Bolitho felt his way through the smoke and met Palliser and Slade by the tiller.
Palliser exclaimed, “You look like an escaped convict, man!” He gave a brief smile, but Bolitho saw only the strain and the relief.
Rhodes was kneeling beside the marine lieutenant. “He’ll live if we can get him to old Bulkley.”
Palliser raised one hand and the helm went over very slightly. Another schooner was just abeam, her sails drawing well as she stood away from the blazing hulks and headed for the entrance.
Then he said, “By the time they’ve discovered we’ve taken one of their own, we’ll be clear.”
He turned sharply as the San Augustin’s towering masts broke above the smoke. She was still at anchor, and probably had every able man from the island on board waiting to fend off the drifting fire-ships and douse the results of any contact with them.
Palliser added, “After that, it will be someone else’s problem, thank God!”
A ball splashed down near the larboard bow, and Bolitho guessed that Garrick’s gunners had at last realized what was happening.
As the smoke thinned, and parts of the island merged clean and pale in the sunlight, Bolitho saw they were already past the point.
He heard Pearse whisper, “Look, Bob, there she be!” He lifted the head of a wounded seaman so that he could see Destiny’s braced topsails as Dumaresq drove her as close as he dared to the reefs.
Pearse, a boatswain’s mate who had fought like a devil, who by command of his captain had laid raw the back of many a defaulter with his cat-o’-nine-tails, said very quietly, “Poor Bob’s dead, sir.” He closed the young seaman’s eyes with his tarry fingers, adding, “’Nother minute and ’e’d ’ave bin fine.”
Bolitho watched the frigate shortening sail, the rush of men along her gangway as the two vessels tacked closer together. Destiny’s figurehead was as before, pure and pale, her victor’s laurels held up as if in defiance to the smoke-shrouded island.
And all Bolitho could think of was the dead seaman named Bob, of a solitary corpse left drifting in the long- boat, of Stockdale’s anxiety at being ordered away from his side when he was needed. Of Colpoys, and the corporal nicknamed Dipper, Jury and Cowdroy, and others who had been left behind.
“Take in the fores’l!” Palliser watched the Destiny’s wary approach with grim satisfaction. “There were times when I never thought to see that lady again.”
Josh Little crossed to Pearse’s side and said roughly, “We’ll ’ave a wet when we gets aboard, eh?”
Pearse was still looking at the dead seaman. “Aye, Josh. An’ one for ’im, too.”
Rhodes said, “The lord and master will have his way now. A fight to the finish.” He ducked as a heaving-line soared aboard. “But for myself, I wish the odds were fairer.” He looked across at the great pall of smoke which surrounded the flat-topped hill as if to carry it away. “You’re a marvel, Dick. You really are.”
They examined each other like strangers. Then Bolitho said, “I was afraid you’d hold back. That you’d think we were all taken.”
Rhodes waved his arm to some of the seamen along Destiny’s gangway. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? We knew what you were doing, where you were, everything.”
Bolitho stared at him in disbelief. “How?”
“Remember that main-topman of yours, Murray? He was their sentry. Saw you and young Jury as you left cover.” He gripped his friend’s arm. “It’s true! He’s below now with a splinter in his leg. Had quite a story to tell. Lucky for you and young Jury, eh?”
Bolitho shook his head and leaned against the schooner’s bulwark to watch the two hulls come together in the swell.
Death had been that close, and he had known nothing about it. Murray must have taken the first available vessel out of Rio and had ended up with Garrick’s pirates. He could have raised the alarm, or could have shot them both down and become a hero. Instead, something which they had once shared, another precious moment, had held them together.
Dumaresq’s voice boomed through a speaking-trumpet. “Roundly there! I shall be aground if you cannot shift yourselves!”
Rhodes grinned. “Home.”
Captain Dumaresq stood by the stern windows of his cabin, his hands behind him, as he listened to Palliser’s account of the pitched-battle and their escape from the lagoon.
As he signalled for Macmillan to pass round more wine to his stained and weary officers, he said gravely, “I put a landing-party ashore to prick Garrick’s balloon. I did not expect you to make an invasion all on your own!” Then he smiled broadly, and it made him look sad and suddenly tired. “I shall think of you and your lads at dawn tomorrow. But for you, Destiny would have been met with such a resistance that I doubt I could have worked her clear. Things are still bad, gentlemen, but at least we know.”
Palliser asked, “Do you still intend to despatch the schooner to Antigua, sir?”
Dumaresq regarded him thoughtfully. “Your schooner, you mean?” He moved to the windows and stared at the dying sun reflected from the water. Like red gold. “Yes, I am afraid it is another prize I must take from you.”
Bolitho watched, his mind strangely alert in spite of the strain, the bitter memories of the day. He recognized the bond between captain and first lieutenant as if it were something solid and visible.
Dumaresq added, “If San Augustin is little damaged we must fight her as soon as we can. When Garrick’s lookouts see the schooner standing away he will know that time is running out, that I have sent for aid.” He nodded grimly. “He will come out tomorrow. That is my belief.”
Palliser persisted, “He will be supported by the other schooners, maybe two survived the fires.”
“I know. Better that than wait for Garrick to sail against us with a completely overhauled ship. I’d ask for better terms, but few captains get the chance to choose.”
Bolitho thought of the men who had been sent over to the schooner. All but a few were wounded, and yet there had been something defiant about them, something which had raised a cheer from Destiny’s gangways and rigging.
For reasons of his own, Dumaresq had sent Yeames, master’s mate, in command of the prize. It must have been a hard blow for Slade.
Bolitho had been moved when Yeames had approached him before the last boatload had been ferried across. He had always liked the master’s mate, but had thought little beyond that.
Yeames had held out his hand. “You’ll win tomorrow, sir, I’ve no doubt o’ that. But mebbee we’ll not meet again. In case we do, I’ll want you to remember me, as I’d be proud to serve you when you gets your command.”
He had gone away, leaving Bolitho confused and proud. Dumaresq’s resonant voice broke through his thoughts. “We shall clear for action at dawn tomorrow. I shall speak with the people before we close the enemy, but to you especially I give my thanks.”
Macmillan hovered by the screen door until he caught the captain’s eye.
“Mr Timbrell’s respects, sir, an’ will you want to darken ship?”
Dumaresq shook his big head slowly. “Not this time. I want Garrick to see us. To know we are here. His one weakness, apart from greed, is anger. I intend that he shall grow angrier before morning!”
Macmillan opened the door, and gratefully the lieutenants and midshipmen made to withdraw.
Only Palliser remained, and Bolitho guessed he would share the more technical details with the captain without their interruption.
With the door shut once more, Dumaresq turned to his first lieutenant and gestured to a chair.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?”
Palliser sat and thrust out his long legs. For a moment more he kneaded his eyes with his knuckles and then said, “You were right about Egmont, sir. Even after you put him aboard a vessel outwardbound from Basseterre he tried to warn Garrick, or to reason with him. We’ll probably never know. He obviously transferred to a smaller, faster vessel and took the northerly route through the islands to reach here before us. Whatever happened, his words were lost on Garrick.”
He delved into his pocket and withdrew the gold necklace with its double-headed bird and gleaming ruby tails.
“Garrick had them butchered. I took this from one of our prisoners. The seamen I told you about explained the rest to me.”
