Command a King's Ship (11 page)

Sullivan was transfixed, a long streamer of spittle trailing to the wind as he stared down at Bolitho at the foot of the mast.

Bolitho remained motionless, feeling the blood running down his elbow and forearm and on to the deck. He did not take his eyes off Sullivan, and the concentration helped to overcome the searing pain left by the blade.

Sullivan stood up wildly and began to scramble outboard along the yard. Everybody began to yell at once, and Bolitho felt Herrick gripping his arm, another wrapping a cloth around it, deadening the pain.

Whitmarsh had appeared below the nettings, and he, too, was shouting at the man framed against the clear sky.

Sullivan turned and spoke in a level voice for the first time. “And you, too,
Doctor!
God damn you to
hell!
” Then he jumped out and down, his body hitting the water with a violent splash.

For a moment he floated past the quarter, and as the spanker's great shadow passed over him he clasped his hands above his head and vanished.

Herrick said, “We could never pick him up. If we tried to heave-to under this canvas, we'd tear the sticks out of her.”

Bolitho did not know to whom he was speaking. Perhaps to himself.

He walked to the hatch, holding his torn and bloodied sleeve with one hand. He saw the bosun's mate, Roskilly, pulling the knife out of the deck. He was a strong man, but it took him two attempts to tug it clear.

Puigserver followed him below, then stepped in front of him.

“That was a brave thing you did,
Capitan.
” He sighed. “But he could have killed you.”

Bolitho nodded. The pain was getting worse. “We have some hard times ahead,
Señor.
We must find water, and soon.” He tight- ened his jaw. “But I am not turning back.”

Puigserver eyed him sadly. “You made a gesture. One which might have ended your life. And all for a madman.”

Bolitho walked to the cabin. “Maybe we were both mad.”

Herrick hurried after him, and as they entered the cabin Bolitho saw there was a chair directly under the skylight. Raymond must have been standing on it to watch the drama overhead.

Mrs. Raymond was aft by the windows. She looked very pale, but came towards him saying, “Your arm, Captain.” She shouted to her maid, “Bandages!”

Bolitho realised that Herrick was in the cabin. “Well?”

Herrick watched him worriedly. “What you did—”

“It could have killed me. I know.” Bolitho forced a smile. “I have already been told.”

Herrick breathed out slowly. “And I believed I knew you, sir.”

“And now?” He looked at him steadily. “Thomas?”

Herrick grinned. “I only know that you never cease to sur- prise me.
And
others.” He gestured to the deckhead. “A seaman who has been cursing and complaining for near on a month was just heard to damn Sullivan's soul for threatening the life of
his
captain.” His grin faded. “But I'd rather you rallied our people in some other way, sir.”

Bolitho held out his arm as the maid carried a basin to the desk.

“If you
know
of any way to keep up their spirits, Thomas, I'd be obliged to hear it. In the meantime, call the hands and get the royals on her. I want every stitch she can carry.” He checked him as he made for the door. “And pass the word. One pint of water per day.” He glanced around the cabin, “Officers and passengers included.”

Herrick hesitated. “And the surgeon, sir?”

Bolitho looked down at the maid as she cleaned the deep cut on his arm. She returned his glance boldly.

He said, “I am in good hands, it seems. I will think about Mr. Whitmarsh when I have more time.” He added grimly, “And at this moment, time is of the greatest value in the world.”

Bolitho waited by the open stern windows and watched the moon making a fine path across the water. The sea looked unusually choppy, but he knew it was from a steep undertow which explored the depths many miles from the African coast. At his back he heard the others moving into the cabin and finding somewhere to sit, the sounds of goblets and wine as Noddall went about his busi- ness. Despite the cool air after the day's blazing sunlight his body felt drained and stiff, and about him the ship creaked and groaned, her timbers so dried-out that it was a wonder she was not leaking like on old bucket.

A week since Sullivan had jumped to his death, seven long days while he had taken his ship inshore time and time again, only to stand off at the report of some sail, or an unexplained sighting of a native craft.

Now, he could delay no longer. He had been visited by Whitmarsh that afternoon, a man so tormented by his own worries that it had been a difficult interview. Whitmarsh had made it quite definite that he could no longer be held responsible if Bolitho persisted in staying clear of land. The two remaining casks of water were almost empty, and what remained was little better than scum. More men were lying ill on the orlop deck, and those fit enough to work ship had to be watched by the minute. Tempers flared, and petty officers went about their duties with an eye on their backs for a knifethrust in a momentary display of madness.

Herrick reported, “All ready, sir.” Like the others. Tense. Watchful.

Bolitho turned and looked around his officers. All but Soames, who was on duty, were present. Even the three midshipmen. He watched them gravely. It might teach them something, he thought.

“I intend to close the land again tomorrow.”

He saw Don Puigserver by the bulkhead with his lieutenant. Raymond a few feet away from him, rubbing his face in sharp, agitated movements.

Davy said, “Makes fine sense, sir.” He swallowed some wine. “If we give our people more rum to drink as we cut down the water, we'll be too tipsy to do anything!” He forced a smile. “A fine situ- ation it would be!”

Bolitho turned to Mudge. He was in the largest chair, still wearing his thick coat, and staring up at the open skylight as a moth darted into the lantern's beam. He saw Bolitho's expression and sighed.

“I called at this place just the once, sir. When I was master's mate in the
Windsor,
Indiaman. We was in much the same trouble ourselves then. No water, becalmed for weeks on end, an' with 'alf the people goin' wild with thirst.”

Bolitho asked, “But there
is
water available?”

Mudge moved his chair towards the desk in short, squeaky jerks. Then he jabbed the open chart with his thumb.

