Command a King's Ship (16 page)

Bolitho drew his sword and shouted, “Ready, lads!” He looked at his cowering men. “Close quarters!”

But it was not to be. Instead, another volley of stones clattered over the boat, striking one seaman so badly that he fell overboard. The man with the musket fired and brought down two savages with one shot. The canoe swung away, some of the paddles being dropped so that the floundering seaman could be hauled up into their midst.

Bolitho watched, sickened, as they dragged the man to his feet, pinioning his arms and holding him so that he faced the slow- moving longboat. He could see the blood on his neck where the stone had hit him, imagine his screams which were drowned by the yelling figures who held him. One, with a high head-dress, waved a knife above his head, back and forth, back and forth, so that the captured seaman followed it with his eyes as if watching a snake, his mouth like a black hole as he continued to scream.

The knife came down very slowly, the blood shining in the sunlight and making several of the seamen retch and groan with horror.

Allday said tightly, “Jesus Christ, they're skinning him.”

Bolitho seized the man's shoulder, feeling him jump as if he was dying with the man in the canoe.

“Do what you can.” He had to force the words out.

When he looked astern again he saw that the man was still alive, writhing like a soul in hell as the knife did its work.

The musket bucked against the sailor's shoulder, and Bolitho turned away, fighting back the nausea.

Soames said thickly, “The only way, sir. I'd not let a dog suffer like that.”

Fowlar shouted, “Brigantine's away, sir!”

The slaver had slipped into deeper water almost without any- one noticing her. Boats hoisted inboard, and already her foresail set and drawing well as she rode clear of the protecting land.

The canoes were forming into two arrowheads again, the drums getting wilder as they manoeuvred for the final attack.

Bolitho held his sword towards the hazy horizon. “Pull, lads! We'll not go under without a fight!”

It was an empty speech, but it was better than merely standing and watching them overwhelmed, tortured and killed without lifting a finger.

Allday whispered, “Here they come.” He held the tiller be- tween his legs and drew his cutlass. “Keep close, Captain. We'll show the bastards.”

Bolitho looked at him. They were outnumbered ten to one, and his men were already fit to drop, the fight gone out of them.

He said simply, “We will, Allday.” He touched his thick fore- arm. “And thank you.”

A great yell made him turn, and as the boat swayed danger- ously to the sudden shift of bodies he saw the crisp topsails and jib, the figurehead shining in the milky glare like pure gold, as
Undine
tacked around the headland, her starboard battery run out in a line of black teeth.

Soames bellowed, “Sit down! You'll have us in the sea other- wise!”

Allday said hoarsely, “Now, there is a
sight,
Captain.”

Fowlar called, “She's going about, sir! In God's name, she's a'comin' through the shoals!”

Bolitho could barely breathe as he watched
Undine
's graceful outline shortening, her sails in momentary disarray until the yards had been trimmed again. If she struck now she would share
Nervion
's fate, and worse, when the survivors were taken by the war canoes.

But she showed no hesitation, and he could see the blood-red coats of the marines along the quarterdeck nettings, and even imagined he could discern Herrick and Mudge beside the wheel as the frigate heeled heavily to the wind, her gunports almost awash.

Keen was yelling, “
Huzza! Huzza,
lads!” He was cheering and weeping, waving his shirt above his head, the closeness of danger forgotten.

The brigantine had already changed tack, clawing clear of a dark smudge below the surface while she set more sail to carry her to the south.

Fowlar said with disbelief, “She's goin' after the slaver! They must be mad!”

Bolitho did not speak, just watching his ship was enough. It told him what Herrick was thinking and doing, as if he had shouted it aloud. Herrick knew he could not engage all the canoes in time to save Bolitho and his small party. He was going to stop the brigantine and so distract the war canoes in the only way he knew.

As the realisation came to him,
Undine
opened fire. It was a slow, carefully-aimed broadside, the guns belching smoke and flame at regulated intervals while the frigate swept further and further amongst the hidden shoals.

