Authors: Alexander Kent
The breeze, though light, was steady enough, and had shifted during the night watches to south-westerly.
Dumaresq was on deck as early as anyone, and Bolitho saw the impatience in his thick-set figure as he strode about the deck glancing at the compass or consulting the master's slate by the wheel. He probably saw none of these things, and Bolitho could tell from the way that Palliser and Gulliver gave him a wide berth that they knew the measure of his moods of old.
With Rhodes, Bolitho watched the boatswain detailing his working parties as usual. The fact that a larger man-of-war than their own was trailing astern, and that the little known Fougeaux Island lay somewhere beyond the lee bow made no difference to Mr Timbrell's routine.
Palliser's brusque tones made Bolitho start. “Rig top-chains before all else, Mr Timbrell.”
Some of the seamen looked up at the yards. Palliser did not explain further, nor did he need to for the older hands. The chains would be rigged to sling each yard, as the cordage which normally held them might be shot away in any sort of battle. Then the nets would be spread across the upper deck. The slings and the nets were the only protection to the men below from falling spars and rigging.
Perhaps it was the same aboard the Spaniard, Bolitho thought. Although he had seen little evidence so far. In fact, now that she had caught up, the
San Augustin
seemed content to follow and watch events.
Rhodes turned abruptly and headed for his own part of the ship, hissing quickly, “Lord and master!”
Bolitho swung round and came face to face with the captain. It was unusual to see him away from the quarterdeck or poop, and the seamen working around him seemed to press back as if they too were awed by his presence.
Bolitho touched his hat and waited.
Dumaresq's eyes examined his face slowly, without expression.
Then he said, “Come with me. Bring a glass.” tossing his hat to his coxswain, he added, “A climb will clear the head.”
Bolitho stared as Dumaresq began to haul himself out and on to the shrouds, his broad figure hanging awkwardly as he peered up at the spiralling masthead.
Bolitho hated heights. Of all the things which had encouraged him to work for advancement to lieutenant, he thought it was probably that. No longer needed to swarm aloft with the hands, no ice-cold terror as the wind tried to cut away your grip on frozen ratlines, or throw you out and into the sea far below.
Perhaps Dumaresq was goading him, provoking him, if only to relieve his own tension.
“Come along, Mr Bolitho! You are in stays today!”
Bolitho followed him up the vibrating shrouds, foot by foot, hand over hand. He told himself not to look down, even though he could picture
Destiny
's pale deck tilting away beneath him as the ship drove her shoulder into a steep roller.
Disdaining the lubber's hole, Dumaresq clawed his way out on the futtock shrouds so that his mis-shapen body was hanging almost parallel to the sea below. Then up past the main-top, ignoring some startled marines who were exercising with a swivel gun, and towards the topgallant yard.
Dumaresq's confidence gave Bolitho the will to climb faster than he could recall. What did Dumaresq know about love, or whether he and Aurora could have overcome all the obstacles together?
He barely noticed the height and was already peering up towards the main-royal yard when Dumaresq paused, one foot dangling in space as he observed, “You can get the
feel
of her from here.”
Bolitho clung on with both hands and stared up at him, his eyes watering in the fierce sunlight. Dumaresq spoke with such conviction, and yet with a warmth which was almost akin to love itself.
“Feel her?” Dumaresq seized a stay and tugged it with his fist. “Taut and firm, equal strain on all parts. As she should be. As any good vessel ought to be, properly cared for!” He looked at Bolitho's upturned face. “Head all right?”
Bolitho nodded. In his mixture of resentment and anger he had forgotten about his wound.
“Good. Come on then.”
They reached the cross-trees where a lookout slithered down to make room for his betters.
“Ah.” Dumaresq unslung a telescope, and after wiping the lens with his neckcloth trained it across the starboard bow.
Bolitho followed his example, and then felt a touch of ice at his spine, despite the sun and the wind which hissed through the rigging like sand.
It was like nothing he had ever seen. The island seemed to be made entirely of coral or rock, obscenely stripped bare like something which was no longer alive. In the centre was a ridge, rather like a hill with the top sliced off. But misty in distance, it could have been a giant fortress, and the low island there merely to support it.
He tried to compare it with the sparse details on the chart, and guessed from the bearing that the sheltered lagoon was directly beneath the hill.
Dumaresq said hoarsely, “They're there right enough!”
Bolitho tried again. The place appeared deserted, stamped in time by some terrible natural disaster.
Then he saw something darker than the rest before it was lost in the heat-haze. A mast, or several masts, while the vessels lay hidden by the protective wall of coral.
He looked quickly at Dumaresq and wondered how differently he saw it.
