Passage to Mutiny

13. Volunteers

BOLITHO knelt on a rush mat and looked at the young girl. In the hut, which had been erected a few days earlier by some of Tempest’s working parties, there was almost complete silence, and Bolitho was conscious of it. As if the surrounding trees, even the island, were listening. Above his head he heard the quiet buzz of insects hitting Keen’s lanterns, and the young lieutenant’s irregular breathing as he looked over his shoulder.

He had the girl’s wrist in his hand, but there was barely any movement in it. Her smooth skin felt wet, and the beat of her heart was fast and urgent.

Hardacre came into the hut, brushing between a marine picket and two natives as he strode under the lantern light. He ran his big hands across the girl’s body and then looked up at Keen’s anxious face.

“She has the fever. How much do you care for her?”

Keen answered brokenly, “With everything I have. She must live. She must!”

Hardacre stood up. “Cover her well. No matter if she tries to throw it off, keep her warm.”

He looked at Bolitho and walked with him out of the hut. The sky was much paler and some birds had started to sing.

“It has come to the islands before. Last year. Early. Many died. They have little resistance.” He glanced at the hut door. “I am afraid your lieutenant will lose his friend.” His grim features softened. “They hardly know a word of each other’s language. I have watched them together. She is Malua, Tinah’s sister. She will be much missed.” He studied Bolitho gravely. “I will go to the village. They have certain roots, herbs also. There might be a chance.” He shrugged. “But who knows what may follow?”

Bolitho heard feet on sand and saw Allday hurrying towards him.

“You were supposed to take my message to Mr Herrick!”

Allday looked at him calmly. “Aye, Captain. I sent my second coxswain with the gig. He’s a fair hand.” He squared his shoulders. “I know about the fever. And I’ve seen what it can do, an’ that’s no error. My place is here. With you.”

Bolitho looked away, deeply moved by Allday’s staunch loyalty, despairing because of what it really meant. For both of them.

Keen came out of the hut, his eyes very bright. “She seems easier sir.”

Bolitho nodded. How we delude ourselves when the worst is about to happen.

“Hardacre has gone for aid. He is the best hope.”

Keen sounded dazed. “I thought the surgeon would come, sir?”

Bolitho turned towards the dawn sky. “You must know, Mr Keen, what might well happen. To all of us. The fever may be local and easily held. Again, many diseases are new to these islands, their cure unknown as they were brought by outsiders. Like ourselves. But-” he watched the dismay clouding Keen’s face, “we have to think of the ship and what we are ordered to do. To bring Mr Gwyther ashore would deprive the ship of help should she need it. For once he comes I cannot allow him to return until we know the worst.” He forced a smile. “Or the best.”

Keen nodded jerkily. “Yes, sir. Yes, I think I understand. Now.”

Bolitho watched his emotions, his anguish. How well he knew him. To think it should come to this.

Almost harshly he said, “So we must be about it. You are my second-in-command. I believe you have Mr Pyper ashore with you, so from today he will be acting-lieutenant. See to it. I have already passed word to Mr Herrick to appoint both Mr Swift, and Mr Starling, master’s mate, to the same positions. We will need all our skills, and it were better that we have as many with the proper authority as we can. Although from what I have learned from my people these past months, I would promote every manJack if I were free to do so!”

Allday said, “Here comes another, Captain.” He added hurriedly, “Be easy with him. He thinks he is doing the best he can.”

Orlando’s tall figure came out of the grey light, shining and running with water as he squelched over the sand towards the huts.

Bolitho looked towards the bay but the ships were still hidden in shadows. Orlando had taken it on himself to swim ashore. He must have heard Herrick giving his new orders, or someone spreading word of the fever. Either way, he had come. Unable to speak or ask, he was just standing there, watching Bolitho as if he expected a blow in the face.

Bolitho said quietly, “I am afraid there will be no cabin for you to fuss over, and precious little of anything else for a while.”

He reached out impetuously, as Allday had seen him do many times, and touched Orlando’s arm. “So I am placing you in charge of our food supplies.”

The Negro lowered himself noiselessly on to his knees and nodded very slowly.

