Command a King's Ship (9 page)

Allday replied, “He was wishing to make a complaint, Captain. His wife took a displeasure at you asking her to help tend the in- jured.” He frowned again. “I told him you had more important work to do.” He picked up his things and walked to the door.

Puigserver leaned back and closed his eyes. Without the others present he seemed willing to reveal the pain he was really enduring.

He said, “Your Allday is a remarkable fellow, eh? With a few hundred of his kind I might think again about a campaign in the South Americas.”

Bolitho sighed. “He worries too much.”

Puigserver opened his eyes and smiled. “He seems to think you are worth worrying about,
Capitan.
”

He leaned forward, his face suddenly intense. “But before Raymond and the others come amongst us, I must speak. I want your opinion about the wreck. I
need
it.”

Bolitho walked to the bulkhead and touched the sword with his fingers.

He said, “I have thought of little else,
Señor.
At first I believed the brigantine to be a pirate, her captain so confused or so in dread of his crew as to need a battle to keep them together. But I cannot believe it in my heart. Someone knew of our intentions.”

The Spaniard watched him intently. “The French perhaps?”

“Maybe. If their government is so concerned at our move- ments it must mean that when they sank the
Fortunate
they did indeed capture her despatches intact. It would have to be some- thing really vital to play such a dangerous game.”

Puigserver reached for the wine bottle. “A game which
did
work.”

“Then you, too, are of the same mind,
Señor!
” He watched the man's outline, paler now against the darkened windows.

He did not reply directly. “If, and I am only saying
if,
this someone intended such a course of action, he will have known we were two ships in company.” He paused and then said sharply, “A reaction,
Capitan!
Quickly!”

Bolitho said, “It would make no difference. He would realise that this is a combined mission. One ship without the other makes further progress impossible, and . . .”

Puigserver was banging his hip with the goblet, wine slopping over his leg like blood.

He shouted excitedly, “
And?
Go on,
Capitan! And what?
”

Bolitho looked away and replied firmly, “I must return either to England or to Teneriffe and await further orders.”

When he looked again at the Spaniard he saw he was slumped back on the seat, his square features strained, his chest heaving as if from a fight.

Puigserver said thickly, “When you came to Santa Cruz, I knew you were a man of thoughts and not merely of words.” He shook his head. “Let me finish. This man, these creatures, whoever they are, who would let my people die so horribly,
want you to turn back!”

Bolitho watched him, fascinated, awed by his strength.

“Without you being here,
Señor,
” he looked away, “I would have had no option.”

“Exactly,
Capitan.
”

He peered at Bolitho over the rim of the goblet, his eyes shin- ing in the lantern light like tawny stones.

Bolitho added, “By the time I returned to England, and new plans were made and agreed upon, something might have hap- pened in the East Indies or elsewhere which we could not control.”

“Give me your hand,
Capitan.
” He groped forward, his breath- ing sharper. “In a moment I will sleep. It has been a wretched day, but far worse for many others.”

Bolitho took his hand, suddenly moved by Puigserver's obvi- ous sincerity.

The latter asked slowly, “How many have you in this little ship?”

Bolitho pictured the riffraff brought aboard at Spithead. The ragged men from the prison hulks, the smartly-dressed ones fleeing from some crime or other in London. The gun captain with only one hand. All of them.

He said, “They have the makings,
Señor.
Two hundred, all told, including my marines.” He smiled, if only to break the tension. “And I will sign on those of your men who have survived, if I may?”

Puigserver did not seem to hear. But his grip was like iron as he said, “Two hundred, eh?”

He nodded grimly. “It will be sufficient.”

Bolitho watched him. “We go on,
Señor?
”

“You are
my capitan
now. What do
you
say?”

Bolitho smiled. “But you know already,
Señor.
”

Puigserver gave a great sigh. “If you will send that fool Raymond in to me, and your clerk, I will put my seal on this new undertaking.” His voice hardened. “Today I saw and heard many men die in fear and horror. Whatever made that foul deed neces- sary, I intend to set the record right. And when I do,
Capitan,
I will make it a reckoning which our enemies will long remember.”

