No Retreat

 

On the morning of the first full day at sea the wind backed considerably, and with the sudden change came a heavy downpour of rain.

Bolitho leaned over the stern bench and stared emptily through the thick windows, his vision twisting and swirling as the rain swept across the water and pounded over the deck above. He heard feet hurrying to various parts of his ship, men watching over sun-dried cordage to ensure it did not swell enough to foul the blocks. Others would be collecting the rain-water to supplement their stocks.

He sat down wearily, letting the vessel move his body without resistance. In his screened sleeping compartment he could hear Hugoe, the wardroom servant, completing his tidying, collecting dothing to be washed.

Herrick had suggested several men who would be willing or suitable to replace Orlando. But Bolitho could not bear the thought of beginning again. Not yet Hugoe was always in demand in the wardroom, and was grateful to be freed from the cabin, and its brooding captain, he suspected.

Rain gurgled down the scuppers or pattered happily across the sealed skylight. Water. You were less than nothing without it He pictured the thirst-crazed man leaping overboard to fill his stomach from the sea. Orlando’s terrible agony as the shark had crushed him into a bloody pulp.

He forced himself to take out his watch, and hesitated further before he could open the guard. Even the engraving seemed to stand out sharper.

Hugoe stood in the screen door. Tve done, sir. ‘Less there’s owt in ‘ere?’

‘No. You can carry on.’ He saw the curiosity in his eyes.. Thank you.’

The marine sentry at the outer door shouted, ‘Midshipman o’ th’ watch, sir!’ ‘Enter.’

It was young Romney, very nervous as he presented a list of the day’s work from his first lieutenant. The visitors would soon be arriving. Questions. Needs.

He scanned through Herrick’s round handwriting. ‘Very well.’

Romney hesitated, one foot scraping over the other. ‘May I speak, sir?’

‘Yes.’ Bolitho turned his back as if to watch the water streaming down the tall windows.

‘I -I, that is, we, sir, want you to know how sorry …’

Bolitho gripped his hands tightly to his sides until he could face him again.

‘Thank you, Mr Romney.’ He barely recognized his own voice. ‘It was most thoughtful.’

Romney watched him, his eyes full of warmth. Like a dog’s, Bolitho thought despairingly.

The surgeon peered through the door, and Bolitho snapped, ‘Come in.’

He would immerse himself in his duties and what he must plan ahead. But the small touches of kindness which came without warning shattered his guard like a cutlass on a badly cast rapier.

Bolitho listened to Gwyther’s sick report.

‘The marine is doing well, sir.’ Gwyther’s Welsh accent was very pronounced. It always was when he intended to act out of character. ‘But you seem not to have slept, sir? There’s bad, it is, if I may presume to say so.’

‘You may not!’ He hurried through the list of names. ‘And Penneck?’

The surgeon sighed. ‘I fear his mind has broken, sir. And Mr Pyper is very sick from his exposure and burns. But - ‘ another sigh,’ - he is young.’

Herrick was the next visitor, his conversation full of technicalities and requirements for keeping a ship of war in proper order. Although he did not mention anything about Viola, his blue eyes were incapable of concealing his anxiety.

Bolitho stood up and walked to the quarter windows. Birds dipped and wheeled beneath the ship’s counter, waiting for scraps, watching for incautious fish. He thought of Blissett. His perfect aim, despite his own suffering.

He asked, ‘Did you tell Prideaux that I expect him to promote Blissett directly?’

‘Aye, sir.’ Herrick shifted as Bolitho turned to look at him. In case he was about to argue the toss, I told him it was neither a suggestion nor a request. But that it was a bloody order, sir! I hope that was all right.’

‘Yes.’ He looked up as more feet pounded overhead ,

Herrick explained, ‘I told Mr Lakey that you want as much sail as we can spread. The hands are turning to in both watches.’ He tried to smile, to break through Bolitho’s ache. ‘Being the master of course, he wasn’t too pleased to drive her in this rain.’

He waited, wondering how to continue. ‘I can manage well enough, sir. No need to bother you until we sight the islands.’

Bolitho sat down on the bench and stared at the canvas-covered deck.

