Stand into Danger

15. Only A Dream

“CEASE firing!”

Bolitho handed his pistol to a wounded seaman to reload. He felt as if every fibre in his body was shaking uncontrollably, and he could scarcely believe that the first attack had been repelled. Some of those who had nearly reached the top of the ridge were lying sprawled where they had dropped, others were still dragging themselves painfully towards safety below.

Colpoys joined him, his shirt clinging to his body like a wet skin. “God!” He blinked the sweat from his eyes. “Too close for comfort.”

Three more seamen had fallen, but were still alive. Pearse was already supplying each of them with spare muskets and powderhorns so that they could keep up a rapid fire for another attack. After that?… Bolitho glanced at his gasping, cowering sailors. The air was acrid with powder-smoke and the sweet smell of blood.

Little bawled, “’Nother few minutes, sir!”

So fierce had been the attack that Bolitho had been forced to take men from the gun-crew to help repel the charging, yelling figures. Now, Little and Stockdale, with a few more picked hands, were throwing their weight on wooden staves and handspikes to work the cannon round towards the head of the anchorage.

Bolitho picked up the telescope and levelled it on the six motionless vessels. One, a topsail schooner, looked very like the craft which had put paid to the Heloise. None showed any sign of weighing, and he guessed that their masters were expecting the hill-top guns to smash this impudent invasion before more harm could be done.

He took a mug of wine from Pearse without seeing what he was doing. Where the hell was Palliser? Surely he must have realized what they were attempting? Bolitho felt a stab of despair. Suppose the first lieutenant believed the gunfire and pandemonium implied that Bolitho’s party had been discovered and was being systematically wiped out. He recalled Dumaresq’s own words before they had left the ship. I cannot save you. It was likely Palliser would take the same view.

Bolitho swung round, trying to hide his sudden desperation as he called, “How much longer, Little?” He realized that the gunner’s mate had only just told him, just as he knew that Colpoys and Cowdroy were watching him worriedly.

Little straightened his back and nodded. “Ready.” He stooped down again, his eye squinting along the gun’s black barrel. “Load with powder, lads! Ram the charge ’ome.” He was moving round the breech like a great spider, all arms and legs. “This ’as got to be done nice an’ tidy like.”

Bolitho licked his lips. He saw two seamen taking a shot-carrier towards the small furnace, where another man waited with a ladle in his fists, ready to spoon the heated ball into the carrier. Then it was always a matter of luck and timing. The ball had to be tipped into the muzzle and tamped down on to a double-thick wad. If the gun exploded before the rammer could leap clear he would be blown apart by the ball. Equally, it might split the barrel wide open. No wonder captains were terrified of using heated shot aboard ship.

Little said, “I’ll lay for the middle vessel, sir. A mite either way an’ we might ’it one or t’other.”

Stockdale nodded in agreement.

Colpoys said abruptly, “I can see some men on the hill-top. My guess is they’ll be raking us presently.”

A man shouted, “They’re musterin’ for another attack!”

Bolitho ran to the parapet and dropped on one knee. He could see the small figures darting amongst the rocks and others taking up positions on the hill-side. This was no rabble. Garrick had his people trained like a private army.

“Stand to!”

The muskets rose and wavered in the glare, each man seeking out a target amongst the fallen rocks.

A fusillade of shots ripped over the parapet, and Bolitho knew that more attackers were taking advantage of covering fire to work around the other end of the ridge.

He darted a quick glance at Little. He was holding out his hands like a man at prayer.

“Now! Load! ”

Bolitho tore his eyes away and fired his pistol into a group of three men who were almost at the top of the ridge. Others were fanning out and making difficult targets, and the air was filled with the unnerving din of yells and curses, many in their own language.

Two figures bounded over the rocks and threw themselves on a seaman who was frantically trying to reload a musket. Bolitho saw his mouth open in a silent scream as one attacker pinioned him with his cutlass and his companion silenced him forever with a terrible slash.

Bolitho lunged forward, striking a blade aside and hacking down the man’s sword-arm before he could recover. He felt the shock jar up his wrist as the hanger cut through bone and muscle, but forgot the screaming man as he went for his companion with a ferocity he had never known before.

Their blades clashed together, but Bolitho was standing amongst loose stones and could barely keep his balance.

The deafening roar of Little’s cannon made the other man falter, his eyes suddenly terrified as he realized what he had done.

Bolitho lunged and jumped back behind the parapet even before his adversary’s corpse hit the ground.

