To Glory We Steer

9

 

DEFEAT

 

Bolitho did not actually 'remember hearing the exploding magazine. It was more like a sensation, or the ending of a nightmarish dream when a man awakes even more afraid of the waiting reality. He recalled sitting in the stem of the crowded and half-swamped boat, staring back at the hissing,. writhing water where the transport had made her last dive to the bottom. His eyes ached from the blaze, and were now dulled by the ship's sudden disappearance and the shadow which reached across the high-sided anchorage to hide the pain and terror beneath.

His men were laughing and chattering with relief and excitement, but as Bolitho turned back to search for the treacherous rockfalls at the foot of the cliff the whole world seemed to explode in one gigantic tremor. Rocks rained down into the water, and as the men pulled desperately at the oars one large piece of splintered stone struck the stem like a hammer, and Bolitho staggered to his feet as the sea surged jubilantly into the listing boat.

It seemed as if the bombardment from above would never cease. He saw one man swept underwater by a complete section of cliff even as he tried to scramble up on to the rocks. Belsey, the master's mate, fell cursing into deep water, and when Stockdale heaved him' bodily up on to the rocks he yelled in anguish, 'Me arm! God, me arm's broken!'

Bolitho's dazed thoughts were slowly returning to normal, and as he called encouragement to his half-drowned men his mind rebelled against what he knew to be true. Someone had fired the magazine without waiting for him and his party. He could find only small gratitude for the fact that had his boat returned minutes earlier they would have all been blasted skyward with the magazine and the battery.

He called, `Follow me, lads! We'll climb along the water's edge on these rocks. The tide's dropping, so we should be able to reach the steps well enough.' He groped his way forward, knowing that they would follow. There was no choice. At the far end of the anchorage he could hear the frantic cries and the urgent notes of a trumpet. The French were too busy saving their own to care about the raiding party. But it would not last. Then the vengeance would be swift and ,final.

He staggered to a halt- and blinked through the haze of acrid smoke. In the pale morning light which filtered down the steep ravine he could clearly see the remains of the bridge. There was no point in climbing the steps now. There was no way back to the beach.

A seaman ran dazedly past him and stared open mouthed at the wreckage. `You bastards!' His voice shook with despair. `You damn, cowardly bastards!'

`Silence!' Bolitho pushed the man back with the others. 'No doubt there was a good reason for blowing the bridge this early.' But he saw the look on Stockdale's face and knew that he had seen the lie in his eyes.

Belsey moaned and leaned against Stockdale for support. 'They left us to die! Ran -to save their precious skins!'

,Bolitho held up his hand. 'Quiet!' He cocked his head. 'Listen!'

A seaman said sharply, 'Over there, sir. I heard somethin', too.'

They scrambled over the smoking, splintered timbers until the first seaman fell back with a gasp of horror. Midshipman Farquhar was sitting propped against the ravine's rough wall, his body pinned in position by a great baulk of timber, and lying close by his side was a neatly severed leg.

Farquhar opened his eyes aild croaked, `Thank God, sirl I thought I was going to die alone!' He saw their expressions and managed a painful grin. `It's not my leg, sir! It belongs to our Spanish prisoner!'

Bolitho glanced around him and then up at the brightening sky. `Right. Lift that timber off him, and be very careful!' He knelt beside the midshipman and ran his hands swiftly beneath the massive beam, keeping his eyes on Farquhar's taut features as his fingers probed at his trapped body.

Farquhar said between his teeth, 'Nothing broken it seems!' He lay back and closed his eyes as the beam quivered and began to move. 'I was looking for you, sir. Then I returned to the fnagazine and saw that the fuse was almost burned through!' He sounded near breaking. 'I seized our Spaniard and ran for the bridge, but just as we reached it the whole thing blew up and dropped into the ravine.' He winced. 'And us with it!'

The beam was dragged clear, and Bolitho tightened his jaw as he saw the smashed remains of their prisoner. He asked harshly, 'How did it happen?'

Farquhar allowed himself to be lifted to his feet. Immediately his legs buckled, and Stockdale said gruffly, 'Ere, I'll take the young gentleman, sirl'

Farquhar clung to Stockdale's shoulder and said, `Sorry about all this, sir. I'll be all right in a while.' He remembered Bolitho's question and said vaguely, `I can't understand it, sir. I still can't believe it happened.'