‘We can exercise the twelve-pounders as soon as the sails are trimmed. As we are so shorthanded it will be necessary to shift the crews around again.’ He pounded his hands together. ‘I want this ship ready to fight, d’you understand?’

‘Look, sir.’ Herrick stood his ground. ‘I’ve little love for the Frogs, as you well know. But they’ve been in their King’s service too long to throw in their lot with a pirate, surely?’

Bolitho eyed him gravely. ‘Suppose I were to go on deck, right now, Thomas, and have all the hands lay aft. And if I told them that we were already at war with France, that England was depending on their courage and tenacity, do you honestly believe there is one single man aboard, including yourself, who would dare to question it?’ He shook his head. ‘Do not bother to deny it. It is. on your face.’

Herrick watched him and marvelled. How could he keep on worrying and altering the pattern of things uppermost in his thoughts?

He said, If the Frenchman, Genin, can rouse the company against that tyrant of a captain, there’s nothing to prevent him telling them the same about us?’ He pouted his lower lip. ‘But I still don’t see why.’

‘It will be his bargain with Tuke. The ship’s authority and Genin’s safe passage set against Tuke’s own reward. Supply ships, gold, patronage, it matters little. What does and will count is his need of a safe and powerful base.’

Herrick nodded glumly. ‘And there is nothing to prevent it. ‘Cept us.’

‘Aye, Thomas. One frigate against a flotilla. Our depleted company against seasoned, maltreated veterans.’

There was a cry from overhead, and feet shuffled impatiently. Herrick was needed, but he was unable to break the spell of Bolitho’s icy determination as he added, ‘But we will prevent it. We will use what we have to destroy the pirate and everyone who stands with him. In months, if not already, we may be at war with France again, and I have no intention of allowing Narval the pleasure of fighting us in the future.’ He looked away. ‘I should have seen it before. Much earlier. But I was like Le Giaumareys, too sure of my own capacity.’ He smiled, but the warmth avoided his eyes. ‘Go to your men, Thomas. I will be up when you begin the drills.’

Herrick replied simply, ‘I have not spoken before, sir, but I owe it to you now, and to the lady more than ever. I was wrong to criticize, and had no place to act as I did. Your need of each other is made so plain to me now, for I see what her loss has meant. I am sorry, not just as a loyal subordinate, but still, I hope, as a firm friend.’

Bolitho nodded, the lock of hair dropping over his eyes. ‘My wrong was the greater. I should have taken your advice those five years back, and again just months ago. Because of my want, I put her life in danger. Because she trusted me, she is now dead.’ He turned his back. ‘Please leave me.’

Herrick opened bis mouth and closed it again. He had never seen him like this before. Pale, despite his tanned skin, his eyes ringed with shadows like a man possessed.

On deck he could not even find reassurance in the way that the company was arranged to allow for the shortages.

He saw Blissett standing with the marines at the hammock nettings, his musket at his side. Apart fom looking thinner, he showed little sign of his ordeal He remarked, ‘I am glad to see you well, Corporal Blissett’ Blissett beamed. ‘Sir!’ For him, life had suddenly expanded. Another step.

Herrick walked to the quarterdeck rail, the last heavy drops of rain tapping down on men and sails alike. It would soon be as hot as hell. He glanced at the upturned faces on the gundeck, the bare-backed topmen who waited on either gangway ready to swarm aloft and loose the topgallants when ordered. A good company, he thought. As mixed as a crowd at a prize-fight, but none the worse for it They had somehow come together. Learned to accept, if not agree with, the manner in which they served. He felt he should say something. Tell them just how much they would have to give and withstand if Bolitho was right.

There was a step on the deck behind him and Bolitho said, ‘There seems to be a delay, Mr Herrick?’

Herrick looked at his eyes, grey and steady, but something else as well. Challenging, or was it pleading?

He touched his hat. ‘I thought you’d be staying below for a while, sir.’

Bolitho looked slowly across the silent men and the ship herself as she laid over on the larboard tack. ‘My place is here.’

He rested his hands on the rail, feeling the ship trembling through it, passing the unending messages to anyone who would listen. He recalled Viola’s expression when he had explained how a ship performed and responded. At first he had been almost shy, a boy again, as he had described what to him was his everyday life. And she had not been bored, nor had she been politely interested. In time they could have shared it. Planted something as firm and as lasting as the old house in Falmouth. But now…

He said abrupdy, ‘Carry on, Mr Hexrick. Hands aloft and loose t’gallants, if you please.’

