Passage to Mutiny (10 page)

This was hardly normal, and he was moved to say, “Thank you, lads.” But nobody spoke, and the only sound to match the sea was the steady creak of oars.

When he looked astern again
Tempest
was only a tall shadow with the moon's silver across her flapping topsails.

As soon as the boats were safely hoisted inboard again she would set every stitch of canvas she could carry to stand clear of the land as fast as possible.

A shuttered lantern blinked from the leading boat. Ross had sighted the first elbow of rocks. They must follow through one gap and then a second. After that it was no more than a cable to the beach.
If it was there.

“Watch your helm, Allday. This is the worst part.”

He saw the quick exchanges throughout the boat. It was best for everyone to know all the risks and not just some of them, he thought.

The sea noises changed again, the great surge of water against the outer reef muffled slightly as the three boats forged steadily around the glistening crags of rock. Little waterfalls changed to surging torrents as the tide cascaded over and around the rock barrier, making pools and lakes and just as quickly draining them again.

The bowman called, “Beach dead ahead, sir!” A pause. “Cutter's already there!”

By the time Allday had steered the gig through the last scattering of rocks and lined up the stem with the tiny patch of beach, the cutter was already passing on the return trip.

The bowman leapt down and almost fell as he guided the boat into the shallows, and more men waded out to stop her from broaching to.

Men, weapons, discipline. Bolitho watched his gig backing water with the oars, the crew's check shirts already more distinct in the first hint of dawn.

He felt Allday's grip steadying him as he climbed up the wet sand and on to some fallen boulders. They were all cut off. And he had brought them here.

He said, “I will lead with my party, Mr Keen. You will bear south and then east as soon as we get off the beach. Good luck.”

With Allday and Midshipman Swift at his heels he turned and looked up the steep, sun-cracked slope. If ever he had needed his confidence, it was now, he decided.

5 NOW OR
N
EVER

“W
E WILL
rest here.” Bolitho lowered himself on one knee and unslung the telescope from his shoulder. “Sergeant Quare's scouts will be back directly.”

The gasping, sweating file of seamen climbed over the lip of a small gully and found what shelter they could amongst thick, prickly bushes. The sun was higher, and the heat which was thrown back from the hillside and cracked boulders fiercer than ever.

Bolitho trained his telescope on the nearest of the island's five hills. It was more rounded than the others, so that it looked hunched, leaning away from him towards the sea on the other side. He saw a brief glitter of reflection, probably on a weapon, as one of the scouts paused to examine one of the many small gullies.

But nothing else moved. It was like a dead place. Harder now to believe that the
Eurotas
was anchored beyond the big hill. That she had ever been there.

Midshipman Swift scrambled over loose stones, his tanned features shining with sweat.

He liked Swift. More so since his willingness to go aloft in the storm to rescue Romney. He had pleasant, regular features, and hair so bleached by sun and salt Bolitho doubted if his mother would recognize him. Swift had been barely fifteen when she had last seen him. When she saw him next, with any kind of luck, he would be a lieutenant.

Bolitho said, “Pass the word. Just take a sip of water. See that they don't drink the whole lot at once.”

He felt the wind ruffling his hair, and shifted his glass towards the sea. It was rarely out of sight in this island. It was hard to believe they had come through a storm. How blue the sea looked with just the cruising movement of white horses to betray the wind which had carried
Tempest
away to the south under full canvas. Now, it was empty, reaching away towards the larger islands and sluicing over the long reef barriers to show the set of the tide and yet another change of wind.

Sergeant Quare strode through the dusty bushes, his boots covered in salt and sand. He was a tall, powerful man, with intense pride in his marines and what they could do.

Bolitho nodded to him. “Seems quiet enough.”

Quare lowered a musket to the ground and slitted his eyes in the glare.

“Two more hours and we should see something, sir.” He had a round, Devonian dialect which was like a touch of home. He hesitated. “ 'Course, the ship might have up-anchored already, sir.”

“Yes.”

Bolitho took a flask from Allday and let a little water trickle over his tongue. Brackish from the ship's casks, yet it tasted like the best wine in St James's.

Quare straightened his back, his eyes on the opposite slope.

“Here comes Blissett, sir.”

The scout in question loped down the slope towards them, seemingly without effort, his musket held high to avoid striking the ground.

