Bolitho 19 - Beyond the Reef (42 page)

Herrick felt the blood pounding in his temples like insistent hammers. He had sent Adam away. It was too late now. By dawn, not even a schooner would find him.

Very deliberately he walked to the table, unfastened the canvas envelope and removed the enclosure with its bright Admiralty seal. He still could not bring himself to open it. The contents were likely already out of date and intended only for the man who now lay dead in his own filth. Distance and communications, time and strategy which could only be guesswork, left for the man who had to execute it. He had seen Bolitho in his young nephew’s face. Never once had he hesitated, even when he was judged at fault. A charmed life. What had they called it? Charisma. Like Nelson, who had paid for it with his life.

The captain saw his hesitation. “Nobody will blame you, sir.”

He stood like a witness as Herrick picked up a knife and slit open the seal. Earlier he had been afraid that Herrick was going to ask him to be his ally in overthrowing Sutcliffe’s authority. He had wondered how he was going to refuse. Now it was no longer necessary.

Herrick looked up, as though trying to see him in the poor light.

“It states that five sail of the line were forced through the blockade. Rear-Admiral Andre Baratte—” he could not bring himself to use the French title, “escaped out of Brest in a Dutch frigate, the Triton.” He paused, as if in silent agreement. “So he was right about that too.”

Captain Pearse asked, “You know the French admiral, sir?”

“Of him. His father was a great man, but went to the guillotine with all the rest during the Terror.” He did not conceal his disgust. “But his son survived. He has distinguished himself in matters of deceit and secrecy.” He looked through Pearse without seeing him. “What they call strategy, in high places.”

“What shall we do, sir?”

Herrick ignored him. “Why didn’t that poxed-up object over there die before Adam came? I could have done something then. Now it’s too damned late.”

“Five sail of the line, sir. Plus those already here in the Caribbean … it makes this Baratte a formidable threat.”

Herrick took up his hat. “Arrange the burial party for Lord Sutcliffe. And tell the major commanding the main battery that the next time he fires a salute, it will likely be at the French fleet!”

He left Pearse staring at the despatches, his mind in a daze. All so quick. At the stroke of a pen.

Aloud he exclaimed, “But it was nobody’s fault!” Only the buzzing insects answered.

Far out to sea, her topsails and upper yards painted silver by the moon, the frigate Anemone heeled over to a freshening north-easterly. Lieutenants Sargeant and Martin picked their way into the small chartroom where they found their captain poring over his charts.

The first lieutenant said, “You wanted us, sir?”

Adam smiled and touched his arm. “I treated you badly when I came aboard.”

Sargeant sounded relieved. “I was slow to understand, sir. We felt—all of us who know—saddened by your news, your orders not to go in search of the flagship.”

“Thank you.” Adam picked up the brass dividers. “Nelson once said that written orders are never any substitute for a captain’s initiative.”

The two lieutenants watched him in silence, while the third and most junior paced the planks overhead, probably speculating as to what was happening.

Adam said quietly, “There will be some risk, but not to you, if I am proven wrong.” He glanced around, seeing the whole of his ship as if she were laid out like a plan. “But chances must be taken.”

Sargeant looked at the dividers and the scrawled calculations. “You do not intend to sail for Port Royal, sir. You are going to hunt for Sir Richard’s ships.” He said it so calmly, and yet, in its implication, it sounded like a thunderclap.

Lieutenant Martin exclaimed, “You might lose everything, sir!”

“Yes. I have thought about it.” He studied the chart. “Even my uncle could not help me. Not this time.” He looked up, his eyes very bright. “Are you with me? I would not blame you if …”

Sargeant placed his hand over his on the chart and Martin laid his on top. Then he said, “I’ll tell Old Partridge. He never liked Jamaica anyway.”

They left him alone and for a long while Adam stood loosely in the chartroom, his body swaying with his ship.

