Enemy in Sight! (27 page)

“What are you suggesting now?” Pelham-Martin again tried to restore his own composure. “A return to Las Mercedes?”

“No, sir. It would take more valuable time, and that we do not have. I believe Lequiller attacked St. Kruis when he first entered the Caribbean knowing he might need an alternative base for his ships. Due to our unexpected arrival and the show of courage by the Dutch defenders it was denied to him. That is why I am sure Lequiller did not come here just to raid and plun- der. Privateers and frigates would have been more useful for such tasks. But you cannot hide a squadron of the line forever.” He shot a quick glance at Farquhar. “How much did you damage the frigate
Thetis?
”

“Foremast and rigging were well hit, as well as considerable damage to her main deck.”

Bolitho nodded. “And one of the ships which escaped from Las Mercedes was also badly crippled aloft. If it was essential for Lequiller to reach here with his squadron intact, it will be equally important for any future operations now that he has lost some of his force to us.”

Again it was Farquhar's quick mind which took up the train of Bolitho's spoken thoughts.

“Then there must be some other base?” He tugged his chin doubtfully. “But we are surrounded by countless islands, it would take a fleet and a century in time to search amongst them.” Then he nodded sharply. “But you are right. An anchorage where the damage can be put right and the last plans prepared.”

Fitzmaurice asked, “Do you know of such a place?”

“Not yet.” Bolitho glanced at Mulder. “But I will give it some thought.”

Pelham-Martin levered himself to his feet and leaned against the back of his chair. “If only my reinforcements would come!” Then he gave a great sigh. “But alas, I should have been warned by my past experiences.” He looked at Bolitho, his face suddenly despairing. “You are my senior captain and I must consider your advice, knowing as I do that it is born of knowledge gained in the King's service. But
I
am in command, and mine is the final decision. We will return to St. Kruis with all haste, and then I will send a sloop with my despatches direct to England.”

Bolitho watched him impassively. It never failed to surprise him how quickly Pelham-Martin could rally and emerge from almost complete despondency. The idea that there was still some possible chance of redeeming his honour before Admiral Cavendish learned of his failure to destroy the enemy seemed to have given him fresh hope and authority. Even now he was look- ing at Farquhar with something approaching his old severity.

“I had intended to reprimand you for straying from your patrol area. However, since your initiative has given us the only piece of information, I must treat you with leniency and place your action on record.”

Farquhar regarded him coldly, his arrogant features set in a faint smile. “When I served under Captain Bolitho as a mid- shipman I had an excellent teacher, sir. I learned then that to try and fight without information is like sending a blind man to war with a musket.”

Bolitho cleared his throat. “Will you return to my ship now, sir?”

Pelham-Martin shook his head. “Later. I must have time to think. Rejoin your commands, gentlemen.”

Outside the cabin the three captains stood in silence while Mulder hurried away to summon their respective boats.

Fitzmaurice spoke first. “When I heard young Farquhar's report I was without hope. I felt as if I had been made foolish, that all I have tried to do with my life had been wasted.” He studied Bolitho searchingly. “But listening to you as you outlined your ideas I felt new strength.” He searched for the right way to express himself. “My first lieutenant, Quince, put it into words when he returned from the swamp. He said that had you been in command of the squadron, Lequiller would never have lost sight of the French coast.”

Farquhar smiled. “Let us hope it not too late to make amends.”

Bolitho watched his barge pulling round from the
Telamon'
s quarter. It was typical of Farquhar to be outspoken when speak- ing with Pelham-Martin, yet refuse to give way to sentiment amongst his fellow captains.

Farquhar need have no fear of Pelham-Martin's influence out- side the Navy. His own father owned half of Hampshire, and he came of a long line of famous sea officers, several of whom had been admirals. But to display any sort of confidence which might later be construed as conspiracy or a failure to support his com- modore to the letter of his orders was as alien to his nature as it was to treat an ordinary seaman as an equal.

