Success to the Brave (4 page)

He glanced at Bolitho as he sat on the bench seat by the stern windows, his black hair ruffling in the wind across the quarter.

Bolitho looked calm enough. The sudden squall had passed.

“I was wondering, sir . . .”

Bolitho turned, only half aware he was no longer alone.

“What about?”

“Well, I mean, sir, if
you
was the governor of this island we're about to toss away to the mounseers, what would you do?”

Bolitho got to his feet and strode to the wine cabinet where he poured two glasses of brandy.

He handed one to the astonished Allday and replied, “Thank you. You have put your finger on it.” The brandy burned his lips, “
Do,
Allday? I'd stand and fight. And so probably will he.”

Allday breathed out slowly. He did not quite understand what he had done, but it was good to see the frown gone from Bolitho's features.

Bolitho eyed him warmly. “You should have been in Parliament, Allday.”

Allday put down his empty glass. He had never seen him in quite this mood before,

“I'm too honest, sir.”

Bolitho laughed and turned to watch the patterns and colours twisting in the ship's wake.

There would be no easy solution for San Felipe.

Maybe that was why Sheaffe needed his “man of action.”

And it had taken Allday to discover it.

“Hands at quarters, sir, ship cleared for action.”

Keen's voice came out of the gloom and Bolitho could barely distinguish him from the other dark figures at the quarterdeck rail.

The
Achates
' previous captain and Keen's regular drills had made their mark, he thought. All hands had been roused early and had a hot meal before the galley fire had been doused and the ship prepared for battle.

There was little impression of danger or anxiety, however. It was peacetime, so why should they worry?

Bolitho said, “That was quietly done.”

He shivered as the cold, damp wind whipped over the deck. In an hour or so the sunlight would raise steam from the planks and melt the tarred seams like toffee.

“Steady on west by north, sir.”

Bolitho nodded. There was Knocker's voice, the sailing-master. At the helm and compass he was king. He was a man who rarely smiled. Thin and gaunt with a priest's face, Bolitho thought. But his chartwork and his grip over the ship's daily progress was as good as any master he had ever known.

Some of the gun crews around the quarterdeck were whispering and nudging each other. Anything which broke the regular routine was welcome. What did it matter if their admiral was mad enough to clear for action because of some stupid stranger?

Another voice said, “Dawn coming up, sir.”

The lieutenant who had spoken sounded awed by the occasion.

Bolitho turned to look astern and saw the horizon begin to betray the division between sea and sky. How many hundreds of dawns must he have watched, he wondered? And how many had he thought might be his last?

Someone remarked, “The bugger might have slipped us during the night.”

The sergeant of marines tapped his hand-pike on the damp planking and muttered, “Easy, lads. Stow the chat!”

The crossbelts of the marines who lined the poop nettings were already brighter, and when Bolitho looked up to the main-mast truck he saw it was touched with pale gold, like the tip of a lance.

The lookouts in the crosstrees or crouched in the swaying tops would see the other ship first. If she was still there.

All night long Keen had worked his ship upwind, a slow, wearying task with the yards so often close-hauled that they seemed to reach above the deck in a single barrier of spars and canvas.

All they had said of
Achates
was true. She handled well, and responded to sail and rudder like a thoroughbred.

Bolitho listened to the sluice of water below the lee side, the occasional creak of gun tackles as they took the strain.

The light seemed to spill down from the horizon like a separate layer, as if it was in pursuit of the ship which lay over to the wind just out of reach.

“
There she is!
Fine on the lee bow!”

Everyone was talking at once, and Bolitho saw Keen's teeth, very white in a grin, as he nodded to the sailing-master.

They had done even better than expected. Had taken, and could now hold the wind-gage if it came to a chase.

Bolitho stared at the distant shadow as the other vessel took on shape and substance against the dark water.

Keen closed his telescope with a snap. “Bigger than a fifth-rate, Mr Pas—, er Bolitho.”

Several of those nearby chuckled, and Bolitho was glad Adam was here with him.

He heard his nephew say, “I agree, sir. A cut down two-decker seems more likely.”

Keen crossed to Bolitho's side. “What orders, sir?”

“Wait a while longer. He has not sighted us yet. But when he does, tell him to identify himself.”

It seemed incredible that
Achates
had got so near and yet remained unseen. The other ship lay less than a cable now across the larboard bow, and they could see the white tail of her wash beneath the counter. Even the din of
Achates
' canvas and drumming stays and shrouds seemed loud enough to wake the dead, but Bolitho knew from experience it was an illusion.

Suddenly above the noise of sea and wind Bolitho heard a shrill whistle. He could picture it exactly. A sleepy lookout, who had most likely been ordered to seek out
Achates
as soon as it was daylight, the watch on deck thinking of little but being relieved and getting something warm to eat and drink. It was all normal enough.

Quantock said sharply, “She's setting her t'gan's'ls!”

Keen said, “They're making a run for it, sir. So they
are
up to something.”

Bolitho felt a chill run through his body as if it was the first time. Elation, excitement or madness, who could say?

“As soon as it is light enough, make your signal. Until then hold him on the larboard bow.”

Keen nodded. The excitement was infectious. With him it had always been the same even as a midshipman a million years ago in another ocean.

“Hands aloft, Mr Quantock, if you please. We must make more sail.”