Someone gave a cracked cheer as the brigantine's foretopmast shuddered and then curtsied down into the sea alongside in a tangle of rigging and canvas. The effect was immediate, and within seconds she was paying off to the wind, her hull broadside on as another volley crashed and ricocheted all around her. One twelve- pound ball struck the sea near her quarter and shattered into fragments, so near was the shoal to the surface.

“She's struck!”

Everyone was yelling and screaming like a madman, hugging each other and sobbing with disbelief. Bolitho dragged his gaze from the brigantine which had slewed round either on a shoal or a sandspit, her canvas in pandemonium while she continued to drive ashore.

He held his breath as
Undine
shortened sail, the tiny figures on her yards like ants, her copper glinting brightly as she thrust round again on the opposite tack. Another half a cable and she would have been aground.

Allday shouted, “She's hove-to, Captain, an' there's a boat be- ing dropped!”

Bolitho nodded, unable to answer.

The canoes were paddling furiously towards the helpless brig- antine, and more canoes had appeared around the headland, the latter very careful to stay clear of
Undine
's bared guns. The frigate's big launch was speeding across the choppy water, and when one of the canoes turned towards it the crash of its swivel gun was enough to make the yelling natives join their companions elsewhere.

Davy stood in the sternsheets, very erect and proper. Even his oarsmen seemed totally unreal against the tattered, cheering rem- nants of Bolitho's landing party.

The captured longboat was already sinking, more planks hav- ing been stove open by stones, and Bolitho doubted if they could have lasted another half-hour even without the attacking canoes.

As the launch grappled alongside, and hands dragged the gasping survivors to safety, he turned to watch the listing brigan- tine. Even at this distance it was possible to hear the muskets, the baying chorus from the canoes as they surrounded her for the final attack. Revenge or justice, the slaver's end would be terrible indeed.

Davy took his wrist and helped him into the other boat.

“Good to see you again, sir.” He looked at Soames and grinned. “And you, of course.”

Bolitho sat down and felt his limbs beginning to quiver uncon- trollably. He kept his eyes on the ship as she grew and towered above him, very conscious of his own feelings for her, and those who had risked their lives for him.

Herrick was waiting to greet him, his anxiety matched only by his relief as he took Bolitho's hands and said, “Thank God you're safe!”

Bolitho fought for time, looking at the loosely flapping sails, the watching marines, the gun crews who had paused in their swabbing to look at him and grin. Herrick had taken a terrible chance. It had been sheer lunacy. And he could tell from Mudge's expression, beaming and nodding by the compass, that his was an equal share.

But there was something new here, which had been lacking before. He tried to name it.

Herrick was saying, “We heard the shooting, sir, and guessed you might be in trouble. Instead of sending boats, we came in strength, so to speak.” He let his glance move along the busy fig- ures at the guns and waiting by the braces. “They did well. They were glad to be here.”

Bolitho nodded, understanding.
Pride.
That was it. To find it had cost them dear, and it could have gone much worse.

He said, “Get the ship under way, if you please. Let us stand away from this damnable coast.” He paused, searching for the words. “And, Thomas, if you ever doubt your ability to command again, I will remind you of today. You handled her to perfection.”

Herrick looked at Mudge and almost winked. “We have a good captain, sir, and are beginning to feel the benefit of his drills and exercises.”

Bolitho turned aft, suddenly spent. “I shall not forget.”

Then he walked to the cabin hatch with Allday at his heels.

Mudge ambled to Herrick's side. “A near thing, Mr. 'Errick. If you 'adn't given the order, I don't know if I'd 'ave 'ad the will to persist through them shoals.”

Herrick looked at him, remembering Bolitho's expression, the guard no longer hiding his thoughts.

“Well, Mr. Mudge, I reckon it was well worth it.”

He stared at the misty shore line and at a growing plume of smoke. The brigantine must have caught fire, he thought. For a while longer he held on to the picture of the battered, listing boat, with Bolitho upright in the sternsheets, that old tarnished sword in his hand. If he had not disobeyed Bolitho's order to put the ship's safety before all else, he would indeed be in command now, and Bolitho back there, dying in agony.