Bolitho pulled the dirk from Farquhar's belt and handed it to one of the seamen. `Here, make a good splint with this for Mr. Belsey's arm. It will suffice until we get back to the Phalarope.'

Belsey watched the men's awkward fingers and groaned. `Watch what yer doin'  You're like a pair of blind whores!'

Bolitho walked slowly along the weed-encrusted stonework. Fourteen men including himself. One with a broken arm, and one already half delirious from a ball in his shoulder. Farquhar looked as if he might fall unconscious, too.

He tried to push the bitterness and suspicion to the back of his mind. That would keep. Right now he had to get these men to safety. No doubt the rest of the raiding party was already embarked in the lugger. He suddenly felt calmer. Whatever else happened, he had succeeded in his work. Two transports destroyed and a valuable sloop with them. And without a battery Mola Island would be useless to the French and their allies for a long while to come.

Stockdale called throatily, `The second longboat, sir! It'll still be tied to the jetty where we left it!'

Bolitho scrambled across the wet stones and stared down at the remaining boat. It was not much of a craft. Patched. and well used, and with only four oars and a mere scrap of canvas furled around the mast for every purpose. But no doubt the garrison had only used it for visiting the ships in harbour.

He said grimly, `Get them aboard, Stockdale. We'll have to make the best of it.'

A ray of yellow sunlight lanced suddenly across the headland and glittered in the deep water. Without effort Bolitho could see the gleaming barrel of one of the battery's cannon almost below the swinging boat. A few feet this way and there would be no way out at all!

`Four of you man the oars! The rest of you take turns in baling and keep a sharp lookout!'

Belsey struggled into a sitting position and peered at his splintered arm. The limb was tightly wrapped in an assortment of rags and strips of clothing, and stuck out in front of him like a club. He shook his head. 'Gawd! If I ever use this flipper agin I'll be surprised!'

`Shove off! Give way together!' Bolitho squatted on the gunwale and pushed the tiller hard over. As the boat moved swiftly with the current he stared up at the blackened crest of the headland and wondered what had happened in those last minutes before Farquhar had been flung to most certain death.

Farquhar moved weakly against the boat's side and snapped, `Pull lively, Robinsonl I'll flay you alive if you don't do your share!'

In spite of his misery Bolitho smiled to himself. Farquhar's experiences had not softened his attitude to duty.

The oars rose and fell steadily, and the boat moved further and further from the jutting headland with its attendant pall of drifting smoke.

A man in the bows spoke Bolitho's thoughts for him, and for once he could find no words to rebuke him. The sailor stared back along the labouring men and snarled, `Gone! Look round, lads! The bloody ship's gone without us!'

Farquhar said bitterly, 'She must have gone around the island, sir. We'll never catch her now.'

'I know.' Bolitho shaded his eyes against the glare and looked thoughtfully at the stumpy mast. 'Get that sail broken out, lads. We'll get clear of Mola Island and make for the nearest friendly one.' His crisp tone hid the doubt and the anger.

Stockdale wiped the wounded seaman's forehead with a wet rag and muttered, 'A miracle would come in 'andy, sir!'

Bolitho stripped off his tattered coat and regarded him calmly. 'I'm afraid that is not my province, Stockdale, but I will bear it in mind.'

He settled against the tiller bar and steered towards the rising sun.

 

Lieutenant Thomas Herrick listened to the bell as it announced the end of the first Dog Watch and then resumed his pacing back and forth across the quarterdeck.

With a warm but fresh breeze from her quarter the Phalarope had made good time back to her patrol area, yet Herrick could find nothing but apprehension and a sense of loss at the speedy passage. He still could not accept what had happened, and felt the same inner anguish he had experienced when the weary raiding party had clambered up the frigate's side.

Even then he had been unwilling to accept that Bolitho was missing. Then he had seen Rennie's grim features and had felt the nervous uncertainty of the other returning sailors and marines. Only Okes had appeared unmoved by the disaster. No, Herrick frowned as he tried to relive exactly the moment Okes had stepped aboard, unmoved was not the proper description. There had -been a sort of guarded jauntiness about him which was totally out of character. Herrick had gone to question him, but Vibart had summoned Okes to the quarterdeck where he had been brooding in silence since the landing party had left for the shore.

