To Glory We Steer (31 page)

There was a low murmur of despair from the main deck, and Allday knew that in everyone's eyes he was already a dead man.

Bolitho turned away. “Place him in irons, Mr Vibart. But any unnecessary brutality will be answerable to me!”

Dazed, and stumbling like a drunken man, Allday allowed himself to be led below.

Deep below the main deck there were two tiny cells, each just large enough to contain one man. Allday watched dumbly as the rough manacles were snapped around his wrists and ankles, but only when the door was slammed and bolted behind him and he was left in total darkness did the true realisation close on him like a vice.

By the time the
Phalarope
returned to port, and a necessary number of officers was available for a court martial, no one would remember or even care if he was guilty or not. He would be used as an example to others. A dancing, kicking puppet on the end of a rope as he was hauled slowly to the main-yard to the accompaniment of a drum's mournful beat.

He smashed his fists against the door, and heard the sound echo and vibrate in the stillness of the hull. Again and again, until he could feel the blood running across his fingers and taste the angry tears on his lips.

But when he fell exhausted and gasping behind the door, there was nothing but silence.

The deep, empty silence of a tomb.

Lieutenant Herrick rested his shoulder against an empty hammock netting and stared moodily along the frigate's deserted decks. An hour of the middle watch had passed, and in the bright moonlight the sails and rigging gave off an eerie glow, like those of some phantom vessel.

Try as he might, he could not put the thought of Allday and the murdered purser from his mind. He should have been able to tell himself that it was over and done with. Just one more item in the log to be talked over for a time and then forgotten. Evans was dead, and his killer was penned below in irons. That at least should be some small satisfaction to everybody. An undetected murderer, at large to terrorise the lower deck or to strike again, would have been far more to worry about.

He tried to picture Allday standing over that hideous corpse, crazed enough to rip at the man's body until it was hardly human, yet calmly able to steal a pair of pistols and secrete them in his own quarters. It did not make any sense at all, but Herrick knew that had it been anyone else but Allday he would never have questioned such evidence.

Just before coming on watch Herrick had made his way below to the darkened cells, and after sending the marine sentry to the top of the ladder, had opened the door and held a lantern inside.

Allday had crouched against the opposite side, his hands shading his eyes from the light, his feet skidding in his own filth. Any disgust or anger Herrick may have felt faded in that instant. He had expected loud denials of guilt, or dumb insolence. Instead there was only a pathetic attempt at pride.

He had asked quietly, “Have you anything more to tell me, Allday? I have not forgotten that you saved my life on the cliff. Perhaps if you tell me the full circumstances I will be able to do something to attract clemency on your behalf?”

Allday had made as if to brush his long hair from his eyes, and then looked down at the heavy manacles. In a barely controlled voice he had replied, “I did not do it, Mr Herrick. I cannot find a defence for something I
did not do!
”

“I see.” In the silence Herrick had heard the scampering rats, the strange, unknown creaks of a ship at sea. “If you change your mind, I . . .”

Allday had tried to step towards him and had fallen forward on Herrick's arm. For a few seconds Herrick had felt the touch of his bare skin, damp with fear, had smelt his despair, like the odour of death.

Allday had said thickly, “You don't believe me either! So what's the point?” His voice had gained some small inner strength. “Just leave me alone! For God's sake leave me
alone!
”

But as Herrick had been about to rebolt the door Allday had asked quietly, “D'you think they'll send me home for court martial, sir?”

Herrick knew that the Navy would have other ideas. Justice was swift and final. But as he had stared at the heavy studded door he had heard himself reply, “Maybe they will. Why do you ask?”

The answer had been muffled, as if Allday had turned his face away. “I would like to see the green hills again. Just once. Even for a few minutes!”

The sadness and despair of those last words had dogged Herrick for the rest of the day, and now during his watch they were with him still.

“Damn!” He spoke aloud with sudden anger, and the two helmsmen jerked upright by the wheel as if he had struck them.

The senior man watched anxiously as Herrick walked towards the wheel and said quickly, “Full an' bye, sir! Course south by east!”