“Get the hands to the braces!” He walked to the rail with his speaking trumpet. “And God bless lady luck!”

Below the cabin hatch, Bolitho heard Herrick laugh, and then the clatter of blocks as the seamen went to their stations for getting under way again.

Allday asked quietly, “Can I fetch you some wine, Captain? Or something a mite more powerful?”

Bolitho leaned against the mizzen mast trunk and felt it vi- brating urgently to the pressure of wind and canvas high overhead.

“D'you know, Allday, I think that after all the trouble we went through to get it, I would like a glass of fresh water.”

8
M
ADRAS

B
OLITHO
stood very still by the quarterdeck rail and watched the vast spread of land which reached away on either bow. In the morning sunlight the countless white buildings seemed to rise tier upon tier, the uneven skyline decorated at irregular intervals by tall minarets and plump golden domes. It was breathtaking, and he could tell from the quiet way the seamen were moving around the decks that they were equally impressed.

He turned and looked at Herrick. Very tanned, and strangely unreachable in his best uniform.

“We did it.”

Bolitho raised his telescope and watched some high-prowed dhows scudding abeam, their gaunt sails like wings. Even they were part of the magic.

Mudge said, “Ease off a point.” Then he, too, fell silent as the wheel squeaked over.

Perhaps he was satisfied, and so he should be, Bolitho thought. Madras, the name itself was like one great milestone for what they had achieved together. Three months and two days after weighing anchor at Spithead. Back there, Bolitho had seen disbelief on Mudge's heavy face when he had suggested they might make the voyage in one hundred days.

Herrick said quietly, “Aye, sir. Since we quit the African coast lady luck came with us for certain.” He grinned broadly.

“You and your lady luck.” But he smiled all the same.

It had seemed much as Herrick had described. Within a few days of leaving the land, the dead and dying far astern, the wind had risen from the south-west, the fringe of the monsoon which on this occasion had acted as a friend. Day after day, with all sail set,
Undine
had bounded along, freely, recklessly, her forecastle never clear of bursting spray, while dolphins and other strange fish had stayed close in company. It was just as if that terrible confron- tation with the war canoes, seeing the seaman being flayed alive, and all else had been one last great challenge.

He glanced up at the gently flapping topsails and forward to the solitary jib, the power barely enough now to carry them into the wide anchorage and between that impressive spread of shipping.

Madras, the most important British station on the south-east coast of another continent. A stepping-stone to advancement else- where, to trade and further discovery. Even the names were like fresh challenges. Siam and Malacca, south-east to Java, and be- yond to a million unknown islands.

He saw a towering merchantman spreading more sail as she tacked heavily into a pale bank of sea-haze. With her chequered gunports and impeccable sail drill she could have been a man-of- war. But she was one of the East India Company's ships, and three months back Bolitho would have given his right arm for just a few of her seamen. Well trained and disciplined, they were far superior to the Navy's companies in many respects. The Company could and did afford better pay and conditions for its people, while the Navy still had to depend on what it could get by other means, and in time of war that usually meant relying on the pressgangs.

Bolitho had often considered the unfairness of the system. One day, perhaps in his own life, he hoped to see the change come. When the Navy could offer the same fair inducements.

The big Indiaman's flag dipped from her peak, and Bolitho heard Keen calling to his signalling party to return the salute.

Then he looked again at his own company, knowing he would not willingly change them now, merely because it would make life easier. Browned by the sun, toughened by hard work and regular drills with sails and weapons, they were a far cry from that motley assortment at Spithead.

He glanced towards the Indiaman and smiled. Perfect or not, she had had to dip her flag to a King's ship. His
Undine.

Mudge blew his nose and called, “ 'Bout five minutes now, sir.”

Bolitho raised his hand and saw the master's mate with the anchor party acknowledge. It was Fowlar. A man who had proved his worth, and his loyalty. Who had already earned promotion whenever an opportunity came.

Captain Bellairs was inspecting his marine drummers, and looking even more like a toy soldier in the blazing sunlight.

