Enemy in Sight! (25 page)

He said tonelessly, “I suppose our meeting again is inevitable.” He gestured to a chair. “Sit down if you will.”

His brother lowered himself into the chair, his eyes still on Bolitho's face.

He replied, “I did not
want
to come, Dick. I thought I was being kept aboard the
Hermes.
I did not even know your ship was in the Caribbean.”

Bolitho reached out and poured a glass of red wine. “Drink this. Then tell me why you were here.” He gestured to his clothes. “How you came to be in the King's service.”

Hugh Bolitho drank deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. “Two years back when I was bound for New Holland as a convict you gave me, albeit unknowingly, another chance. They took most of the convicts back to Gibraltar to await deportation after we left St. Clar.” The deep lines around his mouth softened slightly. “I was put aboard a man-o'-war bound for Botany Bay, and during a storm I decided to try and escape. I managed to reach the quarter boat, but was seen and chased by the master's mate of the watch. He climbed down after me.” He shrugged, his eyes dreamy as he relived the moment. “There was a fight and the boat came adrift. We both realised the ship had sailed on without knowing we were missing, so we made the best of it. The storm got worse and the boat capsized. We had no water, noth- ing. When we were picked up, Selby, that was his name, had died. I was almost ready to follow.”

Bolitho passed his hand across his forehead. The fatigue and strain of the past days were taking their toll, and he had to think carefully before each word.

“But why did you take the other man's identity?” He felt the sweat running down his chest. “You must have known you would be collected by a King's ship in due course?”

Hugh nodded, the gesture both familiar and yet strange.

“I was, and am, tired of running, Dick. Changing names, and always looking over my shoulder. So I thought, where better to hide than in a King's ship?” He smiled wearily. “But it seems I was wrong even about that.”

On deck a bell chimed and feet shuffled around the poop sky- light. At any second someone might enter.

Bolitho said harshly, “You of all people ought to have known you might meet someone from the past.”

“I wanted to find something familiar where I could hide and wait until that ship reached England.” He nodded heavily. “I just wanted to reach home once more. Nothing else seemed impor- tant.” He stood up suddenly and laid the glass on the desk. “I am sorry about this. More so than I can say. I know you have your duty to do. I've had my luck. I'll not blame you now for putting me in irons until my trial.”

He fell back a pace as someone tapped the door.

Bolitho could feel his brother's eyes fixed on his face as he called, “Enter!”

Midshipman Pascoe came into the cabin, a telescope beneath his arm. “Mr Roth's respects, sir. He wishes permission to take in a second reef. The wind is freshening from the nor'-east, sir.”

Bolitho looked away, the boy's voice ringing in his brain like one more part of the dream.

“Very well, Mr Pascoe. I will come up directly.” He stopped him as he made for the door. “This is Mr Selby, master's mate.” He faced his brother impassively. “Mr Pascoe distinguished him- self greatly during the recent raid.”

As the door closed again he added, “That boy has had more to bear from life than you know. His father disgraced him, and he now looks to me for trust and guidance, both of which I am proud to offer.”

“I do not understand?”

“I will not destroy that boy completely by arresting the man he now believes dead! Whose name is in Falmouth church beside my father's!” He saw his brother stagger but could not control his words. “He walked right across Cornwall, alone and without help, just to see that name.
Your
name!”

Hugh's voice was hoarse. “I did not know.” He looked up, his eyes suddenly desperate, “His mother?”

“Dead. Even she had to give her body to some damned land- lord to keep her son in clothes and food!”

“I really did not know.” There was no more strength in his voice. “You
must
believe that!”

Bolitho swung round, his eyes blazing. “I don't care what you knew or believed, d'you hear? I am captain of this ship, and
you
are Mr Selby, master's mate in the larboard watch!” He saw his brother's face pale beneath the tan. “If you imagined you could run away from the past, you were mistaken. The man who com- mands the frigate
Spartan
was also your prisoner. My second lieutenant and several of the hands are Cornishmen.” He shook his head. “You are surrounded by the past, as I am!”

“Thank you for giving me the chance to . . .” His voice trailed away.

Bolitho walked to the stern windows and stared hard at the slow-moving
Hermes.

