The Darkening Sea

11. The Cutlass

The house now employed as army headquarters for the growing military strength at Cape Town had once been the property of a wealthy Dutch trader. It nestled below the uncompromising barrier of Table Mountain and drew what breeze it could from the bay where the ships, like the soldiers, waited for orders.

Fans swung back and forth in the biggest room, which overlooked the sea, moved by hidden servants so that they should not disturb anyone. There were blinds at the long windows, but even so the reflected light from the sea was blinding, the sky salmon-pink like an early sunset. In fact it was noon, and Bolitho shifted in a cane chair while the general finished reading the report an orderly had just presented to him.

Major-General Sir Patrick Drummond was tall and solidly built, with a face almost as red as his coat. A successful officer in the early part of the Peninsular War and in many lesser campaigns, he had the reputation of being a 'soldier's soldier': prepared to listen, equally ready to discipline anyone who failed to meet his standards.

Bolitho had already seen some of the military Drummond was expected to mould into a team capable enough to land on enemy islands and take them, no matter what it cost. It was not an enviable task.

Drummond himself was in a half-lying position with his feet on a small table. Bolitho noted that his boots were like black glass, and the splendid spurs that adorned them could have been the work of a famous silversmith.

Drummond looked up as a servant padded into the room and began to pour wine for the general and his visitor.

Bolitho said, "As you know, I have all my ships at sea, and I am expecting the arrival of two brigs."

The general waited for the servant to move the goblet so that he could reach it without any effort, and said, "I am only afraid that we may be in danger of over-reacting." He scratched one of his long grey sideburns and added, "You are a famous and successful sea-officer, Sir Richard. It is something to get such praise from a soldier, eh? But one so notable surprises me. I would have thought a senior captain, a commodore even, could perform this work. It is like hiring ten porters to carry a musket! "

Bolitho sipped the wine. It was perfect, and seemed to spark off another memory: the cellars in St. James's Street, and Catherine seeking assurances that the wine she was buying for him was as good as the shop claimed.

He said, "I do not think this campaign will proceed easily if we cannot dispose of the enemy's sea forces. They have to be based in Mauritius, and we must be prepared for other bases in the smaller islands. We could have failed at Martinique had the enemy been able to grapple with our military transports."

Drummond gave a wry smile. "Thanks to you, I gather, the enemy got a bloody nose instead! "

"We were ready, Sir Patrick. Today we are not."

Drummond thought about it, frowning slightly as his world intruded into this long, shadowed room. Marching feet and the clatter of horses and harness, sergeants bellowing orders, probably half-blinded by sweat as they drilled in the relentless glare.

He said, "I should like to enjoy Christmas here. After that, we'll have to see."

Bolitho thought of England. It would be cold, perhaps with snow, although they did not get much in Cornwall. The sea off Pendennis Point would be angry and grey with surf along that line of well-remembered rocks. And Catherine… would she be missing London? Missing me?

Drummond said, "If you had more ships…"

Bolitho smiled. "It is always so, Sir Patrick. A squadron should be on its way here by now, with more soldiers and supplies."

He wondered at Keen's feelings when he had been parted from Zenoria. Flying his own broad pendant as commodore would seem easy to him after his years of command and having been Bolitho's flag captain.

How different from Trevenen. He was out on the ocean in his powerful Valkyrie, the other frigates sailing on either beam to offer their lookouts the maximum range in their search for any vessel of ill-intent. Patriot or pirate, it made little difference to a ponderous merchantman.

Drummond rang a small bell and waited for the servant to reappear and fill the goblets. He looked past him to the door and barked, "Come in, Rupert! Don't stand there hovering about! "

Rupert was a major whom Bolitho had already met. He seemed to be Drummond's right hand, a mixture of Keen and Avery rolled into one.

"What is it?" Drummond gestured to the servant. "Another bottle, man! Jump about! "

The major glanced at Bolitho and gave a brief smile. "The lookout station has reported another vessel, sir."