Rennie had been unusually reticent. But when Herrick had persisted, the marine had said shortly, 'It was a dangerous mission, Thomas. We must always expect such things to happen!' He had been watching Okes speaking jerkily to the first lieutenant and he had added bitterly, 'I was sent to this ship with my detachment- to reinforce the discipline. To protect the officers from any new threat of mutiny.' His eyes had blazed with sudden anger. 'It now appears that the Phalarope's officers must be protected from each other!' Ren nie had ended, 'I must attend to my wounded. They at least have nothing of which to be ashamed!'

Herrick had then cornered McIntosh, the gunner's mate. The latter had looked nervously at the quarterdeck before replying, 'How can I tell, sir? I just did my duty. Mr. Farquhar was the only one who must have seen what happened.' He had gestured wearily astern. 'And he's back there, dead with the rest!'

'But you think something went wrong, don't you?' Herrick's voice had been harsh.

'You know I can't afford to answer that, Mr. Herrick?' The man had looked back at the wounded and exhausted seamen from the lugger. 'It took a lot of pain and sweat toget where I am now. You know what would happen to me if I made accusations'

Herrick had let him go, his eyes contemptuous, yet knowing in his heart that McIntosh was speaking the truth.

He stiffened as he heard Vibart's heavy step beside him.

'Pipe the hands aft, Mr. Herrick. I will tell them what is to be done.' Vibart looked composed and calm. Only his eyes betrayed a certain glitter which could be either excitement or triumph.

Herrick said, 'Are you sure there is nothing more we can do?'

Vibart stared past him at the ruffled water. 'I told you this morning, Mr. Herrick, just as I voiced my fears to the cap tain. The venture was dangerous and foolhardy. That it was a success is fortunate for all of us. But Bolitho knew the risk he was taking. There is nothing more to be said:

Herrick persisted. `But is Lieutenant Okes sure?

'I am satisfied with his report.' There was a new edge to Vibart's tone. 'So that is enough!' He walked ponderously to the weather rail and sniffed loudly. 'At least we are back in our proper area. Now we can contact the flagship.'

Herrick spoke swiftly to Midshipman Neale and watched him scamper forward. Then he heard the boatswain's mates shouting, 'All hands! All hands! Lay aft!'

As the men poured up from below he crossed to Vibart and said slowly, 'He was a good officer. I still think he could have escaped.'

'Then I will trouble you to keep your opinions to yourself, Mr. Herrick!' The deepset eyes were flecked with anger. `You may have considered yourself one of his favourites, but I will have no such behaviour now.'

He turned away from Herrick's taut features as Quintal, the boatswain, touched his hat and rumbled, 'All present, sir.'

Vibart strode to the quarterdeck rail and stared down at the upturned faces. Herrick stayed by the helmsmen watching Wart closely.

Vibart said, 'We are back on our patrol. We will shortly make contact with the admiral, and I will in due course telll him of our great success!'

Herrick felt himself tremble with anger. So it was a great success now, was it? When Bolitho was alive it had been foolhardy and dangerous, but now that Vibart stood to reap the full credit it was already a different picture.

'I am not satisfied with the recent slackness of discipline aboard, and I intend that this ship will return to a proper state of efficiency as of now!'

Vibart was staring round the assembled crew, his face flushed. Herrick felt sick. He is enjoying it, he thought. He is actually glad Bolitho is deadl

Herrick turned as, Okes stepped through the cabin hatch and walked uncertainly towards him. Herrick took his sleeve and whispered fiercely, `What did you tell Vibart, Matthew? For God's sake, what is the matter with you?'

Okes drew back. 'I told him nothing but the truth! Am I to be blamed for Bolitho's misfortunes?,

'And what of young Farquhar? Did you see him die?

Okes looked away. 'Of course I did. What the devil are you trying to imply?' But there was a shake in his voice, and Her rick was suddenly reminded of Okes' behaviour during the battle with the privateer. His fear, his complete terror. A man could not change overnight.

`I want to know, Matthew. You had better tell me now'

Okes seemed to have recovered himself, and when he looked at Herrick his eyes were opaque and expressionless. 'I told the truth, damn you!' He tried to smile. `But you should not worry too much. You'll be moving up to second lieutenant!'

Herrick stepped back and looked at him with disgust. 'And you will be first, no doubt! And both you and Vibart will be the heroes of the day!'