“There was never any choice. If we reach England together I will see what can be done, but I make no promises, so remem- ber that!” He gestured curtly to the door. “Carry on, and report to the master.” In the glass of the nearest window he saw his brother's stooped shadow reach the bulkhead. He added quietly, “And if you so much as whisper the truth to that boy I will per- sonally have you hanged!”

The door closed and Bolitho threw himself heavily into the chair. How could this be happening? The commission might last for many more months, even years. It was unbearable, as it was unfair.

The door opened again and Inch asked anxiously, “Did Mr Pascoe pass the request to take in another reef, sir?”

Bolitho stood up, feeling his arms and hands trembling in spite of his efforts to control them.

“Yes, thank you. I will come up.”

Inch walked beside him to the quarterdeck. “Did Mr Selby give you any useful news, sir?”

Bolitho stared at him, caught off guard. “News? What news?”

“I'm sorry, sir. I thought . . .” He quailed under Bolitho's fierce stare.

“Yes, I see.” Bolitho walked to the weather side and looked at the tautening rigging. “Very little.”

As the pipes shrilled and the duty watch swarmed up the rat- lines Bolitho stood unseeingly by the weather nettings, his fingers playing with the small locket inside his shirt.

When darkness reached the ships and the small stern lanterns showed their reflections like fireflies on the ruffled water he was still standing in the same place, his eyes clouded while he stared out into the darkness, and far beyond it.

Only when Gossett, heavy footed and smelling strongly of rum, came on deck to inspect the traverse board and speak with the helmsmen did the spell seem to break. Bolitho walked past them all without a word and entered his cabin.

Gossett watched him pass and rubbed his heavy jowl with sudden apprehension. Then he looked aloft at the reefed topsails and tapped the hour-glass with one massive finger.

A new day would wipe away the memories of the battle, he decided. There was not much that a change of wind and weather could not alter for any man.

13 RETURN OF THE
“
S
PARTAN
”

N
OON
the following day found the depleted squadron one hun- dred and twenty miles east of Las Mercedes, out of sight of land, and leaning steeply to a brisk north-easterly. The sky was cloud- less, and in spite of the wind the heat was almost unbearable, so that men not employed in working ship sought what comfort they could between decks, or in any patch of shadow they could find.

Bolitho walked to the poop ladder and watched the
Hermes
as she wallowed some two cables astern. With the wind sweep- ing almost directly across the larboard bow her yards were braced round at maximum angle, so that every sail showed its hard belly as if to push the ship right on to her beam ends.

He had just been addressing the newly acquired seamen, and had come aft feeling tired and strangely dispirited. As he had spo- ken to them he had tried to discover their reactions to his words, to find some spark of enthusiasm or resentment. There was prob- ably more of the latter than anything, he had decided. The first flush of wild excitement at their unexpected rescue from unjust imprisonment had changed to doubtful acceptance, if not actual dismay. They were now faced with the prospect of serving in a King's ship, perhaps for years, and some would never live to know any other life at all.

Gone were the privileges of comfortable quarters and toler- ant routine, of good pay with the chance to return to their homes at the end of each profitable voyage. Their resentment would find little sympathy amongst the
Hyperion'
s company, for as was the way in the Navy, the attitude of the average seaman was that if it had happened to him, then why not to others?

But in Bolitho's mind any resentment was bad, and he had done his best to ease, if not dispel their apprehension. That he had failed left him feeling both weary and ill at ease, although he know in his heart that but for his personal problems he might have found some last reserve to draw upon.

He turned his head to watch the midshipmen assembled on the lee side of the quarterdeck, their faces squinting with con- centration as Gossett rumbled through the daily routine of instruction and explained still further the mysteries and rewards of using a sextant.

“Step lively, Mr Pascoe!” The master sounded hoarse and a little irritable, and was no doubt thinking of the midday meal within the cool shadow of his own mess, and a richly deserved glass to wash it down. “Show us 'ow you can 'andle it!”

Pascoe took the glittering sextant and stared at it thought- fully.

Gossett groaned. “Time's awastin'!” He beckoned with one huge fist. “Mr Selby, lay aft and show the young gennleman, I'm all but wore out!”

Bolitho found he was gripping the ladder's teak rail with all his strength as he watched his brother cross the deck and take the sextant from the boy's hands. He was too far away to hear what was said, but he could tell from the boy's intent expression, the occasional nods, that Hugh's quiet words were reaching their mark.

