Success to the Brave

9. A Close Thing

Bolitho felt a hand touch his arm and tried not to groan as the stiffness plucked at his wound. Had he really been asleep? The realization shocked him into immediate alertness. 'What is it, man?'

Lieutenant Mountsteven watched him curiously, as if he did not really believe he was sharing a small rough gully with his vice-admiral.

'Dawn soon, sir. I've roused all hands.'

Bolitho sat up and rubbed his eyes. They felt raw and tired, and he noticed for the first time that the wind had almost died.

Looking back, it still seemed unreal, an impossible hallucination. He peered over the edge of the ground and saw the vague glint of water, as if he expected to see Achates forcing the entrance, her sails bulging like metal breastplates, burnished gold by the spluttering flares. Achates was only a small sixty-four, but in the eerie glare she had seemingly filled the harbour and had brought wild cheers and not a few tears from Bolitho's seamen.

Around him he heard men gathering up their weapons and recalled the Royal Marine corporal who had been sent by Captain Dewar to report that all his men were ashore and in position.

That too seemed like part of a dream, the corporal apparently unmoved and immaculate in his scarlet uniform.

He grinned, despite his anxieties. By comparison he felt' like a vagrant in his stained shirt and his hair full of grit and blown sand.

The fortress was still lost in darkness, but the old volcano had a fine rim of grey light around its summit.

Mountsteven handed him a flask and said, 'I've put a good lookout to watch for the ship, sir. The marines will prevent any attempt to move a cannon from the town to fire on her.'

Bolitho held the flask to his lips and felt his eyes water as the raw brandy burned his tongue. So much depended on Rivers. Given time he could move his heavy battery to another wall where with ordinary shot he could pound Achates to fragments. With heated shot he could achieve it in minutes.

It was as if the whole island was unwilling to wake, to enter the new day. He doubted if Rivers had had much sleep, wherever he was.

He looked round as somewhere a cock crowed defiantly in the damp air.

The third lieutenant scrambled down the slope and said breathlessly, 'They're moving artillery in the fortress, sir. I put a picket as close as I could.' He too took the flask from the other lieutenant and raised it to his lips. He grimaced and added, 'But the gates are still shut.'

Bolitho nodded, his mind grappling with such frugal intelligence. Rivers must be regaining confidence, whereas the first excitement of the landing and breaking the boom was already fading with the dawn.

Bolitho stood up carefully and wiped his face with his sleeve. What a wretched situation it was. People in England would question the need for men to die for such a cause when the French would gather all the spoils anyway. He cursed angrily and knew he was thinking only of himself, of his hopes for a future with Belinda. No wonder youthful lieutenants like Mountsteven and Scott eyed him with some curiosity. He should have known, have remembered his own service as a lieutenant. Then he had never considered the personal problems of his superiors, their wives, or that they might be as apprehensive as their subordinates when the time came to fight.

He shook the mood aside like an old cloak. To live without Belinda would be unbearable. But to live without honour would be beyond him.

There was a startled challenge from the waterside and Bolitho heard Allday's voice, hushed but fierce as he retorted, 'It's me, you blind fool! Hold your noise or I'll spit you, so I will!' He stumbled down the slope and peered uncertainly at the three officers.

Bolitho smiled. 'You performed a miracle. It was well done!'

Allday seemed to realize that one of the dishevelled shapes was Bolitho and bared his teeth in the gloom. 'Thankee, sir.'

Scott said, 'Thought you might have run into a guard-boat, Allday.'

Allday looked at him as if to consider if a mere lieutenant was worth his attention, then said,' We did, sir.' He drew his hand across his throat. 'No bother at all.'

The violent crash of a single cannon made several of the men gasp with surprise. Birds rose screaming and squawking in pale clouds from land and water alike, and as the sailors watched the smoke drift from the ramparts they all heard the unmistakable thud of a direct hit.

Bolitho fastened his sword-belt and snapped, 'They've found Achates.'

As if in answer to his words there was a swift response from the direction of the town. Musket fire for the most part, and then the sounds of horses clattering along a road.

Rivers' militia intended to attack them before they had found their proper bearings on the island, while a re-sited battery would concentrate on the anchored ship.

Bolitho said, 'Captain Keen will have to be quick. We must win him some more time.'