Later as he stood on the
Hyperion'
s quarterdeck and watched the
Spartan
clawing ahead of her slower consorts Bolitho found a touch of envy in his heart. There was always something special about a frigate. Fast, independent, and entirely personal, where the face and behaviour of every man aboard became as familiar as the set of her sails. In a ship of the line it was like living over a tightly compressed world where several hundred souls were crammed together at every moment of the day, yet so completely separated by the standards of discipline and station. And now even this remote link with the way of life he loved so dearly seemed to be drawing further away. While he had been outlining his sketchy plan to the others he had been made conscious of the fact, and it troubled him. From obeying other captains to commanding a small ship of his own. From the harsh necessity of seeking an enemy and laying his ship alongside her until victory or destruction, to the need of understanding tactics and how they could affect other ships and outflung squadrons. And as he had spoken his mind aloud he had been very aware of what he was doing. By revealing his innermost ideas, which might later be translated into actual deeds, he had taken one more irrevocable step in his career.

But strategy, as Pelham-Martin and others before him had been made to understand, could determine far more than the death of its planner. It might decide the fate of a cause, the very existence of a nation.

Inch came to his side and touched his hat. “Any order, sir?”

Bolitho was still staring after the
Spartan
as she lifted and ploughed into the uneven ranks of whitecaps.

“I am going to the chartroom.” He hesitated, knowing he was going to take one more step, more personal, but no less vital. “Pass the word for the new master's mate, Selby, and send him down to me,”

Inch shuffled his feet, his face filled with obvious curiosity.

Bolitho looked at him. “See that I am not disturbed.”

In the dark panelled chartroom he leaned his shoulders against the bulkhead in an effort to control the sudden flood of misgiv- ings. The normal shipboard sounds were muffled here, and the distant clank of the pump seemed to keep time with his heart- beats.

There was a tap at the door and he said, “Enter!”

His brother stood on the opposite side of the chart table, his eyes guarded and watchful. “You sent for me, sir?”

Bolitho plucked one corner of the uppermost chart, conscious of the enclosed silence, as if the ship was holding her breath.

He said slowly, “I have need of information.” He kept his tone formal, as if the man opposite was indeed a mere master's mate. “When you served in the Caribbean before.” His tongue lingered on the word. Before. What grief and uncertainty it had caused their father. He added sharply, “When you commanded the pri- vateer
Andiron
you must have made good use of the islands.” He circled the rambling shapes on the chart with his finger. “You had only your resources. You must then have known of inlets and bays where you could rest your men and carry out repairs.”

His brother moved closer, his features suddenly lined and tired beneath the spiralling lantern.

“That was a long while ago.” He nodded. “Yes, I knew of many such anchorages.”

Bolitho walked round the table touching the lockers and the swinging cot, yet noticing none of them.

“You know of Lequiller of course, and what we are doing here. I believe that he will repair his ships which were damaged in battle before he . . .” He broke off, aware that his brother was watching him, his eyes pensive.

“I have heard many things. That Lequiller has seized the trea- sure ship and you intend to try and catch him again.” He shrugged. “News has fast legs on the lower dock, as you know.”

“When you were in Las Mercedes, did you see or hear what was going on there?”

“Not much. We saw the troops drilling, and when the French ships put into the bay there was a great deal of excitement. I knew then that it would mean trouble for us.”

Bolitho could not contain his bitterness. “For
us?
That is a change of heart surely?”

His brother eyed him with tired gravity. “Perhaps. But even in my short stay aboard your ship I have learned to know you again. Like that time in St. Clar when the convicts stood and cheered you.” He grimaced. “There is little difference between a convict and a seaman in a King's ship, and I have heard what they think of you.” He looked down at the chart. “They'd follow you anywhere. Don't ask me why, and do not expect anyone to tell you. It is something which you have, which you give to them.” He gave another shrug. “But no matter. I am saying that I do not think you should throw all away just to save your commodore's good name.”

Bolitho said harshly, “I did not call you here for an opinion on my motives!” He tapped the chart. “Well?”

“There is a suitable place here.” His finger paused. “The Isles of Pascua. Maybe fifty miles nor'-west of St. Kruis.” His eyes shone with professional interest as he stooped over the chart. “Two small islands linked together by several tiny islets and a whole pattern of reefs. A dangerous anchorage, a last resort usu- ally.” He nodded slowly. “The main advantage is that it has a dozen exits between the reefs. With your small squadron you could never control them all.” His lined face twisted in a private smile. “I gave Rodney's frigates the slip many a time there!”

Bolitho studied his lowered head with sudden understanding and near compassion. Hugh was only four years his senior, yet looked old and grey, like his father had been at their last meet- ing. Now he was here, reliving that one period in his life when, right or wrong, he had achieved something.