He thought of his uncle, out there in the darkness with Keen. His lover’s husband. A strange rendezvous.

He tossed down the dividers and smiled. “So be it, then!” There would be no regrets.

Bolitho walked up the tilting deck until he could see the frigate Anemone riding hove-to under Black Prince’s lee, her sails and slender hull pale pink in the early morning light.

He turned and stared at his nephew, who was holding an empty coffee cup, his expression that of a young boy who had just been scolded by someone he loves or respects. In this case, both.

Bolitho said, “I can scarcely believe it, Adam. You deliberately disobeyed orders to come and seek me out?” It had been dawn when the masthead lookout had reported Anemone’s topgallants, and for an instant longer Bolitho had believed it was Tybalt returning already after taking his letters to Herrick. “You know what this can mean. I knew you were a wild young devil, but I never thought …” He broke off, hating what he was doing to him. “Enough of that. How did you find me and reach me before Tybalt?”

Adam put down his cup. “I know your ways in these waters, sir.”

Bolitho walked down the deck and put his hands on his shoulders.

“I am damned pleased to see you nonetheless. If you leave at once, your despatches for Vice-Admiral Sir Alexander Cochrane will not be delayed more than a day. And you did not sight the other half of my squadron? That is strange.”

Adam stood up and looked for Ozzard. He was never far away. “Tell them to call my gig alongside.” He turned to Bolitho. “I could not simply sail away and leave you without news, Uncle. I tried to pass it to Tybalt, but it was all too quick.”

“It was warning enough, Adam. But your own news about the schooner, the shore-mounted gun—that is serious. I cannot think why Thomas Herrick would not go over Lord Sutcliffe’s head. He was beyond reason when I saw him; Thomas would be fully justified. I simply do not understand.”

Adam bit his lip. “I wish I could remain with you. But for you I would be nothing, but I’d risk it all if the same circumstances offered themselves again.”

Bolitho walked with him to the companion ladder. It was stranger still that Herrick had not opened the despatches before Adam had been sent away. French ships, but what kind and how many? And whose was the mind that controlled them?

The decks were crowded as both watches were mustered in readiness to get under way again. The other two 74s were falling off downwind, their captains doubtless fretting to know what had happened.

Keen was watching his men. The sail drill had certainly improved, but there was a long way to go yet. He nodded cordially to Adam and remarked, “You are all surprises!” He had purposefully left them alone together in the great cabin. So much to say in so short a time. And like every sailor, each would know it could be for the last time.

Adam said, “I have given a sketch of the island to the flag lieutenant.” He sighed. “Though I doubt if the French will linger there. They will know I carried the news to Antigua.” He added with sudden bitterness, “For all the damned good it did!”

Bolitho gripped his arm. “It takes longer than you think to move an army, Adam. My instinct tells me that they will shift from there, and perhaps from other islands, when they know our Martinique attack has begun. They will likely have better intelligence in these waters than I do.” He dropped his voice. “We will be together soon, Adam. Cochrane is not the admiral to deprive me of an extra fifth-rate when I need her so badly!”

Adam forced a smile. Just being close to Keen had brought the raw memory back to torment him. Himself with Zenoria. Zenoria giving herself to Keen, as she had to him.

He touched his hat and climbed swiftly down to his bobbing gig.

Bolitho said quietly, “Still a wild one, Val. He risked everything to bring us news.”

Keen glanced at his troubled face. “He has his ship, with prospects higher than he ever dreamed.” He saw the first lieutenant staring at him intently, like a keeper’s hound. “What he needs is a good wife, someone who’ll be waiting for him when he has the sea at his back.”

He said to Sedgemore, “You seem all eagerness to get under way. So carry on, if you please.” He watched the immediate tide of seamen and marines, the small islands of blue authority which were his lieutenants and warrant ranks as the hands were urged to halliards and braces.