Herrick stared at him and then at the gently swinging compass card. Poor devils, he thought vaguely. Scared sick because I swore aloud.

A dark figure moved from the lee rail and walked slowly towards him. It was Proby, his heavy jowls glowing faintly from his short clay pipe.

Herrick said, “Can't you sleep, Mr Proby? The breeze is slight but steady now. There'll be nothing for you to attend to tonight.”

The master sucked noisily at the stem. “It's the best time of the night, Mr Herrick. You can look into the wind's eye and think about what you've done with your life!”

Herrick looked sideways at Proby's crumpled features. In the pipe glow his face looked like a piece of weatherworn sculpture, but there was something reassuring about him all the same. Timeless, like the sea itself.

He said at length, “Do you think we have heard the last of Evans's death?”

“Who can say?” Proby shifted on his flat feet. “It takes time to clean such a deed from a man's memory. Aye, it takes a long time.”

The pipe glow suddenly vanished in the palm of Proby's beefy hand, and he said tersely, “The captain is on deck, Mr Herrick!” Then in a louder, matter-of-fact tone he said, “We should make a good landfall tomorrow if this wind holds. So I'll bid you good night, Mr Herrick!”

Then he was gone, and Herrick moved towards the lee rail. From the corner of his eye he could see Bolitho standing straight against the weather rail, the moonlight sharp across his white shirt as he stared at the glittering reflections beyond the ship.

Bolitho had not left the quarterdeck for more than an hour at a time, and ever since Allday's arrest he had been seen by the taffrail, either pacing the deck or just staring out to sea, as he was now.

Earlier Herrick had overheard the master speaking to Quintal, the boatswain, and now as he watched Bolitho's motionless figure the words came back to him. Quintal had said in a hoarse whisper, “I didn't know he felt like that about Evans. He seems fair troubled by it all!”

Old Proby had weighed his words before replying.

“It's the deed which bothers the captain, Mr Quintal. He feels betrayed, that's what is wrong with
him!
”

Herrick saw Bolitho touch the scar on his forehead and then rub the tiredness from his eyes. Proby was right, he thought. He feels it more than we realise. Whatever any of us does, he shares it like his own burden.

Before he realised what he was doing, Herrick had crossed the deck to Bolitho's side. Instantly he regretted his action. He half expected Bolitho to turn and reprimand him, and even that might have been better than the complete silence. He said, “The wind is holding well, sir. The master has prophesied a quick landfall.”

“I think I heard him.” Bolitho seemed to be deep in his own thoughts.

Herrick saw that the captain's shirt was dark with thrown spray and clung close to his body like another skin. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes, and Herrick could almost feel the inner torment which was keeping Bolitho on deck instead of the privacy of the cabin.

He said, “Would you like me to call your servant, sir? Perhaps a hot drink before you turn in for the night?”

Bolitho twisted round at the rail, his eyes bright in the moonlight. “Spare me this small talk, Mr Herrick! What is it which bothers you?”

Herrick swallowed hard and then blurted out, “I have been speaking with Allday, sir. I know it was wrong, but I feel partly responsible for him.”

Bolitho was watching him closely. “Go on.”

“He is one of my men, sir, and I think there may be more to what happened than we think.” He finished lamely, “I know him better than most. He is not the sort to change.”

Bolitho sighed. “Only the stars never change, Mr Herrick.”

Herrick said stubbornly, “Even so, he may be innocent!”

“And you think this is important?” Bolitho sounded tired. “You believe that the life of one man, a man almost certain to be found guilty, is worth consideration?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I do, sir.” Herrick felt Bolitho's eyes fixed on his face in a cold stare. “The authorities will not listen to half a story . . .”

Bolitho shifted with sudden impatience. “
We
are the authority out here, Mr Herrick! And I will decide what is to be done!”

Herrick looked away. “Yes, sir.”

“As it happens, I entirely agree with you.” Bolitho pushed the lock of hair back from his forehead, ignoring Herrick's open astonishment. “But I just wanted to hear it from one other person!”