He peered round and noticed that already the landscape and the nearest huddle of seamen had grown sharper in the feeble light.

Mountsteven asked quietly, 'What do you intend, sir?'

'Flag of truce.' Bolitho saw his look of amazement and added sharply, 'Two volunteers, if you please.'

He tried not to flinch as the gun fired again. He did not hear the ball strike, but in a few moments the gunner would have his target in full view.

Allday said bluntly, 'One volunteer. I'm comin', sir.'

Bolitho walked from his patch of cover and faced the track which wound its way up to the fortress. A bluff? He had nothing else to offer.

With Allday breathing hard at his side, and the boatswain's mate, Christy, a step or so in the rear, Bolitho strode along the rough ground. Christy was carrying a shirt on a boat-hook as a flag of truce and was quietly whistling to himself as he followed his admiral. He had even managed to make a joke of the fact that the shirt belonged to one of the two midshipmen who were with the landing party. 'The only young gentlemen with one clean enough for the occasion,' as he had put it.

Bolitho was astonished that he could still raise a grin or two with his remark.

'Halt.' That's far enough!'

Bolitho stood quite still, the fortress looming over him like a grey cliff. He thought he heard a scrape of metal and imagined a marksman taking careful aim at him, white flag or not. Again he felt the same bitterness welling up inside him. Who would care? Hundreds, thousands of sailors and soldiers had died all over the world for one cause or another, but who ever remembered why?

He cupped his hands. 'I want to speak with Sir Humphrey Rivers!'

There was a derisive chuckle. 'Don't you mean parley, sir?'

Bolitho pressed his hands tightly to his sides. He had been right. Rivers was inside. Otherwise the unknown men above the gates would have said so, to mock him for his mistake.

Allday muttered, 'I'll give that bugger parley!'

'Oh, it's you, Bolitho! I thought we had some beggars at the gates, what?'

Bolitho found he could relax now that he knew Rivers was really here.

'And pray, what can I do for you before I take you and your ruffians into custody?'

Bolitho felt his heart pumping against his ribs as if it was the only part of his body still able to respond. Surely the light was brighter? But for the storm the whole fortress would already be visible.

Somewhere beyond the wall he heard a man yell, 'Ready to fire, sir!'

But Rivers was enjoying himself. 'A moment longer, Tate! I must hear the gallant admiral's request.'

Bolitho said in a whisper, 'They cannot shoot while Rivers is there. The ship is in direct line with him.' He raised his voice again, 'I ask you to hold your fire and stand down your men. You have no chance of defeating us, and your people must know full well of the consequences for their actions against a King's ship.'

He tried to picture his words being passed from man to man behind that wall. But they were all islanders, and probably little better than pirates in times of war, although the more sensitive term 'privateer' had made their trade almost legal.

Rivers shouted angrily, 'God damn you, Bolitho! You had your chance, now you shall pay dearly for your bloody arrogance!'

Bolitho blinked as a shaft of bright sunlight pierced the ramparts of the fortress's central tower and laid bare the hillside behind him.

Bolitho heard some of the seamen calling from their hiding places and guessed the sun had also uncovered the anchored two-decker.

Rivers' voice rose higher still as he shouted, 'There's your target, lads! Make every ball tell. That captain is a bigger fool than his admiral!'

Bolitho turned very slowly and looked across the water to the white houses and the cluster of moored vessels. He found that he could ignore the chorus of jeers from Rivers' men as he saw what Keen and his depleted company had achieved in complete darkness. The long cable which had been run out to a mooring buoy from Achates' stern held the ship motionless, so that her whole broadside was exposed to the fortress battery. Keen had converted the ship from a living creature to a moored double battery. One side faced the town, the other commanded the anchorage and anything which tried to enter or leave. No wonder Rivers had mistaken their intentions.

Rivers yelled, 'I have a force of mounted men coming to deal with you, Bolitho. Your disgrace and ignominy after this reckless escapade will put paid to any future assaults on my islands

Bolitho could see him framed against the washed-out blue sky, could feel the loathing in the man like something solid. He saw smoke rising lazily above the grey stones and knew they were heating shot to destroy Achates. There was no more time to spare.

