Stand Into Danger (16 page)

Against the schooner's cannon, small though they were, the swivels sounded insignificant. Bolitho saw the canister blast through the schooner's fore-sail and hurl two men into bloody bundles before more balls smashed through
Heloise
's lower hull. He heard the havoc tearing between decks, the crack of splinters and collapsing timbers, and knew they had been badly hit.

Someone had managed to get the pumps going, but he saw two men fall bleeding badly, and another who had been working on the topsail yard trying to lower himself to safety with one leg hanging to his body by a muscle.

Palliser shouted, “Come aft!”

As Bolitho hurried to join him he said, “We're doing no good. Get below yourself and report the damage.” He blinked as more shots thudded into the reeling hull, and somewhere a man shrieked in agony. “Feel her? She's going!”

Bolitho stared at him. It was true. The
Heloise
's agility had given way to an ungainly response to both helm and wind. It did not seem possible. So quickly, and their roles had changed. There was no aid at hand, and their enemies would not let them die easily.

Palliser snapped, “I'm going to steer for the brig. With our men and her guns there's still a chance.” He looked steadily at Bolitho. “Now be a good fellow and get below.”

Bolitho hurried to the companion, his quick glance taking in the splintered deck planking and stark bloodstains. They had fought here before. Surely that was enough? Perhaps fate had always intended they should end thus?

He called to Jury, “Come with me.” He peered down into the darkness, dreading the thought of being trapped below if the ship went down. He spoke carefully to hide his anxiety. “We will examine the damage together. Then if I fall . . .” He saw Jury gasp. So he had not yet accepted the idea of death. “. . . you will relay the details to Mr Palliser.”

Once down the companion ladder he lit a lantern and led the way forward, careful to avoid some of the jagged splinters which had been smashed through from the deck above. The sounds were muffled but filled with menace as the ship shook and bucked to the bombardment.

The two attacking vessels were working round on either beam, heedless of the danger of hitting each other in their eagerness to destroy the little ship with the scarlet ensign at her peak.

Bolitho dragged open a lower hatch and said, “I can hear water.”

Jury whispered, “Oh, dear God, we're foundering!”

Bolitho laid down and dipped his lantern through the hatch. It was a scene of complete chaos. Shattered casks and remnants of canvas floated amongst splintered wood, and as he watched he imagined he saw the water rising still further.

He said, “Go to the first lieutenant and tell him there's no hope.” He restrained Jury, feeling his sudden surge of fear as more balls cracked into the hull. “
Walk.
Remember what I said. They'll be looking to you.” He tried to smile, to show that nothing mattered. “All right?”

Jury backed away, his eyes moving from the open hatch to Bolitho.

“What will
you
do?”

Bolitho turned his head sharply as a new sound echoed through the listing hull like a giant's hammer. One of the anchors had broken free and was smashing into the bows with every roll. It could only speed their end.

“I'll go to Olsson. We must release the prisoners.”

And then Bolitho was alone. He swallowed deeply and tried to keep his limbs from shaking. Then very slowly he groped his way aft again, the regular boom of the anchor against the hull following him like an execution drum.

There was another thud against the hull, but it was followed instantly by a loud crack. One of the masts, or part of it, was coming down. He tensed, waiting for the final crash as it hit the deck or plunged over the side.

The next instant he was spread-eagled in the darkness, the lantern gone from his hand, although he did not feel anything, nor did he recall the moment of impact.

All he knew was that he was pinned beneath a mass of wreckage and unable to move.

He pressed his ear to a ventilation grating and heard the surge of water as it battered through the bilges and lower hold. He was on the edge of terror, and knew that in seconds he could be screaming and kicking in a hopeless attempt to free himself.

Thoughts crowded through his mind. His mother as she had watched him leave. The sea below the headland at Falmouth where he and his brother had first ventured out in a fisherman's boat, and his father's wrath when he had discovered what they had done.

His eyes smarted, but when he tried to move his fingers to his face the fallen debris held him as cruelly as any trap.

The anchor had stopped its incessant boom against the hull, which meant it was probably under water with the forepart of the vessel.

Bolitho closed his eyes and waited, praying that his nerve would not break before the end.

8 PALLISER'S
R
USE

BOLITHO felt a growing pressure against his spine as some of the fallen timber shifted to the brigantine's motion. He heard a scraping sound somewhere overhead, the clang of metal as one of the guns broke free and tumbled across the deck. The angle was more acute, and he could hear the sea piling against the hull, but much higher than before as the vessel continued to settle deeper and deeper.

There was still some shooting, but it seemed as if the victors were standing off to wait for the sea to complete their work for them.

Slowly, but with mounting desperation, Bolitho tried to wriggle free from the debris across his body. He could hear himself groaning and pleading, gasping meaningless words as he struggled to rid himself of the trap.

It was useless. He only succeeded in dislodging some more broken woodwork, a piece of which ploughed past his head like a spear.

With something like panic he heard sounds of a boat being manned, some hoarse cries and more musket shots.

He clenched his fists and pressed his face against the deck planking to prevent himself from screaming. The vessel was going fast and Palliser had ordered her to be abandoned.

