Stand into Danger

13. Last Chance

“THE DON is shortening sail, sir.”

“We shall do likewise.” Dumaresq stood in the centre of the quarterdeck just forward of the mizzen, like a rock. “Take in the t’gan’sls.”

Bolitho shielded his eyes as he peered up through the tracery of rigging and nets as his own men began to fist and fight the rebellious canvas. In less than an hour the tension had risen like the sun, and now, with San Augustin firmly placed on the starboard bow, he could feel it affecting every man who was near him. Destiny had the wind-gage, but by overhauling the Spanish captain had placed himself between her and the approaches to the lagoon.

Rhodes strolled aft and joined him between two of the 12-pounders.

“He’s letting the Don get away with it.” He grimaced. “I must say I approve. I don’t fancy a one-sided fight unless the odds are in my favour.” He glanced quickly at the quarterdeck and then lowered his voice. “What do you make of the lord and master now?”

Bolitho shrugged. “I am bounced between contempt and admiration. I despise the way he used me. He must have known Egmont would not betray Garrick’s island on his own.”

Rhodes pursed his lips. “So it was his wife.” He hesitated. “Are you over it, Dick?”

Bolitho looked across at the San Augustin, her streaming pennants and the white ensign of Spain.

Rhodes persisted. “In all this, with the prospect of being blown to gruel because of some stupid event of long ago, you can still fret for the love of a woman?”

Bolitho faced him. “I’ll not get over it. If only you could have seen her…”

Rhodes smiled sadly. “My God, Dick, I’m wasting my time. When we return to England I’ll have to see what I can do to roust you out of it.”

They both turned as a shot reverberated across the water. Then there was a splash as the ball threw up a spindly waterspout in direct line with the Spaniard’s bowsprit.

Dumaresq snapped, “God in heaven, the buggers have fired first!”

Several telescopes were trained on the island, but nobody was able to sight the hidden cannon.

Palliser said dourly, “That was a warning. I hope the Don has the sense to heed it. This calls for stealth and agility, not a head-on charge!”

Dumaresq smiled. “Does it indeed? You begin to sound like an admiral, Mr Palliser. I shall have to watch myself!”

Bolitho studied the Spanish ship closely. It was as if nothing had happened. She was still steering for the nearest finger of land where the lagoon began.

A few cormorants arose from the sea when the two ships sailed past, like heraldic birds as they circled watchfully overhead, Bolitho thought.

“Deck there! Smoke above th’ hill, sir!”

The telescopes trained round like small artillery.

Bolitho heard Clow, one of the gunner’s mates, remark, “That be from a bloody furnace. Them devils is heatin’ shot to feed the Dons.”

Bolitho licked his lips. His father had told him often enough about the folly of setting a ship against a sited shore battery. If they used heated shot it would turn any vessel into a pyre unless it was dealt with immediately. Sun-dried timbers, tar, paint and canvas would burn fiercely, while the wind would do the rest.

Something like a sigh transmitted itself along the deck as the San Augustin’s ports lifted in unison, and then at the blast of a trumpet she ran out her guns. In the far distance they looked like black teeth along her tumblehome. Black and deadly.

The surgeon joined Bolitho by the twelve-pounders, his spectacles glinting in the sun. Out of deference for the men who might soon need his services, he had refrained from wearing his apron.

“I am as nervous as a cat when this is dragging on.”

Bolitho understood. Down on the orlop deck below the waterline, in a place of spiralling lanterns and entrapped smells, all the sounds were distorted.

He said, “I think the Spaniard intends to force the entrance.”

As he spoke the other ship reset her topgallants and tacked very slightly to take advantage of the south-westerly wind. How fine her gingerbread looked in the sun’s glare, how majestic were the proud pennants and the scarlet crosses on her courses. She was like something from an old engraving, Bolitho thought.

She made the lean and graceful Destiny appear spartan by comparison.

Bolitho walked aft until he stood directly below the quarterdeck rail. He heard Dumaresq say, “Another half-cable, and then we’ll see.”

Then Palliser’s voice, less certain. “He might just force the entrance, sir. Once inside he could wear ship and rake the anchored vessels, even use them to protect himself from the shore. Without craft, Garrick is a prisoner.”