As Bolitho turned away Allday touched the Negro with his shoe. “Stand up, you ignorant bugger!” He grinned to hide his sadness. “Can’t you see what you’re doing to him, man?”

By the time the first sunlight had touched the hills and filtered through the trees towards the bay Bolitho had discovered the extent of his resources. Apart from Keen and Pyper, he had Sergeant Quare and Jack Miller, boatswain’s mate, to support his authority. Two marines and six seamen only remained of the working party.

Most of the wounded had recovered sufficiently to be returned to the ship, leaving only the marine with the spear-thrust in his leg and two seamen. If things got worse, even they would have to be put to work.

Keen came back, his eyes on the hut. “I’ve mustered the hands together, sir. They seem to know what’s expected from them.”

Fortunately, most of the shore parties had been chosen for their skills and reliability. Men like Miller, who had proved a firstclass hand, even if he changed into a wild-eyed killer in battle. Penneck, ship’s caulker, who had been putting finishing touches to one of the huts. Big Tom Fraser of the cooper’s crew, trustworthy except where drink was concerned. Jenner, the dreamy American, and another wanderer, Lenoir, who was of French birth, and the ex-gamekeeper, Blissett. The latter would most likely see this new isolation as yet another chance to obtain his corporal’s stripes.

“Thank you.” He smiled. “Go to your Malua. I’ll not need you for a while.” He beckoned to Allday. “We will walk to the settlement and speak with Mr Raymond. I shall want the convicts kept separate from the village and from ourselves. That way the Corps guards can watch over them and also attend to the defence of the compound and anchorage.”

He found himself marvelling at the easy way his ideas translated themselves into actions. It was sheer madness. What could he and a handful of men do here? If the natives started to drop with fever the situation would get ugly and quickly. It would not be a siege for long. It would be a massacre.

He passed the long hut which Gwyther had used as his hospital and saw the wounded marine and his two companions sitting by the entrance. He could feel the uncertainty, the new fear.

Bolitho said, “Don’t worry. You’re not forgotten.”

The marine known as Billy-boy asked, “We’m in for troubles, sir?”

“Can you still hold a musket?”

He bobbed. “Can that, sir. I’m gettin’ better all the while. Just me leg.”

Bolitho smiled. “Good. You’ll be armed directly. I’m mounting you as picket on the weapons.”

He strode on with Allday beside him. Weapons. The compound had its swivels and a few six-pounders. Not exactly artillery, but they could sweep any attackers from the pier like gravel from a road.

He paused on a slope and looked towards the sea. Tempest lay as before, serene above her image, distance hiding the confusion which his message must have created. Poor Thomas. He would be here too but for his sense of duty.

Bolitho glanced at the Eurotas. It would be best to transfer the convicts into her rather than keep them ashore and add to any risk of infection. He tried to scrape his mind further, to discover some weakness or flaw in his hastily assembled plan. Just hours ago, that was when it had all started. Like a line in a ship’s log, a hint of some new disturbance on the sea’s face. Your life could change with the speed of light, the merest whim of an idea.

The pier was deserted, and below it Hardacre’s longboats swung gently to their lines, their gunwales so blistered they showed no trace of paint or colour.

They reached the big gates, and Bolitho saw two Corps soldiers watching him from one of the little blockhouses.

Allday shouted, “Open the gates! It’s Captain Bolitho!”

An officer appeared on the rampart, his coat like blood in the sunlight.

“I am sorry, Captain! But the governor has ordered me to keep them closed! For the safety of my men and all those on duty within, and for the security of the settlement, it is considered the best arrangement.”

Bolitho looked at him steadily, his mind like ice, despite the enormity of Raymond’s betrayal.

He called, “We have to stand together. The ships are one way of life, the islands another. If we are to meet any threat from attack or from sickness we must-” He stopped, sickened. His words had sounded like pleading.

Allday said thickly, “Let me get up at the bastard, Captain! I’ll gut him like a herring!”

“No.”

Bolitho turned away. Raymond could do as he pleased. There was an underground stream within the compound, endless drinking water. Hardacre had chosen the site wisely. They would have plenty of food, far more than they needed with the militia scattered and less mouths to feed. If every man outside the palisades died and the islanders were decimated, Raymond’s stand, his decision to save what he could, might be seen as brilliant planning. Especially across a fine desk on the other side of the world.