He became suddenly brisk. “I think I will go below now, Mr Herrick,
without
a hot drink. Tomorrow we will search for fresh water and attend to the matter of fighting a war.” He paused momentarily by the rail. “I will also think about what you have said tonight. It may be important for all of us.”

Without another word he turned on his heel and descended the cabin stairway. Herrick stared after him, his jaw hanging open.

“Well, I'll be damned!” He shook his head and grinned, “Well, I'll be
double
-damned!”

15 THE
S
TORM BREAKS

S
URPRISINGLY
the wind did hold, and twenty hours after Proby's prophecy the
Phalarope
's anchor splashed down into deep, clear water amidst a huddle of low, desolate islets.

Apart from lowering boats and filling them with water casks in readiness for the following morning, it was pointless to attempt a landing with night so close at hand, but at the first hint of daylight, long before the sun was able to burnish an edge to the horizon, the first boatloads of men grated up the narrow shelving beach of the nearest islet.

Bolitho climbed through the tangle of dark scrub at the top of the beach and stared round at the busy preparations behind him. The boats had already shoved off to collect more men, and the ones already landed were standing huddled together, as if conscious of the island's bleak inhospitality. One or two of the sailors were staggering like drunken revellers, their legs so used to the pitch and toss of a ship's deck that the unfamiliar land destroyed their sense of balance.

Petty officers bawled orders and checked their lists of names, and as the next batch of men arrived to join the swelling mass of sailors at the water's edge the first parties picked up their casks and tools and began to stumble inland.

Lieutenant Okes appeared on the ridge and touched his hat. “All working parties ready, sir.” He looked harassed.

Bolitho nodded. “You have your orders, Mr Okes. Just follow the rough map I made for you and you should find fresh water without difficulty. Keep the men moving fast before the sun comes up. You'll need every available man to carry the full casks down to the beach, so see they don't wander off.”

He saw Trevenen, the cooper, scurrying ahead of another party accompanied by Ledward, the carpenter, the latter ever hopeful of replenishing his stock of spare timber. He'd not find much here, Bolitho thought grimly. These islets were useless and left well alone, but for occasional fresh-water parties. Underfoot the ground was hidden by layer upon layer of rotten vegetation, its heavy stench well mixed with seagull droppings and small bright patches of fungus. Further inland there were a few hump-backed hills, from the top of which a man could see the sea in every direction.

Okes walked off after his men, and Bolitho caught sight of Farquhar's slim figure outlined against the green scrub, before he too vanished over the far side of the ridge. Bolitho had deliberately ordered the midshipman to join Okes in command of the main party. It would do them both good to work together, if only to break down the strange air of watchful tension between them. It seemed as if Farquhar was playing some sort of game with Okes. Ever since his escape from the
Andiron
Farquhar had made a point of not speaking to Okes, but his presence alone seemed more than enough to reduce the lieutenant to a state of permanent agitation.

Okes had acted hastily during the retreat from Mola Island, but unless he made an open admission there was little point in pursuing the matter, Bolitho thought. He could sympathise with Farquhar, and wondered what he himself might have done under the same set of circumstances. Farquhar's built-in sense of caution had obviously taught him that there was more to a career than gaining petty triumphs. Also his breeding, the security of a powerful family, as well as his own self-confidence, gave him the ability to bide his time.

Herrick strode up the slope and said, “Shall we return to the ship, sir?”

Bolitho shook his head. “We'll walk a little further, Mr Herrick.”

He pushed through a line of sun-scarred bushes and headed away from the beach. Herrick walked beside him in silence, no doubt thinking of the strangeness of the land around him. The sea's gentle hiss was gone and the air was heavy with alien smells and a thick, clinging humidity.

Bolitho said at length, “I hope Okes can get the men working quickly. Every hour may be precious.”

“You are thinking of the French, sir?”

Bolitho wiped the sweat from his face and nodded. “De Grasse may have sailed by now. If he behaves as Sir George Rodney believes he will, his fleet will already be striking west for Jamaica.” He looked up fretfully at the limp leaves and cloudless sky. “Not a breath of wind. Nothing. We were lucky it held long enough for us to reach here!”

