Enemy in Sight! (16 page)

He said shortly, “Your Governor has been here a long time, I suppose?”

Mulder nodded, his eyes slitting against the glare as he watched with professional interest the sure-footed topmen work- ing high above the deck.

“Thirty years to be exact. Both as a serving officer and then as Governor. St. Kruis is his home now, as it is for me.” He seemed unwilling to continue the discussion and added briskly, “Now tell me, what do you require?”

Bolitho smiled gravely. It was, after all, better to talk as two captains rather than two subordinates. It was safer, and would cer- tainly be more rewarding at this stage.

De Block may not have realised that the ceremonial guard was not, indeed, intended for his benefit, but it was obvious that he more than understood Pelham-Martin's part in the actual bat- tle. He was shrewd and he was wise, and no stranger to local affairs and strategy. Bolitho hoped that Pelham-Martin was not so foolish that he would underestimate the one-armed Governor of St. Kruis.

An hour after Mulder had departed with his list of require- ments the first boatloads of provisions started to arrive alongside. Like the governor's bargemen, the inhabitants of St. Kruis were a mixture of every race in the Caribbean. Laughing and chattering they swarmed aboard, showing sympathy for the wounded as they were carried in boats to more comfortable quarters ashore, and amusement to the seamen who crowded around them, touching them and using their own versions of language and gesticulation to break down the last barriers of strangeness.

Inch said, “It is like another world, sir.”

Bolitho nodded. He had been thinking the same thing.

The Dutch flag flew above the ancient ship and the town, but the island's inhabitants had seemingly become so interbred over the years, so dependent on their own resources, they would find it hard to bend to another's domination. No matter who it was.

Allday came aft and knuckled his forehead. “Any orders for me, Captain?”

Bolitho stretched his arms and saw the rent in his sleeve left by the musket ball. Was it possible? Could he have been so near to death?

He said, “Take the gig, Allday, and go ashore. Keep your ears and eyes open, understand?”

Allday's features stayed expressionless. “Understood, Captain.” Then he grinned. “I will be on board again in one hour.”

Bolitho thought suddenly of fresh water and a clean shirt on his back. With a nod to Inch he strode aft to the chartroom.

Commodores and governors could discuss high policy, he thought grimly. But the Alldays of this world often reached the bones of the matter in half the time.

For the
Hyperion'
s company the days which followed their arrival at St. Kruis were unlike anything they had ever known. From dawn to dusk the work of repairing damage went on with hardly a pause, but because of the lush surroundings and friendly atmos- phere they still found time to lend their attentions to other, more interesting activities. The memory of the battle, even the scars of it, had all but vanished, and as carpenters and seamen worked above the deck or deep in the hull, others, luckier or craftier, dragged out their time ashore collecting fresh water and fruit, and took every advantage to better their relations with the local women.

At the beginning of the third week the
Indomitable
and the
Hermes
with their two attendant sloops dropped anchor in the bay, and Bolitho wondered just how long it was going to take Pelham-Martin to decide on a definite course of action. So far the commodore had done little, other than send the two frigates on separate patrols to the south-west, but now he had larger ships at his disposal he might at last be prepared to move.

It had been easy for Bolitho to keep his own men busy. There was ample work to do repairing rigging and decks, and with the battle casualties added to the previous shortages he was now lack- ing nearly a sixth of the total complement. But even such severe shortages might not be relied on to keep his men out of trouble. He could not, would not restrict them from going ashore in small parties, but already there had been squabbles, even fights with some of the local menfolk, and the cause was easy to discover.

The dark skinned women with their ready smiles and bold eyes were enough to set any sailor's heart aflame, and mixed with the blazing sunshine and easily obtained rum it was just a mat- ter of time before something serious happened.

And now, with more ships anchored in the bay the local peo- ple's ready welcome might soon give way to resentment and worse.

When he had told the commodore of his fears he had received no satisfaction. Pelham-Martin was no longer living aboard, but had taken full advantage of de Block's offer to set up temporary headquarters in the governor's own residence by the waterfront.

He had merely said, “If you cannot trust your people on shore, Bolitho, then you must keep them from going there!”

On another occasion he had implied that he was awaiting news from Caracas which might give some fresh idea as to where Lequiller had gone.

And that was the strangest part of all. Lequiller's squadron had vanished as if it did not even exist.

When the frigate
Spartan
had returned from Caracas, Bolitho had managed to meet her captain before he had been ordered to his new patrol area. Captain Farquhar had been both resentful and impatient.

“The Spanish Captain-General was polite but little else. He gave me ten minutes' audience and no more, and seemed barely interested in our commodore's greeting.” His lips had twisted into a scornful smile. “He gave me to understand that the English have claimed control of the Caribbean for so long it was
our
duty to prove it.”

Bolitho could well imagine Farquhar's irritation. He had never been noted for his tolerance, and the humiliation of being thus dismissed would not be easy to accept. But if he had been angry, he had not been slow in making full use of his visit. There had been only one ship-of-war at Caracas, and she was obviously being retained as a local escort, probably for one of the Spanish treasure ships. One thing was certain, however. Nobody knew or would say a word about Lequiller's squadron. And yet—Bolitho had consid- ered it countless times—it had to be somewhere, repairing damage as he was, preparing and watching for the next move. But where?

Then, after another week of waiting and fretting, a small armed schooner slipped into the bay and anchored close inshore. She was the
Fauna,
de Block's link with the other Dutch islands, and almost as old as the sixty-gun
Telamon.

