8
Lifeline
‘This is far enough. We’ll stop while we get
our bearings.’ The lieutenant stood by a fallen tree, the pattern
of his buttons oddly bright in the gloom. Bolitho remembered the
corpses he had seen trapped in the submerged wreckage. A chilling
reminder.
Egmont added tartly,
‘And keep them quiet! They’re like a herd of damned
cattle!’
Bolitho looked at the
sky, the clouds moving steadily but more slowly now, and closer at
this height above the sea, on the crest of the ridge or nearly so.
He wanted to stamp his feet, which were like ice despite the long
tramp over rough ground, uphill for most of the way since they had
hidden the boat. And so quiet, not even the murmur of surf any
more, only wind and the rustle of dead leaves, the clink of metal
or a muttered curse from one of the stooping shadows.
He realised that
Egmont was close beside him, could see the oval of his face, hear
his breathing. Calm enough, giving nothing away.
He said, ‘It will be
steeper on the far side. It leads right down to the bay.’ He was
brushing the front of his coat with one hand as he spoke; a few
dead, dry twigs clung to it. It was like seeing him for the first
time; he had always been so smart, not a thread or clip out of
place. Because he was so new to the rank, or because he still
needed to prove something? So different from the unexpected
outbursts of anger, or the hostility he had displayed in the cabin.
When he had struck Sewell in the face.
‘You told me you’ve
detailed two hands as scouts? Can you vouch for them?’
‘Keveth and Hooker,
sir. When the names were
selected. . . .’
Egmont snapped,
‘Never mind what Tinker Thorne said. What do you think?’
Bolitho pressed his
knuckles against his side to control his irritation.
‘I’d trust them, sir.
Hooker was brought up in the country, and Keveth too, before he
volunteered.’
Egmont might have
been smiling.
‘And he is a fellow Cornishman, I believe? Say no more.’ He
moved to the edge of the rough track, looking back toward the sea.
‘We shall make our way down to the bay shortly. Those two men will
scout ahead. Don’t ask them, Bolitho. Tell them. This may be a waste of time, but it may
not, and I’ll not have any slackness, is that clear?’
Bolitho swung round
as several voices let out a collective gasp of surprise or
dismay.
Just one light had
appeared, moving against the black curtain of sea and sky. Tiny, a
mere pinprick, but after the stealth and scent of danger it seemed
like a beacon.
Egmont said, ‘Hold
your noise!’ He was feeling his pocket, as if for his watch.
‘Hotspur’s riding light. To show others
that we are here upon our lawful occasions, if anyone else is fool
enough to be abroad at this time!’
Someone muttered,
‘The ’ole bloody world’ll know by now!’
Egmont moved away
from the edge. ‘And take that man’s name! Any more insolence and
I’ll see the culprit’s backbones at the gangway when we rejoin
Gorgon!’
Bolitho followed him
along the track. They were on the downward slope, and he thought he
could feel the sea’s nearness, the protection of the little bay he
had seen on the chart. When he glanced back, the tiny light had
vanished, masked by the fold of the ridge. Like having a line
severed, the last link with the small, personal existence they had
come to know. And depend on . . . a sailor’s faith
in his ship.
Egmont was saying,
‘Watch your weapons! Keep them covered!’
Keveth, the keen-eyed
foretopman who had begun life as a poacher, murmured, ‘Ready when
you are, sir.’
The second man,
Hooker, one of Gorgon’s gun captains,
raised his fist.
‘We won’t move too
fast for you, sir!’
Bolitho could see his
teeth in the darkness. As if he was sharing some private joke,
reassuring him of something.
They walked a few
yards and they were completely alone.
Keveth turned and
said softly, ‘Just us, see?’ He drew a
finger across his throat. ‘Anyone else gets this!’
How long, how far,
Bolitho lost count. He heard the sea, a slow and heavy rhythm like
breathing, and the faint ripple of water running over
rocks.
Keveth said, ‘Bill
Hooker’s gone off to smell ’un out. Good lad.’
Bolitho forced each
muscle to relax. Two Cornishmen on this godforsaken piece of coast,
which even now was so hauntingly reminiscent of home. If Keveth
took it into his head to leave him, he could simply melt
away.