Drummond paused with his goblet in mid-air. "Well? Spit it out! I'm

not a mind-reader, and Sir Richard here is no enemy spy! "

Bolitho contained a grin. Drummond could not be an easy man to serve.

"She is the Prince Henry, sir."

Drummond stared. "That damned convict transport? She is not expected in Cape Town. I would have been informed."

Bolitho said quietly, "I was in Freetown when she weighed anchor. She should be well on her way across the Indian Ocean by now."

The others looked at him uncertainly. Bolitho said, "Please ask my flag lieutenant to investigate and report to me. This wine is too good to leave." He hoped that his casual comment would conceal his sudden anxiety. What could be wrong? The transports never wasted any time. Packed with people being deported for one crime or another, no master could be certain of anything.

Drummond stood up and unrolled some charts on his table. "I can pass the time by showing you what we intend to do in Mauritius. But I must have some good foot soldiers most of my men are barely trained. The Iron Duke makes sure he has the pick of the regiments on the Peninsula, blast his eyes! " But there was admiration there too.

It was close to an hour before Avery and the hard-pressed major came to report.

Avery said, "She's the Prince Henry right enough, Sir Richard. She has made a signal requesting medical assistance."

The major added, "I have informed the field-surgeon, sir."

Avery looked at Bolitho. "The captain-in-charge has also been told, and the guard boats are already under way."

His face was quite calm but Bolitho could guess what he was thinking. Medical assistance might mean that some terrible fever or plague had broken out. It was not unknown. If it reached the overcrowded army garrison and camps it would run through them like a forest fire.

The general walked to the window and dragged away the blind as he groped for a brass telescope nearby.

He said, "She's coming about. The officer-of-the-guard has ordered her to anchor." He extended the telescope very carefully. "She's been raked, by the look of her! "

He handed it to Bolitho and said sharply, "Get down there, Rupert, at the double. Use my horse if you like. Send out some men if there's any trouble."

As the door closed Drummond said angrily, "I've got the Fifty-Eighth Regiment of Foot here, but the rest? Yeomanry and the York Fusiliers, so your convoy had better make haste! "

When he looked from the window Bolitho saw that the transport had anchored and was already hemmed in by guard-boats and water lighters, while other harbour craft idled about at a safe distance.

Why would any privateer or man-of-war interfere with an old transport and a cargo of convicts? It would be like putting your hand into a ferret's lair.

He touched his eye as the savage glare probed at it like a hot ember.

It was late afternoon by the time Avery returned to the headquarters building.

He placed the leather telescope case on the table and said, "This was found in the cabin, Sir Richard."

Bolitho picked it up and thought of Herrick's dying wife, and Catherine, who had nursed her.

Avery watched him. "The master of the Prince Henry was boarded by armed men under the command of a French lieutenant. They took Rear-Admiral Herrick prisoner, then allowed the ship to proceed. Captain Williams decided to turn back, so that we should know what happened. His mate was killed and some of his men badly injured."

The room was quite silent, as if not even the distant soldiers wanted to intrude on Bolitho's thoughts. Afterwards Avery realised that Bolitho had already guessed what had happened, had known the reason for the attack.

Bolitho opened the leather case and found the piece of paper inside. He held it to the sunlight and saw Herrick's familiar sloping handwriting. She is the Tndente, brigantine, under Brazilian colours. But she is an American privateer. I have seen her before. Herrick had not signed it or made any other comment. He must have known, too, that they were coming for him. Baratte's hand again: to make the conflict as personal as it was deadly.

Drummond asked, "What will you do?"

"There is little enough I can do until my ships discover something that might lead us to the enemy."

Drummond said, "Rear-Admiral Herrick was once a friend of yours, I believe."

"Baratte obviously believes it too." He smiled, and his face seemed suddenly more grave because of it. "He is my friend, Sir Patrick."

Drummond glared at his charts. "It means they know more of our intentions than I would have wished."

