Success to the Brave (16 page)

He saw the glitter of sunlight on the fixed bayonets, and could imagine Dewar and his lieutenant receiving the reports of the seasoned professionals like Sergeant Saxton.

The horses had gathered speed, the dust spewing away from the hoofs in a solid bank.

There was a ragged volley of shots, and Bolitho felt a cold grip in his stomach as three of the tiny scarlet figures fell across the track.

The marines seemed to take an eternity, the front rank kneeling beside their dead comrades while the rear rank took aim above their heads. More shots. This time it was a small drummer who fell.

Allday gasped, “Jesus, why don't they shoot, damn them!”

Dewar's blade flashed down and the crash of muskets seemed as if a single shot had been fired.

Horses and men tumbled in confusion, but when the smoke cleared from the hillside the scarlet lines were unchanged. The horsemen were returning to the town, their dead and wounded left to their own resources.

Christy said fiercely, “The gates are openin', sir!”

It was over. In twos and threes, and then in a flood, the fortress's garrison hurried into the sunlight, dropping their weapons as they ran.

Last came Rivers, swaying from side to side as if he were drunk.

But there was no slur in his voice as he faced Bolitho and said, “I'll see you in
hell
for this!” He stared wildly at the lush green slope beyond the town. “My house, my family, you fired on them without caring—”

Bolitho said sharply, “By your orders some of my men have died today.” He tried to hold his anger under control. “And for what? Because of your greed and ambition.” He turned away, afraid he would finally lose control. “And have no fear, Sir Humphrey. While you were prepared to burn a King's ship to her water-line and murder every man-jack aboard if need be, Captain Keen took care to keep his guns
unshotted.
You were defeated by smoke, nothing more.”

It should have been a proud moment but Bolitho was sickened by it.

To Allday he said, “We shall return to the ship. Dewar's men will take charge here.”

Allday gestured towards the stricken Rivers. “What about 'im?”

“See that he is well guarded for his own safety.”

Allday glared as two seamen seized Rivers and hustled him back towards the fortress.

Almost to himself Bolitho added, “It is always easy for the victor to exact revenge.” Then he clapped the burly coxswain on the arm and said, “The sea is where I belong.”

Allday breathed out very slowly. It had been a close thing that time. He shivered despite the growing warmth. Getting past it. Leave it to the youngsters after this.

The delusion cheered him slightly and he quickened his pace.

The seamen stood on either side of the track and grinned as Bolitho walked amongst them.

Bolitho knew or could guess what they were thinking.
One of us.
Because he was as dirty and dishevelled as they were. Because he had been with them when the bluff could so easily have gone the wrong way.

There was so much to be done. The fortress to be occupied by Dewar's marines, the islanders to be sorted and placated. Despatches to be written. Explanations to be made.

Somewhere a wounded horse screamed in agony. Like a woman in terror. Mercifully it was silenced by a pistol shot.

Bolitho paused by the place where Dewar had made his stand. The drummer-boy lay on his back, his blue eyes and pinched features frozen at the moment of impact.

Allday thought he heard Bolitho murmur, “Too young for this game.” Then he pulled out his handkerchief and laid it on the boy's face.

One of us. It seemed to mock him as he walked through the grinning, nodding sailors who had all expected to die on this fine morning.

I lead. They follow.

He stared across at the
Achates
and his flag which flapped occasionally from the foremast truck.

He saw the barge idling by some rocks ready to carry him to the ship. He straightened his back and looked neither right nor left.

A lieutenant was standing in the sternsheets, his hat in his hand. In a moment they would start to cheer. They were the victors, and that was enough for them. It had to be.

He hesitated and looked at Allday's homely face.

“Well, old friend, what are you thinking?”

Allday frowned, off-balance at this mood which he did not recognize.

Bolitho said quietly, “I think I know anyway.” He faced the bargemen and forced a smile. “Now let us find that other damned pirate!”

The lieutenant raised his cocked hat and men began to cheer.

Bolitho sat down and looked at his torn breeches.

One of us.

Bolitho sat in his day-cabin and sighed as Yovell placed yet another copied letter before him for signature.

The fear and thrill of their attack seemed far behind them, even though it was still less than a week since he had faced Rivers outside the fortress. Their casualties had been mercifully few and had been buried on the hillside in the island's own graveyard.

Bolitho stood up and crossed restlessly to the stern windows and leaned over the passive water of the anchorage. The sill was hot beneath his palms, the sun high above the extinct volcano.

He saw
Achates
' guard-boat pulling slowly and with little enthusiasm in the blinding glare and could guess what they, like most of the ship's company, were thinking.

With their governor under arrest the islanders had settled down to await events. All resistance and hostility had ceased, and some of the local militia had been resworn to assist the Royal Marines mount guard on the fortress and battery. But it went deeper. It was a passive resistance, the townspeople taking pains to look away whenever a naval working party or sea officer walked past.

The sailors were at first hurt then resentful. Some had died, few really understood why, but they deserved better, they thought.

It was noon and the smell of boiling tar mingled with the headier aroma of rum as the daily ration was served to each mess throughout the ship. Fewer hammers broke the stillness now, and there was little to show of the damage made by the fortress's cannon, although one seaman had lost an eye to a flying splinter.

There was a tap at the outer screen door and Keen entered, his hat beneath his arm. He looked less strained, Bolitho thought. He guessed that Keen had been dealing with his own procession of demands and reports. The surgeon and the first lieutenant, the purser and the master, they all paid their respects to the captain, if only to shift their own loads on to his shoulders.

