After the Storm

 

True to the sailing master’s prediction the weather began to worsen rapidly soon after midnight. The wind, although hot and without freshness, mounted in power, and as moon and stars vanished beyond low layers of scudding cloud Tempest prepared to fight it out.

Even Bolitho found it an eerie experience. After heat and searing glare, the slow and patient changes of tack to use what little wind they had had at their bidding, this violent motion, the distorted roar and hiss of waves were unnatural. Their world had shrunk again, confined to familiar objects and handholds about the decks, while beyond the bulwarks the water seethed and boiled like a cauldron before fading into the surrounding darkness.

He found plenty of time to pity the men working aloft on the quivering, thrumming yards and shrouds. Occasionally during a brief lull in the wind’s strange moaning he heard the topmen and their petty officers yelling to one another, high above the deck, voices distorted and wild, like demented spirits.

Herrick lurched up the tilting quarterdeck and shouted, ‘All secure, sir!’ He waved one arm, his blurred outline gleaming dully with blown spray. ‘She should ride it out well enough if all holds together!’ He ducked, cursing as a frothing wave rolled along the weather side and burst over the nettings, drenching everyone in reach. ‘With all respects to the late and lamented Captain Cook, sir, I think he was wrong to name these the Friendly Islands! God damn them, I say!’

Bolitho groped his way aft to where Lakey and his mates and three helmsmen who were lashed to the wheel swayed and bobbed in a tight, breathless group. He peered at the compass bowl, unnaturally bright in the tiny lamp, and tried not to consider what this delay might mean. He was thinking like the French captain he had fought. Le Chaumareys had started to plan too much beyond the present. At sea you could not take even the next minute for granted.

He pictured his command, reeling and plunging, with spars and cordage under savage pressure. He could have run with the wind, and even now might have been well clear of the worst of it. But if the wind continued to rise, Tempest might have been driven many miles to the north, with little hope of getting back to the island in time to act. These violent tropical storms were frequently followed by intense calms, and if that happened Bolitho knew the chances of a quick passage were destroyed. As it was, his ship was standing into the wind as well as could be expected. Under her great maintopsail only, shortened and under constant watch, she was lying-to like a floundering, glistening hulk.

He heard the occasional clank of pumps, but knew they were being used merely to clear the water which swept over the weather side and thundered along the gundeck like surf before finding its way below. Any other frigate Bolitho had known would have been working badly in this sea, and the pumps would have been manned and busy through each backbreaking minute. But Tempsest, with all. her faults in manoeuvrability, was as tight as a powder cask, and her stout teak timbers barely leaked a drop.

Bolitho watched the water sluicing down the lee side, cascading over each tethered twelve-pounder, eager to catch a spluttering, half-blinded seaman and knock him senseless into the scuppers as it passed.

He gripped the hammock nettings and tried to think, although he felt half-numbed by sea and wind.

The Eurotas should be safe in her sheltered anchorage. But if her cables carried away she could go aground and break up even there.

Suppose after all this he was wrong? That Keen had been mistaken in what Viola had said to him, or had tried to invent something just to please him. Maybe she had blended her message with sarcasm that only he would understand, so that should they meet again he would stand clear and keep his place.

Or perhaps she did want to see him, and thought such a message would bring him back anyway.

He pushed his hair from his eyes as the spume and ragged spray drifted through the mizzen ratlines like darts.

No. If he was right about her, he had to be equally so about Eurotas.

He felt Herrick lurching to the nettings beside him.

‘Mr Lakey stakes his reputation that this’ll last till noon, sir!’ Herrick waited, squinting into the darkness. ‘But at least we’ll be able to see what we’re about! I’ve trebled the lookouts, but we’re drifting too much for comfort!’ He sounded raw from shouting orders. ‘Maybe we should’ve gone closer to the Eurotas. Grappled her, and to hell with the weather.’ He was thinking aloud. But it sounded like criticism. ‘I’m not sure of anything now.’

Bolitho replied, ‘If I’m right, Thomas, I think, both ships would have been in danger. The passengers, the convicts, who knows how many more might have been murdered, or killed in the attack.’