Bolitho knew something of Blissett's past, and why Quare had selected him as a scout. The marine had once worked on a vast estate in Norfolk. As one of the gamekeepers, and a fine shot to boot, he had enjoyed a good and fairly comfortable life. Until, that was, he had set his cap at the niece of his lord and master. Bolitho imagined that the matter was probably more complicated than Quare knew, but the end result was that Blissett had been thrown out of work and had gone into town to drown his sorrows. A recruiting party had been at the inn also, and the rest, marked down in a haze of despair and bravado, was now history.

The Island of Five Hills must seem very different from Norfolk.

Blissett arrived beside them. “It's pretty fair going once you get up that slope, sir.” He pointed. “I reckon the sea is just yonder, with the bay below that shoulder of rock.” He took a flask gratefully.

Quare nodded. “Mr Keen's party will be about an hour later than us. It's a longer route round the other side of the hill.” He cocked his head. “Still, we should meet up mid-afternoon. What d'you say, Tom?”

Blissett shrugged. “Reckon so, Sarnt. I found a few fire places in the gullies, but not new ones.” The last piece he added hastily as some of the seamen in earshot moved with sudden apprehension. “No natives around here for some while.”

Bolitho reslung his telescope and gestured to Swift. “Get the men on the move again. Same distances as before. You take two hands to the rear and make sure we're not being followed.” He looked up at the sunbaked slopes. There would be no cover here. A perfect place for an ambush.

He could sense the men as they followed at his back. Breathless and tired already, and totally unused to tramping over land, they would never respect him again if they found he had led them on a fool's errand.

He tightened his belt. But better him than Herrick. Herrick had taken enough knocks on his behalf.

Bolitho concentrated on the land ahead, keeping his pace slow but regular as he tried to picture the other side of the hill.

Tomorrow, if the wind was favourable,
Tempest
would tack around the southernmost headland once again. And if there were lookouts on the shore they should sight her immediately. More to the point, Bolitho's scouts should see
them.

It should appear quite natural. Deception was a game any number could play.

After a fierce storm it might even be expected for a King's ship to return to the bay, if only to ascertain that
Eurotas
was still intact.

Allday broke into his thoughts. “A scout's signalling, Captain. I think he's sighted the other party.” He grinned unfeelingly. “God, Mr Keen's people will curse when they see the hill they've still got to climb!”

Sergeant Quare hurried across the lip of another gully and dropped out of sight. He appeared eventually on a fallen landslide of loose stones, while slightly above him another marine gestured and pointed like a deaf mute.

Quare came back, breathing fast. “He says to stand fast, sir. A runner is coming from Mr Keen.” He mopped his face and neck. “He'll not run for long in this lot.”

Bolitho's party sank gratefully into the bushes again and waited for the messenger to arrive. It took a full hour, and when he was finally dragged out of a gully, the man looked almost spent with exhaustion.

It was Miller, boatswain's mate, nimble enough when dashing about the deck in a full gale, or urging the hands out on the swaying yards, but no match for this island.

“Take your time.” Bolitho concealed his impatience, wondering why Keen should send him and delay the worst part of the journey.

Miller gulped noisily. “Mr Keen's respects, sir, an' 'e—” He gulped down air again like a landed fish. “We found some corpses.” He pointed vaguely. “In a little cove. Their throats was cut, sir.” He looked suddenly sick as the memory came back to him. “I— I think they was officers.”

Bolitho watched him, not wanting to break his train of thought.

But Quare asked bluntly, “You
think?
”

Miller looked past him. “Aye, George. You just know them things.” He gave a violent shudder. “Mr Ross reckons they've bin dead for days. Covered with flies, they was. Still are.”

Bolitho nodded. Despite the horror of the story he realized that either Keen or Ross had managed to keep his head and not do what every decent man would wish and bury the unknown bodies.
But they were not unknown.
The
Eurotas'
s senior officers in all probability. Murdered after being taken to the little cove. He wondered if Keen had thought the same. As he had shaken hands with the man he had thought to be the ship's captain he had been facing a murderer in his victim's coat.

The realization moved through him like sickness. Viola had tried to warn him. She might have died just as horribly because of it.