Herrick was breathing heavily. “My God, sir, I'm feeling this!” He mopped his face. “I have not set foot ashore since Falmouth. I had almost forgotten what it was like.”

Falmouth. Again the name brought back a flood of memories to Bolitho as he strode unseeingly through the thick scrub. His father would still be waiting and wondering, nursing the hurt which Hugh had left with him. Bolitho wondered momentarily what would have happened if he had seen and recognised his brother on the
Andiron
's poop on that first savage encounter. Would he have pressed home his attack with such fervour? If he had caused Hugh's death it might have eased the minds of the Navy, but in his heart Bolitho knew that it would only have added to his father's grief and sense of loss.

Perhaps Hugh already had another ship. He dismissed the idea at once. The French would not trust another prize to a man who had allowed
Andiron
to fall into her own snare. And the American rebel government had few ships to spare. No, Hugh would have his own problems in plenty at this moment.

He thought too of Vibart, left behind in charge of the frigate. It was strange how Evans's murder had affected him. Bolitho had always thought Evans to be more of a toady than a friend of the first lieutenant. Yet his death seemed in some way to have deprived Vibart of something familiar and reliable, the last outlet from his own isolation. Bolitho knew that Vibart blamed him for Evans's death, as much as he hated Allday for the deed. Vibart viewed humanity like sentiment. To him both were useless hindrances to duty.

He also knew that he would never see eye to eye with Vibart whatever happened. To Bolitho the humane treatment of his men, the understanding of their problems, and the earning of their loyalty, were as precious as gold. Equally he knew he must uphold this difficult and bitter man, for commanding a ship of war left little room for personal animosity amongst officers.

Bolitho halted with a jerk and pointed. “Is that a marine?”

Herrick stood beside him breathing deeply. A red coat flashed between the dull foliage and then another, and as Bolitho started forward, Sergeant Garwood appeared at the head of a file of sweating marines.

Bolitho asked sharply, “What are you doing ashore, Sergeant?”

Garwood stared fixedly over Bolitho's shoulder. “Mr Vibart 'as sent all the marines across, sir.” He swallowed hard. “The prisoner Allday 'as escaped, sir. We've been sent to catch 'im again!”

Bolitho heard Herrick catch his breath and glanced quickly at his streaming face. He could see the shock and disappointment plain on the lieutenant's features, as if he was personally involved.

“I see.” Bolitho controlled the sudden rise of anger and added calmly, “Where is Captain Rennie?”

“T'other side of the island, sir.” Garwood looked unhappy. “The relief sentry found the cell guard clubbed senseless an' the prisoner gone, sir. 'Is manacle 'ad been struck off too, sir.”

“So someone else was involved?” Bolitho stared hard at the sergeant's bronzed features. “Who else is missing?”

The marine gulped. “Yer clerk, Ferguson, sir!”

Bolitho turned away. “Very well, I suppose you had better carry on now that you are here.” He watched the man clump gratefully away and then said tightly, “Mr Vibart was over hasty to send all the marines ashore. If the ship was surprised at her anchor by another vessel, there would be insufficient men to repel an attack.” He turned abruptly. “Come, we will go back to the beach.”

Herrick said wretchedly, “I am sorry, sir. I feel to blame more than ever. I trusted Allday, and I was the one who chose Ferguson as your clerk.”

Bolitho replied flatly, “It has proved that we were both wrong, Mr Herrick. An innocent man does not run!” He added, “Mr Vibart should not have allowed his anger to blind his judgement in this matter. Allday will surely die if he is left here. He will go mad on this island once the ship has sailed, and will not thank Ferguson for his rescue from a cell!”

They hurried across the beach, and the drowsing gig's crew jerked into life as the two officers climbed aboard.

Bolitho shaded his eyes to look at the anchored frigate as the gig moved slowly across the placid water. The sun was only just showing above the nearest hump of land, and the
Phalarope
's yards and topmasts were shining as if coated with gilt.