Herrick wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘Aye. I suppose so. My guess is that the convicts were released out of humanity when the ship struck, and then seized control.’ He turned, waiting for Bolitho’s opinion.

‘If the ship struck, Thomas. There’s something too clean about all this.’

‘ Starling, one of the master’s mates by the compass, yelled, ‘I heard somethin’ carry away aloft, sir!’

As if to mark his warning two heavy blocks and some fifty feet of cordage clattered across the quarterdeck like a twin-headed snake.

Starling was already bellowing for extra hands to get up the treacherous shrouds and secure the damage. It was small enough, but if unchecked might spread to something worse.

Bolitho listened to the master’s mate and marvelled. Starling had been hoisted inboard with his cutter at the last possible moment so that his leadsman could give the ship as much speed as possible to clear the reefs. A misjudgement, or a man losing his nerve, and the cutter might-have been left astern. In this sea it would be unlikely to survive.

And yet Starling, who had begun life as a drummer boy in a foot regiment, and had run off to join a King’s ship for preference, had showed little excitement when he had reported to the quarterdeck.

‘Right on time, sir,’ was all he had said, and now he was up and about, shouting and instructing the afterguard as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary.

Bolitho saw the legs and ragged trousers of one of the seamen hurrying up the ratlines, the bare feet moving rapidly like paddles. He recognized the man as Jenner before he vanished into the maze of rigging above the deck. Another piece of human flotsam. Jenner was an American, who had fought in the Revolutionary Navy against the British. A good seaman, although something of a dreamer, he had joined his old enemies as if he had become bored with the independence he had helped to win.

Just beneath the quarterdeck, ducking and jumping clear of the thundering crests which swept over the twelve-pounders, was another mystery. A giant Negro, he had been found half dead in a drifting longboat shortly after Bolitho had taken command. He had been naked and cruelly savaged by sun and thirst. Worse, when he was taken below to the surgeon, Gwyther had reported in his precise manner, ‘The fellow has no tongue. It has been cut out.’

In the drifting longboat they had discovered a metal disc All it had cut on it was the name Orlando. The name of a ship, a man, a piece of cargo, nobody knew.

Bolitho suspected the boat had been from a slaver and that the big Negro had either tried to escape or had been cast adrift as a warning to others.

But when Tempest had reached land again their survivor did not want to be put ashore, despite all that was said to him in every language which the ship’s company could muster. And that was quite considerable. So, with his new name and rating entered on the muster book as Orlando, a landman, he had been accepted.

Because the American, Jenner, seemed to get on with him better than most, Herrick had put them both in the afterguard. The mizzen mast and its attendant sails and rigging was by far the least complicated of any square-rigged ship, and Orlando’s inability to speak and Jenner’s dreamy attitude, which even the touch of the boatswain’s rattan had failed to cure, would leave them less chance of suffering or causing an accident.

That was typical of Herrick, of course. Always watching over his men. As he had been when Bolitho had first met him in the Phalarope during the war. A ship beset with discontent and inhuman treatment, where a junior officer could reasonably be expected to keep his silence rather than provoke a tyrannical captain. Not so Herrick. His ideals, his stubborn yardstick of right and wrong, had more than once put him into real danger.

Bolitho always hoped that Herrick would get a chance of the promotion he richly deserved. But peace, the countless numbers of sailors thrown on the beach without work or hope had blocked his chances. He was lucky to be employed at all. Unlike Bolitho, whose family and upbringing had been set in tradition, with the sea and ships the only possible career, Herrick came from a poor family. What he had he had worked for because he needed it. The fact he loved the sea was a hard-won bonus.

‘Sir! The fore t’gans’l is tearin’ adriftl’

Bolitho dashed the salt from his eyes and tried to see up through the rigging. Then he heard it, the irregular crack and thunder of canvas freeing itself from the yard, threatening to fill with wind and change the trim of the ship.

Herrick cupped his hands. ‘Mr Borlase! Send your people aloft! Mr Jury, stand by the main stays’ll’

He turned, panting, ‘If the t’gans’l carries away without ripping itself to pieces we’ll need the stays’l to give us balance.’ He showed his teeth. ‘God, how quick the mind skips when you need it!’

