Command a King's Ship (21 page)

“A big one.” His face lit up. “Cannot you see it, Thomas? Le Chaumareys was instructed to force the Spanish to surrender their rights here. He knew better than most that
Nervion
or
Undine,
or both, would be delayed by any means available. With the settle- ment handed over to Muljadi, and a written agreement from Pastor, who after all is his King's representative here, there would be nothing we or anyone else could do. I have no doubt Le Chaumareys had further orders to recognise Muljadi's rule in the name of France, and to offer him whatever he needed to control his alliance.” He looked towards the beach, at the seamen who were unloading two of the boats. “But we did come, Thomas. Too late for Colonel Pastor, for he left in the
Argus
to parley for his men with Muljadi. I pity him, even if I admire his courage.”

Herrick nodded slowly, his eyes clouded. “And when he had gone, the last attack began. No governor, few defenders. Dead men have little to say.”

Herrick thought of their slow approach that morning, the mist on the water distorting the sounds of cannon fire. No wonder the remaining, ragged defenders had not been able to wave or greet them.
Undine
must have seemed like a miracle.

Bolitho said, “Don Puigserver is our one red card. He can act in the name of Spain and assure Conway of his country's confi- dence—”

“How did
he
react to the news?”

Bolitho thought of the Spaniard's face as he had listened to Vega. Anguish, shame and then fury. He had seen it all. Only Conway's attitude still remained in shadow. He had said little, and not even argued with Raymond when he had started off on what Parliament would or would not support. Only one thing was cer- tain. The affair had to be contained. No build-up of additional force, no acceptance that there had been a change in rulership, here or anywhere else. As Raymond had explained more than once, the Dutch were too busy recouping their losses caused by the war to want another conflict in their midst. If France thrust more naval might into the area, then Spain, too, might change her views about her untried allegiance with Britain. It could be war, all over again.

Only when Bolitho had made to leave for his ship had the rear admiral drawn him into a corner.

He had said very calmly, “Politics, a need for furthering trade or colonial power, all are attitudes. Only one thing is properly clear to me, as it must be to you, Bolitho.” He had held his gaze, search- ing for a reaction before adding, “Every puzzle must have a key. This one has two.
Undine
and
Argus
. Governments may try to use more power later on, but by then it will be too late for us all. If
Undine
is lost, so are we. Be sure that Le Chaumareys is already well aware of it!”

When Bolitho had made to question him further he had said, “He is a good officer, make no mistake. Our squadrons had cause to damn his eyes in the war. France has loaned Muljadi their best, as I hope England has aided me in the same manner!”

Much of his thoughts Bolitho had spoken aloud, for Herrick exclaimed, “But it is not war, sir! No Frenchman will cross swords for fear of starting one!”

Bolitho watched him and was glad he was here. “Le Chaumareys will have a letter of marque. He is far from a fool. When he runs out those forty-four guns it will be Muljadi's flag at his peak, not the Fleur de Lys of France.” He stood up and moved vaguely about the cabin. “But behind each breech will be an expe- rienced crew, the cream of his navy. While we . . .” He half turned, his face suddenly drained again. “But that is enough. Battles are not won or lost on daydreams.”

Herrick nodded. “And what will we do now, sir?”

Bolitho tugged the shirt over his head, the same stained one as before.

“We will weigh when the tide is right. If Muljadi has vessels in the area we must close with them. Show him we mean to continue what we have begun.”

He pulled Herrick towards the stern windows as a bugle wailed sadly across the glittering water. Above the fort there was Conway's new flag, the little group of marines beneath it glowing like tiny red insects.

“See, Thomas, there is no drawing back. Not for Conway. Not for any of us.”

Herrick watched the little tableau doubtfully. “Better await the
Bedford,
surely? With troops and more cannon we would stand a better chance.”

“That is what Le Chaumareys will be thinking.” He smiled, his face suddenly very young. “At least, I
hope
that is so!”

Herrick groped for his hat, glad of something to occupy his mind and to hold back the apprehension Bolitho's news had brought.

“Will we leave Bellairs and his marines?”