Bolitho recalled Adam's information concerning the big American frigate Unity. A coincidence? Unlikely. Involvement then? If so, it could erupt into open war at a time when the

French needed more than anything for England 's blockade to be broken, and her victorious armies divided by an unexpected ally.

Bolitho looked up, his mind suddenly clear.

"Find Yovell and direct him to be ready to draft some orders for me." He was seeing it in his mind like a chart. "I want Valkyrie and Laertes to return here at once, and Anemone to remain on patrol and search duties. I shall order one of the schooners to find Trevenen with all haste. Jenour's Orcadia and the other brig are due any day now." He looked around the room as though he felt trapped. "I must get to sea." He paused as if surprised by something, perhaps himself. "We will send word to Freetown by the first available packet. I want James Tyacke with me. And as someone observed recently, I am the senior naval officer here." He looked into the shadows as if he expected to see all those other lost faces watching him. "We may no longer be a band of brothers, or We Happy Few, but we'll show Baratte something this time, and there will be no exchange at the end of it! "

After Bolitho and his flag lieutenant had departed the major-general thought of what he had just witnessed.

He was a soldier, and a good one, not only in his own opinion. He had never had many dealings with the King's navy, and when he had he had usually found them to be unsatisfactory. There was no better thing than the army's tradition and discipline, no matter what scum you were expected to train and lead for the honour of the regiment.

He had heard of Bolitho's behaviour in England where his blatant affair with the Somervell woman had turned society against him. He had heard too of that lady's courage when the Golden Plover had been lost on the reef.

The charisma had been here in this room and he had seen and felt it for himself. Watched the fire in the man, the anguish over his friend, who had perhaps been one of his happy few.

Later that day when Yovell had at last laid down his pen, and Avery had been allowed to carry the orders to the schooner, and Ozzard could be heard humming quietly as he laid the table for supper, Bolitho considered his course of action. Impetuous, yes. Dangerous, probably. But there was no other option. He looked around. Gleaming brightly in the candlelight, Herrick's telescope lay near the window of his borrowed quarters as a reminder, if one were needed.

Aloud he said, "Do not fret, Thomas. I shall find you, and there will be no bad blood between us."

Close-hauled under topsails and jib His Britannic Majesty's frigate Anemone appeared to drift easily on the deep blue water, her reflection hardly marred by the long ocean swells.

In his cabin, Captain Adam Bolitho had spread a chart on his table beside the litter of a late midday meal, and as he studied it his ear was following the muted shipboard noises.

It had been just a week since the courier schooner from Cape Town and the other frigates Valkyrie and Laertes had parted company with him. It seemed much longer, and Adam had pondered several times on the reason for his uncle's brief letter, written in his own hand and attached to the orders separating Anemone from the others. Perhaps he did not trust Trevenen. Adam's face stiffened with dislike. Whenever his ship had sailed in close company with the senior frigate there had always been a stream of signals, and even when within earshot it had been all he could do to hold his temper as Trevenen had bellowed across the clear water through his speaking trumpet. Dissatisfaction about a lack of reports and sightings, complaints about his station-keeping: almost anything. The schooner's arrival had seemed like a blessing. Then.

He stared hard at the chart. To the north lay the great island of Madagascar, and to the north-east the French islands of Mauritius and Bourbon. They were certainly well-placed to prey on the busy trade-routes. And nobody knew how many ships the enemy was using, let alone where they were based.

He heard shouts on deck and knew the watch was preparing to lay the ship on her next tack. And so it had been since their arrival in this area: each day the same, with nothing to break the monotony but drills and more drills. But no floggings. That had been the only reward for the patience his officers had shown.

Unlike Trevenen's command, he thought. In retrospect it seemed that each time the ships had moved closer together he had seen somebody being punished at the gratings. Without Bolitho aboard it was as if Trevenen was making up for lost opportunities.

He thought about Herrick's capture by the enemy privateer, as related in his uncle's message. Letters of marque meant very little in these waters. Mercenaries were only a short step from pirates.

