Passage to Mutiny (24 page)

12 THE
W
ORST ENEMY

T
HE
F
RENCH
frigate weighed and put to sea two days after the conference in Raymond's spartan headquarters.

Her departure seemed to restore some of the readily offered hospitality from the islanders, and it was rare not to find some of them on
Tempest'
s deck or alongside in their swift-moving canoes. Bartering, bringing gifts, or merely watching the hands at work on the dwindling list of repairs, it all helped to ease the tension.

The islanders had no cause to fear or dislike the French sailors, and in fact they had had no opportunity of meeting many of them. Only small parties had gone ashore to gather fuel or supplies, each escorted by heavily armed men.

Bolitho had decided that despite or because of their simple standards and judgements the islanders had sensed the oppression aboard the
Narval
as he had done, and not understanding it had rejected it.

Life aboard
Tempest
was hard enough, especially at anchor in a sheltered bay, with the sun seeming to grow hotter each hour to add to the discomfort. But in the dog watches it was rare not to hear the scrape of a shantyman's fiddle or the slap of bare feet as off-watch seamen took part in one of their ritual hornpipes.

From the Frenchman they had heard nothing. Just the chime of a watch-bell, the occasional order being piped between decks. Cowed, humiliated, the ability to seize even the smallest enjoyment had been crushed out of them.

With
Narval
gone from the bay, Bolitho soon discovered that Raymond intended to keep his word on the matter of responsibility. When not being employed aboard,
Tempest'
s specialists, like the carpenter and the cooper, the sailmaker and the boatswain, would be required on the island, using their skills to help with the modest but much needed building programme, both of huts and the blockhouses to defend them.

The surgeon too was more on land than in his sickbay, tending to the wounded and the rarer illnesses amongst the villagers. It was an arrangement which suited Gwyther very well, Bolitho knew, and when he returned to the ship he rarely appeared without some tropical find, a violently coloured plant or some strange-looking fruit.

Captain Prideaux attended to the siting of the new blockhouses, despite the obvious resentment of the two Corps officers.

When they had protested to him he had snapped, “You keep telling me that this or that is not your job. That you should not have been sent here by the Governor of New South Wales anyway, and I am heartily sick of it! In a King's ship you have to be ready to attempt anything, no matter how you may feel about it.”

One of them had replied hotly, “You insult us, sir!”

Prideaux had looked almost happy. “Then I will give satisfaction, to both of you if need be!”

To his disappointment they had retired with some haste.

As he had walked through the village or down along the glistening beach Bolitho had wondered what
Narval
was doing. De Barras had promised to make a long patrol around North Island and on to the next group. To see, and be seen. If he was lucky enough to flush out one or more of Tuke's vessels, he would certainly exploit the victory and press on with his search.

Bolitho had enough to keep him occupied for most hours of every day. In mounting heat, he went about his duties with impassive determination, knowing Raymond was waiting to complain, to criticize, if he lowered his guard.

It was common enough for sea officers to do what he was doing. Even the commander of a modest sloop-of-war or brig was expected to show his King's authority when need be. As Prideaux had hotly remarked,
no matter how you may feel about it!

But he felt vulnerable, knowing she was never far from him and yet rarely able to meet her without Raymond being present. Was Raymond trying to pretend that everything was as before as far as she was concerned? Or was he merely enjoying Bolitho's dismay and want whenever they met?

And although he tried to tell himself he was being too protective, he was worried for her health. She spent some of her time accompanying the surgeon on his rounds, and did not spare herself or share the attitude of the islanders—
when it bears heavy on you, stop work.

Lieutenant Keen was employed in charge of the shore parties, and Bolitho had seen him more than once with a native girl of slender beauty who seemed to regard him as one of the gods. In his turn, Keen watched her with an expression of one completely lost. Bolitho had found himself feeling depressed and envious of their blissful understanding.

By the end of the month Herrick took him on a tour of inspection of the ship, and Bolitho shared some of his well-justified satisfaction. Under the hands of his craftsmen, the cunning uses of wood and tar, paint and hemp,
Tempest
showed little sign of the terrible moment when she had been snared and mauled in Tuke's well-laid trap.

Later he reported as much to Raymond, who for once had little complaint to make, nor did he offer his usual comparison with the efficient de Barras.

Instead he said, “I am uneasy about the brig from England.”

“It is common enough to be delayed, sir. It is a demanding passage around the Horn.”

Raymond did not seem to bear him. “I feel deaf and blind here. I get no messages from Sydney, and nobody brings me the support I need if I am to make anything of this place.”

Bolitho watched him guardedly. So that was it. Raymond was feeling left out, abandoned, as he himself had done more than once over the past years.

He was saying, “I do not want another
Eurotas
incident. Nor do I want another
anything
until I am ready here. It is as I suspected. I am always learning how misguided I have been to trust others. That damned chief, Hardacre's
friend,
for instance. Where is the intelligence he promised, eh? Tuke's head in exchange for my leniency? My
weakness,
he thinks, no doubt! And Hardacre, mooning about his affairs like the mad monk himself!” He sank into a chair and stared at a half-empty wine bottle.

Bolitho said, “I understand that the expected brig is the
Pigeon,
sir?”

“Yes.” He looked at him suspiciously. “What of it?”

“I know her master, or did the last time I heard of her whereabouts. William Tremayne. He comes from my home town. Used to be in one of the Falmouth packets. He'd never allow himself to be hoodwinked by Tuke. When you've been master of a packet, had to sail alone through every sort of sea to the ends of the globe, you must learn to fight off everything to stay alive.”