“Little pieces of a puzzle.” Dumaresq did not raise his voice above the murmur of rigging and canvas. “There are Garrick's ships, his little armada. No line of battle, Mr Bolitho, no flagship with the admiral's proud flag to inspire you, but just as deadly.”
Bolitho took another look through his glass. No wonder Garrick had felt so safe. He had known of their arrival at Rio, and even before that at Madeira. And now Garrick had the upper hand. He could either send his vessels out at night or he could stay put like a hermit-crab in a shell.
Again Dumaresq seemed to be speaking to himself. “All the Don cares about is the lost bullion. Garrick can go free as far as he is concerned. Quintana believes that he will excise those carefully selected vessels and what booty remains without firing a shot.”
Bolitho asked, “Perhaps Garrick knows less than we think, sir, and may try to bluff it out?”
Dumaresq looked at him strangely. “I am afraid not. No more bluff now. I tried to explain Garrick's mind to the Spaniard at Basseterre. But he would not listen. Garrick helped the French, and in any future war Spain will need an ally like France. Be certain that Don Carlos Quintana is mindful of that, too.”
“Cap'n, sir!” The lookout beneath sounded anxious. “The Don's makin' more sail!”
Dumaresq said, “Time to go.” He looked at each mast in turn and then at the deck below.
Bolitho found he could do the same without flinching. The foreshortened blue and white figures of the officers and midshipmen on the quarterdeck, the changing patterns of men as they moved around the double line of black cannon.
For those few moments Bolitho shared an understanding with this devious, determined man. She was his ship, every moving part of her, every timber and inch of cordage.
Then Dumaresq said, “The Spaniard may attempt to enter the lagoon before me. It is dangerous folly because the entrance is narrow, the channel unknown. Without hope of surprise he will be depending on his peaceful intentions, with a show of force if that fails.”
He climbed with surprising swiftness down to the deck, and when Bolitho reached the quarterdeck Dumaresq was already speaking with Palliser and the master.
Bolitho heard Palliser say, “The Don is standing inshore, sir.”
Dumaresq was busy with his telescope again. “Then he stands into danger. Signal him to sheer off.”
Bolitho saw the other faces nearby, ones he had come to know so well. In a few moments it might all be decided, and it was Dumaresq's choice.
Palliser shouted, “He ignores us, sir!”
“Very well. Beat to quarters and clear for action.” Dumaresq clasped his hands behind him. “We'll see how he likes
that.
”
Rhodes gripped Bolitho's arm. “He must be mad. He can't fight Garrick and the Dons.”
The marine drummer boys began their staccato beat, and the moment of doubt was past.
13
L
AST CHANCE
“THE DON is shortening sail, sir.”
“We shall do likewise.” Dumaresq stood in the centre of the quarterdeck just forward of the mizzen, like a rock. “Take in the t'gan'sls.”
Bolitho shielded his eyes as he peered up through the tracery of rigging and nets as his own men began to fist and fight the rebellious canvas. In less than an hour the tension had risen like the sun, and now, with
San Augustin
firmly placed on the starboard bow, he could feel it affecting every man who was near him.
Destiny
had the wind-gage, but by overhauling the Spanish captain had placed himself between her and the approaches to the lagoon.
Rhodes strolled aft and joined him between two of the
12
-pounders.
“He's letting the Don get away with it.” He grimaced. “I must say I approve. I don't fancy a one-sided fight unless the odds are in
my
favour.” He glanced quickly at the quarterdeck and then lowered his voice. “What do you make of the lord and master
now?
”
Bolitho shrugged. “I am bounced between contempt and admiration. I despise the way he used me. He must have known Egmont would not betray Garrick's island on his own.”
Rhodes pursed his lips. “So it
was
his wife.” He hesitated. “Are you over it, Dick?”
Bolitho looked across at the
San Augustin,
her streaming pennants and the white ensign of Spain.
Rhodes persisted. “In all this, with the prospect of being blown to gruel because of some stupid event of long ago, you can still fret for the love of a woman?”
Bolitho faced him. “I'll not get over it. If only you could have seen her . . .”
Rhodes smiled sadly. “My God, Dick, I'm wasting my time. When we return to England I'll have to see what I can do to roust you out of it.”
They both turned as a shot reverberated across the water. Then there was a splash as the ball threw up a spindly waterspout in direct line with the Spaniard's bowsprit.
Dumaresq snapped, “God in heaven, the buggers have fired first!”
Several telescopes were trained on the island, but nobody was able to sight the hidden cannon.
Palliser said dourly, “That was a warning. I hope the Don has the sense to heed it. This calls for stealth and agility, not a head-on charge!”
