Stand into Danger

3. Spanish gold

LIEUTENANT Charles Palliser closed the two outer screen doors of Dumaresq’s cabin and said, “All present, sir.”

In their various attitudes the Destiny’s lieutenants and senior warrant officers sat and watched Dumaresq expectantly. It was late afternoon, two days out of Madeira. The ship had a feeling of leisurely routine about her, as with a light north-easterly wind laying her on a starboard tack she cruised steadily into the Atlantic.

Dumaresq glanced up at the skylight as a shadow moved past it. Most likely the master’s mate of the watch.

“Shut that, too.”

Bolitho glanced at his companions, wondering if they were sharing his growing sense of curiosity.

This meeting had been inevitable, but Dumaresq had taken great pains to ensure it would come well after his ship had cleared the land.

Dumaresq waited for Palliser to sit down. Then he looked at each man in turn. From the marine officer, past the surgeon, the master and the purser, finally to his three lieutenants.

He said, “You all know about the death of my clerk. A reliable man, even if given to certain eccentricities. He will be hard to replace. However, his murder by some persons unknown means more than the loss of a companion. I have been under sealed orders, but the time is come to reveal some of the task we shall soon be facing. When two people know something it is no longer a secret. An even greater enemy in a small ship is rumour and what it can do to idle minds.”

Bolitho flinched as the wide, compelling eyes paused on him momentarily before passing to some other part of the cabin.

Dumaresq said, “Thirty years ago, before most of this ship’s company had drawn breath, one Commodore Anson took an expedition south around Cape Horn and into the Great South Sea. His purpose was to harry Spanish settlements for, as you should know, we were then at war with the Dons.” He nodded grimly. “Again.”

Bolitho thought of the courtly Spaniard in the house behind the harbour at Funchal, the secrecy, the missing bag for which a man had died.

Dumaresq continued, “One thing is certain. Commodore Anson may have been courageous, but his ideas of health and caring for his people were limited.” He looked at the rotund surgeon and allowed his features to soften. “Unlike us, maybe he had no proper doctors to advise him.”

There were several chuckles, and Bolitho guessed the remark had been made to put them more at their ease.

Dumaresq said, “Be that as it may, within three years Anson had lost all of his squadron but his own Centurion, and had left thirteen hundred of his people buried at sea with his various escapades. Most of them died from disease, scurvy and bad food. It is likely that if Anson had returned home without further incident he would have faced a court martial and worse.”

Rhodes shifted in his chair, his eyes shining as he whispered, “I thought as much, Dick.”

Dumaresq’s glance silenced whatever it was Rhodes had been about to impart.

The captain brushed some invisible dust from his red waistcoat and said, “Anson fell in with a Spanish treasure ship homeward bound with bullion in her holds valued at more than a million guineas.”

Bolitho vaguely remembered reading of the incident. Anson had seized the ship after a swift fight, had even broken off the action in order that the Spaniards could douse a fire which had broken out in their rigging. He had been that eager and desperate to take the treasure ship, Nuestra Senora de Covadonga, intact. Prize courts and the powers of Admiralty had long looked on such captures as of greater value than the lives lost to obtain them.

Dumaresq cocked his head, his calm attitude momentarily lost. Bolitho heard the hail from the masthead to report a sail far off to the north. They had already sighted it twice during the day, for it seemed unlikely there would be more than one vessel using this same lonely route.

The captain shrugged. “We shall see.” He did not elaborate but continued, “It was not known until recently that there was another treasure ship on passage to Spain. She was the Asturias, a larger vessel than Anson’s prize, and therefore more heavily laden.” He darted a glance at the surgeon. “I can see you have heard of her?”

Bulkley sat back and interlaced his fingers across his ample stomach. “Indeed I have, sir. She was attacked by an English privateer under the command of a young Dorset man, Captain Piers Garrick. His letter of marque saved him many times from the gallows as a common pirate, but today he is Sir Piers Garrick, well respected, and the past holder of several government posts in the Caribbean.”

Dumaresq smiled grimly. “True, but I suggest you confine your other suspicions to the limits of the wardroom! The Asturias was never found, and the privateer was so damaged by the engagement that she too had to be abandoned.”

He looked round, irritated as the sentry called through the door, “Midshipman of the watch, sir! ”

Bolitho could picture the anxiety on the quarterdeck. Should they disturb the meeting below their feet and risk Dumaresq’s displeasure? Or should they just note the strange sail in the log and hope for the best?

Dumaresq said, “Enter.” He did not seem to raise his voice and yet it carried to the outer cabin without effort.