He asked quietly, “What would
you
do?”

His brother looked up at him, the expression changing from surprise to disbelief. Then he replied, “A frigate could enter through the reefs. A surprise attack would probably make any ships inside the anchorage put to sea by the main channel, where you could be waiting.”

Bolitho studied him gravely. “It needs a man of great experi- ence to take a ship through the reefs, does it not? Someone who knows the exact bearings from every obstacle?”

The other man watched him, his eyes shrewd with under- standing. “It does. It would be madness otherwise. When I used it for the first time I had an old mulatto fisherman as bosun. He knew it well enough and taught me what he had learned the hard way.”

Bolitho straightened his back. “Will you do it?” He saw the guard drop in his brother's eyes and added, “I know it is a great risk. The captain of our only frigate is Charles Farquhar. He might remember you as his captor.”

“I remember
him.
Insolent young puppy!”

“But if all goes well, it could go a long way towards a free pardon, a last chance for you.”

His brother smiled sadly. “It is just as many of your people say. You
never
think of yourself first.” He slapped his hand on the table. “I was not thinking of my own skin for once. Don't you realise that if Farquhar or anyone else knows about me, it would be
your
loss? Hiding a fugitive, compounding an act of treason, why, they would crucify you!”

When Bolitho did not reply he added hotly, “Think of your- self! Stop worrying about your damn commodore, me, and all the rest of them! Just this time, take care of your own self!”

Bolitho looked away. “It's settled then. When we reach St. Kruis I will inform the commodore. We may find nothing at this anchorage of yours. But we shall see.”

His brother stepped back to the door. “There was only one man who ever got the better of
me
in the Caribbean. So perhaps your luck will stand you in good stead a
second
time.”

“Thank you.” But when Bolitho turned his head the chart- room was empty.

14
A
FT, THE MOST HONOUR . . .

A
S HIS
barge came to rest alongside the crude wooden piles of the jetty Bolitho climbed from the sternsheets and then paused to stare back at the bay. Pelham-Martin's squadron had anchored just two hours earlier, but even in that short time a change in the weather was apparent. The sky was hidden by a film of pale cloud which distorted the afternoon sunlight into an angry glare and painted the irregular wavecrests with a harsh bronze hue. When he shaded his eyes to study the ships he noted the way they strained at their cables, as if fearful of the land's nearness.

Boats plied busily back and forth to the ships, while along the coast road and jetty parties of seamen waited to lower freshly filled water casks and hastily gathered fruit before tramping inland again to collect another load.

Inch and Gossett clambered up beside him and stood in the swirling dust clouds which covered their faces and clothing in a matter of seconds.

The master said hoarsely, “Wind's still steady from the nor'- east, sir.” He shook his head. “I'll be 'appier when we puts to sea again.”

Bolitho followed his gaze and saw the waves leaping and breaking across the protective necklace of reefs to the eastern side of the bay.

“I agree.”

He turned and strode along the dusty road towards the blurred outline of the governor's residence. He walked fast, aware of the others hurrying behind him, of the needling urgency in his mind. For twenty-four hours the ships had driven back to St. Kruis under all available sail, and while he had waited fretting and uncertain of the commodore's final decision, Pelham-Martin had gone ashore to see de Block accompanied only by Mulder of the
Telamon.

When the
Hyperion
had dropped anchor Bolitho had seen that the missing sloop was already moored below the headland. Her commander having failed to locate the
Spartan,
to return to St. Kruis was the obvious course to take. But it was time gone. Time which might have been used to send her speeding with all haste to alert other, stronger forces of Lequiller's possible intentions.

Small groups of islanders stood in the doorways of their houses and shacks as they hurried past. There were few smiles or greetings, this time, and most of them seemed to be watching the sea beyond the reef.

In another month the first hurricane would come, and these same people would have more to contend with than the affairs of war. And a war of others' making, for a cause they did not under- stand or share, could only add to their worries and anxieties.

They reached the welcome shelter of the wide stone entrance and Inch asked breathlessly, “Will Mr Selby stay down here, sir?”

Bolitho stopped to face them. When the message had at last arrived on board to say that the commodore required all captains, first lieutenants and sailing masters to report to him at once he had known a decision had been reached. He should have antici- pated that Pelham-Martin would want to meet the one man whom Bolitho had suggested as a pilot to guide the frigate between the reefs, but the summons came as a shock nevertheless.