The shrouds and ratlines became alive with scurrying figures, and the urgent shouts of petty officers shattered the calm and sent the sea-birds screaming across Tempests bubbling wake.

Bolitho began to pace up and down the weather side, a vital presence, and to all but those who knew him intimately, as outwardly calm as ever.

But each step was painful, and although his men bustled around him, or slithered down backstays to attend further tasks, and while canvas boomed and hardened to the wind, Captain Richard Bolitho walked entirely alone.

 

Tempest made a fast run south to the Levu Islands, and although they sighted no craft larger than an occasional canoe, Bolitho had the feeling that every mile of their progress had been watched.

He knew that most of the ship’s company were trying to keep their distance and avoid his eye. In many ways the isolation amongst his closely packed world suited him, and yet he was equally conscious of his responsibility to them. Especially with what might be lying ahead. Tomorrow. Next week.

To be feared by the men whose lives he held in his hands was totally repugnant to him. He saw the glances, searching for his daily reaction to their needs. Sail and gun drill. Working aloft or about the decks, he knew they watched after he had passed them by. Concerned, or merely curious. Envious, despite his grief, for all his privileges compared with their spartan existence.

On the last day, as Tempest worked slowly towards the mushroom-shaped bay, her courses brailed up and two leadsmen in the chains, he watched the island taking shape in the early light, very aware of his own mixed feelings.

The masthead had reported smoke soon after dawn, and as the light strengthened over the humped hills and brought reflections back to the water, he saw a drifting pall above the bay like a low cloud, deep-bellied with rain.

Herrick said, ‘From the settlement by the look of it, sir.’

Bolitho said, It would seem so.’

He examined his feelings again. Did he want to find Raymond already dead? Or was he merely seeing the smoke as proof that he was right? About Tuke and the Narval, above all about his own part yet to come.

He said abruptly, ‘Give me a glass.’ He took it from Midshipman Romney and trained it on the land.

As the telescope’s eye passed over the bay he saw the remains of Eurotas glistening above the surface like decayed teeth. He had almost forgotten about it, and the sight cut into him like a dirk. It brought back too many memories. Of that night they had left the bay, more afraid of being fired on by Raymond’s orders than the ordeal which they were only just beginning.

He moved the glass until he found the settlement. The smoke was from some outbuildings, probably the ones which had been built for the convicts. There were several holes in the palisades too, the work of heavy guns.

But the flag was still there. He closed the glass, angry with his acceptance. Never again.

‘Send the hands to quarters, Mr Herrick. We will anchor two cables from the pier. I need to be able to leave with haste.’

He shut his ears to the squeal of calls, the immediate rush of feet along gangways and decks. On the forecastle, peering over the bows, was Borlase with the anchor party. He turned, startled by the sudden commotion, and Bolitho wondered briefly if he thought his captain was going mad, or had suffered so much in the open boat that he was beyond a proper decision.

Herrick hurried across the quarterdeck and touched his hat. ‘Hands at quarters, sir.’ He asked, ‘Shall we clear for action?’

‘Not yet.’

Bolitho lifted the glass again and saw several bare-backed figures ducking through the bushes above the nearest beach. So Tinah’s village was not entirely destroyed. He found he was giving thanks, grateful they had been spared.

He lowered the glass and saw Keen on the gundeck, shading his eyes to stare ashore. Thinking of his beautiful Malua. Remembering the dream.

Lakey cleared his throat noisily. ‘We’re losing the wind, sir.’

Bolitho turned and saw the land sliding out to shield them, and heard the topsails banging restlessly overhead. “Very well. We will anchor now.’

A long pull for the boats’ crews. Equally, it gave Tempest’s guns command of the whole bay.

‘Man th’ lee braces! Hands wear ship!’

Bolitho took a few paces aft and watched his men, even more shorthanded with the bulk of the company standing at quarters in case the guns were needed.

They had learned a great deal together in two years. Heavy she might be for a frigate, but she had been good to them.

Seamen worked feverishly at sheets and clewlines, while others pulled on the braces to bring the yards round together.