With Europe moving towards another conflict, even the smallest deed might be welcome.

“We will go back to the huts.”

He glanced quickly at Allday as they walked down the slope towards the trees. When did you begin to see signs of fever in a man? It was the dread of every sailor. He could understand the feelings of the Corps soldiers on the palisades. But it was a fool’s protection. Tropical fever could soon scale a wall.

He found Pyper making a list of supplies and said, “Put a man by the pier. To keep watch on the ship.” He said it briskly. Matter of fact. There was no point in putting thoughts in Pyper’s mind if they were not already there. The mention of the ship. Security. Amongst one’s own. While here…

Pyper nodded. “Aye, sir.”

Despite being made an acting-lieutenant he looked very young. Vulnerable. As Keen had once done when he had first joined Bolitho’s previous command.

It felt cool inside the hut, and Bolitho looked down at the girl, shocked to see that she had changed in so short a time. Her face was drawn, her mouth twitching, as if she were in a trance.

Hardacre was wiping her forehead with a cloth. He stood up and said, “I heard about Raymond. Might have guessed he’d be useless. Government spy. Lackey!”

Bolitho said, “Can you spare a few minutes?”

Outside again, Hardacre took a flask from his robe and offered it.

“Safer than water. Makes it easier to stay calm, too.”

Bolitho let it trickle across his tongue. It was fiery, and yet took away his thirst.

He said, “I remembered what you said about Rutara Island. About its being a good hiding place for Tuke.”

Hardacre smiled. “How can you still think of such things? They are beyond us now.”

“You described it as the Sacred Island.”

“True. It is a rough, rocky place. Not suitable for habitation. Superstition and fear grew out of it. The people will not land there. To do so is desecration. A sign of war. Tuke would know this.”

“And de Barras?”

“I think not.”

Bolitho remembered the false masts, the pain and the shock of the bombardment. He had known that Tuke would have a plan. Maybe all the rest had been a rehearsal just for this. De Barras would drive into the anchorage, guns firing, whether he knew about Genin and the revolution or not.

The wildness of battle would soon restore order in his ship, and Tuke’s destruction would keep de Barras’s security for a little longer.

But the islanders would see and care about none of these things. To them Tuke, de Barras and the English sailors were as one. Hostile, alien, feared. But as soon as they knew of their trespass on to their Sacred Island the last control would snap.

Tuke would stand off and await his chance as he had done before. Eurotas captured, villages burned and pillaged, people killed without mercy. And after challenging a King’s ship with no more than a simple ruse, de Barras would stand no chance at all.

He looked at the palm fronds moving gently in a soft breeze. Hardacre’s schooner was lively enough, but Tempest carried a tremendous spread of canvas. He made up his mind.

“Allday. Get a boat’s crew together. One of Mr Hardacre’s cutters. I am going out to the ship.” He saw Allday’s disbelief and added, “Well, almost.”

Later, as the boat rose and clipped in a slight swell, Bolitho knew what it was like to be parted from his command.

The boat kept station on Tempest’s stern, and he was aware of the many figures on the poop and in the mizzen shrouds silently watching as the oars held it in position.

In the cabin windows Herrick and Borlase were staring down at him, and it was all he could do to remain outwardly calm, even formal.

“Tell Mr Lakey to lay a course for Rutara Island. I want you to weigh immediately and go there with every stitch you can carry.”

He could see his clerk, Cheadle, deeper within the cabin. He would be writing it all down. Bolitho never transferred his authority without setting it in writing. And even though his signature would not appear this time, it would be enough to safeguard Herrick if things went wrong. And two-thirds of the ship’s company were listening. The best witnesses of all.

He added, “It is sacred to the other islanders. I need you to anchor in the lagoon there, but do not put a single man ashore! Do you understand?”

Herrick nodded firmly. “Aye, sir.”

“If Tuke’s schooners are there, destroy them, do what you can to drive them away. Your actions will be seen. It will be known that we are not here to smear their beliefs and bring a war amongst them.”

“And if I meet with Narval, sir?”