Raymond shifted uneasily. “I hope you are correct about him.”

“I would like to take my ship and patrol to the sou'-east of the group, sir.”

“No.” Raymond glared at him. “I need your presence here. When I have heard from de Barras, or the brig, I will know what to do. Until then, I will trouble you to continue with your work.”

He said it so vehemently that Bolitho wondered what else was worrying him.

“Suppose, for instance, the King of Spain has
not
withdrawn his claims to possessions and trading facilities, eh? For all we know there might be six Spanish sail-of-the-line sweeping right through these waters!” He shook his head. “
No.
You'll remain at anchor.”

Bolitho left the room. If only there was some way of getting word to Commodore Sayer in Sydney, not that he could do much. It was strange when you thought about it. Three ships, the
Hebrus,
Sayer's elderly sixty-four,
Tempest,
and now the overdue brig
Pigeon.
As unmatched as any vessels could be, and yet each of their senior officers was a Cornishman, and each was known to the other.

As he reached the pier he saw Hardacre striding from his schooner.

“Good. You'd better come, too.” He sounded troubled. Angry. “Tinah has news. Of the pirates and that other bloody madman, de Barras.”

Once more in Raymond's room Hardacre exploded. “Did you know that de Barras has been amongst the islands in the north, acting like Caesar! Canoes have been fired on, and the whole area is smouldering like a tinder-barrel! In God's name, what were you thinking of to leave him the field, to do as he pleases?”

“Control yourself!” Raymond sounded startled nevertheless. “How did you hear of all this?”

“At least I am still trusted by some of them!” His massive chest heaved painfully. “The chief sent word. Tuke's anchorage is at Rutara.” He jerked his head towards the ceiling. “The sacred island.” He looked at Bolitho. “Do you know it?”

“Only from sparse detail.”

“Aye.” Hardacre strode this way and that, his hands clasped as if in prayer. “It is a harsh place, without much water apart from rain pools. Just the sort of hole that a man like Tuke would use for a short while.” He sounded worried. “No native would dare land there.”

Raymond licked his lips. “Well, that is good news, surely, if we can trust on it.”

“Trust?”
Hardacre looked at him with unmasked contempt. “It has cost Tinah several of his men to get it, and will probably turn some of the other islands against him for helping
you.
”

Raymond looked down at the table, his fingers drumming on it, loud in the sudden silence.

“De Barras will anchor off North Island after he has carried out his search. You can send your schooner to him forthwith. I will write a despatch for his immediate attention.”

“She is the only vessel I have here at my disposal!”

“That is not my affair. This is.” Raymond eyed him coldly. “I can commandeer the schooner, you know?”

Hardacre turned to the door. Beaten. “I will see the master. Now.” He slammed the door.

Raymond breathed out very slowly. “Well, Captain. Moments ago we were in the dark. Now, if it is to be believed, the news sounds promising. Very.” He gave a thin smile. “Perhaps it is as well that the role of Tuke's executioner falls to the French. If there are repercussions in high places, we are in a stronger position.”

“I would like to go too, sir. If not instead of, then with de Barras.”

“You think he will be unable to deal with Tuke? Because of your own rough handling, is that it?” His smile broadened. “Really, you disappoint me to show your pique so openly!”

“It is none of those things, sir.” He looked away, seeing the man dangling from
Narval'
s stern, dying as he had watched. “Two ships would be better than one. I respect Tuke's cunning, just as I mistrust de Barras's ability to contain his own brutality. These islands could become a battleground because of him!”

“You had your chance, Captain Bolitho. The objectives are clearer cut now, and I think de Barras will be eager to fulfil my requirements when he reads the despatch I will send to him.”

“More promises?”

Raymond ignored it. “See that you are in readiness to weigh anchor when I need you. The trap is closing around the pirate, but we still have our work to do here. If only that damned brig would come!”

As Bolitho turned to leave Raymond added casually, “The
Eurotas.
What is your, er, report on her?”

Bolitho paused. “She is guarded by her own people, and my boats pull round her after dark.”

“I would have been displeased to hear the contrary.” Raymond tapped the table again. “No, I was referring to her readiness for sea.”

“As ordered.” Bolitho watched him, trying to see through his prim severity. “As ready as my own command.”

“Good. That helps me to plan.”

Bolitho returned to the pier and watched his gig pulling towards him. Raymond's attitude over the transport was a mystery.
Eurotas
had no master, and a depleted company. If Raymond imagined she could be used beyond an extreme emergency he was going to be disappointed.
Unless
. . . He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Unless he intended to transfer his papers and plans on board her and leave the settlement to Hardacre. Could it be he was inwardly afraid of the unseen events?
I feel deaf and blind here.
Sailors were used to relying on their own meagre resources, but perhaps men like Raymond, trained and educated to ways of Parliament and government, could not survive without news and guidance.

Bolitho awoke violently from a heavy sleep, fighting aside his sheet as he tried to discover what had disturbed him. Then he saw a pair of eyes glowing in the gloom like pale lamps, and he remembered that Orlando, the giant Negro, had been given the chance of acting as his servant. It had apparently been Allday's idea soon after Noddall's death, and as he was still going about his new duties, Bolitho assumed his coxswain was satisfied. Although with the amount of cursing and blaspheming he had heard, he might have expected otherwise.