He snapped, “Get back to Mr Keen. Fast as you can manage. Tell him we will meet as arranged, but with double the caution.” He watched his words sinking in. “Nobody must see our approach. If we are sighted before we can act, Miller, the ship may weigh, and Mr Herrick will have no chance of catching her.” He did not add that it might as easily mean the landing party would be murdered beforehand. The expression on Miller's stubbled face told him he had already considered it.

Bolitho looked at Quare and the others. “Come along.” He strode up the slope again, the heat and discomfort suddenly forgotten.

“You'll need to stay down, sir.” Quare spoke with a whisper as Bolitho crawled beside him between two great boulders. The stones were like heated metal, and Bolitho was conscious of the cuts and bruises he had gathered on his limbs and body in the final part of the journey.

The big hill was quite different on the other side, and different again from the way it had looked from seaward. There was a broad cleft halfway down, and then another slope which continued down to the beach and the bay.

And there, hazy in the sunlight, lay the
Eurotas.
Still at her anchor, and with several boats alongside and two drawn up on the sand clear of the surf.

There were a few figures visible on her poop and maindeck, but no sign of work being carried out on the hull, or anything else.

Bolitho wished he could use his telescope and study the ship more closely. But with the sun blazing down at an angle he dared not risk a sudden reflection warning of their arrival above the bay.

Quare had already sent Blissett and another scout to see what they could discover, but Bolitho had to guess what was happening aboard the ship if he was to be of any use.

Quare hissed, “
There,
sir!”

Several men had walked into view from the bottom of the hill. They were moving slowly. Untroubled. But all were armed to the teeth. One was drinking from a bottle, and had to be aided over the gunwale of a small boat before they pushed it into deep water and started towards the ship.

That left one boat ashore. Bolitho blinked the sweat from his eyes. But how many men?

Swift crept up behind him. “Mr Keen's party is coming, sir.”

Bolitho looked at him. “Keep them away from here. And no talking. You make sure the weapons are unloaded. I don't want a musket going off in error.”

He looked at the anchored ship and tried to think what to do. She lay a cable's length from the beach, and the boat which had left the island was barely halfway to her. Exposed. Helpless against even the smallest weapons.

But where were the guns which Keen had been told were unloaded to lighten the ship? They were certainly not in the empty ports along the nearest side. Nor were they on the beach. Surely they had not been jettisoned. It would take a long time, and there seemed no point in it.

Unless
. . . He stared towards the southern headland, almost black against the glittering sea. Another ship perhaps. The
Eurotas'
s guns may have been off-loaded into her. He closed his eyes tightly. He could form no pattern at all.

Blissett came round the side of the great rocks soundlessly.

Quare asked, “What is it, Tom?”

The marine wiped his mouth and stared at the ship. “We found a dead girl down the bottom there. She must have put up quite a fight, poor lass. But they done for her all the same when they'd had their way.”

Bolitho looked at him, his mind reeling. He barely recognized his own voice. “What sort of girl?”

Blissett frowned. “Young 'un. English, I'd say. Probably bein' deported to Botany Bay or th' like, sir.” He said nothing more, but his eyes proclaimed bitterness. His anger at those who had sent the unknown girl to this.

“Easy, Tom.” Quare turned to Bolitho. “You were right, sir.”

“I wish to God I'd been wrong. The ship has been taken. Not by the convicts.” He saw the question on Quare's face. “They'd not waste time and labour hoisting big guns over the side. They'd be weak and frightened after what they've been through. I believe our enemy is something far more dangerous and without mercy.”

He rolled on his back and dragged out his watch, despising himself for his relief. He had feared it was Viola lying down there.

It would not be dark for several hours. He said, “Post a good watch, Sergeant. Then join me.”

He hurried down the slope and into a tangle of dried-up bushes. The whole place seemed scorched by the sun and covered by the droppings of countless sea-birds.

Keen and the others crowded round him.

He said, “I believe there's a boatload of men ashore somewhere. They're probably out on the headland. It's too dangerous to run a boat through those rocks, which is why they were taken by surprise by the canoes. It's my guess they've mounted a guard there. To watch for ships and to drive off any native canoes before they can pass through the rocks.”

Keen nodded. “And
their
boat is unguarded!”

Ross ran his thick fingers through his red hair. “
Now
it is, Mr Keen. After night it'll be another story entirely.”