Cross of St George (14 page)

When Adam remained silent, Keen exclaimed, “For God's sake, what should I do?”

Adam touched the hilt of his new hanger, the one he had chosen with such care in the old sword cutler's shop in the Strand.

“Men will die in any case if we fight, sir. But to lose
Reaper
now would be an even greater tragedy.”

Keen seemed to sigh. “Signal
Taciturn
to take station astern of Flag.”

The signal was acknowledged, and Adam watched the leading frigate's sails in momentary confusion as she began to come about as ordered. He could feel both pity and admiration for Keen. He was not going to leave the first encounter to one of his captains. As Richard Bolitho had so often said, here was where the responsibility began and ended, like the flag at the mizzen truck.
Final.

He had forgotten about Midshipman Warren, who was still in the maintop.

“Deck, there!” Then shock, disbelief. “There are prisoners on
Reaper
's deck, sir!” There was a pause. “Women, too!”

Keen said sharply, “D' you still think they're bluffing?”

It was like a nightmare, Adam thought.
Reaper
would suffer the same fate yet again; she would be raked as she had been by the Americans, before she could even get within range.

Urquhart had gone to his station by the mainmast, his sword laid across one shoulder as if he were about to perform a ceremony.

Adam gripped the quarterdeck rail. He did not need to be told what would happen when these long eighteen-pounders, doubleshotted as ordered, thundered out at the oncoming ship.

He knew that some of the gun crews were peering aft at him, and wanted to shout at them.
There is no decision to be made. They must not escape.

He heard de Courcey say, “Two women, sir. The rest look like sailors.” Even he sounded dazed, unable to accept what he saw.

Adam raised his voice. “On the uproll, Mr Urquhart! As you bear!” Urquhart knew what to do: they all did. But they had to be held together, and commanded, no matter what they believed.

“Take in the t'gallants!” High overhead, men moved like monkeys, detached from the tension and apprehension on the deck below.

Adam turned to the sailing-master. “Stand by to bring her up two points, Mr Ritchie. Then we will fire.”

Keen was in the shrouds, oblivious to the spray and risk; he was holding the midshipman's big telescope, his fair hair whipping in the wind.

Like that day at the church in Zennor … Val and Zenoria … He closed his eyes as Keen said harshly, “One of the hostages is David St Clair! His daughter must be with him!”

He thrust the memories aside; this was no place for them. He heard Keen say, “No bluff, then.” He climbed down to the deck and faced him.

Adam said, “Stand by!” He forced himself to look at the oncoming frigate, leaning over to expose her bright copper, her gilded figurehead with the upraised scythe suddenly clear and terrible.

Each gun captain would be staring aft at the solitary figure by the rail, looking to a captain whom they knew only by reputation. But every man knew what he would see when the
Valkyrie
altered course, and the target filled each port. Here, a man cleared his throat; another turned to wipe sweat from his eyes.

Suppose they refuse to fire on men like themselves?

Adam felt anger pound through him. They were not like them.
I must not think of it!

He drew his hanger and raised it shoulder high.

Dear God, what are we doing?

“Alter course, Mr Ritchie!”

He swung round as the uneven roar of cannon fire rolled and echoed across the short, white-tipped waves.

With disbelief he saw
Reaper
's guns recoiling in a broken broadside, in pairs and singly, until at last only one fired from the bow.

There were patches of leaping foam now; the taller waterspouts of the heavier guns churned up the sea's face and faded almost as suddenly. A full broadside, fired into oblivion.

Keen said, “They would not fire on us!” He looked at those nearest him. “Because they knew we would destroy them!”

Adam said, “The bluff failed.” He saw some of the gun crews staring at each other; two seamen even reached across an eighteen-pounder to shake hands. It was no victory, but at least it was not bloody murder, either.

“Signal her to heave-to! Stand by, boarding parties!”

Adam called, “Be ready to fire. We will take nothing for granted!”

He touched his hat to Keen. “I'd like to go across myself, sir.”