It was Midshipman Cowdroy, a sixteen-year-old youth who Dumaresq had already punished for using unnecessary severity on members of his watch.

He said, “Mr Slade’s respects, sir, and that sail has been reported to the north’rd again.” He swallowed hard and seemed to shrink under the captain’s stare.

Dumaresq said eventually, “I see. We shall take no action.” As the door closed he added, “Although I fear that stranger is not astern of us by coincidence.”

A bell chimed from the forecastle and Dumaresq said, “Recent information has been found and sworn to that most of the treasure is intact. A million and a half in bullion.”

They stared at him as if he had uttered some terrible obscenity.

Then Rhodes exclaimed, “And we are to discover it, sir?”

Dumaresq smiled at him. “You make it sound very simple, Mr Rhodes, perhaps we shall find it so. But such a vast amount of treasure will, and has already, aroused interest. The Dons will want it back as their rightful property. A prize court will argue that as the ship had already been seized by Garrick’s privateer before she managed to escape and hide, the bullion is the property of His Brittanic Majesty.” He lowered his voice, “And there are some who would seize it to further a cause which would do us nothing but harm. So, gentlemen, now you know. Our outward purpose is to complete the King’s business. But if the news of this treasure is allowed to run riot elsewhere, I will want to know who is responsible.”

Palliser rose to his feet, his head bowed uncomfortably between the deckhead beams. The rest followed suit.

Dumaresq turned his back and stared at the glittering water which stretched to the horizon astern.

“First we go to Rio de Janeiro. Then I shall know more.”

Bolitho caught his breath. The South Americas, and Rio was all of 5000 miles from his home at Falmouth. It would be the furthest he had yet sailed.

As they made to leave Dumaresq said, “Mr Palliser and Mr Gulliver, remain, if you please.”

Palliser called, “Mr Bolitho, take over my watch until I relieve you.”

They left the cabin, each immersed in his own thoughts. The far-off destination would mean little to the ordinary sailor. The sea was always there, wherever he was, and the ship went with him. Sails had to be trimmed and reset at all hours, no matter what, and a seaman’s life was hard whether the final landfall was in England or the Arctic. But let the rumour of treasure run through the ship and things might be very different.

As he climbed to the quarterdeck Bolitho saw the men assembling for the first-watch looking at him curiously, then turning away as he met their eyes, as if they already knew.

Mr Slade touched his hat. “The watch is aft, sir.”

He was a hard master’s mate and unpopular with many of the people, especially those who did not rise to his impressive standards of seamanship.

Bolitho waited for the helmsmen to be relieved, the usual handing over from one watch to the next. A glance aloft at the set of the yards and sails, examine the compass and the chalked notes on the slate made by the midshipman on duty.

Gulliver came on deck, banging his palms together as he did when he was worried.

Slade asked, “Trouble, sir?”

Gulliver eyed him warily. He had been in Slade’s position too recently to take any comment as casual. Seeking favours perhaps? Or a way of suggesting that he was out of his depth with the wardroom officers aft?

He snapped, “At the next turn of the glass we will alter course.” He peered at the tilting compass, “Sou’-west by west. The captain intends to see the t’gan’sls, though with these light winds under our coat-tails I doubt if we can coax another knot out of her.”

Slade squinted up at the masthead lookout. “So the strange sail means something.”

Palliser’s voice preceded him up the companion ladder. “It means, Mr Slade, that if that sail is still there tomorrow morning she is indeed following us.”

Bolitho saw the worry in Gulliver’s eyes and guessed what Dumaresq must have said to him and Palliser.

“Surely there is nothing we can do about that, sir? We are not at war.”

Palliser regarded him calmly. “There is quite a lot we can do about it.” He nodded to emphasize the point. “So be ready.”

As Bolitho made to leave the quarterdeck in his care Palliser called after him, “And I shall be timing those laggards of yours when all hands are piped to make more sail.”

Bolitho touched his hat. “I am honoured, sir.”

Rhodes was waiting for him on the gun-deck. “Well done, Dick. He’ll respect you if you stand up to him.”

They walked aft to the wardroom and Rhodes said, “The lord and master is going to take that other vessel, you know that, don’t you, Dick?”

Bolitho threw his hat on to one of the guns and sat down at the wardroom table.

“I suppose so.” His mind drifted back again, to the coves and cliffs of Cornwall. “Last year, Stephen, I was doing temporary duty aboard a revenue cutter.”

Rhodes was about to make a joke of it but saw the sudden pain in Bolitho’s eyes.

