive, for God’s sake!”

Tinah shrugged. “My father told me of such things. But in North Island…”

Herrick nodded. “I know. They are different from your people.”

The chief watched Herrick as he returned to the building. “That must be the strong one. The man who stood alone.” He nodded. “Yes, I have heard of him.”

Hardacre came back and said, “It is done.” He looked at Bolitho. “If that’s all, Captain?”

Bolitho touched his hat. “Yes.”

Hardacre and the chief obviously had things to discuss. A rift to heal before it could destroy both of them.

In Raymond’s room again he found the others taking wine.

The other door opened, and a servant stood aside to allow Viola Raymond to enter.

Raymond introduced her to de Barras, who bowed from the waist and kissed her hand, saying, “My dear lady, I was so grieved that you did not come to my humble quarters with your husband, the Resident.”

She replied, “Thank you,M’sieu le Comte, perhaps another time.”

The French lieutenant bowed stiffly and mumbled something in very broken English.

Viola looked at Herrick and held out her hand. “Why, Lieutenant, it is so nice to see you again.”

Herrick’s tan hid what must have been a blush. “Er, thank you, ma’am. It’s good to see you, too. Indeed it is.”

She crossed to Bolitho and offered her hand. “Captain?”

Bolitho touched her fingers with his lips. “Mrs Raymond.”

Their eyes met, and he felt the gentle pressure of her fingers on his.

As she moved away to speak with the servant, de Barras walked to Bolitho’s side and said softly, “Ah, now I think I know why she did not come to my ship, oui?”

He returned to his lieutenant, laughing quietly to himself.

Herrick whispered, “Did you hear that, sir? Impudent dog!” He turned his back to the others. “But you see how it goes, sir? You must take care!”

Bolitho looked past him, watching her hair lying across her shoulders. Take care. Herrick did not know what it was like to stand meekly by and watch the one you loved so dearly held at arm’s length.

The only bright piece of news had been that brought by the young chief, Tinah. If they could run the pirates to earth, and destroy their power once and for all, there was the very real possibility that Tempest would be ordered home, to England. And then?

Herrick watched his captain sadly. It was hopeless. It was like telling a bull not to charge, a cat not to chase mice.

He saw a table being prepared in the adjoining room and counted the chairs.

Well, we might as well make the best of it while it lasts, he decided.