Little was yelling, “Look at that ’un!”

Bolitho saw a falling column of water mingled with steam where the ball had slammed down between two of the vessels. A miss maybe, but the effect would rouse panic quickly enough.

“Sponge out, lads!” Little capered on the edge of his pit while the men with the cradle dashed back towards the furnace for another ball. “More powder!”

Colpoys crossed the blood-spattered rock and said, “We’ve lost three more. One of my fellows is down, too.” He wiped his forehead with his arm, his gold-hilted sabre hanging from his wrist.

Bolitho saw that the curved blade was almost black with dried blood. They could not withstand another attack like the last. Although corpses dotted the slope and along the broken rim of the parapet, Bolitho knew there were many more men already grouping below. They would be far more fearful of Garrick than a ragged handful of seamen.

“Now!” Little plunged his slow-match down and the gun recoiled again with a savage explosion.

Bolitho caught a brief blur of the ball as it lifted and then curved down towards the unmoving vessels. He saw a puff of smoke, and something solid detach itself from the nearest schooner and fly into the air before splashing in the water alongside.

“A hit! A hit!” The gun-crew, black-faced and running with sweat, capered around the gun like madmen.

Stockdale was already using his strength on a handspike to edge the muzzle round just that small piece more.

“She’s afire!” Pearse had his hands above his eyes. “God damn ’em, they’re tryin’ to douse it!”

But Bolitho was watching the schooner at the far end of the lagoon. She of all the vessels was in the safest anchorage, and yet even as he watched he saw her jib flapping free and men running forward to sever the cable.

He reached out, not daring to take his eyes from the schooner. “Glass! Quickly!”

Jury hurried to him and put the telescope in his fingers.

Then he stood back, his eyes on Bolitho’s face as if to discover what was about to happen.

Bolitho felt a musket-ball fan past his head but did not flinch. He must not lose that small, precious picture, even though he was in danger of being shot down while he watched.

Almost lost in distance, and yet so clear because he knew them. Palliser’s tall frame, sword in hand. Slade and some seamen by the tiller, and Rhodes urging others to the halliards and braces as the schooner broke free and fell awkwardly downwind. There were splashes alongside, and for a moment Bolitho thought she was under fire. Then he realized that Palliser’s boarders were flinging the vessel’s crew overboard, rather than lose vital time putting them under guard.

Colpoys shouted excitedly, “They must have swum out to the vessel! He’s a cunning one is Palliser! Used our attack as the perfect decoy!”

Bolitho nodded, his ears ringing with the crack of musket-fire, the occasional bang of a swivel. Instead of steering for the centre of the lagoon, Palliser was heading directly for the schooner which had been hit by Little’s heated shot.

As they tore down on her, Bolitho saw a ripple of flashes and knew that Palliser was raking the men on her deck, smashing any hope they might have had of controlling the flames. Smoke was rising rapidly from her hatch and drifting down towards the beach and its deserted huts.

Bolitho called, “Little! Shift the target to the next one!”

Minutes later the heated ball smashed through a schooner’s frail hull and caused several internal explosions which brought down a mast and set most of the standing rigging ablaze.

With two vessels burning fiercely in their midst, the remainder needed no urging to cut their cables and try to escape the drifting fireships. The last schooner, the one seized by Palliser’s boarding party, was now under command, her big sails filling and rising above the smoke like avenging wings.

Bolitho said suddenly, “Time to go.” He did not know why he knew. He just did.

Colpoys waved his sabre. “Take up the wounded! Corporal, put a fuse to the magazine!”

Little’s slow-match plunged down again, and another heated ball ripped across the water and hit the vessel already ablaze. Men were leaping overboard, floundering like dying fish as the great pall of smoke crept out to hide them from view.

Pearse lifted a wounded marine across his shoulder, but held his boarding-cutlass in his other hand.

He said, “Wind’s steady, sir. That smoke will blind the bloody battery!”

Panting like wild animals, the seamen and marines scrambled down the slope, keeping the ridge between them and the hill-top battery.

Colpoys pointed to the water. “That’ll be the closest point!” He fell on his knees, his hands to his chest. “Oh God, they’ve done for me!”

Bolitho called two marines to carry him between them, his mind cringing to the din of musket-fire, the sound of flames devouring a vessel beyond the dense smoke.

There was shouting, too, and he knew that many of the schooner’s people had been ashore when the attack had begun and were now running towards the hill-side in the hope of reaching the protection of the battery.