Okes' face drained of colour. `How dare you! You were not there, so it is easy to be jealous and insulting! Bolitho was only a man!'

`And you are not fit to polish his shoes!' Herrick swung round as Vibart stepped between them.

`I will have no quarrelling aboard my ship, Mr. Herrick. Any more of it and I will make an entry in the log!' He looked hard at Okes. `Come to the cabin. I have a few things to say to you.'

Herrick watched them go, sickened and helpless.

Little Neale asked quietly, `What does it all mean, sir?’

Herrick looked down at him, his face grave. 'It means that we must watch our step in the weeks ahead, my boy. With the captain gone I feel no security here.'

He stiffened as he saw Evans, the purser, hurrying aft, an aggrieved expression on his ferret face. Behind him Thain, the master-at-arms, ushered two frightened-looking seamen, his face leaving Herrick in no doubt as to what would happen next. Floggings, and more floggings. All the old scores kept hidden while Bolitho had been in command would break into the open like festering sores.

He faced Evans and said sharply, `Well? What is it now?'

Evans smiled nervously. `Caught these men red-handed! Stealing rum they were!'

Herrick's heart sank and he called the men forward. 'Is that right? He realised that both seamen had taken part in the raiding party.

One of the men said sullenly, `Aye, sir. The rum was for one of our mates. 'E was wounded. We reckoned it would 'elp 'im.' His companion nodded in agreement.

Herrick took Evans aside. 'It could be true.'

'Of course it is truel' Evans stared at him in amazement.

'But that is hardly the point! Stealing is stealing. There is no excuse, and you know it.' He eyed Herrick with little disguised glee. 'So you had better inform Mr. Vibart.' He drew himself up importantly. 'Or I will, Mr. Herrick!'

`Don't you get stroppy with me, Evans!' Herrick's face was, a mask of fury. 'Or I'll have you broken, believe me!' But it was only anger. There was nothing else he could do but inform Vibart.

He handed over the watch to Neale and went wearily below. The sentry opened the cabin door for him before he had reached it, and Herrick guessed that the marine had correctly foreseen his surprise. Vibart had moved into Bolitho's quarters already. It only added to Herrick's sense of nightmarish unreality.

Vibart looked up from the desk and stared at him.

`Two men for punishment.' Herrick saw Okes leaning against the stern windows, his face lost in thought.

Vibart leaned back in the chair. `Say “sir” when you address me, Mr. Herrick.' He frowned. 'I can't imagine why you make such a point of worsening your positon?' He continued coldly, `Make a report in the log, Mr. Herrick. Punishment at eight bells tomorrow morning. Two dozen lashes apiece.'

Herrick swallowed. `But I have not told you their offence yet, sir!'

'No need.' Vibart gestured towards the open skylight. 'I happened to overhear your nonsensical conversation with Mr. Evans just now. And I must warn you I do not approve of your apparent wish to toady with men who lie and steal!'

Herrick felt the cabin closing in around him. 'Is that all?' He swallowed again. `Sir?'

`For the present.' Vibart looked almost relaxed. 'We will alter course to the south'rd in one hour. Try and make sure that the men do not slacken off during your watch.'

'Aye, aye, sir.' Herrick contracted his stomach muscles into a tight knot.

Outside the cabin he turned momentarily and looked back. The door was shut again and the marine sentry stared blankly in front of him beneath the swinging lantern. It was just as if Pomfret had returned and now sat back there in the big cabin. Herrick shook his head and mounted the ladder to the quarterdeck. It was all moving so much to a pattern again that he found himself wondering if Pomfret had been the controlling influence which had made the Phalarope into a living hell!

When he returned to the deck he saw that the sun had already moved closer to the horizon. The sea was empty, a great desert of silver and purple hues, with an horizon like a knife edge.

Out here a ship's captain was God indeed, he thought bitterly. Only under Bolitho had he felt the meaning of purpose and understanding, and after Pomfret it had seemed like a new chance of life.

He looked aft to the taffrail as if expecting to see Bolitho's tall shape watching the trim of the sails or just waiting for the sun to reach the horizon. Herrick had never disturbed Bolitho at those moments, but had drawn on each occasion to better his own understanding of the man. In his mind's eye he could still see the strong profile, the firm mouth which could be amused and sad almost at the same instant. It did not seem possible that such a man could be wiped out like something from a slate.