Dumaresq considered it. “That part is true. I have only heard of one man who successfully walked on water, but we need another sort of miracle today.”

Some of the nine-pounder crews nearby rocked back on their knees, grinning and prodding each other over the captain’s humour.

Bolitho marvelled that it could be so easy for Dumaresq. He knew exactly what his men needed to keep them alert and keen. And that was what he gave them, neither more nor a fraction less.

Gulliver said to nobody in particular, “If the Don succeeds, that’s a farewell to our prize-money.”

Dumaresq looked at him, his teeth bared in a fierce grin. “God, you are a miserable fellow, Mr Gulliver. How you can find your way about the ocean under such a weight of despair I cannot fathom!”

Midshipman Henderson called, “The Spaniard has passed the point, sir!”

Dumaresq grunted. “You have good eyes.” To Palliser he added, “He is on a lee shore. It will be now or not at all.”

Bolitho found that he was gripping his hands together so tightly that the pain helped to calm him. He saw the reflected flashes from the San Augustin’s hidden gunports, the great gouts of smoke, and then seconds later came the rumbling crash of her broadside.

Puffs of smoke and dust rose like plumes along the hill-side, and several impressive avalanches of rocks tumbled down towards the water.

Palliser said savagely, “We shall have to come about shortly, sir.”

Bolitho looked up at him. After Destiny, Palliser had been hoping for a command. He had made little secret of the fact. But with hundreds of sea officers on the beach and on half-pay, he needed more than an empty commission to carry him through. The Heloise could have been a stepping-stone for him. But promotion boards had short memories. Heloise lay on the bottom and not in the hands of a prize court.

If Don Carlos Quintana succeeded in vanquishing Garrick’s defences, all the glory would go to him. The Admiralty would see too many red faces for Palliser to be remembered as anything but an embarrassment.

There was a solitary bang, and another waterspout shot skywards, well clear of the Spaniard’s hull.

Palliser said, “Garrick’s strength was a bluff after all. Damn him, the Dons must be laughing their heads off at us. We found their treasure for them and now we’re made to watch them take it!”

Bolitho saw the Spaniard’s yards swinging slowly and ponderously, her main-course being brailed up as she edged past another spine of coral. To the anchored vessels in the lagoon she would make a fiercesome spectacle when she presented herself.

He heard someone murmur, “They’m puttin’ down boats.”

Bolitho saw two boats being swayed out from the San Augustin’s upper deck and then lowered alongside. It was not smartly done, and as the men tumbled into them and cast off, Bolitho guessed that their captain had no intention of heaving to on a lee shore, with the added threat of a heavy cannon nearby.

Instead of making for the spur of coral or for the island’s main foreshore, the boats forged ahead of their massive consort and were soon lost from view.

But not from the masthead lookout, who soon reported that the boats were sounding the channel with lead and line to protect their ship from running aground.

Bolitho found he could ignore Palliser’s bitter outbursts, just as he could admire the Spaniard’s skill and impudence. Don Carlos had likely fought the British in the past, and this chance of humiliating them was not to be missed.

But when he glanced aft he saw that Dumaresq appeared unworried, and was watching the other vessel more as a disinterested spectator.

He was waiting. The thought struck Bolitho like a fist. Dumaresq had been pretending all along. Goading the Spaniard rather than the other way round.

Bulkley saw his expression and said thickly, “Now I think I understand.”

The Spaniard fired again to starboard, the smoke gushing downwind in an unbroken bank. More fragments and dust spewed away from the fall of shot, but no terrified figures broke from cover, nor did any gun fire back at the brightly flagged vessel.

Dumaresq snapped, “Let her fall off two points to starboard.”

“Man the lee braces!”

The yards squeaked to the weight of men at the braces, and leaning very slightly Destiny pointed her jib-boom towards the flat-topped hill.

Bolitho waited for his own men to return to their stations. He must be mistaken after all. Dumaresq was probably changing tack in readiness to come about and make a circular turn until they were back on their original approach.

At that moment he heard a double explosion, like a rock smashing through the side of a building. As he ran to the side and peered across the water he saw something leap in the air ahead of the Spanish ship and then drop from view just as quickly.