Bolitho said, “There was a man then, a big and respected landowner. He died trying to flee the country. It was proved he had been smuggling arms for an uprising in America. Maybe the captain thinks this is similar, and all this time that gold has been waiting for the right use.” He grimaced, surprised at his own gravity. “But let’s talk about Rio. I am looking forward to that.”

Colpoys strolled into the wardroom and arranged himself carefully in a chair.

To Rhodes he said, “The first lieutenant says you are to select a midshipman to assist with the clerical duties in the cabin.” He crossed his legs and remarked, “Didn’t know the young fellas could write!”

Their laughter died as the surgeon, unusually grim-faced, entered, and after a quick glance around to make certain they were undisturbed, said, “The gunner’s just told me something interesting.

He was asked by one of his mates if they would need to move some of the twelve-pounder shot forward to make room for the bullion.” He let his words sink in. “How long has it been? Fifteen minutes? Ten? It must be the shortest secret of any day!”

Bolitho listened to the regular creak and clatter of rigging and spars, the movement of the watch on deck overhead.

So be ready, Palliser had said. It had suddenly adopted another meaning altogether.

The morning after Dumaresq’s disclosures about the treasure ship found the strange sail still lying far astern.

Bolitho had the morning-watch, and had sensed the growing tension as the light hardened across the horizon and faces around him took on shape and personality.

Then came the cry, “Deck there! Sail to th’ nor’-east!”

Dumaresq must have been ready for it, expecting it. He came on deck within minutes, and after a cursory glance at the compass and the flapping sails, observed, “Wind’s dropping off.” He looked at Bolitho. “This is a damnable business.” He recovered himself instantly. “I shall have breakfast now. Send Mr Slade aloft when he comes on watch. He has an eye for most craft. Tell him to study that stranger, though God knows she is cunning enough to keep her distance and still not lose us.”

Bolitho watched him until he had disappeared below and then looked along Destiny’s full length. It was the ship’s busiest time, with seamen at work with holy-stones on the deck planking, others cleaning guns and checking running and standing rigging under Mr Timbrell’s critical eye. The marines were going through one of their many, seemingly complicated drills with muskets and fixed bayonets, while Colpoys kept at a distance, leaving the work to his sergeant.

Beckett, the carpenter, was already directing some of his crew to begin repairs on the larboard gangway which had been damaged when a purchase had collapsed under the weight of some incoming stores. The upper deck with its double line of twelve-pounders was like a busy street and a market-place all in one. A place for hard work and gossip, for avoiding authority or seeking favour.

Later, with the decks cleaned up, the hands were piped to sail drill with Palliser at his place on the quarterdeck to watch their frantic efforts to knock seconds off the time it took to reef or make more sail.

And all the while as they lived through the daily routine of a man-of-war, that other sail never left them. Like a tiny moth on the horizon it was always there. When Destiny shortened sail and the way fell from beneath her beakhead, the stranger too would follow suit. Spread more canvas and the lookout would immediately report a responding action by the stranger.

Dumaresq came on deck as Gulliver was just completing his supervision of the midshipman’s efforts as they took the noon sights to fix the ship’s position.

Bolitho was close enough to hear him ask, “Well, Mr Gulliver, how will the weather favour us tonight?” He sounded impatient, even angry that Gulliver should be doing his normal duties.

The sailing master glanced at the sky and the red masthead pendant. “Wind’s backed a piece, sir. But the strength is the same. Be no stars tonight, too much cloud in the offing.

Dumaresq bit his lip. “Good. So be it.” He swung round and called, “Pass the word for Mr Palliser.” He saw Bolitho and said, “You have the dog-watches today. Make certain you gather plenty of lanterns near the mizzen. I want our ‘friend’ to see our lights later on. They will give him confidence.”

Bolitho watched the change in the man, the power running through him like a rising wave, a need to crush this impudent follower.

Palliser came striding aft, his eyes questioning again as he saw Dumaresq speaking with his junior lieutenant.

“Ah, Mr Palliser, I have work for you.”

Dumaresq smiled, but Bolitho could see from the way a nerve was jumping at the corner of his jaw, the stiffness in his back and broad shoulders, that his mind was less relaxed.

Dumaresq made a sweeping gesture. “I shall require the launch ready for lowering at dusk, earlier if the light is poor. A good man in charge, if you please, and extra hands to get her mast stepped and sails set as soon as they are cast off.” He watched Palliser’s inscrutable face and added lightly, “I want them to carry several of the large lanterns, too. We shall douse ours and darken ship completely as soon as the launch is clear. Then I intend to beat hard to wind’rd, come about and wait.”