He resumed his slow pacing, his chin low on his chest. In this world, he thought, you could never depend on anything.

 

To the tired men in the longboat the night seemed cold and cheerless, and even those who had cursed the blazing sunlight and bemoaned their urgent thirst found no comfort from the darkness.

Bolitho groped his way aft to where Farquhar was sitting beside the tiller. With Stockdale's assistance. he had just dropped a dead seaman over the side while the other men had watched in silence. The sailor in question had been spared the worst of his wound and the suffering of pain and thirst by remaining almost unconscious from the moment he had been shot down by the sloop's deck watch. The longboat was moving so slowly under her small sail that it seemed to take an age for the corpse to bob astern. There was not even an anchor to weight the man's body. In fact there was not much of anything. Just a cask of rancid water and little more than a day's ration of a cup per man.

Bolitho sank into the sternsheets and stared up at the glittering ceiling of stars. `Keep her due south if you can.' He felt dry and aching with fatigue. 'I wish we could get a bit more wind in this wretched sail.'

Farquhar said, 'I think the boat would sink, sir! It feels rotten and worm-eaten!'

Bolitho eased his legs and thought back over the long, slow passage of time. If that was only the first day, he pondered, what would happen in the next? And the next after that?

The men were quiet enough, but that Too could be dangerous. The first relief at escaping from the French could soon give way to mistrust and recriminations. The misery of being a prisoner of war might soon appear comfort itself compared with a living death without food or water.

Farquhar said absently, 'In Hampshire there will be snow on the hills now, I expect. All the sheep will be brought down to their feed, and the farm workers will be drinking good ale by their firesides.' He licked his lips. 'A few will be thinking of us maybe.'

Bolitho nodded, feeling his eyelids droop. 'A few.' He thought of his father in the big house and the row of watchful portraits. After this there would be no heir to carry on the family's name, he thought dully. Maybe some rich merchant would buy the house when his father died, and would find time to wonder at the portraits and the other relics of deeds and men soon forgotten. He said, 'I am going -to try and sleep for an hour. Call me if you need anything.'

He closed his eyes and did not even hear Farquhar's reply.

Then he was aware of his arm being tugged and of the boat swaying and rolling as the listless seamen came to life and crowded excitedly in the bows. For a moment longer he imagined that he was dreaming. Then he heard Farquhar shout, 'Look sir! She came to look for us after all!'

Bolitho staggered to his feet, his sore eyes. probing over the heads of his men as he tried to pierce the darkness. Then he saw .it. It was more an absence of familiar stars than an actual outline, but as he stared he began to see the contours of something darker and sharper. A ship.

He snapped, 'Make a light, Stockdale! Fire some of those rags!'

The sliver of moon struck silver from the distant sails, and against the night's dark backcloth Bolitho could see the darker tracery of raked masts and rigging. It was a frigate right enough.

The makeshift flare sizzled and then burst into flames, so that once more the eyes were blinded and limited to the small confines of the boat. Some men were cheering, others merely hugged each other and grinned like children.

'Now we shall get an answer to the mystery, Mr. Farquhar.' Bolitho pushed the tiller over as the ship changed shape and moved silently above them. He could hear the creak of yards, the sudden flurry of canvas as the frigate started to back her sails and heave to. He thought he heard a distant hail and the sound of running feet.

He said, 'Lower the sail, Stoekdale! You men forrard, get ready to catch a line!' But nobody needed any encouragement

from him.

The bowsprit swung dizzily barely feet away, and as Stockdale lit another crude flare Bolitho felt the grip of ice around his heart. The frigate's figurehead danced and flickered in the light as if it was- alive. A gilt-painted- demon wielding a pair of furnace irons like weapons of war.

Stockdale threw the flare into the water and turned to, stare at Bolitho. `Did you see, sir? Did you see?'

Bolitho let his arm go limp. 'Yes, Stockdale. It is the Andiron!'

The cheers and jubilation in the longboat died as suddenly as the flare, and the men stood or sat like stricken beings as lanterns shone down from the frigate's deck and a grapnel bit into the boat's gunwale.

His men stood aside to let Bolitho pass as he made his way to the bows and reached out for the dangling ladder which bad suddenly appeared. He was still too fatigued and too stunned by the change of events to mark a clear sequence of what was happening. His mind would only record brief, unreal images, magnified and distorted by patches of light from the circle of lanterns. Glittering bayonets, and pressing, curious faces.