“Half of them. There is much to be done. With corpses lying unburied, the place is a dunghill. The defences are stout, but in need of good men to patrol them.
Rosalind
will remain also under the protection of the battery, such as it is. I think her master is eager to get clear of this place, but Conway is more than a match for him.”

Herrick moved towards the door. “It is not what I was expect- ing, sir.”

“Nor I. But like it or not, we have a duty. If Muljadi and his threat is to be overcome, then he must be seen as a common pi- rate.” He ran his hands along the desk top. “
Argus
or no!”

Herrick hurried out, his thoughts tugging in several directions at once. He found Mudge in the wardroom staring gloomily at a plate of salt beef.

The master asked, “Are we off again, Mr. 'Errick?”

Herrick smiled. Fact soon grew from rumour in a small ship.

“Yes. The
Argus
is busy here, it seems. As a privateer, and not openly in the name of France.”

Mudge yawned. Unimpressed. “Nothin' new. We used to do the same for the Company in India. A few ready muzzles always seemed to impress a doubtin' rajah if a little strength was called for.”

Herrick looked at him and sighed. “So the Frogs will back an armed uprising, and we will support the protection of trade. But what of the people in between, Mr. Mudge?”

The master pushed his plate away with disgust. “Never asked 'em!” was all he said.

11
L
UCK
OF
THE
GAME

B
OLITHO
studied the masthead pendant and then walked aft to the compass. North-west by west. It was mid-afternoon, and despite the sky's unclouded, relentless glare there was sufficient wind to make it easier to endure.
Undine
had been made to lie at anchor in Pendang Bay almost until dusk the previous day, the set of the coastal currents and the wind's determination to remain from the south-west making a night passage too dangerous even to attempt. But in the last moments the wind had backed considerably, and with her sleek hull tilting to its pressure,
Undine
had beaten out of the bay, losing the settlement and its grim memories in purple shadow.

But if the wind had remained fresh it was still necessary to hold the ship close-hauled, the yards braced round to keep each sail drawing and steer
Undine
clear of the land. Should the wind veer without warning, and she lay too close to that undulating pattern of green coast,
Undine
could easily find herself hard upon a lee shore, and in real danger.

Herrick asked “How much longer will we continue, sir?”

Bolitho did not reply immediately. He was watching the tiny triangular sails of
Undine
's cutter as it tacked daintily around a small clump of rocky islets.

Then he shifted his gaze to the maintop where Midshipman Keen sat with one bare leg dangling over the barricade, a telescope trained on the distant boat. Davy had the cutter, and would signal the moment he sighted anything. There was no sense in taking the ship too close when good visibility remained.

He said, “We are off the south-western cape, or as near as I can calculate. There are marshes and swamps aplenty, according to Mr. Mudge and Fowlar. If Captain Vega's information is correct, the Muljadi's vessels may be close by.”

He turned his face into the wind, feeling the sweat drying on his forehead and neck.

“The Benua Islands are about a hundred miles to the west'rd of us. A goodly piece of open water, if we get the chance to run these pirates down.”

Herrick watched him doubtfully, but was comforted by Bolitho's apparent optimism.

“What do we
know
of Muljadi, sir?”

Bolitho walked up the slanting deck to the weather rail and tugged the sticky shirt clear of his ribs.

“Little or nothing. Originally he came from somewhere in North Africa, Morocco or the Barbary Coast, it is said. He was taken as a slave by the Dons and chained in one of their galleys. He escaped and was recaptured.”

Herrick whistled quietly. “I imagine the Dons were hard with him.”

Bolitho thought suddenly of the elderly Colonel Pastor and his impossible mission.

“The Dons lopped off a hand and an ear and left him ma- rooned on some desolate beach.”

Herrick shook his head. “Yet somehow he reached the Indies, and can now strike fear into his old masters.”

Bolitho regarded him impassively. “Or whoever stands be- tween him and his final goal, whatever that may be.”

They both stared up as Keen yelled, “Deck there! Cutter's sig- nalled, sir! Mr. Davy points to the north'rd!”

Bolitho snatched a glass. “Of course! I should have realised!”