The masthead yelled, “One o’ th’ boats, sir! Shot clean in ’alf!”

Before the men on deck could recover from their surprise the whole hill-top erupted with a line of bright flashes. There must have been seven or eight of them.

Bolitho saw the water leap and boil around the Spaniard’s counter and a jagged hole appear in a braced topsail.

Without a telescope it looked dangerous enough, but he heard Palliser shout, “That sail’s smouldering! Heated shot!”

The other balls had fallen on the ship’s hidden side, and Bolitho saw the flash of sunlight on a glass as one of her officers ran to peer at the hill-top battery.

Then, as the San Augustin fired again, the carefully sited battery replied. Against the Spaniard’s heavy broadside, the returned fire was made at will, each shot individually laid and aimed.

Smoke spurted from the ship’s upper deck, and Bolitho saw objects being flung outboard and more smoke from her poop as flames took hold.

Dumaresq was saying, “Waited until she had passed the point of reason, Mr Palliser. Garrick is not such a fool that he wants his channel blocked by a sunken ship!” He thrust out his arm, pointing at the smoke as the vessel’s foretopgallant mast and yard plunged down into the water. “Look well. That is where Destiny would have been if I had yielded to temptation!”

The Spaniard’s firing was becoming haphazard and wild, and the shots were smashing harmlessly into solid rock or ricocheting across the water like flying fish.

From Destiny’s decks it appeared as if the San Augustin was embedded in coral as she drove slowly into the lagoon, the hull trailing smoke, her canvas already pitted with holes.

Palliser said, “Why doesn’t he come about?”

All his anger for the Spaniards had gone. Instead he was barely able to hide his anxiety for the stricken ship. She had looked so proud and majestic. Now, marked down by the relentless bombardment, she was heading into helpless submission.

Bolitho turned as he heard the surgeon murmur, “A sight I’ll not forget. Ever.” He removed his glasses and polished them fiercely. “Like something I was once made to learn.”

“Far away where sky met sea

A majestic figure grew

Pushed along by royal decree

Her aggressive pennants flew.”

He smiled sadly. “Now it sounds like an epitaph.”

A rumbling explosion echoed against Destiny’s hull, and they saw black smoke drifting above the lagoon and blotting out the anchored vessels completely.

Dumaresq said calmly, “She’ll strike.” He ignored Palliser’s protest. “Her captain has no choice, don’t you see that?” He looked along his own ship and saw Bolitho watching him. “What would you do? Strike your colours or have your people burn?”

Bolitho heard more explosions, either from the battery or from within the Spaniard’s hull. Like Bulkley, he found it hard to believe. A great ship, beautiful in her arrogance, and now this. He thought of it happening here, to his own ship and companions. Danger they could face, it was part of their calling. But to be changed in the twinkling of an eye from a disciplined company to a rabble, hemmed in by renegades and pirates who would kill a man for the price of a drink, was a nightmare.

“Stand by to come about, Mr Palliser. We will steer east.”

Palliser said nothing. In his mind’s eye he was probably seeing the utter despair aboard the Spanish ship, although with a more experienced understanding than Bolitho’s. They would see Destiny’s masts turning as she stood away from the shore, and in that they would recognize their own defeat.

Dumaresq added, “Then I shall explain what I intend.”

Bolitho and Rhodes looked at one another. So it was not over. It had not even begun.

Palliser closed the screen door quickly, as if he expected an enemy to be listening.

“Rounds completed, sir. The ship is completely darkened as ordered.”

Bolitho waited with the other officers and warrant officers in Dumaresq’s cabin, feeling their doubts and anxieties, but sharing the chilling excitement nonetheless.

All day, Destiny had tacked slowly back and forth in the blazing sunshine, Fougeaux Island always close abeam, although not near enough to be hit by any battery. For hours they had waited, and some had hoped until the last that the San Angustin would emerge again, somehow freeing herself from the lagoon to join them. There had been nothing. More to the point, there had been no terrible explosion and the aftermath of flying wreckage which would have proclaimed the Spaniard’s final destruction. Had she blown up, most of the anchored vessels in the lagoon would have perished, too. In some ways the silence had been worse.