He called, 'I shall return to my men, Sir Humphrey…" He felt a nerve jump in his throat as he heard the far-off but familiar rumble. This time he dared not turn, dared not take his eyes from Rivers' silhouette as the muffled sound suddenly ceased.

Rivers exclaimed, 'What good can that do? Not one of her guns can even scratch these walls!' But he sounded less forceful, as if, like Bolitho, the sound of Achates running out her guns on both broadsides had released a memory.

'Do you have a telescope, Sir Humphrey?'

It was difficult to stay calm when every fibre made him want to charge at the gates and smash them down with his bare fists.

Rivers was already peering through a glass towards the motionless ship. Achates' total stillness made it somehow unnerving. Each sail neatly furled, not a soul moving above the black and buff hull.

Bolitho said, 'You will see a man in the mainmast cross-trees, a lieutenant to be exact. He too will have a telescope this morning, Sir Humphrey. Trained inland towards your house and estate.'

Rivers said, 'Don't play for time!'

'And after that, the town, Sir Humphrey, until not even a stone stands on end.'

The roar when it came was tremendous, thrown back from Achates' hidden side by the land, so that it echoed and re-echoed around the fortress as if the battery there had already opened fire.

Bolitho twisted round to watch the dense smoke moving away from the ship towards the shore, where moments earlier many people had been waiting to see the uneven battle.

Aboard ship Keen's officers would be passing instructions to the capstans, another turn on the massive warp to swing the ship further still towards the target.

He saw the scar on Achates' tumblehome where the first ball had found a mark. It was nothing to what heated shot would do.

A small pendant rose smartly to Achates' main-yard and flapped in the breeze.

Bolitho said flatly, 'The next broadside is laid and ready. It is your decision.'

Behind him he heard Christy murmur, 'Gawd.'

Allday said, 'The cavalry are comin", sir.'

Bolitho saw the cluster of horsemen cantering along the track which led from the town. They looked unruly, startled probably by the sudden blast of cannon fire. Mercenaries, local planters, militiamen, it did not matter. If they took control of the road and captured Bolitho's party it would mean another change of fortunes.

A bugle blared briefly and Bolitho saw the files of scarlet-coated marines emerge from the brush where they had lain in hiding and prepared for this final moment.

He saw the glitter of sunlight on the fixed bayonets, and could imagine Dewar and his lieutenant receiving the reports of the seasoned professionals like Sergeant Saxton.

The horses had gathered speed, the dust spewing away from the hoofs in a solid bank.

There was a ragged volley of shots, and Bolitho felt a cold grip in his stomach as three of the tiny scarlet figures fell across the track.

The marines seemed to take an eternity, the front rank kneeling beside their dead comrades while the rear rank took aim above their heads. More shots. This time it was a small drummer who fell.

Allday gasped, 'Jesus, why don't they shoot, damn them!'

Dewar's blade flashed down and the crash of muskets seemed as if a single shot had been fired.

Horses and men tumbled in confusion, but when the smoke cleared from the hillside the scarlet lines were unchanged. The horsemen were returning to the town, their dead and wounded left to their own resources.

Christy said fiercely, 'The gates are openin', sir!'

It was over. In twos and threes, and then in a flood, the fortress's garrison hurried into the sunlight, dropping their weapons as they ran.

Last of all came Rivers, swaying from side to side as if he were drunk.

But there was no slur in his voice as he faced Bolitho and said, 'I'll see you in hell for this!' He stared wildly at the lush green slope beyond the town. 'My house, my family, you fired on them without caring -

Bolitho said sharply, 'By your orders some of my men have died today.' He tried to hold his anger under control. 'And for what? Because of your greed and ambition.' He turned away, afraid he would finally lose control. 'And have no fear, Sir Humphrey. While you were prepared to burn a King's ship to her water-line and murder every man-jack aboard if need be, Captain Keen took care to keep his guns unshotted. You were defeated by smoke, nothing more.'

It should have been a proud moment but Bolitho was sickened by it.

To Allday he said, 'We shall return to the ship. Dewar's men will take charge here.'

Allday gestured towards the stricken Rivers. 'What about 'im?'

'See that he is well guarded for his own safety."

Allday glared as two seamen seized Rivers and hustled him back towards the fortress.