‘I bin thinkin’, sir.
When you gets your new ship. . . .’ Keveth was still
beside him.
Bolitho smiled. ‘I
haven’t got one yet.’
‘Ah, but when ee
do. . . .’ He broke off, his hand sliding through
some wet gorse like a snake. ‘Still!’
But it was Hooker,
bent double, grinning when he knew he had found them.
Keveth said, ‘Thought
ee’d swum back to the ship, my son!’
Bolitho had seen the
glint of the dagger before he slipped it back under his
coat.
Hooker took a deep
breath and slumped down on the ground.
‘I seen ’er, sir!’ He nodded, as if to convince
himself as well. ‘I got down to the beach. There was a rift in the
clouds, an’ there she was!’
Keveth exclaimed,
‘Bloody saphead! Some ’un might have seen ee!’
‘Thought they ’ad.
Two of ’em almost trod on me!’ He laughed shakily. ‘Near
thing!’
Bolitho reached over
and gripped his arm. He could feel him shivering.
‘Tell it as it
happened. What you saw, maybe heard. Then we’ll go back and tell
the others.’ He waited, allowing his breathing to slow, and said,
‘You did well. I’ll see that it’s not forgotten.’
Keveth murmured, ‘He
will, too, Bill.’
‘I kept close to them
rocks, just like you said.’ He was looking at his friend, but
speaking to Bolitho. ‘It was as black as a well, an’ then there was
a break in the clouds to the nor’ west – even saw a few early
stars. Then it was gone.’
Bolitho was aware of
Keveth’s irritation.
‘What sort of vessel
is she? Square-rigged, fore and aft? Take your time.’
It was hard to remain
calm, contained, but any sign of impatience or doubt and Hooker’s
recollections would be scattered. He thought of Egmont back there
in the darkness, doubtless fuming with frustration and cursing
Verling for sending him out on this pointless quest. A waste of time. What Hooker had to say now would
change everything.
Hooker said
deliberately, ‘’Tis a brig. I’d swear to that, sir. All canvas
furled an’ snugged down for the night, I’d say. But she’s anchored
so far out, it was ’ard to be sure.’
Keveth nudged
him.
‘Keep goin’, Bill.
You’re doin’ handsome.’
Hooker did not seem
to hear him. He continued in the same unemotional tone, reliving
it. Feeling the menace, alone on the beach.
‘There were two boats
on the sand, another one moored farther out, in the shallows.
Bigger’n the others, one mast, sail-rigged.’ He banged the ground
with his hand. ‘Lee-boards, I’m almost sure.’ Another nod to
himself. ‘Small coaster, I reckon.’
Just the kind of
vessel for a dangerous rendezvous. And there would be hundreds of
such craft around the islands or used for trade along the French
coast.
Hooker continued,
‘They was arguin’, do you see, sir? Shoutin’ some o’ the time. I
thought they was near comin’ to fists or worse.’
Keveth prompted,
almost gently, ‘English?’
Hooker stared at him,
as if it had not occurred to him. ‘Some was. Others could ’ave bin
French. I ain’t sure. But the ones with the coaster was cursin’ the
crew from the brig. Anchored too far out, one was
yellin’.’
Bolitho got to his
feet. That had to be the key. Too far
out. Whatever was being unlawfully traded or moved to
another rendezvous, and was worth cold-blooded murder, had to be
shifted now.
He said, ‘Hazardous
or not, they have no choice.’ He thought of Hotspur’s isolated riding light. Neither did
Verling.
He looked at Keveth,
who was also standing now, his carefully wrapped musket over one
shoulder.
‘I’ll have you
relieved as soon as I can. We’ll go and find the
others.’
Keveth hesitated, as
if some sharp comment was hanging on his tongue. But he said, ‘I’ll
be here, sir. The lieutenant will be wantin’ a boat’s crew, I’m
thinkin’.’ He added firmly, ‘I’d like to keep with you,’ and wiped
his grubby chin with the back of his hand. ‘Sir!’
It was only a short
time before they found the others, but long enough for the truth to
become clear to him.