Dumaresq looked around their intent faces. It was very hot in the sealed and shuttered cabin, and they were all stripped to their shirts and breeches. They looked more like conspirators than King’s officers, Bolitho thought.

Dumaresq said, “We have waited a whole day, gentlemen. It is what Garrick would have expected. He will have anticipated each move, believe me.”

Midshipman Merrett sniffed and rubbed his nose with his sleeve, but Dumaresq’s eyes froze him into stillness.

“Garrick will have made his plans with care. He will know I have sent to Antigua for aid. Whatever chance we had of bottling him in his lair until that support arrived vanished when San Augustin made her play.” He leaned on his table, his hands encircling the chart he had laid there. “Nothing stands between Garrick and his ambitions elsewhere but this ship.” He let his words sink in. “I had few fears on that score, gentlemen. We can tackle Garrick’s flotilla when it breaks out, fight them together, or run them down piecemeal. But things have changed. Today’s silence has proved that.”

Palliser asked, “D’you mean he’ll use the San Augustin against us, sir?”

Dumaresq’s eyes flashed with sudden anger at the interruption. Then he said almost mildly, “Eventually, yes.”

Feet shuffled, and Bolitho heard several voices murmuring with sudden alarm.

Dumaresq said, “Don Carlos Quintana will have surrendered, although he may have fallen in the first engagement. For his sake, I hope that was so. He will receive little mercy at the hands of those murdering scum. Which is something you will bear in mind, do I make myself clear?”

Bolitho found he was clenching and unclenching his hands. His palms felt clammy, and he knew it was the same sickness of fear which had followed the attack on the island. His wound started to throb as if to remind him, and he had to stare at the deck until his mind cleared again.

Dumaresq said, “You will recall the first shots at the Spaniard? From a single cannon to the west’rd of the hill. They were deliberately fired badly to encourage the intruder into their trap. Once past the point they used the battery and some heated shot to create panic and final submission. It gives an idea of Garrick’s cunning. He was prepared to risk setting her afire rather than allow her amongst his carefully collected flotilla. And Don Carlos might well have persevered against an ordinary bombardment, although I doubt if he would have succeeded.”

Feet moved overhead, and Bolitho imagined the men up there on watch, without their officers, wondering what schemes were being hatched, and who would pay for them with his life.

He could also picture the ship, without lights and carrying little canvas as she ghosted through the darkness.

“Tomorrow Garrick will still be watching us, to see what we intend. We shall continue throughout the day, patrolling, nothing more. It will do two things. Show Garrick that we expect assistance, also that we have no intention of leaving. Garrick will know time is running out and will endeavour to hasten things along.”

Gulliver asked uneasily, “Won’t that be the wrong thing to do, sir? Why not leave him be and wait for the squadron?”

“Because I do not believe the squadron will come.” Dumaresq eyed the master’s astonishment blandly. “Fitzpatrick, the actinggovernor, may well delay my despatches until he is relieved of his own responsibility. By then it will be too late anyway.” He gave a slow smile. “It is no use, Mr Gulliver, you must accept your fate, as I do.”

Palliser said, “Us against a forty-four, sir? I’ve no doubt Garrick’s other craft will be fairly well armed, and may be experienced in this sort of game.”

Dumaresq appeared to grow tired of the discussion. “Tomorrow night, I intend to close the shore and drop four boats. I cannot hope to force the entrance myself, and Garrick will know this. He’ll have guns laid on the channel anyway, so I’d still be at a grave disadvantage.”

Bolitho felt his stomach muscles tighten. A boat action. Always chancy, always difficult, even with the most experienced of hands.

Dumaresq continued, “I will discuss the plans further when we see how the wind supports us. In the meantime, I can tell you this. Mr Palliser will take the cutter and the jolly-boat and land at the sou’-west point of the island. It is the best sheltered part and the least likeliest for an assault. He will be supported by Mr Rhodes, Mr Midshipman Henderson and…” his eyes moved deliberately to Slade, “… our senior master’s mate.”

Bolitho glanced quickly at Rhodes and saw how pale his face seemed. There were tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, too.