He was surprised that he had few feelings about what had happened. He had always respected Herrick but they had never been close, and Adam could never forgive him for his treatment of Bolitho, although he could imagine what anguish his uncle was still suffering for the sake of one who had once been his friend.

His thoughts strayed back to the courier schooner, although he had tried to put it from his mind. He had done wrong, very wrong, and no good could come of it. But I did do it. The words seemed to mock him. He had written the letter much earlier, as Anemone had left the African mainland astern and the oceans had changed from one to another.

It had been like talking to her, or so he had thought at the time. Reliving the moment when they had loved one another despite the grief and despair of what had happened. Even her anger, her hatred perhaps, had not deterred him in any way. With thousands of miles between them, and the very real possibility that he would never see her again, the memory of their last hostile encounter had softened. When the schooner's commander had asked for any letters to be passed across, he had sent the letter over. He could not accept that such passion as they had shared could end as it had.

It had been madness; and night after night in the humid darkness of his quarters he had been tortured by what his impetuous action might do to her and to the happiness she shared with Keen.

He reached for the coffee, but it was without taste.

Where would it end? What should he do?

Perhaps she would destroy the letter when it eventually reached her. Surely she would not keep it, even to show to her husband…

There was a tap at the door and his first lieutenant looked in at him warily. Martin had proved to be far better at his duties than Adam had dared to hope. With Christmas drawing near he had managed to arouse interest even among some of the hard men. In the cool of the evening watches he had organised all kinds of contests from wrestling, which he surprisingly seemed to know a lot about, to races between the various divisions at sail and boat drill. With extra tots of rum as an inducement there had been hornpipes, watched by the majority of the company and eventually cheered when the winners had been decided.

Adam always avoided over-confidence with a cautiousness he had learned from his uncle, but he had seen pressed and rebellious men slowly being welded into a team, a part of the ship he loved.

"What is it, Aubrey?"

The lieutenant relaxed slightly. The use of his first name told him more than anything of his young captain's mood. He had seen him being tormented by something ever since leaving England. Trevenen's goading, the lack of the trained men he had lost to other ships, the endless ocean itself perhaps, all had played their part.

The captain had often been sharp with him, embarrassingly so, but in his heart Martin knew he wanted to serve no other.

"Masthead reports a sail, sir. He thinks." He saw Adam's eyes flash and added hastily, "Bad sea mist to the north, sir."

Surprisingly Adam smiled. Thank you." It was not the vague report that had brought the frown to his face but the fact that he had not heard the lookout's cry through the open cabin skylight. A year ago he would not have believed such a thing possible.

"How goes the wind?"

"Much as before, sir. South-by-west. A fair breeze, it seems."

Adam returned to his chart and cradled the islands between his fingers as he had seen his uncle do many times.

"What could a ship be doing out here?"

"Mr. Partridge thinks she may be a trader."

Adam rubbed his chin. "Bound for where, I wonder?" He pointed at the chart with his brass dividers. "She has a choice. Mauritius or Bourbon the other islands are nothing of interest. Unless…" He looked at the lieutenant, his eyes suddenly very alive.

"Call all hands, Aubrey. Set the courses and get the t'gallants on her! Let's take a look at this stranger."

Martin thought of the quick changes of mood and said cautiously, "It may be nothing, sir."

Adam grinned at him. "On the other hand, you old misery, she might make a nice Christmas present for my uncle, have you thought of that?"

He went on deck and watched the men already spread out on the yards, the released sails booming and cracking as they filled to the wind across the quarter.

He watched from the quarterdeck rail as sail after sail was sheeted home and the deck tilted to the pressure. Spray dashed over the figurehead, and through the rigging and hurrying bare-backed seamen he saw the nymph's gold shoulders glistening as if she had been roused by their thrust through the water.

"Lookout reported that she has two masts, sir."

That was Dunwoody, the signals midshipman. "But the mist is bad despite the wind."