Dumaresq smiled. “Does it indeed? You begin to sound like an admiral, Mr Palliser. I shall have to watch myself!”
Bolitho studied the Spanish ship closely. It was as if nothing had happened. She was still steering for the nearest finger of land where the lagoon began.
A few cormorants arose from the sea when the two ships sailed past, like heraldic birds as they circled watchfully overhead, Bolitho thought.
“Deck there! Smoke above th' hill, sir!”
The telescopes trained round like small artillery.
Bolitho heard Clow, one of the gunner's mates, remark, “That be from a bloody furnace. Them devils is heatin' shot to feed the Dons.”
Bolitho licked his lips. His father had told him often enough about the folly of setting a ship against a sited shore battery. If they used heated shot it would turn any vessel into a pyre unless it was dealt with immediately. Sun-dried timbers, tar, paint and canvas would burn fiercely, while the wind would do the rest.
Something like a sigh transmitted itself along the deck as the
San Augustin
's ports lifted in unison, and then at the blast of a trumpet she ran out her guns. In the far distance they looked like black teeth along her tumblehome. Black and deadly.
The surgeon joined Bolitho by the twelve-pounders, his spectacles glinting in the sun. Out of deference for the men who might soon need his services, he had refrained from wearing his apron.
“I am as nervous as a cat when this is dragging on.”
Bolitho understood. Down on the orlop deck below the water-line, in a place of spiralling lanterns and entrapped smells, all the sounds were distorted.
He said, “I think the Spaniard intends to force the entrance.”
As he spoke the other ship reset her topgallants and tacked very slightly to take advantage of the south-westerly wind. How fine her gingerbread looked in the sun's glare, how majestic were the proud pennants and the scarlet crosses on her courses. She was like something from an old engraving, Bolitho thought.
She made the lean and graceful
Destiny
appear spartan by comparison.
Bolitho walked aft until he stood directly below the quarter-deck rail. He heard Dumaresq say, “Another half-cable, and then we'll see.”
Then Palliser's voice, less certain. “He might just force the entrance, sir. Once inside he could wear ship and rake the anchored vessels, even use them to protect himself from the shore. Without craft, Garrick is a prisoner.”
Dumaresq considered it. “That part is true. I have only heard of one man who successfully walked on water, but we need another sort of miracle today.”
Some of the nine-pounder crews nearby rocked back on their knees, grinning and prodding each other over the captain's humour.
Bolitho marvelled that it could be so easy for Dumaresq. He knew exactly what his men needed to keep them alert and keen. And that was what he gave them, neither more nor a fraction less.
Gulliver said to nobody in particular, “If the Don succeeds, that's a farewell to our prize-money.”
Dumaresq looked at him, his teeth bared in a fierce grin. “God, you are a miserable fellow, Mr Gulliver. How you can find your way about the ocean under such a weight of despair I cannot fathom!”
Midshipman Henderson called, “The Spaniard has passed the point, sir!”
Dumaresq grunted. “You have good eyes.” To Palliser he added, “He is on a lee shore. It will be now or not at all.”
Bolitho found that he was gripping his hands together so tightly that the pain helped to calm him. He saw the reflected flashes from the
San Augustin
's hidden gunports, the great gouts of smoke, and then seconds later came the rumbling crash of her broadside.
Puffs of smoke and dust rose like plumes along the hill-side, and several impressive avalanches of rocks tumbled down towards the water.
Palliser said savagely, “We shall have to come about shortly, sir.”
Bolitho looked up at him. After
Destiny,
Palliser had been hoping for a command. He had made little secret of the fact. But with hundreds of sea officers on the beach and on half-pay, he needed more than an empty commission to carry him through. The
Heloise
could have been a stepping-stone for him. But promotion boards had short memories.
Heloise
lay on the bottom and not in the hands of a prize court.
If Don Carlos Quintana succeeded in vanquishing Garrick's defences, all the glory would go to him. The Admiralty would see too many red faces for Palliser to be remembered as anything but an embarrassment.
There was a solitary bang, and another waterspout shot skywards, well clear of the Spaniard's hull.
Palliser said, “Garrick's strength was a bluff after all. Damn him, the Dons must be laughing their heads off at us. We found their treasure for them and now we're made to watch them take it!”
Bolitho saw the Spaniard's yards swinging slowly and ponderously, her main-course being brailed up as she edged past another spine of coral. To the anchored vessels in the lagoon she would make a fiercesome spectacle when she presented herself.
He heard someone murmur, “They'm puttin' down boats.”