‘Helm a’lee!’

Bolitho crossed the deck so that he could keep a continued watch on the shore and the pier below the settlement. ‘Let go !’

He barely heard the anchor fall as he said, ‘I shall need my gig. Also the launch and full landing party of marines. Prideaux will take charge of them personally.’ He beckoned to Allday. ‘Make sure the gig’s crew are properly turned out.’ He saw the surprise, or was it hurt, in his face and added, ‘I know. You’d already so ordered. But this has to look right.’

He saw the marines tramping from their stations on the poop and in the tops, Sergeant Quare shouting commands, his face so blistered from the open boat that it almost matched his coat.

Herrick watched the boats being swayed over the nettings, Jury, the boatswain, urging the lowering party with a voice like an angry bullock.

It looks as if there has been an attack on the settlement, sir.’

‘Yes.’ Bolitho lifted his arms as Allday buckled on his sword. ‘It proves we were right. Tuke is after this place for himself. He must have used the captured cannon to give Raymond a warning.’

Herrick licked his lips. ‘He seems to have an edge on us every time, sir.’

Bolitho walked to the gangway and looked down at the boats.

‘But for one thing. He seized Hardacre’s schooner and knows all about your message.’ ‘I am deeply sorry, sir, I thought…’ Bolitho took his arm. ‘No, Thomas, it is our only strength.

Tuke will think of you still anchored off Rutara Island, afraid to disobey orders, even fearful that the Itak may have overrun the settlement. Also, he will know that without the schooner there is no sensible way of carrying messages between ship and settlement.’

Herrick stared at him. ‘I’d have thought the same, in his shoes.’ He shook his head. ‘An open boat, with barely enough water and food to last a few days, and through dangerous islands at that, well, I can see his point of view.’

It changes nothing.’ Bolitho watched the launch, packed with marines, as it pulled clear of the ship and waited for the gig to move alongside. ‘It does give us time. But for this, I fear the island would already have fallen.’

Borlase called, ‘All ready, sir.’

‘What are my instructions, sir?’ Herrick walked with him to the entry port.

‘The usual. A good lookout, and with maybe six guns permanently manned. If all is safe ashore, I shall want a lookout posted on the hill.’

He lowered himself into the boat while the trill of calls still hung on the humid air.

Borlase asked irritably, ‘Why all the show of strength? The marines, the gig’s oarsmen in their best chequered shirts? It is more like a courtesy visit than a preparation for evacuation.’

Herrick studied him calmly. ‘Evacuation? Never. This is the captain’s way of showing that no matter what others may think or dread, Tempest is as before. A ship of war, Mr Borlase, not a hull full of frightened old women !’.

Keen joined them by the entry port and asked, ‘Who has gone with the captain?’

Herrick replied shortly, ‘Mr Swift. Good experience for him when he does pass for the rank he has borrowed.’

He turned aside, remembering Bolitho’s words in the cabin before dawn.

‘Not Mr Keen, Thomas. It is too soon. He’ll see his Malua by every tree, hear her voice. No. He needs time. I’ll take young Swift.’

Herrick sighed. How typical, he thought. He watched the boats pulling into line and turning towards the pier. And how much worse it will be for him.

 

Bolitho stood beside one of the long windows in Raymond’s room and listened to the insane screech of birds in the dense undergrowth.

He was surprised at his own calm, his inability to feel either disgust or hatred as he watched Raymond sitting at his carved table.

Below the window he heard some marines tramping across the compound, their voices and boots unnaturally loud. In the time while he had been away, as he and his boatload of men had fought out each painful day, the settlement itself had gathered a kind of decay.

Stores had been broached, and empty bottles and casks lay everywhere. Even Raymond had changed, hollow-eyed and dishevelled, his appearance made worse by his soiled shirt. Of all people he had altered the most.

Bolitho had almost expected the gates to be held shut in his face. Had that happened, he knew he would have been unable to restrain his feelings, or those of his men.

Raymond had been sitting at the table, as he was now, staring at the door. Perhaps he had never moved since the two boats had left under the cover of night.

He had said, ‘So you survived after all? What are you going to do now?’