Partridge the grizzled sailing-master looked at him scornfully.

"Proper little Cap'n Cook you are! "

Adam walked a few paces this way and that, his feet so used to the ring bolts and gun tackles in his path that he avoided them without effort.

A two-masted vessel. Could she be the unknown Tridente Herrick had described in his hidden message? His heart quickened at the thought. It seemed quite likely. Sailing alone with every sighting a probable enemy.

"Another pull on the weather fore brace there! " Dacre, the second lieutenant, was striding about the maindeck, his eyes uplifted as the sails emptied and filled again with the sound of musket fire.

"Deck there! " A forgotten lookout's voice was almost lost in the surge of the sea into the scuppers and the whine of stays and shrouds. The conditions which Anemone used to full advantage.

The lookout tried again. "Brig, sir! "

Adam looked at the horizon. So it was not Tridente.

Several telescopes were trained on the mist-shrouded division between sky and ocean as they waited to see what the masthead had reported.

"Deck, sir! She's spreadin' more sail an' standin' away to the nor'east! "

Adam clapped his hands together. The fool's made a mistake. This soldier's wind can't help him now! " He punched the first lieutenant's arm. "Get the royals on her, Mr. Martin, and alter course two points to starboard! We'll be up to that rascal within the hour! "

Martin glanced at him only briefly before he started to shout his orders to the waiting seamen and marines. It was like seeing someone else emerging from a mask.

"Mr. Gwynne, more hands aloft! Lively there! "

The new third lieutenant Lewis said casually, "A bit of prize money, eh?" He flinched as the captain's eyes passed over him. He need not have worried. Adam had not even heard him.

Adam wedged himself against the rail and levelled his telescope. Like a great pink curtain the mist was already rolling away. The brig, and it surely was not a brigantine, was almost stern-on, her mainsail standing out above the sea on either beam, the foam thrown up from her rudder clearly visible as she took the wind under her coat-tails.

"She flies no colours, sir."

Adam moistened his lips and tasted the salt. "Soon she will. Of one sort or another."

He looked sharply at Martin. "They'll be able to see who we are soon, Aubrey."

The lieutenant almost held his breath under his stare.

Then Adam said, "You are about my build, eh?" He smiled as if it was all a great joke. "We will change coats. You shall be captain for a while."

Mystified, Martin slipped into the proffered coat with its pair of sea-tarnished epaulettes.

Adam took the lieutenant's coat with its white lapels and grinned.

"Very good."

Around them the men at the wheel and standing to the mizzen braces paused to watch.

Adam touched his sleeve. "I trust you, Aubrey, but I need to get amongst them, to see for myself." He became formal again, even curt. "I intend to board her. Detail a good party, some marines amongst them. Sergeant Deacon will be useful." He turned as his coxswain George Starr padded across the deck with his short fighting sword. "I'll take this with me." He glanced at Starr's impassive features. Not an Allday, but he was good.

Later, as they bore down on the brig, Adam said, "Hoist the signal for her to heave-to, Mr. Dunwoody. She will do no such thing, so pass my compliments to the gunner and tell him to lay a bow-chaser with his own hands! "

Martin was back again, his young face screwed up with worry.

"But suppose they try to repel boarders, sir?"

"Then you will fire on them, sir! "

"With you on board, sir?" He was shocked.

Adam watched him seriously and then patted one of the epaulettes on his shoulder. "Then who knows? You may become a real captain earlier than expected! "

"No acknowledgement, sir! "

"Let her fall off a point, Mr. Partridge." Adam watched the other vessel as she appeared to edge into the crisscross of rigging when the helm went over. It would give the bow-chaser a clearer shot. Even so, it would be a difficult one. He saw sunlight flashing on the brig's stern windows, and from trained telescopes above the creaming water. A fast little ship. He smiled. Not fast enough.

"As you bear! " Ayres, the grey-haired master gunner, could not hear him from the forecastle, but he had seen his young captain's hand slice down.