He was there now, three steps below Inch and Gossett, his face calm and immobile as he waited for Bolitho to reply.

“Yes. He can wait here.” Bolitho added, “He might not be required just yet.”

He saw Fitzmaurice and his two officers hurrying up the road towards him.

“Well, let us not delay any longer.”

As he entered the long room above the waterfront he could feel his palms sweating badly, yet the place was cool after the hot, dusty road. Every moment his brother was confronted by others, the odds of being discovered mounted accordingly.

He nodded vaguely to those already present, only half aware of their greetings or remarks. The commanders of the two sloops were conversing in low tones by the window, and he saw Farquhar with his first lieutenant studying a chart on the table.

A native girl with a loaded tray moved to Bolitho's side. He took a glass and sipped slowly. It was some sort of wine, and as cold as ice.

Inch also took one and smiled shyly at the servant girl who was watching him with unblinking admiration.

Fitzmaurice came into the room banging dust from his coat, his voice suddenly loud in the stillness. He coughed awkwardly and beckoned to the servant who, still smiling at Inch, crossed reluctantly with her tray.

The other door opened and Pelham-Martin walked slowly and heavily to the table. He was accompanied by de Block and Mulder, and the latter looked strained and on edge as he waited for Pelham-Martin to speak.

Bolitho watched him carefully. The commodore's movements were slow and ponderous, but his eyes which fastened now on the commander of the second sloop seemed nervous and agitated.

“Very well, Appleby.” He lifted a fat envelope from his coat pocket. “Here are my despatches. You will take the
Nisus
to sea immediately and hand them to the first senior officer you can.” As he held out the envelope to the sloop's captain, Bolitho saw that it was shaking badly. “A squadron of the Channel Fleet if possible, but if not, then on to Plymouth with all the speed you can muster!”

The officer thrust the envelope inside his coat and turned on his heel. Just for a few brief moments he allowed his eyes to stray across the others around him, as if he was seeing them all for the last time.

Pelham-Martin watched him until he had vanished through the doorway, and Bolitho wondered if even now he was thinking of recalling him, of withdrawing those despatches which might so easily spell his ruin.

“I have called you together, gentlemen.” Pelham-Martin cleared his throat and took a quick swallow of wine. “For a last conference before we sail.”

There was a quick murmur of speculation and he added, “With the little information that we have, I can see no alterna- tive but to accept the plan put forward by Captain Bolitho.” He lowered his eyes and two small droplets of sweat ran down beneath his hair. “It now appears that this plan has more value than first showed itself.” He looked slowly at de Block. “The governor of St. Kruis has informed me of the disappearance of his schooner,
Fauna.
She sailed with supplies to some neighbouring islands and has not returned.” He looked at Bolitho before adding, “One of her calls was at the Isles of Pascua.”

Bolitho said quietly, “I thought they were uninhabited?”

De Block nodded. “There is only a mission and a few fish- ermen. They are due to return here before the storms come again.”

Pelham-Martin said, “Quite so. Now let us continue. There is much to do, and very little time left.”

Bolitho was surprised by the sharpness in his tone. It was as if Pelham-Martin could not act fast enough now that he was committed.

“As soon as this meeting is concluded Captain Farquhar will weigh and proceed to the nor'-west. If he is to make this passage through the reefs it is essential for
Spartan
to be in position by first light tomorrow.” Pelham-Martin looked at Bolitho again. “I will hoist my broad pendant in
Hyperion,
and together with
Hermes
we will beat to the north-east of the islands. That will give us the wind-gage if and when the enemy breaks out.” He glanced at the
Dasher
's captain. “Your sloop will patrol to the south'rd. If the enemy succeeds in escaping you will have to maintain contact as best you can.”

He paused and sipped at his glass. “Questions?”

De Block asked, “You have made no mention of the
Telamon?
”

“That is true.” Pelham-Martin studied the chart as he spoke. “I cannot further order you to take station under my command. With the schooner lost, the
Telamon
is your one link with the outside world. Your only protection against privateers or pirates. With all respect, she is an old ship, and her days in the line of battle are long past.”

Bolitho watched the two men, feeling the tension around him like a wall.