Bolitho nodded. Herrick had acted well and without waiting for approval. If, as could still happen before the topmen fought their way up the foremast shrouds, the sail freed itself entirely, it would slew the bows round, and their situation in the rising gale could be suddenly critical.

He saw the boatswain mustering his men beneath the mainmast, others wading through waist-deep water to reach their stations. Familiarity, harsh, and sometimes unfair discipline had made them so. In pitch darkness, or in a raging storm, they could find their way about a ship as a blind man will know his own cottage.

Borlase was busy too, his voice matching the wind as he urged the foretopmen into action. When he shouted his voice tended to be shrill and piercing, and Bolitho knew the midshipmen often made unflattering comments about it behind his back. It was strange that few people ever thought about the cabin skylight on the poop. Voices from the watchkeeping officers reached the captain very easily. Bolitho had learned his lesson early as a midshipman when his captain hadtalled from the skylight, ‘I am sorry, I did not hear that. Where did you say you met the girl?’

All these things and more he had tried to describe to Viola Raymond when she had sailed with him as a passenger. He had expected her to be bored, or tolerantly patient. Perhaps from those first conversations had grown the ache he now felt for her safety with each dragging hour.

I think they are in trouble, sir.’ Herrick was leaning over the quarterdeck rail, his back and legs streaming with water. He yelled, ‘What is it?’

Borlase strode aft, his figure leaning over against the ship’s steep angle.

‘Mr Romney, sir I He’s out on the fore t’gans’l yard!’ Despite the din of wind and sea he sounded irritated. “THere’s enough risk as it is without -‘

Bolitho cut him short. ‘Send up a bosun’s mate! Or someone senior enough for him to trust!’ He looked at Herrick, his voice bitter. ‘Midshipman Romney may never make a lieutenant, but he tries as hard as ten men. I’ll not have him fall because Mr Borlase has not the sense to see the danger.’

He swung away, trying to hold on to the picture of the island, their position and bearing from it. What he must do or avoid when the time came.

Yet all he could see was that terrified boy, clinging to a yard, some hundred and fifty feet above the deck, with a great billowing mass of wind-hardened canvas trying to smash him down and hurl him to certain death. A quick end if he hit the deck, slower by a little if he fell into the sea. He might live long enough to see his ship fade into the darkness, for no boat could be lowered now, and Tempest’s drift would outpace any swimmer.

Bolitho thought too of the shark which was there to greet each new day.

Midshipman Swift blurted out, I’ll go, sir.’ He faltered as both Bolitho and Herrick turned towards him. ‘He’ll trust me. And besides …’ He hesitated. I promised I would watch out for him.’

They all looked forward as someone yelled, ‘He’s gone!’

Something pale fell through the rigging and struck the lee side of the forecastle near one of the carronades. It made a sickening sound, and then Bolitho saw the body bounce over into the creaming water which surged back from the stem.

Nobody said anything for several seconds, so that the roaring noises of the storm swept in on them like a fanfare of brutish triumph.

Midshipman Swift said thickly, I - I’m sorry, sir. I should have - ‘ Then he pointed along the gundeck. Swaying like a puppet, and suspended on a bowline being lowered rapidly from the foretop, was Midshipman Romney.

Several seamen ran to catch him and lay him on the deck, while Schultz, the bosun’s mate who had been sent aloft to assist him on the yard, hurried aft and stood below the quarterdeck, his face upturned as he said in his thick, guttural voice, ‘Mr Romney is safe, zur.’ He showed his teeth as if in pain as more water surged over the nettings and doused him from head to foot. ‘He vas trying to save a man from falling.’ He shook his big head sadly. ‘It vas too much, by God. Zey both nearly die!’

‘Dawn coming up, sir!’ Lakey slapped water from his watchcoat. ‘Young Mr Romney is lucky to see it.’

Bolitho nodded. ‘Who was the seaman?’

The bosun’s mate replied, ‘Tait, zur.’ He shrugged. ‘Good man, I think.’