Bolitho looked up at him, trying to feel his way. “You read my instructions. If de Barras is still in command you must tell him about his country. If Narval is under new colours, you must stand off.”

“Not fight, sir?”

“Like it or not, Mr Herrick, we are not known to be at war with France.”

“Is there anything more I can do, sir?” He sounded wretched.

“Send a short report in Pigeon’s boat. In your own words. Someone should know what we are about.”

There was no point in mentioning that Raymond had shut them out of the settlement compound. Even Herrick might refuse to obey if he knew that.

“And, Mr Herrick.” He paused, holding his gaze. “Thomas. You will stay at anchor off Rutara until you get contrary orders. We will be safe here. The defences, and the Eurotas’s remaining guns, still command the entrance.”

Quietly he said, “Put her about, Allday. This is easy for no one.”

By the time the boat had reached the pier again there were men already swarming up Tempest’s rigging and out along her yards. That was good, Bolitho thought. It would keep Herrick too busy to think about those he was leaving astern.

He saw Keen at the inner end of the pier, his shirt open to his waist, his arms hanging at his sides.

He waited for Bolitho to reach him and then said huskily, “She’s gone, sir.” He looked at the sun. “Just this moment.”

Allday said, “I’ll deal with it, sir.”

“No!” Keen swung on him. “I will.” In a gentler tone he added, “But thank you.”

Bolitho watched him go. It had of course been a dream, hopeless from the beginning. In these beautiful surroundings. He let his gaze move over the beach and nodding fronds, the deep blue water. But they had stood no real chance. The young sea officer. The native girl from a barely known island.

He quickened his pace. But it had been their dream. No one had had the right to break it.

“Richard!”

He swung on his heel, seeing her running down from the makeshift hospital towards him.

He seized her and held her against him. “Oh, Viola, why did you leave the compound?”

But she was clinging to him, laughing and weeping all at once.

“I don’t care! Don’t you see, my darling Richard? No matter what happens, for the very first time we are together!”

Acting-Lieutenant Francis Pyper watched as they walked into the long hut. He had been feeling afraid, especially after seeing the activity aboard Tempest. Even now she was shortening-in her cable, and within the hour might have disappeared around the headland.

But he was no longer afraid.

Sergeant Quare crunched towards him. “Sir? Message for the captain. Two natives sick in the village. He should be told at once.”

Pyper nodded, his mouth dry. “I will tell him.”

Quare removed his hat and wiped the inside with his hand. Poor little bastard, he thought. Won’t be long now. They’ll start to drop like flies. He had seen it in the Caribbean. In India. All over the bloody place.

He saw Blissett walking towards the pier and bellowed, “Do your tunic up! Where the hell d’you think you are, man?”

That made him feel slightly better.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

Bolitho stepped into a white patch of moonlight and showed himself.

“Sorry, sir.” Sergeant Quare grounded his musket. “Wasn’t expectin’ you again.”

“All quiet?” He leaned against a tree and listened to the hissing roar of surf along the outer reef. Timeless. Confident.

“Yessir.” The marine sighed. “They’ve been burnin’ some more poor devils in the village. Heard ’em chantin’ and wailin’.”

“Yes.”

Bolitho checked himself from sitting down. He was tired out. Sick and weary from the constant work. It had been eight days since Tempest had set sail, and there was still no word from anybody. Not that he expected much help from the village. There had been several deaths, and Hardacre had told him that some more natives had been found dying in a canoe on the other side of the island. They had been strangers, and had probably brought the disease with them. Itak was the name given to the fever. It wasted its victims away in no time at all. Threw them into a desperate struggle for breath while they burned up from within.

Each day Bolitho inspected his men, searching for any sign of it. But apart from weariness and strain, they were behaving well. Which was more than could be said for the men inside the compound. Bolitho had sent Keen to request that food and drink be lowered over the palisade. In fact it had been thrown down, and Keen had heard sounds of drunken laughter, as if the place was turning into a madhouse.

So next day Bolitho had gone himself. After waiting in the sun for a long time, watched, and he suspected covered, by two guards in a blockhouse, Raymond had appeared above him.

Bolitho had said, “We need help, sir. If the people in the village are left to themselves they may become too weak to burn their dead-”

He had got no further.