Davy and Soames were on the gun deck with their separate divisions, and the ship had never looked better.

He heard voices behind him and turned to see Don Puigserver and Raymond speaking together by the taffrail. Like him, they were probably eager to discover what awaited them here in Madras. Puigserver was surprisingly elegant. His clothing consisted of a lieutenant's dress-coat which had been taken apart and refashioned by Mrs. Raymond's maid, aided willingly by Jonas Tait,
Undine
's sailmaker. Tait had one eye, but was very skilful, even if he was the most villainous looking man aboard. The maid seemed to find him fascinating.

“Well, Captain, you must be pleased with yourself today?”

Mrs. Raymond stepped from the cabin hatch and crossed to his side. She walked easily, so used had she become to
Undine
's motions and behaviour in every sort of sea. She, too, had altered. Still aloof for much of the time, yet lacking the old veil of disinter- est in shipboard life which had first irritated Bolitho. Her large stock of personal delicacies which had come aboard at Santa Cruz had long been consumed, and yet she had taken to the cabin's simple fare with little complaint.

“I am, ma'am.” He pointed towards the bows. “You will soon be able to shed the smells and sounds of a small frigate. I have no doubt that an English lady reigns like a queen out here.”

“Perhaps.” She turned her head as if to watch her husband. “I hope to see you when you come ashore. Here, after all, you are king?” She laughed lightly. “In many ways I am sorry to leave the ship.”

Bolitho watched her thoughtfully. He remembered when he had arrived aboard after the running battle with the canoes. Spent, almost asleep on his feet as weariness replaced the will to fight, and memory pushed aside his immediate relief at his own survival. She had guided him to a chair, rapping out orders to her maid, to a startled Noddall, and even to Allday as she had taken charge. She had told someone to fetch the surgeon, but when Bolitho had said harshly, “I'm not hurt! The ball hit my damned watch!” she had thrown back her head and laughed. The unexpected reaction had angered him, then as she had gripped his hand, quite unable to stop her laughter, he had found himself joining in. Perhaps that, more than anything else, had steadied him, had released all the anxiety he had been forced to conceal until that moment.

Some of it must have shown on his face as he remembered, for she said softly, “Can I share them?”

“My thoughts?” He smiled awkwardly. “I was thinking of something. My watch.”

He saw her lip begin to tremble again, and wondered why he had not noticed the fine shape of her chin and throat. Until now. When it was too late. He felt himself flushing. For what?

She nodded. “It was cruel to laugh so. But you looked so angry, when anyone but you would have been grateful.”

She turned her face away as Herrick called, “Ready, sir!”

“Carry on, Mr. Herrick.”

“Aye, sir.” But his eyes were on the woman. Then he hurried to the rail yelling, “Man the lee braces! Hands wear ship!”

Undine
swung easily into the wind, her anchor splashing down into water so blue it looked like satin.

Puigserver pointed at a small procession of boats which were already moving towards the ship and said, “A time for ceremony,
Capitan.
Poor Rojart would have enjoyed this part.”

He was a different man now. Steely eyed, impatient to move again. To get his plans into order.

Behind him, Raymond was watching the oncoming boats with a look of apprehension rather than excitement on his face.

With the anchor down, and all sails neatly furled,
Undine
's decks were bustling with life as her company prepared to take on stores, visitors, or whatever they were ordered to do. Above all, to be ready to sail again within hours, should it be required.

Bolitho knew he would be needed for a dozen things at once. Even now he could see the purser hovering to catch his eye, and Mudge, waiting to suggest or ask something.

He said, “Perhaps I will see you on land, Mrs. Raymond.” The others were listening, and he could feel their glances, their interest. “It has not been an easy passage for you, and I would wish to thank you for your, er,” he faltered, seeing her lip quiver very slightly, “forbearance.”

Equally gravely she replied, “And may I thank you in turn, Captain, for your companionship.”

Bolitho made to bow to her, but she held up her hand and said, “Until the next time, Captain.”