There was a tap at the door and Midshipman Armitage stood outlined by the swinging lantern in the passageway.

“Mr. Herrick's respects, sir. The wind's freshening from the nor'-east.” He faltered, like a child repeating a lesson to his tutor.

“I will come up directly.”

Bolitho thought suddenly of Mudge, how he had prophesied a better wind. He would be up there with Herrick, waiting for the orders. Armitage's message told him all that and more. Whatever was decided now might settle the fate of the ship and every man aboard.

He looked at Puigserver. “It is settled then,
Señor?
”

“Yes,
Capitan.
” He was getting more drowsy. “You can leave me now. And send Raymond before I sleep like some drunken goatherd.”

Bolitho followed the midshipman from his cabin, noting how stiffly the sentry at the door was holding his musket. He had prob- ably been listening, and by tonight it would be all over the ship. Not merely a voyage to display the Navy's reach in foreign parts, but one with a real prospect of danger. He smiled grimly as he reached the quarterdeck ladder. It might make gun drill less irk- some for them in future.

He found Herrick and Mudge near the helm, the master with a shaded lantern held over his slate, upon which he made his sur- prisingly neat calculations.

Bolitho walked up the weather side, looking aloft at the bulg- ing canvas, hearing the sea creaming along the hull like water in a mill sluice.

Then he returned to where they were waiting and said, “You may shorten sail for the night, Mr. Herrick. Tomorrow you can sign on any of the
Nervion
's people you find suitable.” He paused as another frantic cry floated up from the orlop deck. “Though I fear it may not be many.”

Herrick asked, “We are not going about then, sir?”

Mudge exclaimed, “An' a good thing, too, if I may say so, sir.” He rubbed his bulging rump with one hand. “Me rheumatism will sheer off when we gets to a 'otter climate.”

Bolitho looked at Herrick. “We go forward, Thomas. To finish what was begun back there on the reef.”

Herrick seemed satisfied. “I'm for that.”

He made to walk to the rail where a bosun's mate awaited his orders, but Bolitho stopped him, saying, “From this night on, Thomas, we must keep our wits about us. No unnecessary pauses for fresh water if prying eyes are nearby. We will ration every drop if necessary, and stand or fall by our own resources. But we must stay clear of the land where an enemy might betray our course or intentions. If, as I now believe, someone is working against us, we must use his methods against him. Gain ourselves time by every ruse we can invent.”

Herrick nodded. “That makes good sense, sir.”

“Then I hope it may seem so to our people.” He walked to the weather side. “You may carry on now.”

Herrick turned away. “Call the hands. We will shorten sail.”

As the shouts echoed between decks and the seamen came dashing on to the gangways, Herrick said, “I almost forgot, sir. Mrs. Raymond is worried about her accommodation.”

“It is arranged.” He paused and watched the hands scampering to the shrouds. “Don Puigserver will sleep in the main cabin. Mrs. Raymond can retain her own cot with the maid.”

Herrick sounded cautious. “I doubt she will like that, sir.”

Bolitho continued his pacing. “Then she may say so, Mr. Herrick. And when she does I will explain what I think of a woman so pampered she will not lift a finger to help a dying man!”

A master's mate strode along the gangway. “All mustered, sir!”

Herrick was still watching the pacing figure, the open white shirt clearly etched against the nettings and the sea beyond. In the next few weeks
Undine
would get much smaller, he thought.

“Very well, Mr. Fowlar. Get the to'gan's'ls off her. If the weather freshens up we may have to reef tops'ls before the night's done.”

Old Mudge rubbed his aching back. “The weather is a fool!” But nobody heeded him.

Bolitho saw the topmen sliding down to the deck, with barely a word to each other as they were checked again by their petty officers. Around the vibrating bowsprit the spindrift rode in the wind like pale arrows, and high above the deck he saw the topsails hardening and puffing out their bellies to a combined chorus of creaking rigging and blocks.

“Dismiss the watch below.” Herrick's voice was as usual. He took Bolitho's word as he would a rope to save himself from drowning.

In the darkness Bolitho smiled. Perhaps it was better to be so.