Almost to himself Bolitho added, 'It is always easy for the victor to exact revenge.' Then he clapped the burly coxswain on the arm and said, 'The sea is where I belong.'

Allday breathed out very slowly. It had been a close thing that time. He shivered despite the growing warmth. Getting past it. Leave it to the youngsters after this.

The delusion cheered him slightly and he quickened his pace.

The seamen stood on either side of the track and grinned as Bolitho walked amongst them.

Bolitho knew or could guess what they were thinking. One of us. Because he was as dirty and dishevelled as they were. Because he had been with them when the bluff could so easily have gone the wrong way.

There was so much to be done. The fortress to be occupied by Dewar's marines, the islanders to be sorted and placated. Despatches to be written. Explanations to be made.

Somewhere a wounded horse screamed in agony. Like a woman in terror. Mercifully it was silenced by a pistol shot.

Bolitho paused by the place where Dewar had made his stand. The drummer-boy lay on his back, his blue eyes and pinched features frozen at the moment of impact.

Allday thought he heard Bolitho murmur, 'Too young for this game.' Then he pulled out his handkerchief and laid it on the boy's face.

One of us. It seemed to mock him as he walked through the grinning, nodding sailors who had all expected to die on this fine morning.

I lead. They follow.

He stared across at the Achates and his flag which flapped occasionally from the foremast truck.

He saw the barge idling by some rocks ready to carry him to the ship. He straightened his back and looked neither right nor left.

A lieutenant was standing in the stern-sheets, his hat in his hand. In a moment they would start to cheer. They were the victors, and that was enough for them. It had to be.

He hesitated and looked at Allday's homely face.

'Well, old friend, what are you thinking?'

Allday frowned, off-balance at this mood which he did not recognize.

Bolitho said quietly, 'I think I know anyway.' He faced the bargemen and forced a smile. 'Now let us find that other damned pirate!'

The lieutenant raised his cocked hat and the men began to cheer.

Bolitho sat down and looked at his torn breeches. One of us.

Bolitho sat in his day-cabin and sighed as Yovell placed yet another copied letter before him for signature.

The fear and thrill of their attack seemed far behind them, even though it was still less than a week since he had faced Rivers outside the fortress. Their casualties had been mercifully few and had been buried on the hillside in the island's own graveyard.

Bolitho stood up and crossed restlessly to the stern windows and leaned over the passive water of the anchorage. The sill was hot beneath his palms, the sun high above the extinct volcano.

He saw Achates' guard-boat pulling slowly and with little enthusiasm in the blinding glare and could guess what they, like most of the ship's company, were thinking.

With their governor under arrest the islanders had settled down to await events. All resistance and hostility had ceased, and some of the local militia had been resworn to assist the Royal Marines mount guard on the fortress and battery. But it went deeper. It was a passive resistance, the townspeople taking pains to look away whenever a naval working party or sea officer walked past.

The sailors were at first hurt then resentful. Some had died, few really understood why, but they deserved better, they thought.

It was noon and the smell of boiling tar mingled with the headier aroma of rum as the daily ration was served to each mess throughout the ship. Fewer hammers broke the stillness now, and there was little to show of the damage made by the fortress's cannon, although one seaman had lost an eye because of a flying splinter.

There was a tap at the outer screen door and Keen entered, his hat beneath his arm. He looked less strained, Bolitho thought. He guessed that Keen had been dealing with his own procession of demands and reports. The surgeon and the first lieutenant, the purser and the master, they all paid their respects to the captain, if only to shift their own loads on to his shoulders.

'You sent for me, sir?'

'Sit down, Val.' Bolitho loosened his shirt for the hundredth time. 'How is the work progressing?'

'I turn the hands to work if only to keep their minds busy, sir. Achates is ready for anything. Bandbox neat, she is.'

Bolitho nodded. He had already noticed the new pride Keen had shown for his ship. Maybe her previous captain's example had haunted him and dominated the other officers from the grave.

Bolitho had heard of Keen's clash with Quantock before the headlong charge into harbour. It was hard to believe any of it had happened. But the Union Flag flew above the fortress, and to all outward appearances the island was as before.

Soon he would have to send a despatch to the French admiral whose ships lay waiting at Boston. If they were indeed still there.