The bang of the long eighteen-pounder made the frames quiver like a body-blow.

Ayres got up with some difficulty from the smoking cannon and shaded his eyes as the ball slapped through the brig's driver, leaving a round charred hole. He was too old for this sort of work, but not even his officers would dare to tell him.

There was a muffled cheer and Adam watched as a flag broke out stiffly from the other vessel's gaff.

One of the lieutenants gave a groan. "Damned Yankee! Of all the luck! "

"She's shortening sail an' coming about, sir! "

Adam said coolly, "Wouldn't you?"

He gestured with his fist. "Heave-to, if you please, and call away the cutter." He looked at Martin meaningly. "You know what to do. Just watch everything with a glass." He beckoned to the signals midshipman. "You come with me." He did not see the youth's surprise and pleasure as he touched his hat to the 'captain", and the frigate began to labour round into the wind, her yards alive with men as they shortened sail, as fast and as cleanly as any company could. Adam recalled the Unity's captain's comments about the slowness he had watched in Anemone's half-trained company. He would not say it again if they should meet.

As the boat was cast off from the chains, he saw several of his men peering down from the shrouds or gangway while the oarsmen fought to bring the boat under command. Most of them were still unaware of what was happening, least of all why their captain wore a subordinate's coat.

With the wind assisting them and the seamen pulling hard back on their oars they were soon close enough to see the brig more clearly, her name, Eaglet, across her stern.

"They've lowered a ladder, sir! " Dunwoody was leaning forward, his dirk clutched between his knees. He sounded hoarse but not frightened. He was thinking much like Martin. That once aboard they could seize him as a hostage.

Adam stood in the swaying boat and cupped his hands. "I demand to come aboard! In the King's name! "

He heard some muffled shouts, jeers perhaps, and thought he saw the gleam of sunlight on weapons.

A man without hat or coat stood at the bulwark and stared down at the pitching cutter with anger and contempt.

"Stand away there! This is an American vessel! How dare you fire on us?"

Starr, the coxswain, muttered, "What d'you think, sir?"

Adam remained standing. "Bluff." He hoped it sounded convincing. He cupped his hands again and noticed how cold they were in spite of the sun.

He could almost feel Martin and the others watching him across the tossing strip of water. Very deliberately he raised his hand.

All eyes above him on the brig's deck stared as Anemone's gun ports opened as one, and all the weapons which would bear were hauled squeaking and rumbling into the sunlight.

"You mad bastards! " The brig's master waved to his men and an entry port was hauled open above the dangling ladder.

Between his teeth Adam said, "When we hook on, follow me, one at a time up the ladder." He looked at the midshipman's upturned face. "If things go wrong get them back to the ship. You're doing well."

He looked up and waited for the cutter to lift heavily against the brig's weatherworn hull.

Why had he said that to the midshipman? They might both be killed within minutes if the Eaglet's master was foolish enough to condemn himself to death under Anemone's broadside. Pride? Arrogance? How would she see him if she were here?

He gripped the entry port and dragged himself inboard.

The deck seemed to be packed with men, most of whom were armed. The vessel's master blocked his way, sea boots astride and arms folded, every fibre blazing with fury. "I'm Joshua Tobias. Who the hell are you?"

Adam touched his hat. "His Britannic Majesty's frigate Anemone." He gave a curt nod and thought he heard the infamous Sergeant Deacon clambering from the ladder. Deacon had been broken from sergeant more than once, mostly for brawling ashore: he had even suffered the lash for his behaviour, but as a sergeant there was none to touch him. He had rarely been known to discipline one of his marines. A quick punch from one of his ham-like fists was usually more than sufficient.

"Why have you dared to stop my vessel? Your government will hear of this when I reach port, Lieutenant. I wouldn't be in your bloody shoes! "

There were growls from the watching seamen. It just needed one hot-head. Like a spark in a powder keg.

Adam said quietly, "It is my duty to warn you, sir, that any resistance to a King's ship will be treated as piracy. By the powers vested in me I am required to search your vessel. I would like to see your papers also."