As he stepped into the lamplight he heard a mixture of gasps and comments. An Irish voice called, 'It's an English officer!' Another with a twangy colonial accent broke in. 'Hell it is! It's a captain!'

One by one the Phalarope's men climbed up the side and were pushed into line against the ship's gangway. An officer in a dark coat and cocked hat pushed through the packed crowd and regarded Bolitho with amusement.

'Welcome aboard, Cap'n! A real pleasure!' He turned and shouted, 'Put the men under guard and drop a round shot through that coffin of a boat!' To a massive Negro he added, 'Separate any officers amongst them and take 'em aft!' Then to Bolitho he made a mock bow. 'Now if you will come with me, I am sure the captain will be glad to make your acquaintance.'

Even in the uncertain light of the lanterns Bolitho was able to distinguish the old, familiar details of the privateer's maindeck. He recalled with sudden clarity the last time he had visited the ship to see his friend Captain Masterman, a grave but friendly officer, who unlike many of his contemporaries had always been willing to share his knowledge and experience, and pleased to answer Bolitho's constant stream of questions.

The memory helped to drive back some of the gnawing despair, so that he automatically straightened his shoulders and was able to feel some bitter satisfaction at the scars and crudely repaired damage left from the Phalarope's broadsides. The Andiron's captain must have been heading for Mola Island to complete the repairs, he thought. Maybe the captured lugger's contents of spars and canvas had been earmarked for the Andiron alone.

He ducked his head as the officer led the way below the wide quarterdeck. At each step of the way he saw curious groups of the frigate's crew as they gathered to watch him pass. They were a mixed crew sure enough, he decided. Some were openly hostile and called insultingly as he strode by.

Others dropped their eyes or hid their faces, and Bolitho guessed that they were probably English deserters, some even members of the Andiron's original crew. There were Negroes and olive-skinned Mexicans. Loud-mouthed Irishmen and dark faced sailors who must have breathed their first breaths by the Mediterranean. But it was obviously a close-knit company, if only because of their mutual danger and the hazards of their chosen trade.

The officer opened a heavy door and stood aside to let Bolitho enter a small, sparsely furnished cabin.

`You can wait here. We have to get under way now, but I guess the captain'll want to see you soon.' He held out his hand. 'I'll take the sword.' He saw Bolitho's look of resentment and added, 'And in case you start getting ideas of glory, there is a guard right outside the door.' He took the sword and turned it over in his hands. 'A pretty ancient blade for an English captain?' He grinned. 'But then I imagine things are getting a bit difficult for you all round?'

Bolitho ignored him. The officer was goading hirn. There was, no point in pleading or asking favours. He watched the lamplight cihining dully on his father's sword and then deliberately turned his back.

He was a prisoner. He must save his energy for later. The door slammed and he heard the officer's feet moving away.

i Wearily Bolitho slumped down on a sea chest and stared at the deck. Farquhar and Belsey would be kept apart like himself. No doubt the Andiron's commander would wish to question each one separately. As he himself would have done. It was strange to realise• that it was only two days since he had been questioning the terrified Spaniard aboard his own ship. And in the following period so much had happened that it was almost impossible to trace the pattern of time and events.

One thing was sure. He had lost his ship, and for him the future was an empty ruin.

The stuffy air in the cabin aided by the heavy fatigue in his body eventually took effect. As the deck canted slightly and the ship once more gathered way, Richard Bolitho leaned back against the cabin bulkhead and fell instantly asleep.

He was awakened by someone shaking his arm, and for a few more moments he found himself hoping it was all part of a terrible dream. Perhaps he could go back and take up reality again, even in the cramped uncertainty of the longboat. But it was the same officer who had escorted him to the cabin, and as Bolitho sat up on the chest he said, 'I thought you were dead!'

Bolitho realised with a further start that there was daylight in the passage outside the door, and as his mind accepted the reality of his position he heard the busy sounds of holystones and the sluice of water across the upperdeck.

-'What time is it?'

The officer shrugged. 'Seven bells. You've been asleep for nearly seven hours at that!' He beckoned to a seaman in the passageway. 'There is some water for shaving and a razor.' He eyed Bolitho coldly. 'My man here will stay with you to make sure you don't cut your throat!'