Bolitho saw two boats being swayed out from the
San Augustin
's upper deck and then lowered alongside. It was not smartly done, and as the men tumbled into them and cast off, Bolitho guessed that their captain had no intention of heaving to on a lee shore, with the added threat of a heavy cannon nearby.
Instead of making for the spur of coral or for the island's main foreshore, the boats forged ahead of their massive consort and were soon lost from view.
But not from the masthead lookout, who soon reported that the boats were sounding the channel with lead and line to protect their ship from running aground.
Bolitho found he could ignore Palliser's bitter outbursts, just as he could admire the Spaniard's skill and impudence. Don Carlos had likely fought the British in the past, and this chance of humiliating them was not to be missed.
But when he glanced aft he saw that Dumaresq appeared un-worried, and was watching the other vessel more as a disinterested spectator.
He was waiting.
The thought struck Bolitho like a fist. Dumaresq had been pretending all along. Goading the Spaniard rather than the other way round.
Bulkley saw his expression and said thickly, “Now I think I understand.”
The Spaniard fired again to starboard, the smoke gushing downwind in an unbroken bank. More fragments and dust spewed away from the fall of shot, but no terrified figures broke from cover, nor did any gun fire back at the brightly flagged vessel.
Dumaresq snapped, “Let her fall off two points to starboard.”
“Man the lee braces!”
The yards squeaked to the weight of men at the braces, and leaning very slightly
Destiny
pointed her jib-boom towards the flat-topped hill.
Bolitho waited for his own men to return to their stations. He must be mistaken after all. Dumaresq was probably changing tack in readiness to come about and make a circular turn until they were back on their original approach.
At that moment he heard a double explosion, like a rock smashing through the side of a building. As he ran to the side and peered across the water he saw something leap in the air ahead of the Spanish ship and then drop from view just as quickly.
The masthead yelled, “One o' th' boats, sir! Shot clean in 'alf!”
Before the men on deck could recover from their surprise the whole hill-top erupted with a line of bright flashes. There must have been seven or eight of them.
Bolitho saw the water leap and boil around the Spaniard's counter and a jagged hole appear in a braced topsail.
Without a telescope it looked dangerous enough, but he heard Palliser shout, “That sail's smouldering! Heated shot!”
The other balls had fallen on the ship's hidden side, and Bolitho saw the flash of sunlight on a glass as one of her officers ran to peer at the hill-top battery.
Then, as the
San Augustin
fired again, the carefully sited battery replied. Against the Spaniard's heavy broadside, the returned fire was made at will, each shot individually laid and aimed.
Smoke spurted from the ship's upper deck, and Bolitho saw objects being flung outboard and more smoke from her poop as flames took hold.
Dumaresq was saying, “Waited until she had passed the point of reason, Mr Palliser. Garrick is not such a fool that he wants his channel blocked by a sunken ship!” He thrust out his arm, pointing at the smoke as the vessel's foretopgallant mast and yard plunged down into the water. “Look well. That is where
Destiny
would have been if I had yielded to temptation!”
The Spaniard's firing was becoming haphazard and wild, and the shots were smashing harmlessly into solid rock or ricocheting across the water like flying fish.
From
Destiny
's decks it appeared as if the
San Augustin
was embedded in coral as she drove slowly into the lagoon, the hull trailing smoke, her canvas already pitted with holes.
Palliser said, “Why doesn't he come about?”
All his anger for the Spaniards had gone. Instead he was barely able to hide his anxiety for the stricken ship. She had looked so proud and majestic. Now, marked down by the relentless bombardment, she was heading into helpless submission.
Bolitho turned as he heard the surgeon murmur, “A sight I'll not forget. Ever.” He removed his glasses and polished them fiercely. “Like something I was once made to learn.”
“Far away where sky met sea
A majestic figure grew
Pushed along by royal decree
Her aggressive pennants flew.”
He smiled sadly. “Now it sounds like an epitaph.”
A rumbling explosion echoed against
Destiny
's hull, and they saw black smoke drifting above the lagoon and blotting out the anchored vessels completely.
Dumaresq said calmly, “She'll strike.” He ignored Palliser's protest. “Her captain has no choice, don't you see that?” He looked along his own ship and saw Bolitho watching him. “What would you do? Strike your colours or have your people burn?”
Bolitho heard more explosions, either from the battery or from within the Spaniard's hull. Like Bulkley, he found it hard to believe. A great ship, beautiful in her arrogance, and now this. He thought of it happening here, to his own ship and companions. Danger they could face, it was part of their calling. But to be changed in the twinkling of an eye from a disciplined company to a rabble, hemmed in by renegades and pirates who would kill a man for the price of a drink, was a nightmare.