The senior midshipman, Henderson, by comparison looked calm and eager. It was his first chance, and like Palliser he would soon be trying his luck for promotion. It would be uppermost on his mind until the actual moment came.

“There will be no moon, and as far as I can discover, the sea will be kind to us.” Dumaresq’s stature seemed to grow and expand with his ideas. “The pinnace will be lowered next, and will make for the reefs to the north-eastern end of the island.”

Bolitho waited, trying not to hold his breath. Knowing what was coming.

It was almost a relief when Dumaresq said, “Mr Bolitho, you will take charge of the pinnace. You will be supported by Midshipmen Cowdroy and Jury, and an experienced gunner’s mate with a complete gun’s crew. You will find and seize that solitary cannon below the hill-side, and use it as I direct.” He smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. “Lieutenant Colpoys can select a squad of picked marksmen and take them to cover Mr Bolitho’s actions. You will please ensure that your marines discard their uniforms and make do with slop clothing like the seamen.”

Colpoys looked visibly shocked. Not by the prospect of being killed, but at the idea of seeing his marines clad in anything but their red coats.

Dumaresq examined their faces again. Perhaps to see the relief of the ones who would be staying, the concern of those detailed for his reckless plan of attack.

He said slowly, “In the meantime, I shall prepare the ship to give battle. For Garrick will come out, gentlemen. He has too much to lose by staying, and as Destiny will be his last witness he will be eager to destroy us.”

He had their full attention.

“And that is what he will have to do, before I let him pass!”

Palliser stood up. “Dismissed.”

They moved to the door, mulling over Dumaresq’s words, trying perhaps to see a last glimmer of hope that an open battle might be avoided.

Rhodes said quietly, “Well, Dick, I think I shall take a large drink before I stand my watch tonight. I do not feel like brooding.”

Bolitho glanced at the midshipmen as they filed past. It must be far worse for them.

He said, “I have done a cutting-out expedition myself. I expect that you and the first lieutenant will be told to excise one of the anchored vessels.” He shivered in spite of his guard. “I don’t fancy the prospect of taking that cannon from under their noses!”

They looked at each other, and then Rhodes said, “The first one of us to return buys wine for the wardroom.”

Bolitho did not trust himself to answer but groped his way to the companion-ladder and up to the quarterdeck to resume his watch.

A large shadow sidled from the trunk of the mizzen-mast and Stockdale said in a hoarse whisper, “Tomorrow night then, sir?” He did not wait for a reply. “Felt it in me bones.” His palms scraped together in the darkness. “You’d not be thinkin’ of takin’ anyone else as a gun-captain?”

His simple confidence helped to disperse Bolitho’s anxiety more than he would have thought possible.

“We’ll stay together.” He touched his arm impulsively. “After this, you’ll lament the day you ever quit the land!”

Stockdale rumbled a chuckle. “Never. ’Ere, a man’s got room to breathe!”

Yeames, master’s mate of the watch, grinned. “I don’t reckon that bloody pirate knows what ’e’s in for, sir. Old Stockdale’ll trim ’is beard for ’im!”

Bolitho walked to the weather side and began to pace slowly up and down. Where was she now, he wondered? In some ship heading for another land, a life he would never share.

If only she would come to him now, as she had on that other incredible night. She would understand. Would hold him tenderly and drive back the fear which was ripping him apart. And there was another long day to endure before they would begin the next act. He could not possibly survive this time, and he guessed that fate had never intended it otherwise.

Midshipman Jury shaded the compass-light with his hands to examine the swinging card and then looked across at the slowly pacing figure. Just to be like him would be the only reward he could ever want. So steady and confident, and never too impatient or hasty with a quick rebuke like Palliser, or scathing like Slade. Perhaps his father had been a bit like Richard Bolitho at that age, he thought. He hoped so.

Yeames cleared his throat and said, “Best get ready to pipe the mornin’-watch, sir, though I fear it’ll be a long day today.”

Jury hurried away, thinking of what lay ahead, and wondering why he was not apprehensive any more. He was going with the third lieutenant, and to Ian Jury, aged fourteen years, that was reward enough.