Bolitho came to a halt, his feet almost in the water. He could barely suck breath and his eyes streamed so badly he could see little beyond the beach.

They had done the impossible, and while Palliser and his men took advantage of their work, they were now able to go no further.

He knelt down to reload his pistol, his fingers shaking as he cocked it for one last shot.

Jury was with him, and Stockdale, too. But there seemed less than half of the party which had so courageously stormed the ridge and taken the cannon.

Bolitho saw Stockdale’s eyes light up as the magazine exploded and hurled the gun bodily down the slope amidst a landslide of corpses and broken rocks.

Midshipman Cowdroy stabbed at the smoke with his hanger. “Boat! Look, there!”

Pearse lowered the marine to the ground and waded into the water, his terrible cutlass held above his head.

“We’ll take it off ’em, lads!”

Bolitho could feel their desperation like a living force. Sailors were all the same in one thing. Get them a boat, no matter how small, and they felt they could manage.

Little dragged out his cutlass and bared his teeth. “Cut ’em down afore they slips us!”

Jury fell against Bolitho, and for an instant he thought he had been taken by a musket-ball. But he was pointing incredulously at the smoke and the shadowy boat which was poking through it.

Bolitho nodded, his heart too full to understand.

It was Rhodes standing in the bows of the long-boat, and he saw the checkered shirts of Destiny’s seamen at the oars behind him.

“Lively there!” Rhodes reached down and seized Bolitho’s wrist. “All in one piece?” He saw Colpoys and shouted, “Lend a hand there!”

The boat was so full of men, some of them wounded, that there was barely five inches of freeboard, as like a drunken sea-creature it backed-water and headed once more into the smoke.

Between coughs and curses Rhodes explained, “Knew you’d try to reach us. Only chance. My God, you raised a riot back there, you rascal!”

A burning schooner drifted abeam, and Bolitho could feel the heat on his face like an inferno. Explosions rolled through the smoke, and he guessed it was either another magazine or the hill-top battery shooting blindly across the lagoon.

“What now?”

Rhodes stood up and gestured wildly to the coxswain. “Hard a-starboard!”

Bolitho saw the twin masts of a schooner right above him, and with his men reached out to catch the heaving-lines which came through the smoke like serpents.

Groaning and crying out in pain, the wounded were pushed and hauled up the vessel’s side, and even as the long-boat was cast adrift with a man who had died in sight of safety as her only passenger, Bolitho heard Palliser shouting orders.

Bolitho felt his way through the smoke and met Palliser and Slade by the tiller.

Palliser exclaimed, “You look like an escaped convict, man!” He gave a brief smile, but Bolitho saw only the strain and the relief.

Rhodes was kneeling beside the marine lieutenant. “He’ll live if we can get him to old Bulkley.”

Palliser raised one hand and the helm went over very slightly. Another schooner was just abeam, her sails drawing well as she stood away from the blazing hulks and headed for the entrance.

Then he said, “By the time they’ve discovered we’ve taken one of their own, we’ll be clear.”

He turned sharply as the San Augustin’s towering masts broke above the smoke. She was still at anchor, and probably had every able man from the island on board waiting to fend off the drifting fire-ships and douse the results of any contact with them.

Palliser added, “After that, it will be someone else’s problem, thank God!”

A ball splashed down near the larboard bow, and Bolitho guessed that Garrick’s gunners had at last realized what was happening.

As the smoke thinned, and parts of the island merged clean and pale in the sunlight, Bolitho saw they were already past the point.

He heard Pearse whisper, “Look, Bob, there she be!” He lifted the head of a wounded seaman so that he could see Destiny’s braced topsails as Dumaresq drove her as close as he dared to the reefs.

Pearse, a boatswain’s mate who had fought like a devil, who by command of his captain had laid raw the back of many a defaulter with his cat-o’-nine-tails, said very quietly, “Poor Bob’s dead, sir.” He closed the young seaman’s eyes with his tarry fingers, adding, “’Nother minute and ’e’d ’ave bin fine.”

Bolitho watched the frigate shortening sail, the rush of men along her gangway as the two vessels tacked closer together. Destiny’s figurehead was as before, pure and pale, her victor’s laurels held up as if in defiance to the smoke-shrouded island.

And all Bolitho could think of was the dead seaman named Bob, of a solitary corpse left drifting in the long-boat, of Stockdale’s anxiety at being ordered away from his side when he was needed. Of Colpoys, and the corporal nicknamed Dipper, Jury and Cowdroy, and others who had been left behind.