In the cabin Don Puigserver sat at the desk and watched the clerk's quill scraping across his written orders. Raymond was lean- ing against the quarter windows, his face expressionless as he peered into the darkness

Then across his shoulder he said, “It is a great responsibility, Don Puigserver. I am not sure I can advise in its favour.”

The Spaniard leaned painfully against the chair-back and lis- tened to the regular footsteps across the deck overhead. Up and down.

“It is not mine alone, Señor Raymond. I am in good company, believe me.”

Above and around them the
Undine
moved and murmured in time with sea and wind. Right forward below the bowsprit the golden nymph stared unwinkingly at the darkened horizon. Deci- sion and destiny, triumph and disappointment meant nothing to her. She had the ocean, and that was life itself.

5
THE
W
ORK
OF
A
DEMON

B
OLITHO
stood loosely by the quarterdeck rail, his body partly shaded from the harsh glare by the thick mainmast trunk, and watched the routine work around him. Eight bells chimed from the forecastle, and he could hear Herrick and Mudge comparing notes from their noon sights, while Soames, who was officer of the watch, prowled restlessly by the cabin hatch as he awaited his relief.

Just to watch the slow, lethargic movements of the men on the gangways and gun deck was enough. Thirty-four days since they had seen
Nervion
's destruction on the reef, and nearly two months since weighing anchor at Spithead. It had been hard work all the way, and from the moment the Spanish ship had foundered the atmosphere aboard had been compressed and strained to the limit.

The last few days had been the worst part, he thought. For a while his company had gained some excitement at crossing the Equator, with all its mysteries and myths. He had issued an extra ration of rum, and for a time he had observed some benefit from the change. The new hands had seen the line-crossing as a kind of test which they had somehow managed to pass. The old seamen had grown in stature as they had recounted or lied about the num- ber of occasions they had sailed these waters in other ships. A fiddler had emerged, and after a self-conscious overture had brought some music and scratchy gaiety to their daily lives.

And then, the last of the badly injured Spaniards had begun to die. It had been like the final pressure on them all. Whitmarsh had done all he could. He had carried out several amputations, and as the pitiful cries had floated up from his sickbay Bolitho had felt the brief satisfaction of drawing his company together fading once again. The dying Spaniard had dragged it out for many days. Nearly a month he had ebbed and rallied, sobbing and groaning, or sleeping peacefully while Whitmarsh had stayed with him hour by hour. It had seemed as if the surgeon was testing his own resources, searching for some new cracking point. The last of his patients to die had been the ones mauled by sharks, those which because of their wounds could not be saved or despatched by amputations. Gangrene had set into their flesh, and the whole ship had been pervaded by a stench so revolting that even the most charitable had prayed for the sufferers to die.

He saw the afternoon watch mustering below the quarter- deck, while Lieutenant Davy strode aft and waited for Soames to sign his report in the log. Even Davy looked weary and bedraggled, his handsome face so tanned by hours on duty he could have been a Spaniard.

They all avoided Bolitho's eye. As if they were afraid of him, or that they needed all their energies merely to get through an- other day.

Davy reported, “The watch is aft.”

Soames glared at him. “A moment
late,
Mr. Davy.”

Davy regarded him disdainfully and then turned to his master's mate. “Relieve the wheel.”

Soames stamped to the hatch and disappeared below.

Bolitho clenched his hands behind him and took a few steps away from the mast. The only satisfaction was the wind. The pre- vious day, as they had changed tack towards the east and the masthead had reported sighting land far abeam, the westerlies had made themselves felt. As he shaded his eyes to peer aloft he could see the impatient thrust of power in every sail, the mainyard bend- ing and trembling like one giant bow. That blur of land had been Cape Agulhas, the southernmost tip of the African continent. Now, stretching before the crisscross of rigging and shrouds lay the blue emptiness of the Indian Ocean, and like many of his new seamen who had contemplated their crossing the Equator, he was able to consider what together they had achieved to reach this far. The Cape of Good Hope was to all intents the halfway of their voyage, and to this day he had kept his word. Mile upon mile, day after scorching day, driving wildly in blustery squalls, or lying be- calmed, with every sail hanging lifeless, he had used everything he knew to keep up their spirits. When that had faltered he had speeded up the daily routine. Gun and sail drill, and competitions between messes for the offwatch hands.