By the time the topmen had finally mastered the rebellious sail and returned to the deck the sea had opened up on either beam in a violent, rearing panorama of broken crests and dark troughs.

Herrick said, ‘And you always hope you’re going to get by without losing a man’ He sighed.

Bolitho saw Allday climbing through the cabin companionway and replied, “That is true’

He turned with surprise as Allday said, I’ve brought you something to cheer, sir’

It was brandy, and Bolitho felt it going through him likeflre.

A seaman observed, “That bloody shark’s still arter us, th’ bugger.’

Another answered, ‘Reckon old Jim Tait made a good meal, eh?’

Bolitho looked at Herrick. No words were needed. Life at sea was hard. Too hard perhaps to reveal weakness, even when a friend had died.

Lakey closed his telescope with a snap.

‘I think I know where we are, sir.’ He sounded satisfied, separated from the drama which had just left them. I’ll be able to fix our position very shortly’ He tugged out his watch, which if set beside Bolitho’s would have looked like a chronometer. ‘Aye, I’ll be able to do that’

Bolitho looked away, searching for the tiny islet which Lakey had marked as one which he would be able to identify if the wind dropped. He sighed. Not if Lakey meant when and that was enough.

If only he was as confident and as spared of doubts in his own ability, of what he would do when they returned to the island.

He saw Romney walking, aft, pale and dazed, and seemingly unable to understand why the sodden, unshaven seamen nodded and grinned to him as he passed.

Bolitho looked down at him. ‘That was well done, Mr Romney’

The midshipman would have fallen, but Orlando’s towering shape, shining in spray like wet coal, caught him and carried him beneath the quarterdeck.

When he recovered, Bolitho thought, he might be able to use that one wild gesture as a prop or a lifeline. It could make all the difference.

Herrick watched him narrowly, seeing the signs of-uncertainty and searching enquiry which made Bolitho so dear to him.

Each one aboard had a job of work to do, hard or less demanding according to rank or station, carried out well or just well enough to suit a man’s individuality. But it all came from aft. From the one man who now stood with a dented goblet in one hand while he gripped the nettings with the other. Bolitho’s black hair was matted with salt and blown spume, and his shirt stained with tar and grease from a dozen enounters with guns and tackles during the night, yet he stood out as their captain as if he were in a dress uniform.

Bolitho said abruptly, “That rogue of a cook will not be able to light his galley fire for hours yet, Mr Herrick.’ He had to raise his voice, for the wind’s noise, like the light, was strengthening. ‘Pass the word to Mr Bynoe to broach some spirits for the people. They’ll not care what it is, I think. Rum or gin go down as well with salt spray as brandy!’ He met Herrick’s glance, his grey eyes suddenly bright. ‘Then we will decide what to do.’

 

The heat in the cabin was overwhelming, and Bolitho had to use something like physical strength to control his nausea.

All day, while Tempest had fought sea and gale, and they had been buffeted slowly and inexorably around the islands and the protective barriers of reef and shoal, he had examined his idea’s and plans from every angle.

By noon he had known they were winning their battle with the weather, and from the faces and voices of many of his men he knew they were proud of what they had done together. It was strange how quickly men could change. Men penned together for months, sometimes years on end. Who saw and examined each others’ habits and flaws like misers counting their gains and losses. An argument could flare into blood and harsh punishment. Using their common understanding could bind them just as easily into a single body.

And then, with the wind still ripping the crests from the long banks of waves, the sun had emerged again, pinning them down with its old familiar force. It had seemed as if the ship was afire, and to some of the less experienced men it must have looked as if Tempest was about to become their pyre. From every plank and timber, spar and piece of rigging, the sun had raised great clouds of steam, and even the seamen’s bare bodies had left tendrils of it behind them as they had worked to splice and make good the damage left by the storm.

It was night now, but with a difference. Outside the great cabin windows the moon had laid a firm path on the sea, rippling in a light wind which mercifully brought them this far. Everything else shone darkly, like black liquid glass.

But it was hot, and in the crowded cabin it was hard not to think of cool, transparent water. Jugs and jugs of it. Filling yourself until you felt like bursting.