“Take in the fores’l!” Palliser watched the Destiny’s wary approach with grim satisfaction. “There were times when I never thought to see that lady again.”

Josh Little crossed to Pearse’s side and said roughly, “We’ll ’ave a wet when we gets aboard, eh?”

Pearse was still looking at the dead seaman. “Aye, Josh. An’ one for ’im, too.”

Rhodes said, “The lord and master will have his way now. A fight to the finish.” He ducked as a heaving-line soared aboard. “But for myself, I wish the odds were fairer.” He looked across at the great pall of smoke which surrounded the flat-topped hill as if to carry it away. “You’re a marvel, Dick. You really are.”

They examined each other like strangers. Then Bolitho said, “I was afraid you’d hold back. That you’d think we were all taken.”

Rhodes waved his arm to some of the seamen along Destiny’s gangway. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? We knew what you were doing, where you were, everything.”

Bolitho stared at him in disbelief. “How?”

“Remember that main-topman of yours, Murray? He was their sentry. Saw you and young Jury as you left cover.” He gripped his friend’s arm. “It’s true! He’s below now with a splinter in his leg. Had quite a story to tell. Lucky for you and young Jury, eh?”

Bolitho shook his head and leaned against the schooner’s bulwark to watch the two hulls come together in the swell.

Death had been that close, and he had known nothing about it. Murray must have taken the first available vessel out of Rio and had ended up with Garrick’s pirates. He could have raised the alarm, or could have shot them both down and become a hero. Instead, something which they had once shared, another precious moment, had held them together.

Dumaresq’s voice boomed through a speaking-trumpet. “Roundly there! I shall be aground if you cannot shift yourselves!”

Rhodes grinned. “Home.”

Captain Dumaresq stood by the stern windows of his cabin, his hands behind him, as he listened to Palliser’s account of the pitched-battle and their escape from the lagoon.

As he signalled for Macmillan to pass round more wine to his stained and weary officers, he said gravely, “I put a landing-party ashore to prick Garrick’s balloon. I did not expect you to make an invasion all on your own!” Then he smiled broadly, and it made him look sad and suddenly tired. “I shall think of you and your lads at dawn tomorrow. But for you, Destiny would have been met with such a resistance that I doubt I could have worked her clear. Things are still bad, gentlemen, but at least we know.”

Palliser asked, “Do you still intend to despatch the schooner to Antigua, sir?”

Dumaresq regarded him thoughtfully. “Your schooner, you mean?” He moved to the windows and stared at the dying sun reflected from the water. Like red gold. “Yes, I am afraid it is another prize I must take from you.”

Bolitho watched, his mind strangely alert in spite of the strain, the bitter memories of the day. He recognized the bond between captain and first lieutenant as if it were something solid and visible.

Dumaresq added, “If San Augustin is little damaged we must fight her as soon as we can. When Garrick’s lookouts see the schooner standing away he will know that time is running out, that I have sent for aid.” He nodded grimly. “He will come out tomorrow. That is my belief.”

Palliser persisted, “He will be supported by the other schooners, maybe two survived the fires.”

“I know. Better that than wait for Garrick to sail against us with a completely overhauled ship. I’d ask for better terms, but few captains get the chance to choose.”

Bolitho thought of the men who had been sent over to the schooner. All but a few were wounded, and yet there had been something defiant about them, something which had raised a cheer from Destiny’s gangways and rigging.

For reasons of his own, Dumaresq had sent Yeames, master’s mate, in command of the prize. It must have been a hard blow for Slade.

Bolitho had been moved when Yeames had approached him before the last boatload had been ferried across. He had always liked the master’s mate, but had thought little beyond that.

Yeames had held out his hand. “You’ll win tomorrow, sir, I’ve no doubt o’ that. But mebbee we’ll not meet again. In case we do, I’ll want you to remember me, as I’d be proud to serve you when you gets your command.”

He had gone away, leaving Bolitho confused and proud. Dumaresq’s resonant voice broke through his thoughts. “We shall clear for action at dawn tomorrow. I shall speak with the people before we close the enemy, but to you especially I give my thanks.”

Macmillan hovered by the screen door until he caught the captain’s eye.

“Mr Timbrell’s respects, sir, an’ will you want to darken ship?”

Dumaresq shook his big head slowly. “Not this time. I want Garrick to see us. To know we are here. His one weakness, apart from greed, is anger. I intend that he shall grow angrier before morning!”

Macmillan opened the door, and gratefully the lieutenants and midshipmen made to withdraw.