He took her hand and touched the back of it with his lips. He felt her fingers give his just the merest squeeze, and when he glanced at her face he knew it was no accident.

Then it was all over as he was caught up in the turmoil of re- ceiving visitors from the governor and handing his despatches to the officer of the guardboat.

As a brightly canopied launch pulled clear of
Undine
's black shadow he saw his passengers looking astern towards him, growing smaller with each sweep of the oars.

Herrick said cheerfully, “I expect you'll be glad to have the cabin to yourself, sir. You've waited long enough.”

“Yes, Thomas. Indeed I will.”

“Now, sir, concerning extra hands . . .”

Herrick had seen the lie in Bolitho's grey eyes, and decided it was prudent to change the subject immediately.

It was late afternoon when Bolitho received a summons to report in person to the governor. He had begun to think that his part of the mission had been cancelled, or that in Madras his status had shrunk so much he would merely stay at arm's length and do as he was bid whenever it might suit the proper authority.

Accompanied by Herrick and Midshipman Keen, he was car- ried ashore in
Undine
's gig, despite a haughty equerry's insistence that a local boat would be more fitting and comfortable.

An open carriage was waiting to convey them to the governor's residence, and for the whole of the short journey they barely ex- changed a word. The bright colours, the surrounding press of chattering people, the whole strangeness of the town took their complete attention. Bolitho found the people very interesting in- deed. How different their skins were, ranging from pale brown, no darker than young Keen's tan, to those who were as black as the warriors he had seen in Africa. Turbans and flowing robes, cattle and dejected goats, all milled across the winding streets, in and around the curtained shops and bazaars in an unending panorama of noise and movement.

The governor's residence was more like a fort than a house, with slits in the walls for weapons, and well guarded by Indian troops. The latter were most impressive. Turbaned and bearded, yet they wore the familiar red coat of British infantry set off with baggy blue pantaloons and high white gaiters.

Herrick gestured to the flag which drooped, barely moving, from a high staff and murmured, “That, at least, is familiar.”

Once through the gates and into the cool shadows of the house it was another world again. The noise of the streets was sealed off as if by a great door, and all around was an air of watchful elegance. Fine rugs and heavy brass ornaments, bare-armed servants who moved noiselessly like ghosts, and tiled passageways which led away in every direction as in a maze.

The equerry said smoothly, “The governor will see you at once, Captain.” He eyed the others without enthusiasm. “Alone.”

Bolitho looked at Herrick. “Mr. Keen will remain here in case I need to pass a message to the ship. You can make good use of your time as you will.” He turned to hide his face from the equerry. “Don't forget to keep an eye open for extra hands.”

Herrick grinned, relieved perhaps at being spared yet another set of questions and answers. The visitors to the ship had kept him on his feet since the anchor had been let go. The sight of an En- glish frigate seemed to attract far more interest than the comings and goings of merchantmen. A link with home. Some word or hint of what these people had left behind in their search for empire.

He said, “Good luck, sir. This is a far cry from Rochester!”

The equerry watched him leave and then glanced at Keen. To Bolitho he said, “I'll send the young gentleman to the troops' quar- ters if you wish.”

Bolitho smiled. “I am sure he will be happier here.”

Keen met the man's stare calmly and replied, “Indeed I will, sir.” He could not resist adding, “My father will be glad to learn of your hospitality when next I write.”

Bolitho turned away. “His father owns quite a large portion of your trading agency here.”

The equerry said no more, but led the way down the grandest of the passages. He opened some double doors and announced with as much dignity as he still retained, “Captain Richard Bolitho of His Britannic Majesty's Ship
Undine.
”

Bolitho already knew the governor's name, but little else about him. Sir Montagu Strang was almost hidden behind a great desk, the sides of which appeared to be made of ebony, with feet fashioned of massive silver claws. He was a frail, grey-haired man, with a pallid complexion which told its own story of some past fever. Hooded eyes, a thin, unsmiling mouth, he was studying Bolitho's approach along a strip of blue carpet as a hunter might examine a possible victim.