He trained it on the cutter, and then beyond to the gently slop- ing cape. Tiny islets, crumbling ridges and rocks, and everywhere the unbroken backcloth of green. Any small vessel could work her way through there, as Davy's cutter was now doing.

Herrick slammed his fists together. “Got 'em, by God!”

Bolitho said crisply, “We will remain on this tack for the present. Hoist the recall signal for Mr. Davy and then beat to quar- ters.” He smiled, if only to ease the mounting excitement. “In
ten
minutes maybe?”

Herrick waited until Keen had shinned down a backstay to rejoin his signal party and then yelled, “Beat to quarters! Clear for action!”

A solitary drummer-boy did the best he could, his sticks blur- ring in double-time as the tattoo brought the hands tumbling from hatchways and gratings.

“That might frighten 'em off, sir.”

Mudge was by his helmsmen, his jowl working on some meat or a quid of tobacco. There was little to choose between them, Bolitho often thought.

“I believe otherwise.”

Bolitho watched the bare-backed seamen dashing to their guns, casting off the lashings and groping for the tools of their trade. A reduced detachment of marines, under the command of a solitary corporal, was parading across the quarterdeck, while a handful more clambered aloft to the foretop and its swivel gun.

The cutter had already turned bows-on, her sails lowered, and thrusting through the inshore swell under oars alone.

“They will not have met with many frigates, I'm thinking. Their leader will try to reach open sea and outreach us, rather than face a blockade or the risk of our landing marines at his back.” He touched Mudge's arm impetuously. “He'll not know how unused we are to such affairs, eh?”

Mudge pouted. “I only 'ope that bugger Muljadi is 'ere, too! 'E needs to be taught a lesson, an' double quick, in my reckonin'!”

“Deck there!” The lookout at the masthead waited until the scamper on the gun deck stopped. “Sail on th' lee bow!”

“By heaven, so there is!” Midshipman Keen gripped a seaman's arm and added excitedly, “Schooner by the cut of her!”

The seaman, pigtailed, and with ten years in the Navy, glanced at him and grinned.

“By God, I envy you young gentlemen your learnin', sir!”

But his sarcasm was lost in the excitement of the moment.

Herrick held up his hand as the last gun captain faced aft to- wards him. From the break below the quarterdeck a bosun's mate shouted, “All cleared aft, sir!” Herrick swung round and saw Bolitho examining his new watch.

“Cleared for action, sir.”

“Twelve minutes,
exactly.
” Bolitho glanced up at the masthead. “But for the lookout's hail, I believe you may have done it in less.” He let the mock formality drop. “Well done, Mr. Herrick, and pass the word to all hands.”

He walked back down the angled deck and trained his glass across the nettings. Two raked masts with big dark sails. Like wings. They appeared motionless, the hull still hidden beyond one more probing spit of land. It was an illusion. She was edging around the last dangerous point. After that she would be up and away. But it would take her a good while yet.

He swung round. “Where is that damned cutter?”

Mowll, the master-at-arms, and easily the most unpopular man aboard, called, “Comin' up fast, sir!”

“Well, signal Mr. Davy to make haste. I'll have to leave him astern otherwise.”

“Deck there! ' Tis another sail on th' lee bow!”

Herrick watched in silence until he had discovered the second pair of sails in his glass.

“Another schooner. Probably Company ships taken by these pirates.”

“No doubt.”

Bolitho turned to watch the cutter swinging round to drive beneath the main chains with a shuddering thud. Curses and clat- tering oars, all were finally quenched by Davy's angry voice and the more patient tones of Shellabeer, the boatswain, who was studying the whole manoeuvre from the gangway with obvious disgust.

Allday had been standing behind Bolitho and whispered, “Should have had young Mr. Armitage in charge, Captain. He'd have driven right through into the spirit store, cutter an' all!”

Bolitho smiled and allowed Allday to buckle on his sword. He had not seen his coxswain since breakfast, just after dawn. Yet the moment of danger, a hint of action, and he was here. Without fuss, and hardly a word to betray his presence.

“Maybe.”