It was difficult to measure Pelham-Martin's true concern. He could still be looking for an excuse, some reason to give in a future defence. Without the
Telamon'
s support, outdated and under- gunned though she was, he might be able to justify any further retreat in the face of heavy odds.

De Block replied softly, “There is no doubt in my mind, or in that of her captain. When you saved St. Kruis from Lequiller all of us here knew we had a debt to repay. And should Lequiller escape and return to his own country, then I think our future is doomed anyway. His country was reborn under a reign of terror. If he escapes to tell how we defied him, who can say what will become of us?”

Then he looked at Bolitho, his eyes suddenly sad. “Kapitein Mulder told me what you said. It seems our two countries will soon be at war again. If it comes, it comes, but I should like one small piece of honour to remember when all this is over.”

Farquhar said, “Then if everything is settled, sir, perhaps I could meet this master's mate?”

His interruption seemed like a splash of cold water, but Bolitho felt it was welcome nevertheless. The sooner it was finished then the quicker they could get back to sea, if only to prolong the deception.

As his brother entered the room Bolitho pressed his spine against the chairback and tried not to watch him as he approached the table.

The commodore said, “I am told you can pilot the
Spartan
through the reefs on the western side of the islands?”

“Aye, sir.”

Farquhar leaned over the chart. “There are few marks, Mr Selby.” For once he was displaying his inner feelings, those of a captain about to entrust his ship, and possibly his career to a man entirely unknown to him.

They all watched as the master's mate traced a course with his finger.

“There's a good channel here, sir. Deep water, but with two difficult ridges of reef. I suggest that you have the boats swung out in case the wind drops. We could warp her through under such circumstances.” He rubbed his chin. “And we shall need two good leadsmen in the chains.” He broke off, aware of Farquhar's searching stare. “Sir?”

Farquhar asked, “Are you sure you have never sailed under me before?”

“Quite certain, sir.”

“I see.” Farquhar still watched him thoughtfully. “Where did you serve to gather such knowledge?”

Bolitho gripped the arms of his chair, feeling the sweat gath- ering on his brow as he waited for Farquhar's expression to change to sudden recognition.

But the reply was calm and assured. “In the old
Pegasus,
sir. We were doing a survey out here some years back.”

Farquhar's frown faded. “Then you did not waste your time, Mr Selby. Have you never considered seeking a commission?”

“I am content, sir.” He bent over the chart again. “You know what they say, sir. Aft the most honour. But forrard the better men!”

For an instant Bolitho thought he had gone too far. Farquhar stepped back as if suddenly conscious of close contact with an inferior, his mouth tightened into a thin line.

Then he shrugged and gave a curt nod. “Do they indeed?”

Pelham-Martin stood up. “Then we are done here, gentle- men.” He paused as if seeking some phrase which they might all remember. “If we find Lequiller see that your people fight bravely and with no thought of defeat.” He lowered his glass to the table and stared at it without recognition. “Return to your ships and recall all boats immediately. If we are to clear the reef and claw to windward of Pascua then we must suffer no further delays.”

Bolitho crossed to the table as the other officers began to file from the room. “That was a wise decision, sir. And if I may say so, a brave one.”

Pelham-Martin looked past him, his eyes opaque. “Damn you, Bolitho!” He did not raise his voice. “If you are mistaken about this place and what we might discover there, no amount of good intentions will save me.” His eyes swivelled round and fixed on Bolitho's face. “Or you either. If, as I very much doubt, you live long enough, you will discover that bravery is not always sufficient. I hope, if that time ever comes, you will be equal to it!”

Bolitho picked up his hat. “Yes, sir.”

As he made his way down the stairway he still retained a pic- ture of Pelham-Martin in his mind, so that his words seemed to follow him like an epitaph.

Perhaps after all Pelham-Martin was more entitled to pity than respect for his authority. Unlike so many others he was des- perately afraid. Not just of dying or making a mistake. But fear of failure and of showing his own uncertainty, and things which Bolitho could only try to imagine. Yet in all his career he must have realised his own weakness, but had seemingly allowed him- self to be carried on and upward by a system he had failed to master and understand.

Earlier or later in his life it might not have mattered so much. But now, at this very moment in time, while the little
Nisus
spread her sails and gathered way from the bay, he could see nothing but complete disgrace, and worse, the scorn of those he had tried for so long to emulate.