'You are very considerate.' Bolitho took the bowl of hot water and ignored the seaman's look of fascinated interest. 'I would hate to die and miss seeing you hang, Lieutenant!'

The officer grinned calmly. 'You sure are a little firebrand, I'll say that for you.' He spoke sharply to the seaman. 'Just watch him, Jorgens! One false move and I'll expect you to deal with him, got it?'

The door slammed and the sailor said, 'The cap'n wants to see you when you's ready.' He licked his lips. 'He's havin' your breakfast got ready.' He sounded amazed at such treatmenf.

Bolitho continued with his shaving, but his mind was as busy as his razor. Perhaps it would be better to do as the officer had implied, he thought bitterly. One slash with the razor and his captors would be left with neither a ready victim nor a possible source of information.

He remembered Herrick's face when he had told him, 'Information. Out here the lack of it could lose a war.' Now his own words were coming back to mock him.

Then he thought of Farquhar and the others, and the look on Stockdale's battered face when the privateer's men had pulled them apart. It had been an expression of trust and quiet confidence. At that terrible moment it had done more to hold back Bolitho's final despair than any words or deeds imaginable.

He wiped the razor and laid it on the chest. No, there was more to living than a man's own private hopes, he decided.

He pulled his torn uniform into shape and brushed the dark hair back from his forehead. 'I'm ready,' he said coolly. `Perhaps you will lead the way?'

He followed the seaman along the passageway, and in the filtered daylight he saw more evidence of the brief battle. Smashed timbers shored up with makeshift beams, and telltale red blotches which so far had defied weeks of scrubbing.

An armed sailor stood aside and opened the main cabin door, and as Bolitho entered the once familiar place he was momentarily blinded by the dazzling reflections from sea and sky as the morning sunlight blazed across the wide stern windows.

The Andiron's captain was leaning out over the stem bench, his body a dark silhouette against the glittering water, but Bolitho's eyes fastened instead on his own sword which lay in the centre of the polished table.

He waited, standing quite still, his feet automatically braced against the ship's easy plunge and roll. Even this cabin was not spared from the Phalarope's wounded anger. More scars, and deeply gouged gaps left by flying splinters. Andiron must have spent little time in harbour, he thought.

The officer at the window turned very slowly, so that the light played across his face for a few moments before becoming once more a dark silhouette. For the second time in twenty-four hours Bolitho's reserve almost broke. It took all his strength to keep him from crying out in disbelief, but when the other man spoke he knew that this too was no fantasy.

`Welcome aboard the Andiron, Richard! When my second lieutenant brought me this sword I knew it had to be you!'

Bolitho stared at his brother, feeling the years dropping away, his brain reeling with a thousand memories. Hugh Bolitho, the son about whom his father had spoken so bitterly, yet with so much anxiety. Now commanding an enemy privateer! It was the culmination of every worst possible belief.

His brother said slowly, 'It had to happen of course. But I hoped it might be otherwise. At some other place perhaps.'

Bolitho heard himself say, 'Do you know what you have done? What this will do to . . . ?' He faltered, even unable to accept that they were both sons of the same man. He added quietly, 'So you were in command when we fought your ship last month?'

Hugh Bolitho seemed to relax slightly, as if he considered the worst was now over. `Yes. And that was a real surprise, I can tell you! We were just closing for the kill when I caught sight of you through my glass!' His face crinkled as he relived the moment. `So I hauled off. You were lucky that day, my lad!'

Bolitho tried to hide the pain in his eyes and said shortly, `Are you saying that my being there made a difference’

'Did you think you had won the day, Richard?' For a moment longer Hugh Bolitho studied his brother with something like amusement. `Believe me, in spite of your chain shot I could still have taken the Phalarope!' He shrugged and walked to the table and stared at the sword. 'I was taken off guard. I had no idea you were returning to the Indies.'

Bolitho watched his brother closely, noting the grey streaks in his dark hair, the lines of strain about his mouth. He was only four years older than himself, but there could have been ten years between them.

He said, `Well, I am your prisoner now. What do you intend to do with me?

The other man did not answer directly but picked up the sword and held it against the sun. 'So he gave it to you!' He shook his head, the gesture both familiar and painful. `Poor Father. I imagine he believes the worst of me?'

`Are you surprised?'