“So you have come to beg, have you? You thought you could override me by sending your ship away! Well, you’ve got your new command now! A native hut, and a handful of ruffians to do your bidding! My precious wife will soon come running back when she sees what she has thrown away!” He had sounded wild, even jubilant.

Bolitho had made another try. “If I take the watch off the Eurotas I will have enough hands to manage until the fever is gone.”

“You keep your men away from my ship!” His voice had risen almost to a scream. “My men have orders to open fire if a single boat puts off to her! You’ve lost your ship, Captain, and I’ll not have you touch mine!”

He had found Keen and the others waiting for him with the news of another death. It was pitiful the way the natives were accepting it. The gods were angry. Tinah knew about Tuke and the sacred island. If the whole of his people discovered the truth too they would see their suffering as the direct result of intrusion.

He looked at the stars and shivered. If he had acted sooner he might have been able to seize the Eurotas under cover of night. But that was too late. Raymond’s threats, and their own fear of the Itak, would make sure of a hot welcome from the loaded swivels.

If he could not get word to Herrick, and the schooner failed to return soon, he would know Narval had been taken. In the name of the Revolution or through an open mutiny made no difference now. Tuke would demand payment for his help to Genin’s cause, and the Frenchman could hardly refuse. But how would he do it? A legalized position with the new regime, a ship, a letter of marque, or the promise of gold when Genin eventually reached Paris?

To make the wound more bitter, Bolitho realized that as soon as Narval had gone and Tuke had obtained the reward he was seeking, news would quite likely arrive to say that England and France had been at war for months.

It would be the end of Bolitho’s career. In Raymond he had a deadly enemy. And in London they would be looking for a scapegoat to cover their anger at losing both the French frigate and a pirate who would still need to be hunted by men-of-war desperately required in the line of battle.

He thought of Raymond’s words when he had shouted down at him. That was his only comfort. Viola had worked ceaselessly at his side, carried encouragement from her makeshift hospital to the village where she had helped to nurse the sick and take care of the children left behind.

She was lying in the hut where he had just left her. He had knelt over her, listening to her regular breathing, afraid to touch her and break her sleep.

The sergeant asked, “I hope you’ll pardon me, sir, but what are we goin’ to do?”

“Do?” He ran his fingers up through his hair. “Wait. When the schooner comes I’ll get a message to her master. At least we will know if Narval is still hereabout.”

“This island, sir. The one you told us of. ’Ow far away is it?”

“Rutara is well north of here. Some five hundred miles.”

Bolitho thought of it even as he said the words. The winds had been light but favourable. Herrick should have taken up his station even if he had been unable to destroy Tuke’s schooners. He would certainly not run into the trap which had caught them before.

He watched the stars growing smaller and fainter. It would soon be time to begin again. Issue rations, make sure his men were clean, and try to keep up their spirits. At least the Itak was not the pox which he had known to kill two-thirds of a ship’s company in a matter of weeks. On land they could build fires, boil water and pursue some sort of routine.

He said, “Walk with me to the pier. It will be light very soon.”

How quiet it was in the village. It was hard to believe the beach and shallows had been full of laughing girls and youths. Like Keen’s beautiful Malua.

“Sir!” Quare’s voice jerked him from his thoughts. “I think I saw a sail!”

Bolitho jumped on to a slab of rock, straining his eyes into the gloom. But all he saw between sky and sea were breakers, a necklace of surf cut short where it met the headland.

But it was brightening fast, and he could already see Eurotas’s portly outline, an anchor light still flickering.

Bolitho looked towards the settlement, but there was no sign of life.

Quare said stubbornly, “There, sir.”

This time he did see it, like a pale fin rising above the distant surf, shivering through the spray, but moving inshore even while he watched.

A schooner. Small and well handled.

He said, “Go and rouse Mr Keen. Tell him I want a message sent to Hardacre to say his schooner is returning.”

The vessel’s master would take more notice of him than of Raymond, that was certain. He heard Quare’s boots crunching back up the slope, and somewhere a child crying, the sound strangely sad.

Then from behind him she said, “I woke up. You’d gone.”

She came to his side and he put his arm around her shoulders, feeling her warmth.