Keen gazed past him as something like a great sigh came from the watching seamen and marines.

“She's struck her colours, thank God.”

Ritchie, the old sailingmaster, wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Poor old girl. She's taken all she can, I reckon!”

Adam looked at him. A toughened, unsentimental professional, but in his simple way he had said it all.

Keen said, “Take good care of St Clair and his daughter. The ordeal must have been dreadful for them.”

Adam saw the boats being swayed up and over the larboard gangway: Urquhart had taught them well. The guns would still be able to fire if necessary, without being hampered by their presence.

“I will, sir.” He stared across at the other ship, her sails flapping as she came into the wind. Another minute and it would have ended differently. As it was … He recalled the sailingmaster's words, like an epitaph. For a ship, not for those who had betrayed her.

Keeping in line abreast,
Valkyrie
's boats pulled steadily toward the other frigate. Tension remained high. If
Reaper
's captors decided to resist, they might still be able to make sail and escape, or attempt it.

Adam looked over at the other boats. His captain of marines, Loftus, was very conspicuous in his scarlet tunic, an easy target for any marksman, nor would his own epaulettes have gone unnoticed. He found himself smiling slightly. Gulliver, the sixth lieutenant, glanced quickly at him, perhaps taking comfort in what he saw.

He said, “This will even the score, sir!”

He spoke like a veteran. He was about twenty years old.

“
Reaper,
ahoy! We are coming aboard! Throw down your weapons!”

Adam touched the pistol beneath his coat. This was the moment. Some hothead, a man with nothing to lose, might use it as a last chance. Boat by boat they went alongside, and he was conscious of a strange sense of loneliness with
Valkyrie
hidden by this pitching hull.
No chances.
But would Keen order his flagship to open fire with so many of his own men on board?

It was uncanny. Like a dead ship. They scrambled up and over the gangway, weapons held ready, while from the opposite end of the vessel some of the marines were already swarming onto the forecastle. They had even swung round a swivel, and had trained it on the silent figures lining the gun deck.

His men parted to let their captain through, seeing the ship through different eyes now that she had struck. The guns which had fired blindly into the open water moved restlessly, unloaded and abandoned, rammers and sponges lying where they had been dropped. Adam walked aft to the big double-wheel, where two of his men had taken control. The hostages, released and apparently unharmed, were grouped around the mizzen-mast, while along the gun deck the seamen seemed to have separated into two distinct groups, the mutineers and the American prize crew.

There were two American lieutenants waiting for him.

“Are there any more officers aboard?”

The senior of the two shook his head. “The ship is yours Captain Bolitho.”

Adam concealed his surprise. “Mr Gulliver, take your party and search the ship.” He added sharply as the lieutenant hurried away, “If anyone resists, kill him.”

So they knew who he was. He said, “What were you hoping to do, Lieutenant?”

The tall officer shrugged. “My name is Robert Neill, Captain.
Reaper
is a prize of war. They surrendered.”

“And
you
are a prisoner of war. Your men, also.” He paused. “Captain Loftus, take charge of the others. You know what to do.” To Neill he said, “You offered British seamen a chance to mutiny. In fact, you and your captain incited it.”

The man Neill sighed. “I have nothing to add.”

He watched the two officers hand their swords to a marine. “You will be well treated.” He hesitated, hating the silence, the smell of fear. “As I was.”

Then, with a nod to Loftus, he turned and walked toward the waiting hostages.

One, a silver-haired man with an alert, youthful face, stepped forward, ignoring the raised bayonet of a marine.

“My name is David St Clair.” He reached out his hand. “This is my daughter, Gilia. Your arrival was a miracle, sir. A miracle!”

Adam glanced at the young woman. She was warmly dressed for travel, her eyes steady and defiant, as if this were the ordeal rather than its relief.

He said, “I have little time, Mr St Clair. I am to transfer you to my ship,
Valkyrie,
before it becomes too dark.”