Bolitho turned to look at Palliser. To tackle another vessel in the dark was not to be taken flippantly.

Dumaresq added, “I shall flog any man aboard who shows so much as a glow-worm!”

Palliser touched his hat. “I’ll attend to it, sir. Mr Slade can take charge of the boat. He’s so keen on promotion it’ll do him good.”

Bolitho was astounded to see Dumaresq and the first lieutenant laughing together like a pair of schoolboys, as if this was an everyday occurrence.

Dumaresq looked at the sky and then turned to stare astern. Only from the masthead could you see the other vessel, but it was as if he was able to reach beyond the horizon itself. He was calm again, in control of his feelings.

He said, “Something to tell your father about, Mr Bolitho. It would appeal to him.”

A seaman tramped past carrying a great coil of rope across his shoulder like a bundle of dead snakes. It was Stockdale. As the captain vanished below he wheezed, “We goin’ to fight that one, sir?”

Bolitho shrugged. “I-I think so.”

Stockdale nodded heavily. “I’ll grind an edge on my blade, then.” That was all it apparently meant to him.

Left alone to his thoughts, Bolitho crossed to the rail and looked down at the men already working to free the launch from the other boats on the tier. Did Slade, he wondered, yet realize what might become of him? If the wind rose after they had dropped the launch, Slade could be driven miles off course. It would be harder than finding a pin in a haystack.

Jury came on deck, and after some hesitation joined him by the rail.

Bolitho stared at him. “I thought you were sent aft to do poor Lockyer’s work?”

Jury met his gaze. “I asked the first lieutenant if he would send Mr Midshipman Ingrave instead.” Some of his composure collapsed under Bolitho’s gaze. “I’d prefer to stay in your watch, sir.”

Bolitho clapped him on the shoulder. “On your head be it.” But he felt pleased all the same.

The boatswain’s mates hurried from hatchway to hatchway, their silver calls trilling in between their hoarse cries for the watch below to assist in swaying out the launch.

Jury listened to the shrill whistles and said, “The Spithead nightingales are in full cry this evening, sir.”

Bolitho hid a smile. Jury spoke like an old sailor, a real sea-dog.

He faced him gravely, “You’d better go and see what is being done about the lanterns. Otherwise Mr Palliser will have the both of us in full cry, I’m thinking.”

As dusk came down to conceal their preparations the masthead lookout reported that the other sail was still in sight.

Palliser touched his hat as the captain came on deck. “All ready, sir.”

“Very well.” Dumaresq’s eyes shone in the reflected glare from the array of lanterns. “Shorten sail and stand by to lower the boat.” He looked up as the main-topsail filled and boomed sullenly from its yard. “After that, every stitch she can carry. If that ferret back there is a friend, and merely seeking our protection on the high seas, we shall know it. If not, Mr Palliser, he shall know that, I promise you!”

An anonymous voice whispered, “Cap’n’s comin’ up, sir!”

Palliser turned and waited for Dumaresq to join him by the quarterdeck rail.

Gulliver’s shadow moved through the gloom. “South by east, sir. Full and bye.”

Dumaresq gave a grunt. “You were right about the clouds, Mr Gulliver, though the wind’s fresher than I expected.”

Bolitho stood with Rhodes and three midshipmen at the lee side of the quarterdeck ready to execute any sudden order. More to the point, they were able to share the drama and the tension. Dumaresq’s comment had sounded as if he blamed the master for the wind.

He looked up and shivered. Destiny, after thrashing and beating her way to windward for what had seemed like an eternity, had come about as Dumaresq had planned. With a stiff wind sweeping over the larboard quarter she was plunging across a procession of breaking white-horses, the spray rising above the weather rigging and sweeping on to the crouching seamen like tropical rain.

Destiny had been stripped down to her topsails and jib with her big forecourse holding two reefs in readiness for a swift change of tack.

Rhodes murmured, “That other vessel is out there somewhere, Dick.”

Bolitho nodded and tried not to think of the launch as it had vanished into a deepening darkness, the lanterns making a lively show on the water.

It was an eerie feeling, with the ship so quiet around him. Nobody spoke, and the heavily greased gear was without its usual din and clatter. Just the sweeping sea alongside, the occasional rush of water through the lee scuppers as Destiny dropped her bows into a deep trough.

Bolitho wanted to forget what was happening around him and to concentrate on what he had to do. Palliser had selected the best seamen in the ship for a boarding party if it came to that. But the sudden upsurge of wind might have changed Dumaresq’s ideas, he thought.