“It’s the schooner.” He tried to sound calm. “I wonder what news she’ll bring.”

The sails were end-on now, tilting steeply to the wind. It must be much stronger outside the bay’s protection, he thought. Being ashore was like being crippled. You had to wait for others. He could even imagine how Raymond felt about it.

He squeezed her shoulders. “Please God let it be good news!”

Hazy light played across the horizon, like smoky liquid spilling over the edge of the earth. It touched the twin masts, Hardacre’s rag of a pendant, as the vessel drove close to the reef and tacked expertly in a welter of spray and spindrift.

Keen came along the path, tucking his shirt into his breeches. He saw Viola Raymond and said, “Oh, good morning, ma’am.”

“Hello, Val.” She smiled, seeing the dark shadows under his eyes, sharing his pain.

Bolitho said, “Hardacre will be here soon, I expect.”

He glanced at the palisades. He would wait until the schooner was warped alongside the pier and then walk down to her deck. Nobody from the settlement would be able to prevent him, and they were too frightened to leave the compound’s protection

The bay was opening up on either hand, and they stood in silence watching the colours emerge from the darkness, the still and threatening shadows come alive with movement and simple beauty.

Keen would be thinking of her, running down the beach into the sea with him. Laughing.

“She’s back then.” Hardacre stood on the hard sand, hands on hips, watching his schooner take on personality. “And about time, too.”

Bolitho shaded his eyes and watched for some sort of signal from the Eurotas or from the palisades. If Raymond ordered her to anchor and await his pleasure he would have to think of something else.

Hardacre remarked suddenly, “That’s very unusual.”

Bolitho looked at him. “What?”

“The master knows this bay like his own soul. He usually begins to wear ship at that point, when the wind stands as it does today.”

Bolitho turned back to the little schooner, a sudden chill of warning pricking his brain.

“Mr Keen, go to the gates and rouse the sentry! Tell the fools to challenge the schooner!”

He watched the small vessel, and then heard Keen shouting up at the blockhouse by the gates. He stiffened, she was altering course yet again, towards the Eurotas.

Hardacre said, “In God’s name, what is the madman doing?”

Bolitho snapped, “Get me a musket!” He saw Quare on the slope. “Quick! Fire yours!”

Damp, or over-eagerness, made the musket misfire, and Bolitho heard Quare growling like an angry dog as he prepared another shot.

From the palisade came a thick, unsteady voice, full of sleep and protest, and Keen returned, saying angrily, “That man should be…” He saw Bolitho’s expression and turned to watch the ships.

Even the crack of the musket did not break their fixed attention, although the chorus of awakened birds was enough to alarm the whole island.

Slowly, faintly at first, and next with terrible resolve, a column of smoke erupted from the schooner’s deck. Then a flame, licking out from a hatch like an orange tongue, consuming the jib sail in ashes.

Keen said with a gasp, “Fireship!”

“Rouse the men!”

Bolitho saw the schooner stagger as part of her maindeck collapsed in a great gust of flame and sparks. Like things released from hell the fires exploded across sails and tarred rigging, hanging the little ship into one massive torch. Bolitho could even see the blaze reflected in Eurotas’s furled canvas and shrouds as the wind carried it unwaveringly towards the anchored ship’s side.

“A boat’s cast off, sir!” Quare was reloading frantically. “The buggers will get away!”

He stopped loading as the schooner shuddered against the Eurotas’s hull and hurled a fresh column of smoke and swirling sparks high over her mastheads.

Bolitho could hear the fires taking hold, could picture the tinder-dry wood, the tarred cordage all joining together in one terrible pyre. He thought he saw some men jump into the sea, and imagined the terror below decks as the off-duty watch awoke to their own awful execution.

He felt her quivering, sobbing quietly against his shoulder.

He said, “There is nothing we can do, Viola. Some will reach the beach, but I fear that most will die.”

So Eurotas had been cut out right under Raymond’s guns. His ship, his life-line if all else failed, was blazing and crackling, the smoke rolling downwind in a great choking bank. Masts and spars were consumed and fell into the sparks, internal explosions hurled fragments high into the air to pock-mark the surrounding water with feathers of spray. One great bang rocked the gutted hulk and rolled an echo around the bay like thunder. As it finally died away, Eurotas started to settle down, the steam spouting and hissing to cover her last agony before she went to the bottom, leaving her charred poop still visible above the surface.