Calls trilled and the seamen swarmed up the ratlines on either side, their bodies and limbs glowing suddenly as they climbed higher and the pale sunlight discovered them.

“Bring her up a point. Hands to the braces there!”

Spray burst over the beak-head and bowsprit and spattered across the forecastle like tropical rain.

The other ship had also set more canvas and appeared to be drawing away.

Bolitho felt the deck quiver as
Achates
lifted and smashed down into a shallow trough. He could sense the rising power of the extra sails, and watched the huge main course spread and thunder out to the wind as the seamen freed it from its yard.

Bolitho climbed on to a gun-truck and steadied his glass on the leading ship. The light was strengthening rapidly and already he could see the gilded gingerbread around the other vessel's poop and quarter gallery, the pale sunlight reflecting in her stern windows as if she had taken fire.

Keen said, “Not a Frenchie.”

Someone else suggested, “Dutch maybe.”

They were all wrong. Bolitho had seen ships very similar to this one and could be pretty certain which yard had laid down her keel.

He said, “Spanish. I've crossed swords with her like before.”

Nobody spoke and Bolitho hid a smile. Right or wrong, you never argued with an admiral, no matter how junior.

Keen nodded. “I agree with the flag-lieutenant, sir. She's too large for a frigate. She's well armed by the look of her, fifty guns at least, by my reckoning.”

“Signal her to shorten sail.”

Bolitho sensed the sudden indifference of the men near him. The game was over before it had begun.

Flags soared up the yards and broke into the wind. Above the other ship's deck nothing appeared, not even an acknowledgement.

“She's falling off a mite, sir.”

Bolitho trained his glass again. He thought he saw the sun glint on a telescope near one of her poop lanterns.
Achates
' change of station during the night must have surprised them if nothing else.

Keen called, “Follow her round. Alter course to west by south.” He glanced at Bolitho's impassive features.

Bolitho said, “Keep the signal hoisted.”

Both vessels were in line now, as if the other one was towing
Achates
on an invisible cable.

Keen strode this way and that as he tried to estimate the stranger's next move. If he fell off to leeward
Achates
would hold the advantage. If she tried to claw upwind with so close a chase she would lose ground and precious time and
Achates
could drive alongside if so ordered.

The lieutenant of the after-guard lowered his glass.

“She does not acknowledge, sir. Even the Dons should know our signals by now!”

Quantock shouted, “Take those men's names, Master-at-Arms!” He gestured angrily with his speaking-trumpet towards an eighteen-pounder's crew who had left their positions to peer at the other ship. “God damn it, what are they thinking of!”

Keen was saying, “If the wind holds I'll get the stuns'ls on her . . .”

Bolitho wiped his eye and raised the glass yet again.
Achates
was keeping pace with the other ship, even though the stranger had set her royals in an effort to draw away. But the wind might drop or go altogether. If they could not catch up before nightfall they might never know what she was doing.

It was very strange. He concentrated on the small, silent world within the telescope's lens. She was well painted, as if freshly out of a dockyard like
Achates.
But the broad red band across her counter had no name upon it. She had either put to sea with great haste or wished her identity to remain a secret.

He heard
Achates
' wheel begin to creak as the other ship's rudder moved further to leeward.

He blinked and peered through the glass again. For an instant he thought the light or his eye was playing tricks. On either side of the ship's rudder a gunport had opened, and even as he watched he saw the daylight play across a pair of long stern-chasers.

Quantock exploded, “Hell's teeth, he'd never dare fire on a King's ship!”

The air cringed from a double crash of cannon fire, and as the smoke rolled downwind in a thick cloud Bolitho felt iron smash hard into
Achates
' bows like a giant's fist.

Voices yelled to restore the sudden pandemonium, and faces peered aft to the quarterdeck as if each man was too astonished to move.

Bolitho snapped, “Load and run out, Captain Keen.”

It was sheer stupidity for the other captain to try and mark down a sixty-four. In a moment Keen would stand away and loose off a full broadside. Men would be killed, and for what purpose?

Along
Achates
' side the port lids opened as one, and to the blast of a whistle the eighteen-pounders rolled squeaking down the tilting deck until they showed their muzzles to the sea and sky. On the deck below the main armament of twenty-four-pounders would be just a few feet above the water as it curled along the rounded hull.
Achates
was carrying such a pyramid of sails it was a wonder the sea was not already lapping through the lower ports.

“Bow-chasers!”

Keen had his hands clasped behind his back, and Bolitho could see the force of his grip betrayed by the pale knuckles. What did he see? An unexpected prize, or his own ruin?

Bolitho could hear Allday's heavy breathing behind his shoulder and sensed Adam on his other side. Extensions of himself. Each needing the other in a different way.

The other ship fired again, and Bolitho tried not to flinch as a ball ripped through the main course and the wind tore it into a great flapping slash.

Achates
' gunner had been caught napping. The bow-chasers would probably not even bear on the enemy, Bolitho thought.

Every gun captain along the upper deck had his hand in the air.

Keen said tersely, “Be ready to come about, Mr Knocker! We'll cross his stern and rake him. That'll give him something to ponder on.”

He sounded angry. Hurt that this should happen.

“Lee braces there! Stand by on the quarterdeck!” Quantock's magnified voice seemed to be everywhere.