“You sent for me, sir?”

“Sit down, Val.” Bolitho loosened his shirt for the hundredth time. “How is the work progressing?”

“I turn the hands to work if only to keep their minds busy, sir.
Achates
is ready for anything. Bandbox neat, she is.”

Bolitho nodded. He had already noticed the new pride Keen had shown for his ship. Maybe her previous captain's example had haunted him and dominated the other officers from the grave.

Bolitho had heard of Keen's clash with Quantock before the headlong charge into harbour. It was hard to believe any of it had happened. But the Union Flag flew above the fortress, and to all outward appearances the island was as before.

Soon he would have to send a despatch to the French admiral whose ships lay waiting at Boston. If they were indeed still there.

Then the peace would shatter here and the pain begin all over again.

Keen watched Bolitho's grave features and said, “The admiral at Antigua will send aid if you request it, sir.” He saw the line of Bolitho's jaw harden and added, “But doubtless you have already considered that.”

“I was given this task, Val. Perhaps it is pride which stands in my way. Some might say conceit.” He waved down Keen's protest. “We all have some. But I need eyes and ears, not another flag-officer to breathe down my neck. But for
Sparrowhawk
's loss . . .”

They looked at each other. It still seemed as if Duncan was alive.

Keen said, “Once we weigh and go in search of that damned ship the island could erupt. These people could starve out the garrison, but not the other way round. I think we should order a summary court martial and run Sir Humphrey up to the main-yard on a halter.” He spoke with unusual bitterness. “Alive he is still a menace.”

They stood up as a single musket shot echoed across the water.

“Guard-boat. Must have sighted something.”

Keen snatched up his hat. “I'll find out, sir.”

Bolitho took a telescope from its rack and waited for
Achates
to swing gently to her anchor. He watched the fortress swim into view, the upper ramparts half hidden in heat-haze so that the Union Flag seemed to be pinned to the sky itself. There was the headland and the tiny island and its Spanish mission beyond. Then he saw a solitary tanned topsail rounding the point before settling down on a final approach towards the anchorage.

The guard-boat, one of
Achates
' cutters, rocked on the swell, her oars protruding along either side like bleached bones.

A small brigantine. Probably some local trader. Her master would get a surprise when he saw
Achates
' bulk in the harbour.

Keen came back, his face moist with sweat.

“I've ordered the guard-boat to lead the brigantine to a buoy.” He waited for Bolitho to turn. “She's been fired on to all accounts, sir. I'm sending the surgeon over immediately.”

“Fired on?”

Keen shrugged. “That's all I know.”

“I see. Well, signal any local craft to stand away. I have an uneasy feeling about this.”

He raised his glass and steadied it on the brigantine as her flapping jib was taken in and she rounded smartly on to a mooring buoy.

He moved the glass carefully along the vessel's side. Black pock-marks marred her paintwork. Grape or cannister. Anything heavier would have sunk such a frail craft. The glass settled on two figures aft by the tiller. A big man in a blue coat with untidy grey hair. The other . . .

Bolitho exclaimed, “God damn it, Val, it's young Adam! If he's taken any unnecessary risks, I'll . . .”

They faced each other and laughed.

“I'm a
fine
example for him, eh?”

It seemed an eternity for a boat to make the passage between
Achates
and the newcomer.

Bolitho replaced the glass on its rack. It wouldn't do for Adam to think he was worried and over-protective. All the same . . .

Keen said, “I'll go on deck and er, welcome them, sir.” He hid a smile as he shut the door behind him.

Adam entered the cabin, his features anxious and apprehensive.

“I'm sorry, sir—”

Bolitho strode to him and gripped his shoulders. “You're
here.
That's all that matters.”

Adam looked round the cabin as if afraid of what he might see.

“The guard-boat, Uncle. They told me about the battle. How you had to fight your way into this place.” He lowered his eyes so that a lock of black hair fell across his forehead. “I heard about
Sparrowhawk
too. I'm so sorry.”

Bolitho led him to a chair and said quietly, “Never mind about that. Tell me about your troubles.”

It was an amazing story which the young lieutenant blurted out. Just a few days ago, after riding out a fierce storm near the Great Bahama Bank, they had been confronted by a frigate. She had been Spanish and had ordered them to heave to and to await a boarding party. The brigantine's master had apparently been suspicious and when the frigate's boat had been almost alongside he had clapped on all sail and had headed away, a favourable wind taking him into some shallows too dangerous for the frigate to follow. But not before the Spanish boarding party had opened fire with swivels and a bow gun which had peppered the side and killed the brigantine's mate.

Bolitho listened without interruption. You were never safe. Not
really
safe. While he had been fretting over San Felipe's future, Adam had faced an unexplained attack and possible death.

He said, “The vessel's master must be an audacious fellow. Courageous too. I should like to meet him.”

Adam looked at him, his eyes shining. He wanted, no
needed
to tell Bolitho about Robina, but after what he had seen and heard on his passage from Boston he would not spoil the moment for a fortune.

“He came over with me! He's here!”

Bolitho eyed him questioningly. “Well, let's have him in.”

The sentry opened the screen door and stood aside to allow the visitor to enter. Only the marine's eyes moved beneath his glazed leather hat as he said, “Master of the
Vivid,
sir!” The “sir” was accompanied by a sharp tap on the deck with his musket.