Hardacre had met the Tempest’s boats at the pier, and as they had walked together towards the palisades he had described in grim detail what had happened. Over a third of the islanders had died from the fever, and while the guards had cowered behind their defences, and had gone through one drunken escapade after another, Hardacre had done his best to give the others the will to survive.

Raymond had even driven the convicts from the settlement, and had ordered them to remain in their huts and manage as best they could on their own. Hardacre had helped them also, and had been rewarded by their willingness to ignore Raymond’s unjust order and to assist him in the villages.

And then, just two dawns ago, the island had awakened to the violent crash of artillery, the splintering destruction of trees as the balls had smashed across the bay from the headland. A schooner had been anchored offshore, and during the night some of Tuke’s men had ferried two big guns on to the island, ready to open fire as soon as they could determine the range.

It seemed that Raymond had failed to see that sentries were posted, and as neither of his Corps officers had been sober enough to have taken much part in matters, the attack had been swift and completely unexpected.

Hardacre said bitterly, It went on for two hours. Some of Tinah’s people were hurt and two killed. The settlement was also hit, but more as a threat than to do damage. Then they withdrew. It may be that they got warning that Tempest was returning. But they did leave a message for Raymond.’

The ‘message’ had been pinned to the mutilated corpse of a French officer, the one named Vicariot, who had been de Barras’s senior lieutenant. It had stated that if Raymond and his defenders were to withdraw from the settlement they would be given safe conduct to another island to await rescue. If they did not, they would suffer Vicariot’s fate, as would all those who resisted them.

Bolitho stood silently by the window, thinking and remembering. If Tuke had known about Tempest’s return he would have attacked earlier without waiting for dramatic gestures. It seemed to be as much a part of the man as his cunning. The ability to use savage cruelty to break down resistance before it had begun.

One thing was no longer in doubt. Narval was taken, and the flag she would wear was immaterial. Her thirty-six guns, backed up by whatever other forces Tuke could offer, would more than swamp the defences.

He asked quietly, ‘Did you know about the village? The numbers who died?’ It was incredible and unnerving, but not once had Raymond asked about Viola. Something seemed to snap and he said, ‘And your wife. She died at sea.’ Just to say it aloud was like a betrayal. To share her memory with this selfish, vindictive man was more than he could bear. He added harshly, ‘She had great courage.’

Raymond turned slowly on his chair, his eyes in shadow as he answered, I guessed as much. She would rather have died with you than live with me.’

He stood up violently, and an empty bottle rolled unheeded from beneath his pile of documents.

‘You’ve heard about Vicariot? Of the attack?’ Raymond spoke quickly, as if afraid of interruption. “They’ll come again. I saw the Frenchman. They had mutilated everything but his face. So I would know. Be in no doubt.’ He swung round, his features working wildly. ‘I have written orders for Hardacre. He will take over the settlement until…’ He scattered the documents, searching for the one which would give back Hardacre all that he had lost. Except that it would be for a very short time now. ‘My guards will take the convicts aboard your ship today. Now. In Sydney there may be fresh instructions.’

Hardacre had remained silent until that point. “You’d leave? Quit the settlement and lay us open to massacre? No militia, not even a schooner, thanks to you!’

Bolitho looked at him, his mind suddenly clear, like brittle ice.

‘We are not leaving. I too have a document’ He turned to Raymond again. “Remember, sir? My orders from you as to my duties here?’ He walked to the window again and watched the fronds moving in the breeze. “We are not running. I do not care what forces come against us. I have listened for too long about the stupidity of sea officers, the ignorance of common sailors. But when things get bad, they are the ones who seem so important all of a sudden. I have heard you talking of war as if it were a game. Of a just war, or a wasted one. It seems to me that a just war is when you in particular are in jeopardy, Mr Raymond, and I am heartily sick of it!’

Raymond stared at him, his eyes watering. “You’re mad! I knew itl’ He waved an arm towards the wall. “You’d throw away your life, your ship, everything, for this dunghill of a place.’

Bolitho smiled briefly. ‘A moment ago you were its governor. Things were different then.’ He hardened his voice. “Well, not to me!’

The door banged open and Captain Prideaux marched into the loom, his boots clashing across the rush mats like several men at once.