Bolitho tried to think clearly, to accept that his companions were doing what they must. It was no time for sentiment or some useless gesture. He was already as dead as the others who had been shot down in the heat of the fighting.

He heard voices and someone calling his name. Needles of light probed through the tangled wreckage, and as the deck gave another lurch Bolitho shouted,
“Go back! Save yourselves!”

He was shocked and stunned by his words and the strength of his voice. More than anything he had wanted to live until he had realized someone had cared enough to risk death for his sake.

Stockdale's throaty voice said, “ 'Ere, work that spar clear!”

Somebody else said doubtfully, “Too late, by the looks of it, mate. We'd best get aft.”

Stockdale rasped, “Take 'old like I told you! Now, together, lads!
'Eave!
”

Bolitho cried out as the pain pushed harder into his spine. Feet moved down from the other side of the pile and he saw Jury on his knees peering though a gap to look for him.

“Not long, sir.” He was shaking with fear but trying to smile at the same time. “Hold on!”

As suddenly as it had smashed him down the weight of broken planking and one complete spar were levered and hoisted clear.

A man seized Bolitho's ankles and dragged him roughly up the sloping deck, while Stockdale appeared to be holding back a wall of wreckage all on his own.

Jury gasped, “Quickly!” He would have fallen but for a seaman's ready grip, and then they were all staggering and lurching like drunks running from a press-gang.

On deck at last, Bolitho forgot the pain and the lurking moments of bare terror.

In the strengthening light he saw that the
Heloise
was already a total wreck, her fore-topmast gone completely and her main nothing more than a jagged stump. Her canvas, broken spars and an entangled mesh of fallen rigging completed the scene of devastation.

To drive it home, Bolitho saw that both boats were manned and standing clear, and the nearer of the two was already higher than the
Heloise
's lee side.

Palliser stood in the cutter directing some of his men to use their muskets on one of the schooners. The dying brigantine acted as a barrier, the only thing which still stood between the enemy and their chance to run down on the boats and finish the one-sided fight.

Stockdale grunted, “Over th' side, lads!”

His mind reeling, Bolitho saw that two of the men who had come back for him were Olsson, the mad Swede, and one of the farm-workers who had volunteered to his Plymouth recruiting party.

Jury kicked off his shoes and secured them inside his shirt. He looked at the water as it came swirling over the bulwark and exclaimed huskily, “It's a long swim!”

Bolitho flinched as a musket ball smacked into the deck and raised a splinter as high as a goose quill within feet of where they were standing.

“Now or never!” He saw the sea thundering through the companion and turning one of the corpses in a wild dance as it forced the bows deeper and deeper below the surface.

With Stockdale panting and floundering between them, Bolitho and Jury sprang into the water. It seemed to take an age to reach the nearest boat, and even then they had to join the others who were hanging to the gunwales and trying not to hamper the oarsmen as they headed for the dismasted
Rosario.

Most of the men around Bolitho were strangers, and he realized they must be the released prisoners. Olsson had looked so wild it was a wonder he had not left them to drown with their ship.

Then all at once the brig's side towered above them. She was a small vessel, but viewed from the water as he fought for breath and clung to a thrown line, Bolitho thought she looked as big as a frigate.

Eventually they were pushed, dragged and man-handled up and over the side where they were confronted by the brig's own company, who stared at them as if they had come from the sea itself.

Palliser left nobody in doubt as to who was in command.

“Little, take the prisoners below and put them in irons. Pearse, discover the chance of a jury-rig, anything to give us steerage-way!” He strode past some dazed and bleeding men and snapped, “Have these guns loaded, d'you hear? God dammit, you're like a pack of old women!”

A man of some authority pushed through his sailors and said, “I am the master, John Mason. I know why you're here, but I give thanks to God for it, sir, though I fear we are no match for them pirates.”

Palliser eyed him coldly. “We shall see about that. But for now, do as I direct. How you and your people behave today may decide what happens to you.”

The man gaped at him. “I don't understand, sir?”

“Do you have a passenger, one Jonathan Egmont?”

Bolitho leaned on the bulwark sucking in great gulps of air, the sea-water streaming from his limbs to mingle with the blood around the nearest gun.

“Aye, sir, but . . .”

“Alive?”

“Was when I last saw him. I put my passengers below when the attack began.”

Palliser gave a grim smile. That is fortunate. For both of us, I think.” He saw Bolitho and added sharply, “Make sure Egmont is secure. Tell him nothing.” He was about to turn his attention to one of the schooners but instead watched the
Heloise
's final moment, as with a last burst of spray from her hatches she plunged to the bottom. He said, “I am glad you were able to stay with us. I ordered the vessel to be abandoned.” His eyes rested momentarily on Jury and Stockdale. “However . . .”

Bolitho staggered to an open hatch, his bruised mind still grappling with the
Rosario
's lay-out as she pitched about in the swell.

The brig had taken a terrible beating. Upended guns, corpses and pieces of men lay strewn with the other debris, ignored in the frantic efforts to keep their attackers from boarding.