Then the peace would shatter here and the pain begin all over again.

Keen watched Bolitho's grave features and said, 'The admiral at Antigua will send aid if you request it, sir.' He saw the line of Bolitho's jaw harden and added, 'But doubtless you have already considered that.'

'I was given this task, Val. Perhaps it is pride which stands in my way. Some might say conceit.' He waved down Keen's protest. 'We all have some. But I need eyes and ears, not another flag-officer to breathe down my neck. But for Sparrowhawk's loss…

They looked at each other. It still seemed as if Duncan was alive.

Keen said, 'Once we weigh and go in search of that damned ship the island could erupt. These people could starve out the garrison, but not the other way round. I think we should order a summary court martial and run Sir Humphrey up to the main-yard on a halter.' He spoke with unusual bitterness. 'Alive he is still a menace.'

They stood up as a single musket shot echoed across the water.

'Guard-boat. Must have sighted something.'

Keen snatched up his hat. 'I'll find out, sir.'

Bolitho took a telescope from its rack and waited for Achates to swing gently to her anchor. He watched the fortress swim into view, the upper ramparts half hidden in heat-haze so that the Union Flag seemed to be pinned to the sky itself. There was the headland and the tiny island and its Spanish mission beyond. Then he saw a solitary tanned topsail rounding the point before settling down on a final approach towards the anchorage.

The guard-boat, one of Achates' cutters, rocked on the swell, her oars protruding along either side like bleached bones.

A small brigantine. Probably some local trader. Her master would get a surprise when he saw Achates' bulk in the harbour.

Keen came back, his face moist with sweat.

'I've ordered the guard-boat to lead the brigantine to a buoy.' He waited for Bolitho to turn. 'She's been fired on to all acounts, sir. I'm sending the surgeon over immediately.'

'Fired on?"

Keen shrugged. 'That's all I know.'

'I see. Well, signal any local craft to stand away. I have an uneasy feeling about this.'

He raised his glass and steadied it on the brigantine as her flapping jib was taken in and she rounded smartly on to a mooring buoy.

He moved the glass carefully along the vessel's side. Black pock-marks marred her paintwork. Grape or cannister. Anything heavier would have sunk such a frail craft. The glass settled on two figures aft by the tiller. A big man in a blue coat with untidy grey hair. The other…

Bolitho exclaimed, 'God damn it, Val, it's young Adam! If he's taken any unnecessary risks, I'll…"

They faced each other and laughed.

'I'm a fine example for him, eh?'

It seemed an eternity for a boat to make the passage between Achates and the newcomer.

Bolitho replaced the glass on its rack. It would not do for Adam to think he was worried and over-protective. All the same…

Keen said, 'I'll go on deck and er, welcome them, sir.' He hid a smile as he shut the door behind him.

Adam entered the cabin, his features anxious and apprehensive.

'I'm sorry, sir -

Bolitho strode to him and gripped his shoulders. 'You're here. That's all that matters.'

Adam looked round the cabin as if afraid of what he might see.

'The guard-boat, Uncle. They told me about the battle. How you had to fight your way into this place.' He lowered his eyes so that a lock of black hair fell across his forehead. 'I heard about Sparrowhawk too. I'm so sorry.'

Bolitho led him to a chair and said quietly, 'Never mind about that. Tell me about your troubles.'

It was an amazing story which the young lieutenant blurted out. Just a few days ago, after riding out a fierce storm near the Great Bahama Bank, they had been confronted by a frigate. She had been Spanish and had ordered them to heave to and to await a boarding party. The brigantine's master had apparently been suspicious and when the frigate's boat had been almost alongside he had clapped on all sail and had headed away, a favourable wind taking him into some shallows too dangerous for the frigate to follow. But not before the Spanish boarding party had opened fire with swivels and a bow gun which had peppered the side and killed the brigantine's mate.

Bolitho listened without interruption. You were never safe. Not really safe. While he had been fretting over San Felipe's future, Adam had faced an unexplained attack and possible death.

He said, The vessel's master must be an audacious fellow. Courageous too. I should like to meet him.'

Adam looked at him, his eyes shining. He wanted, no needed to tell Bolitho about Robina, but after what he had seen and heard on his passage from Boston he would not spoil the moment for a fortune.