Keen asked quietly, “Why, sir?”

“It was our message, Mr Keen.” Bolitho turned away from the water, his eyes smarting from smoke, or was it the added bitterness of his discovery? “Tuke has chosen his reward.” He looked at Hardacre and added, “It is this place. Without Eurotas’s protection we cannot hold it now. Once installed, it would take a regiment of marines to flush him out again.”

Keen said in a small voice, “And we have no way of getting help, sir.”

As if to emphasize his words the schooner’s bows broke surface and floated away from the great frothing whirlpool of flotsam and charred remains.

Bolitho said abruptly, “Follow me.”

He found Pyper and the rest of the men grouped near the hospital hut, the wounded beside them.

Bolitho looked at them as individuals and then said, “It is my belief that Mathias Tuke has seized the means to attack this island and those others which depend on it. Otherwise he would not waste a schooner by using her as a fireship, she is too valuable for his flotilla.” He saw his words hitting home. “He will kill any natives who oppose him, and you have already seen his methods, both aboard Eurotas and ashore.”

He knew she was watching him, remembering her own torment when the transport had been captured. She even touched her shoulder at the place where her gown hid the livid brand he had set on her.

He continued, “Not one of us has caught the fever, although many have died all around us. So perhaps we are safe. Maybe we are too evil to go just yet!”

Bolitho saw Miller and Quare grin, as he knew they would. On the other side of the clearing Allday was watching him calmly. He had heard this sort of thing before.

Bolitho said, “Only one ship can offer battle to Tuke, and no matter what forces he now has, I think Tempest is more than a match for them.”

Blissett nodded, and he noticed that Lenoir, the French seaman, was crossing himself. Orlando stood apart from the rest, arms folded, one foot on the last case of biscuit. He looked powerful, and somehow regal.

He added slowly, “There are five hundred miles between us and Tempest, lads.”

He could see their doubt. What did the distance mean? Five hundred. It might as well be five thousand miles.

Bolitho looked along their intent faces, wishing he could spare them.

“I intend to take a cutter and as many volunteers who are willing and find our Tempest.”

There was a long drawn-out, stunned silence. Then as Pyper stepped forward with a makeshift watch-bill, Allday said, “Wouldn’t it be better to take both cutters, Captain?” He smiled lazily. “More of a chance, I reckon.”

Pyper called, “All volunteers hold up your hands.”

The boatswain’s mate, Miller, replied, “No need. We’ll all go.” He bared his strong teeth like an animal. “Two cutters, eh, lads?”

They all crowded forward, slapping each other and grinning as if they had just been offered something precious.

Bolitho glanced at his hands, expecting to see them shaking.

He heard her say, “You cannot leave me, Richard.”

He looked at her, his protest dying as she took his hands. Then he nodded. “Better together, my love.”

Allday cleared his throat. “Beg pardon, ma’am, an open boat full of sailors is no place for a lady!” He sounded shocked. “I mean, Captain, it would not be right!”

She looked him up and down. “I have seen it all. And I believe you need me to sustain your impudence, Allday!” She smiled. “When do we start?”

Bolitho took out the watch, seeing her eyes on it as he opened the guard.

“Dusk. If we attempt to leave earlier the guards may panic and open fire to stop us.”

He led her away from the others and their strange, released excitement.

“I don’t know, Viola. I’m not sure I can do it. Five hundred miles. And even then…”

She took his elbow and turned him gently towards the huts.

“Look at the marine, Richard. The one called Billy-boy. He has been badly wounded, but now he is on his feet. And the other two are much better. With men like these, of course you can do it!” She made to leave him and then said quietly, “And do not ask Hardacre to look after me until you return. We go together.” She watched him steadily. “It is our promise.”

He nodded. “If you are determined.”

She tossed her head and he saw her as he had first done, five years back. All her strength and as he had thought then, her arrogance. Despite her torn gown and scarred shoes, that lady was still very much there.

“Never more so, my darling Richard. About anything!”