He saw the purser and his assistant waiting beside a pun- cheon of pork which had just been swayed up from the forward hold. Midshipman Keen stood nearby, trying to appear knowl- edgeable as Triphook had the new cask opened and proceeded to check through each four-pound piece of salt pork before he al- lowed it to be carried to the galley. Keen, whose junior authority as midshipman of the watch made him the captain's representa- tive on such occasions, probably imagined it to be a waste of time. Bolitho knew otherwise from past experience. It was well known for dishonest victualling yards to give short measure, or to make up the contents of a cask with hunks of rotten meat, even pieces of old canvas, knowing as they did that by the time a ship's purser discovered the fault he would be well clear of the land and unable to complain. Pursers, too, were known to line their own pockets by sharp practice with their opposite numbers ashore.

Bolitho saw the gaunt purser nod mournfully and mark his ledger, apparently satisfied. Then he followed the little procession forward to the galley, his shoes squeaking as they clung to the sun- heated pitch between the deck seams.

The heat, the relentless, unbroken days were testing enough. But Bolitho knew it only needed a hint of corruption, some sug- gestion that the ship's company were being cheated by their officers, and the whole voyage might explode. He had asked him- self over and over again if he was allowing his last experience to pray on his mind. Even the word itself,
mutiny,
had struck fear into the heart of many a captain, especially one far from friendly com- pany and higher authority.

He took a few paces along the side and winced as his wrist brushed against the bulwark. The timbers were bone-dry, the paint cracking, despite regular attention.

He paused and shaded his eyes to watch some large fish jumping far abeam.
Water.
It was usually uppermost in his mind. With the new hands, and the need to use much of their precious water supply to help the sick and injured, even rationing might not be enough.

He saw two Negro seamen lounging by the larboard gangway. It was a mixed company indeed. When they had sailed from Spithead it had been varied enough. Now, with the small list of Spanish survivors, they were even more colourful. Apart from the sole Spanish officer, a sad-eyed lieutenant named Rojart, there were ten seamen, two boys who were little more than children, and five soldiers. The latter, at first grateful to have survived, were now openly resentful of their new status. Carried aboard
Nervion
as part of Puigserver's personal guard, they were now neither fish nor fowl, and while they tried to act as seamen, they were usually found watching
Undine
's sweating marines with both envy and contempt.

Herrick stepped into his thoughts and reported, “The master and I agree.” He held out the slate. “If you would care to examine this, sir.” He sounded unusually guarded.

Mudge ambled into the shadow of the hammock nettings and said, “If you are about to alter course, sir.” He dragged out his handkerchief. “It is as good a time as any.” He blew his nose violently.

Herrick said quickly, “I would like to make a suggestion, sir.”

Mudge moved away and stood patiently near the helmsman.

It was hard to tell if Herrick had just thought of his suggestion, or if he had discussed it with the others.

“Some were a mite surprised when you stood clear of Cape Town, sir.” His eyes were very blue in the glare. “We could have landed our remaining sick people and taken in fresh water. I doubt that the Dutch governor there would pay much heed to our movements.”

“Do you, Mr. Herrick?”

He saw a puff of dull smoke from the galley. Soon now the offwatch men would be having a meal in the sweltering heat of their messes. The remains of yesterday's salt beef. Skillygolee, as they named it. A mixture of oatmeal gruel, crushed biscuits and lumps of boiled meat. And all that washed down with a full ration of beer. It was likely the latter was stale and without life. But any- thing was better than the meagre ration of water.

He jerked himself back to Herrick, suddenly irritated. “And who put you up to this remarkable assessment?” He saw Herrick's face cloud over but added, “It has an unfamiliar ring to it.”

Herrick said, “It's just that I do not wish to see you driving yourself, sir. I felt as you did about
Nervion
's loss, but it is done, and there's an end to it. You did all you could for her people . . .”