A boat’s crew was
needed without delay. Verling must have known it even as he was
grappling with each doubt. If he had waited until dawn, the mystery
ship would have sailed, despite the risks in these shoal-ridden
waters. The alternative was the end of a rope.
And the smuggled
cargo which had reached this far?
He recalled Dancer’s
quiet speculation. It was certainly neither rum nor
tea.
Egmont waited for
Bolitho to stride up to him.
‘Well?’
Impatient, anxious,
even excited? For once, he was hiding his emotions.
‘Hooker has had a
quick sighting, sir. A brig, anchored well out.’
Egmont glanced at the
seaman in question.
‘Anything else? Got a
tongue, has he?’
Hooker swallowed
hard.
‘There was men on the
beach, boats as well.’ When Egmont failed to interrupt he continued
in his round country accent, but there was nothing slow-witted
about his observations. Bolitho had watched him at numerous drills
aboard Gorgon, as gun captain of one of
her long eighteen-pounders; his brain was fast enough.
Egmont waited in that
enigmatic silence, and then said, ‘Some were French, you
think?’
Hooker shrugged. ‘I
thought they was, sir.’
Egmont looked at the
sky. ‘Probably locals. They speak a Norman-French patois here. No
better breeding ground for smuggling on the grand scale.’ He broke
off, as if surprised at himself for sharing his opinions. He
regarded Bolitho coldly. ‘If the vessel is anchored far out, and it
seems wise in these waters, that will mean they must begin loading
their contraband straight away. No time to lose. Two boats, you
say?’
Hooker spread his
hands. ‘An’ the coaster.’
Egmont folded and
unfolded his arms. ‘The brig would have one, maybe two more. All
the same. . . .’
Bolitho said, ‘A long
haul, even so.’
Egmont stared past
him, watching or listening to the trees.
‘Wind’s livelier.
They might not have noticed that aboard Hotspur. More sheltered beyond the
point.’
Bolitho said, ‘Mr.
Verling will have given strict orders. . . .’ He got
no further.
‘I know that, damn
it! But he won’t have any idea of the timing needed. I shall deal with that immediately.’ He swung round
and looked at the huddle of dark shapes, crouching on the cold
ground or in the shelter of a few salt-bitten trees. ‘I want a
boat’s crew now. Hooker, you lead the
way. You can tell Mr. Verling what you told me.’ He checked him
with his hand. ‘And make sure you get it right, man! It will be
upon your head!’
Bolitho felt the
anger churning at his guts. No word of praise or thanks, only a
threat of recrimination. He recalled Keveth’s words. I’d like to keep with you. He had already guessed,
known, that Egmont would be returning to Hotspur with a boat’s crew. In the shortest
possible time. It made sense. And
yet. . . .
Egmont was looking at
the sky again. ‘Take charge until you receive further orders.
Observe their movements, but remain out of sight.’ He turned away.
‘Select five hands to stay with you. I shall manage with the other
half of the party.’
Someone muttered,
‘Done, sir. I’ve picked our lads.’
Bolitho forced
himself to concentrate, to blot out the glaring truth. He was being
left behind, with only five of the original landing party. Keveth
had known; so, probably, had Hooker.
The voice at his
elbow was that of Price, the big Welshman who had been the boat’s
leadsman on their passage to the beach. He was known for a rough
and irrepressible sense of humour, not always appreciated by
Tinker, the boatswain’s mate.
‘That’s long enough!’
Egmont was watching the small group of figures breaking up,
separating into two sections, a few grins and remarks here, a quick
pat on a friend’s shoulder there.
Hooker paused for the
merest second by Bolitho.
‘I’ll pass the word
to Mr. Dancer, sir.’ That was all. It was enough.
Egmont’s people were
already moving back beneath the trees at the foot of the ridge. In
two hours he would be in the boat; in three or thereabouts, in
Hotspur’s cabin.
He left without a
backward look. Was that how it had to be?
Will I be expected to behave like that when – if – my
chance comes?
Price was still
beside him. ‘Well, there you are, see. The cream always comes out
on top!’ One of the others even laughed.
Bolitho said, ‘Let’s
find a scrap of cover – I think I felt more rain. This is what
we’ll do.’
For an instant he
believed he had imagined it.
But he had not. He
was in charge. And he was ready.