'He came over with me! He's here!'

Bolitho eyed him questioningly. 'Well, let's have him in.'

The sentry opened the screen door and stood aside to allow the visitor to enter. Only the marine's eyes moved beneath his glazed leather hat as he said, 'Master of the Vivid, sir!' The 'sir' was accompanied by a sharp tap on the deck with his musket.

Bolitho opened his mouth to speak and then stared with astonishment. The patched blue coat with old navy buttons sewn on the cuffs, the wooden stump which protruded from one of his trouser legs, none of these things could destroy the man's identity.

Bolitho hurried to greet him and held out both hands.

'Jethro Tyrrell. Twenty years, man. And here you are!'

He watched as Tyrrell put his head on one side and regarded him with mock amusement.

'A vice-admiral, they tell me.' He nodded slowly, his untidy grey hair falling over his collar. 'Never knew the Admiralty had that kind'a sense!'

He released his grip and limped around the great cabin, his hand touching things, his eyes everywhere.

Bolitho watched him, the memories flashing through his thoughts like fiery pictures.

The little sloop-of-war Sparrow, his first command, and with Jethro Tyrrell, a Colonist officer, as his lieutenant.

It was painful to see his dragging stump, his worn clothing.

Tyrrell paused by Bolitho's coat which was tossed carelessly on a chair.

He touched one gold epaulette with his forefinger and said softly, 'As you say. Twenty years. You've done well, Dick. Real proud o' you.'

Even the soft Virginian drawl brought back a hundred more memories.

Tyrrell sat down carefully and adjusted his coat. 'I'd best be off. Just wanted to see you. Don't want to – '

Bolitho exclaimed, 'I was your commanding officer once, remember? You'll stay here and tell me everything. I tried to discover your whereabouts after the war.'

Tyrrell watched Ozzard bustling round him with goblets and bottles.

He said, 'When I was sent young Adam there as a passenger I knew I had to see you.' His eyes shone in the reflected sunlight.

'They were great days, eh?' He glanced at the spell-bound lieutenant. 'Real young terror he was. Younger than me too. Fought a duel for a girl who wanted him dead, and almost took on the Frogs single-handed.' He was smiling broadly but his eyes were incredibly sad.

Bolitho asked gently, 'What are you doing these days?'

'This an' that. I command the Vivid, but she's not mine, worse luck. Do a lot o' trading between the islands. The Dons and the King's ships are always after me as they think I'm a smuggler too. That's a joke. Look at me!'

The door opened and Keen entered warily.

Bolitho said, 'This is Jethro Tyrrell.' He looked at the grey-haired man in the chair. 'My first lieutenant in the Sparrow.' He smiled at Keen's surprise. 'Another war, Val, but a fine little ship.'

Tyrrell shifted in his chair, uncomfortable under their stares.

'Anyways, I hear you're having a spot of trouble here. Goin' to hand back San Felipe to the Frogs, right?'

Bolitho nodded gravely. 'News travels a long way.'

Tyrrell grimaced. 'Not fast enough, it seems. It's the bloody Dons you want to worry about. They intend to take this island.' He regarded their faces with quiet satisfaction. 'They will too if you're not damn careful. They've got eyes everywhere. They even tried to stop my Vivid to search her and see if I was carrying despatches or letters.' He glanced at Adam. 'My God, if they'd found him aboard they'd have murdered the lot of us, I shouldn't wonder.'

Bolitho leaned towards him. 'Is that really true? About the Spaniards?'

Tyrrell looked at him grimly. 'I need money to buy the Vivid. She's not much, but it would be a new start for me.' He turned his face away. 'Just as you want the ship which put down your frigate.'

He sounded hurt. Ashamed. But there was no doubting his sincerity.

Bolitho said, 'I'll help you, Jethro. I would have done anyway if I'd only known.'

'I had some pride, Dick. Then I did. Now I'm desperate. Lost my family, all gone. All I've got left is the sea, and I need a ship.'

Bolitho walked past him and then stopped with his hand on the big man's shoulder. 'You shall have it. Trust me.'

Tyrrell gave a great sigh. 'Then I'll take you to that bloody Spaniard.'

Bolitho looked at Keen. He seemed too stunned to speak. Twenty years. It could be yesterday.