Bolitho watched the bottle of stale wine going round the table. Herrick, Keen, Lakey and Captain Prideaux of the marines were refilling their glasses, looking at the master’s chart, wondering, saying little.

A storm at sea knocks the stuff out of a man, Bolitho thought. Like a physical fight, all bruises and anger. Then it was done, and all you wanted to do was creep away and be alone.

He said,.’We are now standing off the nor’-west shore of the island. I dared not beat in earlier for fear of lookouts on the hills. The island is only a mile wide at this point. Our approach would be easily recognized.’ He paused, hearing Borlase’s feet moving about the deck above, as near to the cabin skylight as he could prudently get.

He knew Herrick was watching him. He even knew what he was thinking, preparing to say.

Bolitho continued evenly, ‘Mr Lakey is certain that we can reach a small cove without too much difficulty. The moon will assist, and once inshore the land will afford some shelter against the wind.’ He looked round the table. I intend to land a small but well-armed party. It is already being arranged,’ he saw Herrick nod, ‘but the important part is afterwards.’

Prideaux said tersely, ‘I think it would be better to land all the marines, sir. A show of force, no matter the reason for showing it, usually works wonders.’

Bolitho looked at him. Prideaux was very relaxed. He was enjoying it. He obviously thought discussion unnecessary and stupid. That his captain was totally out of depth with his plan, as Well as with the execution of it.

Bolitho. said to the cabin at large, ‘We will take thirty men, and the marines selected will be your best sharpshooters, Captain Prideaux. The sergeant will be one, and he is picking six more. I do not want a show of anything. If my fears are justified, we will have to act with haste, and with stealth’

There was a tap at the door and the midshipman-of-the-watch stepped into the lanternlight.

‘Mr Borlase sends his respects, sir, and wishes you to know that the boats are ready for lowering.’ His eyes moved round the cabin as he spoke. Midshipman Pyper was seventeen, and probably already saw himself as a captain in some fine ship.

‘Very well.’ Bolitho leaned over the chart, knowing they were watching his every move. ‘Once the landing party is ashore the boats will return to the ship. There are too many eyes about for my liking, and I want no evidence of our movements left in the open. Then Tempest will steer south and round the southern headland, much as we did originally. Mr Herrick knows what is expected once you arrive there, and will pass his instructions in his own tine. The landing party will divide into halves. One under Mr Keen, and the other will go with me. We will cross the island to the bay.’ He pulled out his watch and flicked it open. The hands showed two o’clock in the morning. Dawn came up fresh and quick in these waters. There was no room for doubts now. ‘After that, gentlemen, we will think again.’

They all stood up, and Bolitho added, ‘And remember to tell the people exactly what we are doing. Explain that protecting lives is as much part of the Navy’s work as taking them in battle!’

They moved to the door, already grappling with their own parts of the pattern he had thrust on them.

Herrick stood his ground, as Bolitho knew he would.

‘I think I should take charge ashore, sir.’ He sounded very calm but determined. It is my right, and in any case - ‘

‘In any case, Thomas, you think I am foolhardy to go myself, eh?’ He smiled gravely as Allday came out of the shadows and took down the old sword from the bulkhead. It is my decision.

Many of you probably think it is a wrong one. I have doubts too over some things.’ He waited for Allday to buckle the sword round his waist. I’ll feel more at peace amongst chaos of my own making than fretting aboard this ship and worrying that you may have fallen because of me.’ He held up his hand. It is done, Thomas. I know you relish a good argument, but leave it until my return.’ He clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Now see us away and do your part.’

On deck the air was a little cooler, but not much. Bolitho walked to the starboard gangway and looked down at the jostling figures who were being sorted out and having their weapons and meagre supplies checked by Jury, the boatswain.

He tried to appear relaxed, to recognize and acknowledge each of these silent men. Once the boats had gone from the beach they would be entirely self-dependent. There was no water on the island, as Lakey had long since discovered. Just a handful of men, their small resources, and an unknown enemy.

He heard someone whisper, ‘By God, the cap’n’s comin’ with us! Must be important 1’

Another said hoarsely, ‘Wants to stretch ‘is legs, more like!’