Within an hour Bolitho received a summons to report to Pelham-Martin's headquarters, and as the barge pulled away from the
Hyperion'
s side he saw with grim satisfaction that boats were already leaving the other ships and heading for the shore. It must be something urgent for the commodore to call his captains together before lunchtime, he thought. Since taking up residence in de Block's house Pelham-Martin had adopted a grand and remote way of life. If anything he had grown larger in his new surroundings, and when he entertained some of his officers to dinner, which was not often, his capacity for food and wine was a topic of conversation for days afterwards.

Bolitho found him in the low ceilinged room above the water- front seated behind a gilt-edged table which was completely covered with charts and loose papers.

He looked up as Bolitho entered and waved one hand towards a chair. Then he said casually, “News at last, Bolitho.” He seemed to be holding back his excitement with real effort. “De Block has informed me of Lequiller's whereabouts, so now we can act!”

Winstanley and Fitzmaurice came into the room together fol- lowed by Captain Mulder of the
Telamon.

Pelham-Martin waited for them to arrange themselves in chairs and then said, “Lequiller's ships have been found, gentle- men.” He watched their sudden interest and added grandly, “I know that there are some who might have wished to act prema- turely,” he let his eyes rest briefly on Bolitho before continuing, “but as I have always stressed, there is a correct method of bring- ing an enemy to action, a positive way of showing our strength.” He was warming to his theme, and from the expressions of the other two British officers, Bolitho guessed it was a well-known one. Winstanley looked faintly amused, while Fitzmaurice appeared to be attentively bored.

“We are a safeguard of considerable affairs, gentlemen, and it is the deployment and use of our available resources which is far more valuable than any brief devil-may-care skirmish!”

At that moment de Block entered by a small side door, a chart under his arm. He nodded to the commodore and then unrolled the chart across the others on the table.

Pelham-Martin frowned slightly and dabbed his forehead with a silk handkerchief. “As I was
saying,
Lequiller has been found, is that not so?”

De Block was filling a long pipe with tobacco, his single hand doing all the functions like a wiry brown animal.

“It
is
so.” He rapped the chart with the pipe stem. “My schooner spoke with a West Indiaman four days ago. She wished to land one of her officers who was suffering from fever and made to put into here,” the pipe stem paused and the officers around the table craned forward as one, “the port of Las Mercedes on the Spanish Main. But they were refused entry.”

Pelham-Martin said, “Only two hundred miles west of Caracas and yet the Captain-General knew nothing about them!”

De Block eyed him wryly. “Two hundred miles in distance maybe, but in that country it is like ten times that amount.” He sighed. “But no matter, the West Indiaman's master reported see- ing several ships-of-war at anchor.”

Captain Mulder said, “This Lequiller has chosen well. It is a . . .” he groped for the word, “. . . a
barren
place.”

Bolitho was on his feet and leaning over the chart. “I have heard of it. Once the haunt of pirates. A good anchorage, and easy to defend by sea or overland.” He circled the craggy coast- line with his finger. “It has a bay very like we have here, but according to the chart there is a wide river which protects it from any inland assault.”

De Block smiled. “Not a river. Once maybe, but now it is lit- tle more than a swamp. Nobody really knows how far it goes inland, and few have wanted to discover its secrets. It is full of fever and death. No wonder pirates thought themselves safe there.”

Pelham-Martin glared at him. “When you have all finished, gentlemen!” He eased his heavy body to the edge of the chair. “I am not interested in what the pirates did or did not do, nor do I care much for the swamp. The fact is that Lequiller has found shelter and sustenance in Las Mercedes, and Spanish Main or not, I intend to seek him out!”

Captain Fitzmaurice shifted uneasily. “But surely an attack on any Spanish territory would be seen as a hostile act against Spain, sir?”

Winstanley nodded. “We might be doing what Lequiller wishes. It would drive Spain into the French camp quicker than anything.”

Pelham-Martin dabbed his brow with quick, savage thrusts.

“I was coming to that!”

“Perhaps if I could explain?” De Block stepped forward, his pipe still unlit. “The captain of my schooner also said it is rumoured there are English sailors in the prison at Las Mercedes.” He shrugged. “Maybe they are mutineers, or perhaps deserters from some passing ship, it is of no account.” His eyes flashed in the shaded sunlight. “But their presence at Las Mercedes might be used as an excuse for a closer study, eh?”

The commodore eyed him stonily. “I was about to say that, de Block.” He sniffed. “However, as you have put it so well, I think I can state I am in total agreement.”

Bolitho rubbed his chin. In his mind's eye he was seeing the natural harbour, three hundred miles distant from St. Kruis. It was an ideal hiding place, and for a man like Lequiller who knew the area well it would have been a careful choice. It was a for- midable place, but had Lequiller been able to take St. Kruis as well, the situation would have been even worse.

He said slowly, “You could send a sloop to inform the Captain- General at Caracas, sir. He might wish to withhold any treasure ship until we have found and defeated the French squadron.” He looked up, seeing the sudden hostility in Pelham-Martin's eyes.

“Inform
him!
After his damned insolence!” Pelham-Martin was sweating badly. “He's probably hand in glove with the gov- ernor of Las Mercedes. Inform him indeed!” He controlled his anger with effort. “I shall be happy to do so when I can produce this traitorous Spaniard to him in person.”

Bolitho looked at the chart. He could hardly blame Pelham-Martin for wanting to keep all the credit as a final return of insults.

He said, “From my experience, sir, it is not likely that the Captain-General knows about this. The Spanish governors of the various provinces usually keep their own council and are respon- sible only to the Court in Spain. It takes months to get decisions agreed upon, so many of them act alone and share nothing of their problems in case of recriminations at a later date.”