Lieutenant Stepkyne was officer of the watch and had been studying the instruction with obvious impatience. “Don't take so much time over it, Mr Selby!” His harsh voice made the boy glance at him with something like hatred. “A lesson is a lesson aboard this ship. We don't expect individual tuition!”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Hugh kept his eyes down. “I'm sorry, sir.”

Bolitho looked for the master but Gossett had already van- ished to his quarters.

Stepkyne walked casually towards the watching midshipmen. “Just so long as you understand.” He rocked back on his heels, his eyes examining the master's mate like a farmer looking over a beast at market.

Pascoe said quickly, “He was explaining it to me, sir. How an officer should always show . . .”

Stepkyne turned and glared at him. “Was he indeed?” He swung back again. “An
officer?
What in God's name would you know about that,
Mr
Selby?”

Bolitho saw the midshipmen exchanging quick glances. They were too young to understand Stepkyne's malice. They were ashamed of him, which was worse.

But Bolitho was concerned only for his brother. For just one brief moment he saw a flash of anger in his eyes, a defiant lift to his chin. Then he replied quietly, “You're quite right, sir. I know nothing of such things.”

Stepkyne still stood by the rail his anger giving way to heavy sarcasm. “Then I am relieved to know it. We cannot have our people getting ideas above their station, can we?”

Bolitho strode out of the shadow, his limbs carrying him for- ward before he knew what he was doing.

“Mr Stepkyne, I would be equally relieved if you would attend to
your
duties! The hour for instruction is over!”

Stepkyne swallowed hard. “I was making sure they were not wasting their time, sir.”

Bolitho eyed him coldly. “It seemed to me you were using their time to amuse yourself. In future, if you have nothing better to do, I will be pleased to know. I am quite sure I shall be able to sup- ply your talent with more worthwhile and rewarding tasks.”

He turned and walked back to the poop ladder, his heart throbbing painfully with each step. In all his years at sea he could not recall ever having reprimanded an officer in front of his sub- ordinates. He despised those who did it as a matter of course, just as he mistrusted them.

But Stepkyne was a bully, and like others of his type only seemed to understand similar treatment. And yet Bolitho could find no comfort in what he had done, and like the midshipmen was more shamed than satisfied.

He began to pace back and forth along the weather side, ignoring the sun's heat across his shoulders and the eyes of the watchkeepers. In trying to help with his brother's deception he might have achieved just the opposite. When Stepkyne recovered from his surprise and discomfort he might pause to consider his captain's behaviour, and when that occurred . . .

Bolitho stopped dead and looked up as a lookout yelled, “Deck there! Sail on th' weather bow!”

Snatching a telescope from its rack he climbed into the mizzen shrouds, feeling the salt wind across his lips like blown sand. For a moment he thought the lookout had mistaken the little sloop
Dasher
for a newcomer, but a quick glance told him otherwise. Far out on the larboard beam, her topgallants barely visible on the haze-shrouded horizon, he could see the sloop on her correct station as before.

He waited until the
Hyperion
had completed another steep plunge and then trained the glass towards the bow, seeing the crisscross of rigging, the colourful splendour of the
Telamon
at the head of the line with Pelham-Martin's broad pendant at her mast- head, and then, a mere shadow beneath the clear sky, he saw what must be the approaching ship.

She was running before the wind, carrying every stitch of canvas, and seemed to be rising bodily from the haze as she headed straight for the squadron.

“Deck there! She's a frigate, an' English by th' looks of 'er!”

Bolitho climbed down to the quarterdeck and handed the telescope to the midshipman of the watch.

Inch had arrived from the wardroom, his jaws still chewing on the remains of his meal.

Bolitho said shortly, “Call all hands, Mr Inch, and prepare to shorten sail. That frigate'll be up to us directly and she's in a great hurry to tell us something.”

He heard the shrill of pipes and the immediate rush of feet as the order was relayed along both decks, and blinking in the bright sunlight the seamen poured through the open hatchways and dashed to their stations.

Midshipman Carlyon, very conscious of his new appointment in charge of signals, stood with his men by the halyards, while an experienced petty officer crouched in the mizzen shrouds with a telescope, his legs curled around the ratlines, balanced perfectly against the ship's heavy roll.