He heard Jury moving restlessly by the nettings, and Rhodes ’ midshipman, Mr Cowdroy, who had been in the ship for two years. He was a haughty, bad-tempered youth of sixteen who would be impossible as a lieutenant. Rhodes had had cause to report him to the captain more than once, and the last time he had been ignominiously caned across a six-pounder by the boatswain. It did not seem to have changed him. Little Merrett made up the trio, trying to keep out of sight, as usual.

Rhodes said softly, “Soon now, Dick.” He loosened the hanger in his belt. “Might be a slaver, who knows?”

Yeames, master’s mate of the watch, said cheerfully, “Not likely, sir. You’d smell a blackbirder by now!”

Palliser snapped, “Be silent there!”

Bolitho watched the sea curling above the dipping side in a frothing white bank. Beyond it there was nothing but an occasional jagged crest. As black as a boot, as Colpoys had remarked. His marksmen were already aloft in the tops, trying to keep their muskets dry and watching for the first sight of the stranger.

If the captain and Gulliver had timed it correctly, the stranger should appear on Destiny’s starboard bow. The frigate would hold the wind-gage and the other vessel would have no chance of slipping away. The men at the starboard battery were ready, the gun captains on their knees as they prepared to run out as soon as the word came from aft.

To a civilian sitting by his hearth in England it might all seem like a kind of madness. But to Captain Dumaresq it was something else entirely, and it mattered. The other vessel, whatever she was, was interfering with the King’s affairs. That made it personal, not to be taken lightly.

Bolitho gave another shiver as he recalled his first meeting with the captain. To me, to this ship, and to His Brittanic Majesty, in that order!

Destiny raised her quivering jib-boom like a lance and seemed to hang motionless on the edge of another trough before she plunged forward and down, her bows smashing through solid water and flinging spray high above the forecastle.

From one corner of his eye Bolitho saw something fall from overhead. It hit the deck and exploded with a loud bang.

Rhodes ducked as a ball whined dangerously past his face and gasped, “A damned bullock has dropped his musket!”

Startled voices and harsh accusations erupted from the gun-deck, and Lieutenant Colpoys ran to the quarterdeck ladder in his haste to deal with the culprit.

It all happened in a swift sequence of events. The sudden explosion as Destiny ploughed her way towards the next array of crests, the attention of officers and seamen distracted for just a few moments.

Palliser said angrily, “Stop that noise, damn your eyes!”

Bolitho turned and then froze as out of the darkness, running with the wind, came the other vessel. Not safely downwind to starboard, but right here, rising above the larboard side like a phantom.

“Put up your helm!” Dumaresq’s powerful voice stopped some of the startled men in their tracks. “Man the braces there, stand by on the quarterdeck!”

Rearing and plunging, her sails booming and thundering in wild confusion, Destiny began to swing away from the oncoming vessel. Gun crews who minutes earlier had been nursing their weapons in readiness for a fight were caught totally unawares, and even now were tumbling across to help the men on the opposite side where the twelve-pounders still pointed at their sealed ports.

More spray burst over the quarterdeck as another sea surged jubilantly across the nettings and drenched the men nearby. Order was being restored, and Bolitho saw seamen straining back on the braces until they seemed to be touching the deck itself.

He shouted, “Stand to, men!” He was groping for his hanger even as he realized that Rhodes and his midshipman had already gone running to the bows. “She’ll be into us directly!”

A shot echoed above the din of sea and wind, but whether fired by accident or by whom, Bolitho did not know or care.

He felt Jury by his side.

“What’ll we do, sir?”

He sounded frightened. As well he might, Bolitho thought. Merrett was clinging to the nettings as if nothing would ever shift him.

Bolitho used something like physical strength to control his stampeding thoughts. He was in charge. Nobody else was here to lead, to advise. Everyone on the upper deck was too occupied with his own role.

He managed to shout, “Stay with me.” He pointed at a running figure. “You, clear the starboard battery and prepare to repel boarders!”

As men floundered cursing and shouting in all directions, Bolitho heard Dumaresq’s voice. He was on the opposite side of the deck, yet seemed to be speaking into Bolitho’s ear.

“Board, Mr Bolitho!” He swung round as Palliser sent more men to shorten sail in a last attempt to delay the impact of collision. “She must not escape!”

Bolitho stared at him, his eyes wild. “Aye, sir!”

He was about to draw his hanger when with a thundering crash the other vessel drove hard alongside. But for Dumaresq’s quick action she would have rammed into the Destiny’s broadside like a giant axe.

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