Herrick asked quietly, “If the marines catch Allday, sir. What will you do?”

“I will hang him this time, Mr Herrick. For the sake of discipline I have no choice now.” He glanced back at the land. “For that reason I hope they do not find him.”

The bowman hooked on to the chains, and Bolitho pulled himself through the entry port.

At his elbow Herrick snapped, “Why did you not hail the gig, man?” His own unhappy thoughts put an unusual edge to his voice.

The seaman at the entry port blinked and stammered, “I'm sorry, sir. I—I . . .” His voice trailed away as he stared up at the quarterdeck.

There was a tight group of seamen beneath the quarterdeck, and as the cold realisation seeped into Bolitho's brain, they pushed out into the growing sunlight which shone and reflected on their raised muskets.

Herrick thrust Bolitho aside and reached for his sword, but a giant sailor with a pistol snapped, “Stay where you are, Mr Herrick!” He pointed up at the quarterdeck rail. “Otherwise it will go hard with that one!”

Two more men appeared from behind the cabin hatch between them carrying the small, struggling figure of Midshipman Neale. One man drew a knife from his belt and laid it across Neale's throat, grinning down at the two officers as he did so.

The tall seaman, whom Bolitho now recognised as Onslow, stepped slowly across the main deck, his pistol trained on Herrick. “Well, Mr Herrick? Do you drop your sword?” He grinned lazily. “It's all the same to me!”

Bolitho said, “Do as he says, Mr Herrick.” He had seen the brightness in Onslow's eyes, and knew that the man was eager, desperately eager to kill. He was only just keeping his pent up madness in check. One false move and there would be no more time left to act.

The sword clattered on the deck. Onslow kicked it aside and called sharply, “Take the gig's crew forrard and batten 'em down with the other pretty boys!” He tapped his nose with his pistol. “They'll all join us later, or feed the fish!”

Some of the men laughed. It was a wild, explosive sound. Brittle with tension.

Bolitho studied Onslow, the first shock giving way to sudden caution. Every captain dreaded such a moment. Some had earned it, others had fallen foul of uncontrollable circumstances. Now it had happened to him. To the
Phalarope.

It was mutiny.

Onslow watched as the gig's crew was bundled below deck and then said, “We'll up anchor as soon as a likely wind blows. We have the master below, and either he or you will take the ship to open waters.”

Herrick said hoarsely, “You're mad! You'll swing for this!”

The pistol barrel came down sharply, and Herrick dropped to his knees, his hands across his forehead.

Bolitho saw the blood bright across Herrick's fingers and said coldly, “And if the wind fails to arrive, Onslow? What will you do?”

Onslow nodded, his eyes searching Bolitho's face. “A good question. Well, we have a good little ship beneath us. We can sink any boat which tries to board us, do you not agree?”

Bolitho kept his face impassive, but realised that Onslow had good reasons for confidence. Outnumbered by the rest of the crew and Rennie's marines, Onslow was still in the position of king. Even a handful of men could keep boats at bay with the frigate's guns loaded with grape. He glanced at the sun. It would be hours yet before Okes started on the long march back to the beach.

He said slowly. “So it was you all the time.”

Another man, small and stinking of rum, capered round the two officers. “He's done it all! Just as 'e said 'e would!”

Onslow snarled, “Stow it, Pook!” Then more calmly, “Your clerk told me when the ship was nearing land. All I had to do was foul the fresh-water casks with salt.” He laughed, amused by the very simplicity of his plan.

“Then, when you headed this way, I killed that rat Evans.”

Bolitho said, “You must have been very afraid of Allday to incriminate him with murder!”

Onslow glanced along the deck and then said calmly, “It was necessary. I knew if the bullocks were still aboard some of my white-livered friends might not be so willing to seize the ship!” He shrugged. “So I had Allday released, and the bullocks went charging off after him. Just as I
knew
they would!”

“You've damned yourself, Onslow!” Bolitho kept his voice level. “But think of these other men with you. Will you see them hanged?”