Someone yelled from the back of the crowd, "Pitch the bugger overboard! We drubbed his kind afore! Let's be done with 'em! "

The master held up one hand. "I'll deal with this! "

To Adam he said harshly, "Do you expect me to believe that your captain would fire on his own men?"

Adam kept his face stiff. "You do not know my captain."

Midshipman Dunwoody called, "Boarding party in position, sir! "

Adam felt sweat on his spine. It was all taking too long.

He snapped, "Where bound?"

The master replied indifferently, "The island of Rodriguez, general cargo. You can see my bills of lading if it amuses you! This is a neutral vessel. I'll see you broken for this, an' your damned captain too! "

Adam said, "Quite." He looked at the Royal Marines sergeant. Take charge on deck, Deacon. Any trouble and you have your orders." He turned to his coxswain. "Take four men." Starr had hand-picked them himself, all from Anemone's first ship's company.

Suppose the master spoke the truth? They would have to release the brig.

Trevenen would make a big case against him. Even his uncle would be helpless.

The thought made him angry. "Show me the chart."

They clattered down a short pitching ladder to the tiny chart-room. He studied the calculations, sparse and even casual when compared with the navy's standards. Old Partridge would fall dead if he saw it.

The Eaglet was no slaver. There were not even any manacles, which under the slavery act could condemn any ship's master who carried them.

Starr stood by the ladder and shook his head.

On deck again Adam considered it. Provisions, flour, oil, even gunpowder; but the latter was no crime.

The master was grinning at him and there were catcalls from some of his crew. He shouted, "Bosun! Tell that damn boat to come alongside for their friends! "

Dunwoody stared around. He felt hurt, enraged that his captain should be humiliated, and suffer some punishment later that he could only guess.

The boatswain was a great hulk of a man with thick black hair in an old-fashioned pigtail that all but reached his belt.

Adam looked at his men. This was the moment to retreat, when danger was very real.

He swung round as Dunwoody exclaimed, "The bosun, sir! He wears a new cutlass! "

Adam stared from him to the burly pig tailed sailor.

Dunwoody was almost squeaking. "Before we left England, sir, I helped to load and re-arm the schooner…" He fell silent as understanding flooded Adam's face.

He said, "How long have you owned that cutlass?"

The master barked, "Stop wasting my time, Lieutenant! Talk won't save you now! "

Adam's eyes flashed. "Nor you, I think, sir! '

The boatswain gave a shrug. "I bin an American citizen for three years! " He tapped his cutlass, which was thrust through his belt. "A souvenir from my days under another flag, sirV He spat out each word, his eyes never leaving Adam's face.

"Well, then." Adam's fingers touched the hilt of his sword and he felt the marines stir at his back. "My midshipman reminded me of something. It was the schooner Maid of Rye. She had just been taken into naval service and sailed for the Cape ahead of me. She was never heard of again, and was presumed lost in a storm." How could he stay so calm when every nerve was screaming at him to cut this man down?

The master interrupted hotly, "So we're wreckers now, are we?" But he sounded less confident.

Adam ignored him. "I heard my men talking about the schooner, and my armourer remarked that she was to be the first of His Majesty's ships to be supplied with the new cutlass." His hand shot out and plucked the naked blade from his belt.

"Not three years ago, it would seem! " He snapped, "Take him, Sergeant! " The astonished seaman fell back, confused by the swift change of fortune. Adam added, "I would not resist. My sergeant of marines is known for his hasty temper! "

The boatswain yelled, "Do something! What the hell's the matter with you?"

Adam said, This man will be removed to my ship, and when we reach Cape Town I am sure he will be punished. He could only have got the cutlass from the Maid of Rye. At best mutiny, at worst piracy take your choice. If, as you claim, you have served in the King's Navy, you will know the punishment."