St Clair stared at him. “I know that name!” He held his daughter's arm. “Valentine Keen's ship, you recall it!” But she was observing
Valkyrie
's seamen and marines, as if sensing the friction between them and their prisoners.

Adam said, “His flagship. I am his flag captain.”

St Clair said smoothly, “Of course. He is promoted now.”

Adam said, “How were you taken, sir?”

“We were on passage in the schooner
Crystal,
out of Halifax, bound for the St Lawrence. Admiralty business.” He seemed to become aware of Adam's impatience and continued, “These others are her crew. The woman is the master's wife, who was aboard with him.”

“I was told of your business here, sir. I thought it dangerous, at the time.” He glanced at the girl again. “I was proved right, it seems.”

A boatswain's mate was waiting, trying to catch his eye.

“What is it, Laker?”

The man seemed surprised that his new captain should know his name. “The two Yankee officers, sir …”

“Send them over to the ship. Their own men, too. Lively now!”

His eyes moved to the gangway where one of the guns was still abandoned on its tackles. There was a great stain on the planking, like black tar. It must be blood. Perhaps it marked the place where they had flogged their captain without mercy.

He called, “And run up our colours!” It was a small enough gesture, amid so much shame.

One of the American lieutenants paused with his escort. “Tell me one thing, Captain.
Would
you have fired, hostages or not?”

Adam swung away. “Take them across.”

St Clair's daughter said quietly, “I wondered that myself, Captain.” She was shivering now, despite her warm clothing, the shock and realization of what had happened cutting away her reserve.

St Clair put his arm around her, and said, “The guns were loaded and ready. At the last minute some of the men, her original people, I believe, fired them to show their intentions.”

Adam said, “The American lieutenant, Neill, is probably asking himself the same question that he put to me.” He looked the girl directly in the eyes. “In war, there are few easy choices.”

“Boat's ready, sir!”

“Have you any baggage to be taken across?”

St Clair guided his daughter to the side, where a boatswain's chair had been rigged for her.

“None. There was no time. Afterwards, they destroyed the
Crystal
. There was an explosion of some kind.”

Adam looked around the deserted deck, at his own men, who were waiting to get
Reaper
under way again. They would probably have preferred to send her to the bottom.
And so would I.

He walked to the side, and ensured that the girl was securely seated.

“You will be more comfortable in the flagship, ma'am. We shall be returning to Halifax.”

Some of
Reaper
's original company, urged ungently by Loftus's marines, were already being taken below, to be secured for the remainder of the passage.

She murmured, “What will become of them?”

Adam said curtly, “They will hang.”

She studied him, as if searching his face for something. “Had they fired on your ship we would all be dead, is that not so?” When Adam remained silent, she persisted, “Surely that must be taken into consideration.”

Adam turned suddenly. “That man! Come here!”

The seaman, still wearing a crumpled, red-checkered shirt, came over immediately and knuckled his forehead. “Sir?”

“I know you!”

“Aye, Cap'n Bolitho. I was a maintopman in
Anemone
two years back. You put me ashore when I was took sick o' fever.”

Memory came, and with it the names of the past. “Ramsay, what in
hell's
name happened, man?” He had forgotten the girl, who was listening intently, her father, the others, everything but this one, familiar face. There was no fear in it, but it was the face of a man already condemned, a man who had known the nearness of death in the past, and had accepted it.

“It ain't my place, Cap'n Bolitho. Not with you. That's all over, done with.” He came to a decision, and very deliberately dragged his shirt over his head. Then he said, “No disrespect to you, miss. But for you, I think we would have fired.” Then he turned his back, allowing the fading sunlight to fall across his skin.

Adam said,
“Why?”
He heard the girl give a strangled sob. It must seem far worse to her.

The seaman named Ramsay had been so cruelly flogged that his body was barely human. Some of the torn flesh had not yet healed.

He pulled his shirt on again. “Because he enjoyed it.”

“I am sorry, Ramsay.” He touched his arm impulsively, knowing that Lieutenant Gulliver was watching him with disbelief. “I will do what I can for you.”