A seaman with one hand wrapped in a crude bandage, the other gripping a pistol, called, “Down 'ere, sir!”

Bolitho clambered down a ladder, his stomach rebelling against the stench of pain and suffering. Three men lay unconscious or dying, another was crawling back to his station as best he could in makeshift dressings and a sling.

Egmont stood at a table, wiping his hands on a rag, while a seaman trimmed a lantern for him.

He saw Bolitho and gave a tired shrug. “An unexpected meeting, Lieutenant.”

Bolitho asked, “Have you been attending the wounded?”

“You know the Navy, Lieutenant. For me it is a long, long time ago since I served your captain's father, but it is something you never lose.”

Bolitho heard the urgent clank of pumps, the sounds of blocks and tackles being hauled noisily across the upper deck. The
Destiny
's seamen were working again, and he was needed up there to help Palliser, to keep them at it, driving them by force if necessary.

They had been in a savage fight and some had died, as he had nearly done. Now they were needed again. Let them falter and they would drop. Allow them time to mourn the loss of a friend and they would lose the stuff of fighting.

But he asked, “Your wife, is she safe?”

Egmont gestured towards a bulkhead door. “In there.”

Bolitho thrust his shoulder against it, the fear of being trapped below decks still scraping at his mind.

By lantern-light in a sealed, airless cabin he saw three women. Aurora Egmont, her maid and a buxom woman he guessed to be the master's wife.

He said, “Thank God you're safe.”

She moved towards him, her feet invisible in the cabin's gloom so that she appeared to be floating.

She reached up and felt his wet hair and his face, her eyes large as she said quietly, “I thought you were still in Rio.” Her hands touched his chest and his arms as they hung at his sides. “My poor lieutenant, what have they done to you?”

Bolitho could feel his head swimming. Even here, amidst the stench of bilge and death, he was conscious of her perfume, the cool touch of her fingers on his face. He wanted to hold her, to press her against his body like the dream. To share his anxiety for her, to reveal his longing.

“Please!”
He tried to step away. “I am filthy. I just wanted to be sure you were safe. Unhurt.”

She pushed his protest aside and put her hands on his shoulders. “My brave lieutenant!” She turned her head and called sharply to her maid, “Stop weeping, you silly girl! Where is your pride?”

In those few seconds Bolitho felt her breast press against his wet shirt, as if there was nothing between their bodies.

He murmured,
“I must go.”

She was staring at him as if to memorize everything about him. “Will you fight again? Do you have to?”

Bolitho felt the strength returning to his body. He could even smile as he said, “I have someone to fight
for,
Aurora.”

She exclaimed, “You remembered!”

Then she pulled his head down and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Like him, she was shaking, her earlier anger with her maid a pretence like his own.

She whispered, “Be careful, Richard. My young,
so
-young lieutenant.”

With Palliser's voice ringing in the distance, Bolitho walked back to the ladder and ran to the upper deck.

Palliser was examining the two big schooners with a telescope, and without lowering it he asked dryly, “May I assume that all is well below?”

Bolitho made to touch his hat, but remembered it had gone a long time ago.

“Aye, sir. Egmont is helping the wounded.”

“Is he indeed?” Palliser closed his glass with a snap. “Now listen. Those devils will try to divide our defences. One will stand off while the other attempts to board.” He was thinking aloud. “We may have survived one fight, but they will see
Heloise
's loss as their victory. They'll give no quarter now.”

Bolitho nodded. “We might hope to hold them off if we had every gun fully manned, sir.”

Palliser shook his head. “No. We are adrift and cannot prevent one or both of them from raking our stern.” He glanced at some of the brig's seamen as they staggered past with a trailing serpent of rigging. “These people are done for, no stomach left. It's up to us.” He nodded firmly, his mind made up. “We shall allow one of the buggers to grapple. Divide them and see how they like
that.
”

Bolitho looked at the fallen masts and sprawled bodies, amongst which
Destiny
's seamen moved like scavengers on a battle-field. Then he touched his mouth with his fingers, as if he expected to feel a difference there where she had kissed him with such fervent passion.

He said, “I'll tell the others, sir.”

Palliser eyed him bleakly. “Yes. Just
tell
them. Explanations may come later. If they do, we shall know we have won. If not, they won't matter.”

Palliser lowered his telescope and said bitterly, “They are better manned than I thought.”

Bolitho shaded his eyes to watch the two schooners, their big fore and aft sails like wings against the bright sky as they tacked slowly to windward of the helpless brig.

The larger of the two vessels, her canvas pock-marked by their canister-shot during the dawn engagement, was a topsail schooner. She touched off a memory and Bolitho said, “I think she was the one I saw leaving harbour when we were at Egmont's house. I recognize her rig.”

“Most probably. Not many of them in these waters.”

Palliser was studying the schooners' methodical approach. One standing well up to windward, the other maneouvring towards the
Rosarios
's larboard bow where she would be best shielded from her remaining guns. They were sturdy six-pounders, and under Little's skilled supervision could still make a mark on anything which ventured too close.