“We'm now in th' Mozambique Channel, as we all knows.” He glared at Midshipman Armitage. “Cept for some too hignorant to
learn
aright!” He continued in a more unruffled tone, “Th' African coast is fair wild 'ereabouts, an' not a lot be known about it. Ships put in, of course.” His eyes gleamed as he looked up at Bolitho. “For water. To trade mebbee. An' to find theirselves some black ivory from time to time.”

Midshipman Keen was leaning over his shoulder, his face the only one present which showed little sign of strain.

“Black ivory, sir?”

Herrick said sharply, “Slaves.”

Mudge leaned back comfortably. “It follows that we must be careful. Land in force, get the water, if I can recall exactly where it is, and stand out to sea agin.”

Bellairs said, “My marines will give a good account, thank you!”

Mudge regarded him scornfully. “Just so, Cap'n Bellairs, sir. In their pretty coats, with their drums and fifes, I can picture it a fair treat!” He added harshly, “They'd 'ave 'em for breakfast afore they could polish their bloody boots!”

“Well,
really!
” Bellairs was shocked.

Bolitho nodded. “Very well then. The wind is staying with us, so we should be able to anchor by noon tomorrow.”

Mudge agreed. “Aye. But not close inshore, sir. There's a fair bit o' reef just around the point. It'll mean every boat in th' water, an' a 'ard pull for all 'ands.”

“Yes.” Bolitho looked at Davy. “You can arrange the arming of each boat with the gunner. Swivels for launch and cutter. Musketoons for the rest.” He glanced round at their intent faces. “I'll want an officer with each party. Some of our people will need watching, if only for their own sakes.” He let his words sink in. “Remember it well. Many of them are quite raw to this sort of work, although because we have been together for over two months, you may see them as veterans. They are not, so treat them accordingly.
Lead
them, do not be content to leave your work to others less qualified.”

He saw the midshipmen exchanging glances like boys about to take part in some private escapade. Keen, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Little Penn, openly impressed by being in- cluded. Poor Armitage, his forehead raw red from being on watch for a few moments without a hat. They were even less experi- enced than most of the men.

He looked at the chart. But for Sullivan they might have made the whole voyage to Madras without a pause, despite their short- ages. Herrick had tried to help by saying it was bad luck. Puigserver had stated that he was behind him, whatever he de- cided was best for the ship. But it was still his decision, and nobody else could change that.

Some of those present in the cabin had stopped speaking with the surgeon altogether, and perhaps for that reason alone Bolitho had made no further comment about his choice of Sullivan as a helper, giving him the opportunity, crazy or not, of fouling the water supply. He saw him only on matters of sick reports, and each time was shocked by his appearance. The man was boiling inside, bitter, and yet unable to share his problems. He did not even want to.

He heard a woman's voice, saw the others look up at the sky- light as feet passed overhead. Mrs. Raymond and her maid taking their usual stroll under the stars. He hoped Soames would ensure they did not stray from the quarterdeck. He would not answer for their safety at the hands of some of the seamen. He could under- stand how many of them felt.

To the volunteers it must seem a far cry from the recruiting posters, and to the men from the prison hulks it might now appear to be a bad exchange of circumstances. Even those hiding from crimes committed ashore would find room for doubt and resent- ment. The crimes would have faded with the fear of arrest and trial. But the heat and thirst, and the daily grind of disciplined duty were only too real.

He saw Raymond biting his lip, his eyes following the foot- steps as if he was seeing through the deckhead itself. If anything, he and his wife were moving further apart by being confined in the ship. It was a strange relationship.

He thought back over the past days and one particular inci- dent. He had been in his small makeshift cabin in the chart space, and Allday had been changing the bandage on his arm for him. She had entered the cabin without knocking, in fact, neither of them had heard her approach. She had stood by the open port, quite relaxed, and had watched him without saying a word. Bolitho had been stripped to the waist, and as he reached for a fresh shirt she had said softly, “I see you bear yet another scar, Captain.”

Bolitho's hand had gone to his side, suddenly conscious of the ragged mark where a pistol ball had missed his ribs by a thread. He had seen it exactly, as he was seeing it now. The privateer's tilting deck, the American lieutenant running towards him, taking aim. The crash of a shot. The sharp stabbing agony. Oblivion.

Allday had said rudely, “The captain's dressing! Ships' ways are different from those ashore, it seems!”

But she had stood firm, her lips slightly parted, while she watched him. But how could she have understood what he was thinking? That the ball had been fired by one of his own brother's officers. A traitor. A wanted renegade, now dead and forgotten by most.

But not by me.

He shook himself out of his brooding thoughts. Nothing mat- tered now but the work in hand. Water. All that he needed to take them to Madras. Beyond that was another challenge. It could wait.

He said, “That is all, gentlemen.” He realised he had spoken more abruptly than intended and added, “We have a fine ship. One of the most efficient and modern devices created by man. We can give a good account of ourselves to any vessel but a ship of the line.” He paused as Herrick smiled at him, bridging the gap be- tween them as he, too, remembered. “Except for rare, and not to be encouraged, occasions! But without water to drink we are like stumbling old men, with neither the means nor the will to face another day. Remember what I have said. Be vigilant. For the moment that is all I ask of you.”

They filed out of the cabin, leaving him with Puigserver and Raymond. Raymond looked hopefully at the Spaniard, but when he made no attempt to take his usual walk on deck he, too, left the cabin.

Bolitho sat down and watched the moonlight as it played across the
Undine
's bubbling wake.

“What is the matter with him,
Señor?
” It was strange how easy it was to talk to him.