Only Palliser remained, and Bolitho guessed he would share the more technical details with the captain without their interruption.

With the door shut once more, Dumaresq turned to his first lieutenant and gestured to a chair.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Palliser sat and thrust out his long legs. For a moment more he kneaded his eyes with his knuckles and then said, “You were right about Egmont, sir. Even after you put him aboard a vessel outwardbound from Basseterre he tried to warn Garrick, or to reason with him. We’ll probably never know. He obviously transferred to a smaller, faster vessel and took the northerly route through the islands to reach here before us. Whatever happened, his words were lost on Garrick.”

He delved into his pocket and withdrew the gold necklace with its double-headed bird and gleaming ruby tails.

“Garrick had them butchered. I took this from one of our prisoners. The seamen I told you about explained the rest to me.”

Dumaresq picked up the heavy necklace and examined it sadly.

“ Murray, he saw it?”

Palliser nodded. “He was wounded. I sent him in the schooner before he could speak with Mr Bolitho.”

Dumaresq walked to the windows again and watched the little schooner turning stern on, her sails as gold as the necklace in his hand.

“That was thoughtful. For what he has said and done, Murray will be discharged when he reaches England. I doubt if his path will ever cross with Mr Bolitho’s again.”

He shrugged. “If it does, the pain will be easier to bear by then.”

“You’ll not tell him, sir? Not let him know that she is dead?”

Dumaresq watched the shadows reaching across the heaving water to cover the schooner’s hull.

“He’ll not hear it from me. Tomorrow we must fight, and I need every officer and man to give all he has. Richard Bolitho has proved himself to be a good lieutenant. If he survives tomorrow, he’ll be an even better one.” Dumaresq raised one of the windows and without further hesitation tossed the necklace into Destiny’s wake. “I’ll leave him with his dream. It’s the very least I can do for him.”

In the wardroom Bolitho sat in a chair, his arms hanging at his sides as the resistance ran out of him like fine sand from a glass. Rhodes sat opposite him, staring at an empty goblet without recognition.

There was still tomorrow. Like the horizon, they never reached it.

Bulkley entered and sat down heavily between them. “I have just been dealing with our stubborn marine.”

Bolitho nodded dully. Colpoys had insisted on staying aboard with his men. Bandaged and strapped up so that he could use only one arm, he had barely the strength to stay on his feet.

Palliser came through the door and tossed his hat on to a gun. For a moment he looked at it, probably seeing it tomorrow with this place stripped bare, the screens gone, the little personal touches shut away from the smoke and fire of battle.

Then he said crisply, “Your watch, I believe, Mr Rhodes? The master cannot be expected to do everything, you know!”

Rhodes lurched to his feet and grinned. “Aye, aye, sir.” Like a man walking in his sleep he left the wardroom.

Bolitho barely heard them. He was thinking of her, using her memory to shield his mind from the sights and deeds of that day.

Then he stood up abruptly and excused himself from the others as he went to the privacy of his cabin. He did not want them to see his dismay. When he had tried to see her face there had been only a blurred image, nothing more.

Bulkley pushed a bottle across the table. “Was it bad?”

Palliser considered it. “It’ll be worse yet.” But he was thinking of the jewelled necklace. On the sea-bed astern now. A private burial.

The surgeon added, “I’m glad about Murray. It’s a small thing in all this misery, but it’s good to know he’s clear of blame.”

Palliser looked away. “I’m going to do my rounds and turn in for a few hours.”

Bulkley sighed. “Likewise. I’d better request to borrow Spillane from clerk’s duties. I shall be short-handed, too.”

Palliser paused in the doorway and regarded him emptily. “You’d best hurry then. He’ll maybe hang tomorrow. Just to stoke Garrick’s anger further. He was his spy. Murray saw him searching old Lockyer’s body at Funchal when it was brought aboard.” Weariness was slurring Palliser’s words. “Spillane guessed, and tried to incriminate him over Jury’s watch. To drive a wedge be-tween fo’c’sle and quarterdeck. It’s been done before.” With sudden bitterness he added, “He’s as much a murderer as Garrick.”

He strode from the wardroom without another word, and when Bulkley turned his head he saw the first lieutenant’s hat was still lying on the gun.

Whatever happened tomorrow, nothing would ever be the same again, he thought, and the realization saddened him greatly.

When darkness finally shut out the horizon and the flattened hill above Fougeaux Island had disappeared, Destiny’s lights still shone on the water like watchful eyes.