‘Silence on deck!’ That was Jury.

Borlase touched his hat. He looked enormous against the moon. ‘All mustered, sir.’

Bolitho looked at Herrick. ‘Heave to, if you please. Then we will lower the boats.’ He touched the sword against his hip. ‘After that….’ He shrugged.

With her canvas flapping noisily, Tempest’s shadow rode across the moon’s path, while the three boats were swayed out and the seamen and marines scrambled into them.

Two boats would have been sufficient under normal circumstances, but with the additional hands required to pull them back to the ship, overcrowding would have added a full hour to the operation.

Bolitho made a last check in his mind. Lieutenant Keen, aged twenty-two, was his second in command. James Ross, master’s mate, a thickset Scot with dark red hair, would add weight and experience to the party. Sergeant Quare and his six sharpshooters, all strangely unrecognizable without their usual scarlet coats, and hugging their long muskets like backwoods.men. Midshipman Swift and Miller, a boatswain’s mate, completed the authority.

The bulk of the men had been chosen for their skills, their ability to obey under almost any conditions, and some because they would kill without hesitation if such was the need.

He took a long breath. ‘Carry on, Mr Ross.’

He saw the master’s mate raise his fist and then the cutter began to move away. From the deck it looked crammed with men, oars and weapons. Next Tempest’s launch, and her largest longboat, idled clear of the side, oars in momentary confusion until the current swung them away from the ship’s undertow. Bolitho saw Keen, very upright in the sternsheets, his shirt holding the moonlight like a banner. Allday was already in the gig, as were Midshipman Swift and the rest of the last group.

Bolitho touched Herrick’s arm. ‘Perhaps when this is done you may have more respect for Captain Cook’s description of the islands.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Take care, Thomas.’ Then he lowered himself down the side and jumped out into the gig.

Allday said, ‘Shove off! Out oars! Give way all!’

The gig plunged and rose steeply in the swell, and now they were clear of the ship’s hull Bolitho could hear the hiss and boom of breakers.

He glanced along the boat at the regular rise and fall of the oars. It was not easy to pull smoothly with the boat filled with arms and legs. He noticed too that his gig’s crew had donned their chequered shirts which they always wore for taking their captain on his normal affairs of duty.

This was hardly normal, and he was moved to say, “Thank you, lads.’ But nobody spoke, and the only sound to match the sea was the steady creak of oars.

When he looked astern again Tempest was only a tall shadow with the moon’s silver across her flapping topsails.

As soon as the boats were safely hoisted inboard again she would set every stitch of canvas she could carry to stand clear of the land as fast as possible.

A shuttered lantern blinked from the leading boat. Ross had sighted the first elbow of rocks. They must follow through one gap and then a second. After that it was no more than a cable to the beach. If it was there.

‘Watch your helm, Allday. This is the worst part.’

He saw the quick exchanges throughout the boat. It was best for everyone to know all the risks and not just some of them, he thought.

The sea noises changed again, the great surge of water against the outer reef muffled slightly as the three boats forged steadily around the glistening crags of rock. Little waterfalls changed to surging torrents as the tide cascaded over and around the rock barrier, making pools and lakes and just as quickly draining them again.

The bowman called, ‘Beach dead ahead, sir!’ A pause. ‘Cutter’s already there!’

By the time Allday had steered the gig through the last scattering of rocks and lined up the stem with the tiny patch of beach, the cutter was already passing on the return trip.

The bowman leapt down and almost fell as he guided the boat into the shallows, and more men waded out to stop her from broaching to.

Men, weapons, discipline. Bolitho watched his gig backing water with the oars, the crew’s check shirts already more distinct in the first hint of dawn.

He felt Allday’s grip steadying him as he climbed up the wet sand and on to some fallen boulders. They were all cut off. And he had brought them here.

He said, ‘I will lead with my party, Mr Keen. You will bear south and then east as soon as we get off the beach. Good luck.’

With Allday and Midshipman Swift at his heels he turned and looked up the steep, sun-cracked slope. If ever he had needed his confidence, it was now, he decided