Bolitho turned to Jenour. “I shall require Yovell to produce two letters for me, Stephen. We will not waste time by stopping for a captains’ conference: we will drop a boat, and send my orders to Valkyrie and Relentless in that fashion.”

“Shall we attack the island without Tybalt’s support, sir?” He saw that Jenour was watching him anxiously, probably thinking of the time when he would be ordered elsewhere.

“Tybalt will find us. Herrick must have opened his despatches by now. After that it is anybody’s guess.”

Perhaps, Jenour thought. But it will be your responsibility.

Someone called above the din of billowing canvas and creaking blocks, “Anemone’s setting her courses!” Another group of idlers gave the frigate a cheer as she heeled over with the wind in her flapping sails.

Bolitho paused to watch her as she gathered way like the thoroughbred she was.

He said, “God care for you, Adam.” But his words were lost in the bustle around him.

Later in the day, when a rising north-easterly had found and filled their canvas and thrust the flagship over until her lower gunports were all but awash, Bolitho sat alone in his cabin, covering his injured eye with one hand while he flattened her letter yet again on the table.

“My darling Richard, dearest of men, how I wonder where you are today, and what you are doing …” With great care Bolitho held up the pressed ivy leaf, crimson with winter, which she had sent in the letter. “From our home …”

Bolitho replaced it in the envelope, and stared with shocked disbelief as a tear splashed on the back of his hand.

It was as if she had sent him one of her own.

18

GHOSTS

CAPTAIN Valentine Keen waited until Bolitho had completed some calculations on his personal chart near the stern windows, and said, “Nothing to report, sir.”

Bolitho studied the chart, the curving line of scattered islands in the Windward and Leeward groups. Places he would never forget, Mola Island, the Saintes, the Mona passage, confined waters and rugged fragments of land, their names written in blood. Great sea battles won and lost, and the rebellion which had cost them America. How could a nation as small as England have endured so much, standing alone and fighting France, Spain, Holland and then America all at once? And they were still fighting, although at long last it looked as if the tide might be on the turn in Europe. But here in the Indies the odds were as before, with the chances of running the enemy to earth more a matter of luck than knowledge.

Keen ventured, “We can make another sweep to the nor’-west, sir. It may be that Captain Crowfoot has taken his ships up towards Nevis in the hope of discovering the enemy.”

“I had thought of that. He is a resourceful man.” He straightened his back and stared at the chart, which seemed to mock him. “It is what I myself might have done. You can lose a whole squadron amongst those islands.” The persistent worry returned. “But he knows nothing of what Adam faced at Bird Island. If only Thomas Herrick had opened those despatches. They might reveal nothing, but …”

Keen said, “Their lordships would not release a frigate like Anemone to no purpose.” He sounded bitter, as Adam had been.

Bolitho said, “Make to Relentless and Valkyrie. Form line abreast of the Flag. While there is good light, keep the distance five miles apart. That will give us a broader span of vision.” He listened to the wind through the rigging. It was still fresh, so they should make a few knots more before it eased off again. He waited for Jenour to scribble on his pad and hurry away to find his signals party.

He went on, “They are both experienced captains—that is something, Val. I do not know Kirby of the Relentless, she had Captain Tabart at Copenhagen. But he has a good reputation. Flippance I have known for years.” He gave a distant smile. “Governs his ship with the Bible and the Admiralty Fighting Instructions. The mixture seems to work well in his case.”

Keen made for the door. “I shall shorten sail to allow the others time to work into position. Also, I must tell the first lieutenant to select his very best lookouts.”

Bolitho had returned to his chart; he was rubbing his eyelid again.

He said, “Our master lookout from the jolly-boat, William Owen—what of him?”

Keen was surprised. How could he even find a moment to recall an ordinary sailor amongst so many?

He replied, “I cannot speak too highly of him. I intend to rate him up to petty officer shortly …” He stopped as he saw Bolitho watching him, as if someone had just called his name.

“Do it now, Val. There may not be time later, and we shall need every experienced hand.”