‘I have examined the perimeter, sir’ He ignored Raymond. ‘My men are setting the convicts to work. The breach in the northern palisade was the worst. Sergeant Quare is dealing with it.’

Hardacre said, ‘I will speak with Tinah. He may be able to help.’

‘No.’ Bolitho faced him, suddenly glad of Hardacre’s presence, his strength. If we fail, as well we might, I want his people spared. If it is known they were aiding us, they would have less chance than they do now.’

Hardacre watched him gravely. ‘That was bravely said, Captain.’

‘I told you, are mad’ Raymond was shaking his fists in the air, and spittle ran down his chin as he yelled, ‘When this is over, I will…’

Hardacre interrupted hotly, ‘You saw that French officer, you damned fool!’ There’ll be nothing left to hate or destroy if Captain Bolitho cannot defend us!’ He strode to the door. I will see what I can do to assist the marines.’

Swift coughed by the open door. ‘Beg pardon, sir, but I’d like some advice on the best siting of the swivels.’

‘At once, Mr Swift.’

Bolitho turned on his heel, wondering if both Prideaux and Swift had lingered nearby by arrangement, fearing that he might fall upon Raymond and kill him. He found his hatred for the man had gone. Raymond seemed already to have lost substance and reality.

At the darkest bend in the stairway he saw a quick movement and felt a girl’s hands gripping his arm. As Prideaux pushed between them, cursing with surprise, the hands slipped, but still clung to Bolitho’s legs, then his shoes.

He said, ‘Let her alone.’ Then he stooped and aided the girl to her feet. The poor, demented creature was staring at him, her eyes brimming with tears.

Bolitho said gently, ‘I loved her, too.’ It took all his strength to keep his voice level. ‘As you did.’

But she shook her head and pressed her face against his hand.

Allday was at the foot of the stairs. ‘She can’t believe it, Captain.’ He gestured to a marine. ‘Take her to safety, but don’t touch her.’

‘I cannot believe it either.’

Bolitho stood in the blazing sun, his eyes smarting in the glare. He realized dully that Allday carried a bared cutlass. He must have drawn it as the girl had hurled herself from the shadows. To defend him.

He added simply, ‘Who will take care of her, Allday?’

‘I dunno, Captain.’ He fell in step beside him. ‘There should be a place for everybody.’ He looked away, his voice suddenly husky. ‘The bloody world is big enough surely!’ He sheathed his cutlass angrily. I’m fair sorry about that, Captain. I forgot myself.’

Bolitho said nothing. I would have it no other way.

Then he took the watch from his pocket, and found he could do so without hesitation. Her strength was still with him.

He said, ‘Come. We’ll go round the defences and see for ourselves.’

Allday grinned, relieved and strangely moved. ‘Aye, Captain.’

As they walked towards the gates and a marine sentry stamped his boots together, Prideaux remarked, ‘God’s teeth, Mr Swift, you would think they were on Plymouth Hoe!’

The youth nodded, aware he was seeing something fine, and yet unable to put a name to it.

Prideaux stared at him and exclaimed, ‘Not you, too! Be about your duties, sir, or acting-lieutenant or not, I’ll set my sword to your rump, damme if I don’t!’

 

For the remainder of the day, and all through the following one, boats plied busily between Tempest and the shore. Bolitho seemed to be everywhere, listening to ideas, which slow to come at first, grew and became more adventurous at the slightest encouragement.

Allday stayed with him the whole time, guarding and worrying, seeing the strain and determination laying firm hold in his captain. He did not care that even the shamefaced members of the Corps had returned to their duties at the settlement and had taken Prideaux’s orders without a murmur. Nor did he find comfort in the fact that even the laziest and most unreliable seaman was working through each watch without a rest, and with little more than a grumble. He knew better than most that without Bolitho none of the plans would be worth more than a wet fuse.

As Bolitho stood on the hillside watching the seamen gathering bales of dried grass and palm leaves, or shoring up the battered palisade, Allday waited. He saw the way he seemed to grow more content with each new challenge. As if he was trying to please someone nobody else could see. And he knew well enough who that was.

Just before the darkness threw shadows over the bay the lookouts reported a sail to the east.

Bolitho returned to his ship, strangely calm and without any sort of tiredness.

The sand had run out, and he was glad. One way or the other, they would end it here.