He saw Midshipman Armitage with Soames below the fore- mast, checking a list of gun crews which Soames had reallotted on passage from India. He found a moment to wonder what Armitage's mother would think if she saw her adored boy now. Leaner, and well tanned, his hair too long, and his shirt in need of a good wash. She would probably burst into tears all over again. But in one way he had not changed. He was still as clumsy and as lacking in confidence as his first day aboard.

Little Penn, on the other hand, who was strutting importantly beside the starboard battery of twelve-pounders and waiting to assist Lieutenant Davy, had no such handicap. If anything, he was prone to attempt tasks which were several spans of experience be- yond his twelve years.

Davy came struggling aft, ducking beneath a swinging shadow as the cutter was hoisted inboard and on to its chocks above the gun deck. He was soaked in spray, but very pleased with himself.

Bolitho said, “That was well done. By making a quick sighting report, you have given us an edge on those two vessels.”

Davy beamed. “Some prize-money perhaps, sir?”

Bolitho hid a smile. “We will see.”

Herrick waited for Davy to join his gun crews and then said, “Just the two schooners. Nothing else in sight.” He rubbed his hands noisily.

Bolitho lowered the telescope and nodded. “Very well, Mr. Herrick. You may load and run out now.” He glanced at the mast- head pendant for the hundredth time. “We will make more sail directly, and show these pirates what they are against.”

“Both schooners are keeping well inshore, sir.” Herrick lowered his telescope and turned to watch Bolitho's reactions. “With that rig they can sail really close to the wind.”

Bolitho walked to the compass, the picture of the two other vessels sharp in his mind. For over half an hour they had worked slowly and methodically between a small crop of islets, and were now following the coastline towards a sloping spur of headland. Around that there was yet another bay, with more jutting spits of land, but the schooners would choose their moment most carefully. Go about and dash for the open sea, separate perhaps, and so lessen
Undine
's chances of conquest.

They were both well-handled vessels, and through his glass he had seen an assortment of small cannon and swivels, and an equally varied selection of men.

Mudge watched him gloomily “Wind's backed a'piece, sir.
Might
'old.”

Bolitho turned and stared along his ship, weighing the risks and the gains. The green headland was reaching down towards
Undine
's starboard bow, or so it appeared. In fact, it was still some three miles distant. The two schooners, black against the lively wave crests, seemed to overlap into one ungainly craft, their great sails etched across the land.

He said firmly, “Get the t'gallants on her, and alter course two points to starboard.”

Herrick stared at him. “It'll be close, sir. If the wind veers we'll be hard put to beat off the shore.”

When Bolitho did not reply he sighed and lifted his speaking trumpet.

“Man the braces!”

From further aft the helmsmen spun their spokes, the senior one squinting at the flapping canvas and at the tilting compass bowl until even Mudge was satisfied.

“Nor'-west by north, sir!”

“Very well.”

Bolitho studied the headland again. A trap for the two schoo- ners, or a last resting place for
Undine,
as Herrick seemed to think.

Herrick was watching the topmen, waiting until the topgallant sails were freed and then brought under control like bulging steel breastplates.
Undine
was moving swiftly now, for with the wind sweeping tightly across her larboard quarter, and with topsails and topgallants braced to best advantage, there was little doubt the range was falling away.

Mudge asked worriedly, “D'you think they'll try to go about, sir?”

“Perhaps.” Bolitho shivered as a curtain of spray lifted and burst across the weather rail, soaking him to the skin, adding to his rising excitement. “They'll try and weather the headland as close as they dare and use the next bay to change tack. Or, if one or both loses his head, we'll rake 'em as he goes about on this side of the headland.”

He peered at the gun deck, at the figures beside each twelve- pounder. One good broadside would be more than enough for any schooner. The second might strike without risking a similar fate. He shut it from his mind. The fight was not even begun yet.

He pictured Conway back there in his remote kingdom. He would know better than Puigserver or Raymond what was at stake. With any luck
Undine
might settle Conway's security long enough for him to demonstrate what he could do.

A faint crack echoed across the water and a white feather of spray showed itself for just a few seconds, well away from the star- board bow. It brought a chorus of jeers from the waiting gun crews.

“Run up the Colours, Mr. Keen.”