Hugh Bolitho placed the sword on the table and thrust his hands deeply into his plain blue coat. 'I neither asked for nor expected this encounter, Richard. You may think as you please, but you know as well as I do that events out here are moving too quickly for a display of sentiment.' He watched his brother narrowly. `When I saw you standing on your deck with that wretched crew of yours going to pieces around you, I could not bring myself to close the combat.' He waved one hand vaguely. `Just like the old days, Richard. I could never find it easy to take what you thought was yours.'

Bolitho replied evenly, `But you always did, didn't you?’

'Those days are past.' He pointed at a chart spread across another'-table. `We are sailing for St. Kitts. We will make a landfall before night.' He watched the doubt in Bolitho's eyes.

'I know you so well, Richard. I can see the same old look of mistrust there!' He laughed. 'St. Kitts has already fallen to: our ally. Sir Samuel Hood has pulled out to lick his wounds!' He waved across the chart. `It will soon be over. Whether your government believes it or not, America will be an independent nation, perhaps sooner than they think!'

Bolitho felt his fingers locking together behind his back. While he was here being confronted with his past, his own world was falling apart. St. Kitts gone. Perhaps the French were already massing for an attack elsewhere. But where? They had the whole Caribbean to choose from.

His brother said quietly, 'If you are trying to make some scheme to foil my own plans; you can forget it, Richard! For you the war is over.' He tapped the table with his fingertips. `Unless?’

'Unless what?'

Hugh Bolitho walked round the table and stared him in the face. `Unless you come in with us, Richard! I am well considered by the French. I am sure they would give you a ship of sorts! After what you did at Mola Island I am sure they would not deny your tenacity!' He smiled at some secret thought. 'It might even be the Phalarope.'

He studied Bolitho's unsmiling face and then walked back to the window. `These are our waters now. We get our intelligence from many sources. Fishermen, trading boats, even slavers when we get the chance. With St. Kitts, fallen your ships will draw further south to Antigua and beyond. There are not many patrols in this area now. It is too wasteful for your admiral, am I right?' He smiled sadly. `Just one ship perhaps. Just one.'

Bolitho thought of the Phalarope and tried to imagine what Vibart would do.

`Your ship, Richard. The Phalarope! We need every frigate we can get. It is the same in all navies. And I have made sure that your admiral, that pompous fool, Sir Robert Napier, will be informed of our movements. I am quite sure that he will be so drunk with your success at Mola Island that he will soon despatch the Phalarope to find us! The admiral will surely be eager to avenge the loss of the Andiron from his command, eh?’

'You must be mad!' Bolitho watched his brother coldly.

`Mad? I think not, Richard. I have interrogated your- men. They have told me how their ship was punished by Admiral Napier for letting Andiron escape. They told me also of the trouble there was aboard before you took command.'- He spread his hands. 'I am afraid that most of your men have thrown in their lot with me. But do not distress yourself, it was wise of them. There is a whole new world opening up out here, and they will be part of it. When the war is over I will sail for England lust to claim my inheritance, Richard. Then I will return to America. I have proved my worth out here. The past holds nothing for me.'

Bolitho said calmly, `Then I pity your new nation! If it depend on traitors for existence it has a difficult course to steer.

His brother remained unmoved. `Traitors or patriots? It depends on a point of view! In any case, the Andiron will anchor off St. Kitts tonight. Not in the main harbour, but in a quiet little bay which I think would be considered quite ideal for recapturing her!' He threw back his head and laughed. 'Except that the Phalarope will be the one to step into the net, my brother!' .

Bolitho stared at him without expression. 'As far as you are concerned I am a prisoner. I do not wish to tarnish either the name of my family or my country by being called a brother!'

Just for an instant he saw the barb go home. Then his brother recovered himself and said flatly, `Then you will go below.' He picked up the sword again. `I will wear this in future. It is mine by right!'

He banged the table and a sentry appeared in the doorway. Then he added, `I am glad you are aboard my ship, Richard. This time, when the Phalarope comes creeping under my

guns, I will have nothing to forestall me!'

'We will see.'

`We shall indeed.' Hugh Bolitho walked across to his chart.

'If I have the temper of your crew rightly, Richard, I think they will soon be eager to follow. Andiron's orders!'

Bolitho turned on his heel and walked back past the guard.

Behind him the Andiron's captain stayed watching the door, his hand still holding the tarnished sword like a talisman.