He turned to Deacon. "Strip him! "

Two marines tore off the man's coat and shirt. His back was a mass of deep, ugly scars, like one of Trevenen's victims, Adam thought bitterly.

The master said, "This is a neutral vessel, Lieutenant! "

The boatswain was on his knees as Starr drove the cutlass into the deck so that it stood quivering like something alive.

"You bastard! What did you do to some poor Jack, I wonder?"

The boatswain was pleading, "It weren't my fault, sir! " Even his colonial accent seemed to have gone. "You gotta believe me! "

Adam looked at him. It was little enough, and but for Dunwoody he would have missed it completely.

He was surprised how unruffled he sounded. "Captain Tobias, your vessel is detained for further investigation. If you are carrying deserters amongst your company they will be returned to the fleet and pressed into service. For harbouring that grovelling object you could also be charged with concealment of a felony on the high seas."

He was to remember the subdued master's words for a long time to come. He looked around the brig's deck and said quietly, "This ship is all I have."

What Adam would have thought if they had taken Anemone from him after a court-martial for his actions. The thought drove away all sympathy, and he said, "Signal the ship, Mr. Dunwoody. I want a prize crew. Mr. Lewis can carry word to the vice-admiral." He looked at the master. "After that? We shall see." He watched another boat pulling from Anemone's shadow. It gave him time to think, phase by phase as his uncle had taught him to do.

Sergeant Deacon jabbed the crouching boatswain with his boot. "What about this thing, sir?"

"Put him in irons and send him over in the cutter."

The American master said, "You take a lot of authority on yourself for a mere lieutenant! "

"I lied. I command Anemone. Captain Adam Bolitho, at your service! "

He saw the desperation in the man's eyes and said coldly, "Tell me your true destination, Captain Tobias. If you were an enemy I would respect you. But any one who tries to harm my country under the guise of neutrality can expect no mercy from me."

He heard shouts from the other longboat and watched the struggle on the other man's face.

The boatswain shouted at him, "Tell him, you cowardly bastard! I'll not dance a hangman's jig for you! " He struggled round as the marines pinioned his legs with irons. "An island called Lorraine! That's where! "

Adam looked at the master and saw him sag. "You see, Captain Tobias, you lost your chance. A pity." As more men swarmed aboard he snapped, "Take him too! "

Adam saw Lewis, his hat awry, pushing through the throng of people.

He said, "Disarm these men, and have the marines cover them at all times."

He looked at the departing boat and turned away. He found he could not bear to watch Tobias staring astern at his lost command.

He continued, "Sail to Cape Town and find my uncle. I will give you some written orders. Can you manage that?"

He saw Starr nudge the sergeant. They probably knew Lewis was to be prize-master simply because he was the least competent of the frigate's three lieutenants.

"Aye, aye, sir! "

"Take Deacon's advice. He was once in a slave uprising. He knows how to deal with things like this."

He put his hand on the midshipman's shoulder. It felt as hot as a raging fever.

" Lorraine Island, Mr. Dunwoody. A barren place, and not too far from Bourbon or Mauritius. I should have guessed. But for you…" He shook him gently. "Well, we'll not think of that. We shall rejoin the ship." He saw the brig's crew being disarmed and sorted into watches. There was no resistance now.

Once back aboard the Anemone Adam wasted no time in explaining to Martin and the second lieutenant, Dacre, and of course the sailing master, Old Partridge.

"The brig carries stores enough for a much larger vessel, maybe other evidence if we had had the time to carry out a thorough search. My clerk can write orders for Mr. Lewis. Then it's up to us."

Martin exclaimed, "It might take weeks for him to find our ships, sir! "

Adam looked at their intent faces and smiled gently.

"Really, Aubrey, I do not think I said anything about waiting."

He saw Starr walking aft, the cutlass grasped in his hand.

He said quietly, "But for that simple blade and Dunwoody's quick observation…" He grinned suddenly. "But we have troubles enough, eh? So let's be about it! "

Partridge hid a smirk. It was like hearing his uncle amongst them.