Bolitho said, “Thank you for your concern, but I am not driving myself or our people to no purpose. I believe we may be needed, even at this moment.”

“Perhaps, sir.”

Bolitho regarded him searchingly. “Perhaps indeed, but then that is my responsibility. If I have acted wrongly, then you may receive promotion more quickly than you thought.” He turned away. “When the hands have eaten we will lay her on the new course. Nor'-east by east.” He looked at the masthead pendant. “See how it blows. We'll get the royals on her directly and run with the wind under our coat-tails while it lasts.”

Herrick bit his lip. “I still believe we should touch land, sir, if only to collect water.”

“As I do, Mr. Herrick.” He faced him coldly. “And that I will do whenever I can without arousing interest elsewhere. I have my orders. I intend to carry them out as best I can, do you under- stand?”

They watched each other, their eyes angry, troubled, and con- cerned by the sudden flare-up between them.

“Very good, sir.” Herrick stood back, his eyes squinting in the sun. “You can rely on me.”

“I was beginning to wonder, Mr. Herrick.” Bolitho half stepped forward, one hand outstretched as Herrick swung away, his face taut with dismay.

He had not meant the words to form in that way. If he had ever doubted anything in his life, Herrick's loyalty was not one of them. He felt ashamed and angry. Perhaps the strain of this empty mo- notony, of carrying men who wanted to do nothing but crawl away from work and the sun, of torturing his mind with plans and doubts, had taken a far greater toll than he had imagined.

He turned on his heel and saw Davy watching him curiously.

“Mr. Davy, you have only just taken over your watch, and I would not wish to disrupt your thoughts. But examine the forecourse, if you please, and set some of your hands to put it to rights.” He saw the lieutenant fall back from his anger and, added “It looks as slack as the watch on deck!”

As he strode to the cabin hatch he saw the lieutenant hurrying to the rail. The fact that the forecourse was not drawing as it should was no excuse for taking out his temper on Davy.

He strode past the sentry and slammed the cabin door behind him. But there was no escape here. Noddall was laying plates on the table, his face stiffly resentful as Mrs. Raymond's maid fol- lowed him around the cabin like an amused child.

Raymond was slumped in a chair by the stern windows, appar- ently dozing, and his wife sat on the bench seat, fanning herself, and watching Noddall's preparations, a look of complete boredom on her face.

Bolitho made to go but she called, “Come
along,
Captain. We barely see you from day to day.” She patted the bench seat with the fan. “Sit awhile. Your precious ship will survive, I think.”

Bolitho sat down and leaned one elbow on the sill. It was good to feel life in the wind again, to watch the lift and swirl of foam as it surged freely from the counter, or came up gurgling around the rudder.

Then he turned slightly and looked at her. She had been aboard all this time and yet he knew little of her. She was watching him now, her eyes partly amused, partly questioning. Probably two or three years older than himself, he thought. Not beautiful, but with the aristocratic presence which commanded instant attention. She had fine, even teeth, and her hair, which she had allowed to flow loosely across her shoulders, was the colour of autumn. While he and the rest of his officers had found difficulty in keeping cool, or finding a clean shirt after the sun's tyranny or some fierce squall in the South Atlantic, she had always managed to remain perfect. As she was now. Her gown was not merely worn, it was
arranged,
so that he and not she looked out of place against the stern win- dows. Her earrings were heavy, and he guessed their value would pay most of his marines for a year or more.

She smiled. “Do you enjoy what you see, Captain?”

Bolitho started. “I am sorry, ma'am. I am tired.”

She exclaimed, “How gallant! I am sorry it is only weariness which makes you look at me.” She held up the fan and added, “I am mocking you, Captain. Do not look so depressed.”

Bolitho smiled. “Thank you.”

He thought suddenly of that other time. In New York, three years ago. Another ship, his first command, and the world opening up just for him. A woman had shown him that life was not so kind, nor was it easy.

He admitted, “I have had a lot on my mind. I have been used to action and sharp decisions for most of my life. Merely to make sail and face an empty sea day by day is something alien to me. Some- times I feel more like a grocery-captain than that of a man-o'-war.”