Bolitho had known the waiting would be bad, but throughout the day, as Destiny’s company laid out the equipment and weapons which would be required for the landing-parties, he felt his nerves stretching to breaking-point. Whenever he looked up from his work, or came on deck from the cool darkness of one of the holds, the bare, hostile island was always there. Although his knowledge and training told him that Destiny covered and re-covered her track again and again during the day, it seemed as if they had never moved, that the island, with its fortress-like hill, was waiting, just for him.

Towards dusk, Gulliver laid the ship on a new tack to take her well clear of the island. The masthead lookouts had been unable to sight any sort of activity, so well sheltered was the lagoon, but Dumaresq had no doubts. Garrick would have watched their every move, and the fact Destiny had never tacked closer inshore might have helped to shake his confidence, to make him believe that help was already on the way for that solitary frigate.

Eventually, Dumaresq called his officers aft to the cabin. It was much as before, hot and clammy, the air penned in by the shutters so that they were all soon sweating freely.

They had gone over it again and again. Surely nothing on their part could go wrong? Even the wind favoured them. It remained from the south-west, and although slightly fresher than before, gave no hint that it might turn against them.

Dumaresq leaned on his table and said gravely, “It is time, gentlemen. You will leave here to prepare your boats. All I can do is wish you well. To ask for luck would be an insult to each of you.”

Bolitho tried to relax his body, limb by limb. He could not begin the action like this. Any one fault would break him in pieces, and he knew it.

He plucked the shirt away from his stomach and thought of the time he had purposefully donned a clean one, just to meet her on deck. Perhaps this was the same hopeless gesture. Unlike changing into clean clothing before a battle at sea to avoid infecting a wound, this was something personal. There would be no Bulkleys on that evil island, no one to see the purpose of his reasoning, or to care.

Dumaresq said, “I intend to lower the cutter and jolly-boat in an hour. We should be in position to drop the launch and pinnace by midnight.” His gaze moved to Bolitho. “Although it will be a harder pull for your people, your cover will be better.” He checked off the points on his strong fingers. “Make certain your muskets and pistols remain unloaded until you are sure there will be no accidents. Examine all the gear and tackle you need before you enter the boats. Talk to your people.” He spoke gently, almost caressingly. “Talk to them. They are your strength, and will be watching you to see how you measure up.”

Feet padded across the deck above and tackle scraped noisily along the planking. Destiny was heaving to.

Dumaresq added, “Tomorrow is your worst day. You will lie in hiding and do nothing. If an alarm is raised, I cannot save you.”

Midshipman Merrett tapped at the door and then called, “Mr Yeames’ respects, sir, and we are hove to.”

With the cabin pitching unsteadily from side to side, it was rather unnecessary, and Bolitho was amazed to see several of those present grinning and nudging each other.

Even Rhodes, whom he knew to be worried sick about the coming action, was smiling broadly. It was that same madness returning. Perhaps it was better this way.

They moved out of the cabin and were soon swallowed up by their own groups of men.

Mr Timbrell’s hoisting-party had already swayed out the jolly-boat, and the cutter followed shortly over the nettings and then into the slapping water alongside. There was suddenly no time for anything. In the enclosing darkness a few hands darted out for brief clasps, voices murmured to friends and companions, a “good luck,” or “we’ll show ’em.” And then it was done, the boats wallowing round in the swell before heading away towards the island.

“Get the ship under way, Mr Gulliver.” Dumaresq turned his back on the sea, as if he had already dismissed Palliser and the two boats.

Bolitho saw Jury talking with young Merrett, and wondered if the latter was glad he was staying aboard. It was incredible to consider how much had happened in so few months since they had all come together as one company.

Dumaresq moved silently to his side. “More waiting, Mr Bolitho. I wish I could make her fly for you.” He gave a deep chuckle. “But there never was an easy way.”

Bolitho touched his scar with one finger. Bulkley had removed the stitches, and yet he always expected to feel the same agony, the same sense of despair as when he had been cut down.

Dumaresq said suddenly, “Mr Palliser and his brave fellows will be well under way by now. But I must not think of them any more. Not as people or friends, until it is over.” He turned away, adding briefly, “One day you will understand.”