Bolitho took the glass once more and studied the fast approaching frigate, as with the spray bursting over her forecas- tle, and her rakish hull tilting to the wind she started to go about, flags already breaking from her yards.

He said quietly, “So Captain Farquhar has returned to the squadron.”

Inch was about to speak when Carlyon yelled, “
Spartan
to
Telamon.
Have urgent despatch for commodore.”

He jumped as Inch barked, “Watch the flagship, damn you!”

“S—Sorry, sir!” Carlyon swung his glass round towards the
Telamon
as flags broke stiffly in the glare. He stuttered, “General signal. Heave to.”

Bolitho nodded curtly. “Carry on, Mr Inch, or the
Hermes
will beat us to it.”

He walked between the scurrying seamen and marines to watch the
Spartan
completing her manoeuvre. Farquhar was wear- ing ship even before
Telamon'
s acknowledgement had been lowered.

As the
Hyperion
wallowed heavily into the wind, her sails vanishing from her topgallant yards to the accompaniment of threats and curses from the deck Bolitho wondered what news Farquhar was bringing with him. It would certainly take more than a display of excellent seamanship to appease the commodore

The deck canted heavily in the wind, and every shroud and halyard cracked and vibrated as the topmen fought to secure the rebellious canvas while they clung to the dizzily swaying yards.

Inch said breathlessly, “The
Spartan'
ll get no thanks for miss- ing the attack on Las Mercedes, sir.”

Bolitho wiped his watering eyes as more flags appeared above the
Telamon'
s pitching hull. But for the sloop's inability to find him, Farquhar might now be lying with his ship beside the charred bones of the
Abdiel.

The signals petty officer called, “Boat shovin' off from
Spartan,
sir!”

Bolitho clung to the nettings to watch the little jolly boat as it rose and dipped across the lively crests, the oars rising and falling like gulls' wings. He could see Farquhar's straight-backed figure in the sternsheets and his gold-laced cocked hat gleaming above the straining oarsmen as an additional encouragement to their efforts.

He heard Lieutenant Roth say, “It'll be bad news no doubt.”

Inch retorted, “Keep your opinions to yourself!”

Bolitho saw the boat hooking on to the Dutchman's main chains, the small hull pitching and crashing against the steep tumblehome as the men fought to keep it from capsizing. He had noted the bitterness in Inch's voice. The same tone he had used to explain Pelham-Martin's delay in attacking Las Mercedes. It seemed that the commodore had been unwilling to trust Bolitho's landing party to destroy the hidden battery, even to accept that they would finally cross the swamp. Bolitho could find some understanding for Pelham-Martin's qualms, but could equally well imagine the frustration and anger throughout the ships while they waited for the sloop
Dasher
to report the sounds of gunfire.

But Bolitho was sure of one thing. If he had merely destroyed those guns without using them to fire on the anchored French ships, Pelham-Martin would never have made that last, vital assault, and he and his remaining men would have perished. And as Fitzmaurice had remarked before the raid, the responsibility would have rested on Bolitho's shoulders in any report which eventually reached England.

He gritted his teeth with mounting impatience until Carlyon shouted, “General signal. All captains repair on board forthwith.”

Bolitho jerked his hand. “Call away the barge.” He looked round for Allday, but he was already carrying the gold-laced coat and hat.

As he threw off his faded coat he saw some of the seamen staring at the activity aboard the
Telamon,
and wondered briefly what they were thinking. Only very few of those aboard really understood where the ship lay or the name of the nearest land. They had no say in affairs at all. They obeyed and did their duty, and some people said that was enough. Bolitho believed other- wise, and one day . . .

He looked up as Inch reported, “Barge alongside, sir.” He had not even noticed it being swung outboard. He was too tired, too strained, and it was beginning to tell.

He nodded and ran down the ladder to the entry port. Below his legs he could see the lower gunports awash, and the next instant as the hull heeled violently away from the barge the cop- per on the ship's fat bilge rolled shining into the sunlight.

A quick breath. Count the seconds and then jump. Hands seized his arms and thigh, and as he staggered into the stern- sheets he saw the
Hyperion
already sliding clear, the barge's oars hacking at the crested water while Allday brought the bows towards the
Telamon.

He had hardly regained his breath when it was time to ascend the Dutchman's side and into her ornate entry port.