likes that.”
Rhodes gripped Bolitho’s arm. “He must be mad. He can’t fight Garrick and the Dons.”
The marine drummer boys began their staccato beat, and the moment of doubt was past.
13. Last Chance
“THE DON is shortening sail, sir.”
“We shall do likewise.” Dumaresq stood in the centre of the quarterdeck just forward of the mizzen, like a rock. “Take in the t’gan’sls.”
Bolitho shielded his eyes as he peered up through the tracery of rigging and nets as his own men began to fist and fight the rebellious canvas. In less than an hour the tension had risen like the sun, and now, with San Augustin firmly placed on the starboard bow, he could feel it affecting every man who was near him. Destiny had the wind- gage, but by overhauling the Spanish captain had placed himself between her and the approaches to the lagoon.
Rhodes strolled aft and joined him between two of the 12-pounders.
“He’s letting the Don get away with it.” He grimaced. “I must say I approve. I don’t fancy a one-sided fight unless the odds are in my favour.” He glanced quickly at the quarterdeck and then lowered his voice. “What do you make of the lord and master now?”
Bolitho shrugged. “I am bounced between contempt and admiration. I despise the way he used me. He must have known Egmont would not betray Garrick’s island on his own.”
Rhodes pursed his lips. “So it was his wife.” He hesitated. “Are you over it, Dick?”
Bolitho looked across at the San Augustin, her streaming pennants and the white ensign of Spain.
Rhodes persisted. “In all this, with the prospect of being blown to gruel because of some stupid event of long ago, you can still fret for the love of a woman?”
Bolitho faced him. “I’ll not get over it. If only you could have seen her…”
Rhodes smiled sadly. “My God, Dick, I’m wasting my time. When we return to England I’ll have to see what I can do to roust you out of it.”
They both turned as a shot reverberated across the water. Then there was a splash as the ball threw up a spindly waterspout in direct line with the Spaniard’s bowsprit.
Dumaresq snapped, “God in heaven, the buggers have fired first!”
Several telescopes were trained on the island, but nobody was able to sight the hidden cannon.
Palliser said dourly, “That was a warning. I hope the Don has the sense to heed it. This calls for stealth and agility, not a head-on charge!”
Dumaresq smiled. “Does it indeed? You begin to sound like an admiral, Mr Palliser. I shall have to watch myself!”
Bolitho studied the Spanish ship closely. It was as if nothing had happened. She was still steering for the nearest finger of land where the lagoon began.
A few cormorants arose from the sea when the two ships sailed past, like heraldic birds as they circled watchfully overhead, Bolitho thought.
“Deck there! Smoke above th’ hill, sir!”
The telescopes trained round like small artillery.
Bolitho heard Clow, one of the gunner’s mates, remark, “That be from a bloody furnace. Them devils is heatin’ shot to feed the Dons.”
Bolitho licked his lips. His father had told him often enough about the folly of setting a ship against a sited shore battery. If they used heated shot it would turn any vessel into a pyre unless it was dealt with immediately. Sun-dried timbers, tar, paint and canvas would burn fiercely, while the wind would do the rest.
Something like a sigh transmitted itself along the deck as the San Augustin’s ports lifted in unison, and then at the blast of a trumpet she ran out her guns. In the far distance they looked like black teeth along her tumblehome. Black and deadly.
The surgeon joined Bolitho by the twelve-pounders, his spectacles glinting in the sun. Out of deference for the men who might soon need his services, he had refrained from wearing his apron.
“I am as nervous as a cat when this is dragging on.”
Bolitho understood. Down on the orlop deck below the waterline, in a place of spiralling lanterns and entrapped smells, all the sounds were distorted.
He said, “I think the Spaniard intends to force the entrance.”
As he spoke the other ship reset her topgallants and tacked very slightly to take advantage of the south- westerly wind. How fine her gingerbread looked in the sun’s glare, how majestic were the proud pennants and the scarlet crosses on her courses. She was like something from an old engraving, Bolitho thought.
She made the lean and graceful Destiny appear spartan by comparison.
Bolitho walked aft until he stood directly below the quarterdeck rail. He heard Dumaresq say, “Another half- cable, and then we’ll see.”
Then Palliser’s voice, less certain. “He might just force the entrance, sir. Once inside he could wear ship and rake the anchored vessels, even use them to protect himself from the shore. Without craft, Garrick is a prisoner.”
Dumaresq considered it. “That part is true. I have only heard of one man who successfully walked on water, but we need another sort of miracle today.”
Some of the nine-pounder crews nearby rocked back on their knees, grinning and prodding each other over the captain’s humour.
Bolitho marvelled that it could be so easy for Dumaresq. He knew exactly what his men needed to keep them alert and keen. And that was what he gave them, neither more nor a fraction less.
Gulliver said to nobody in particular, “If the Don succeeds, that’s a farewell to our prize-money.”
Dumaresq looked at him, his teeth bared in a fierce grin. “God, you are a miserable fellow, Mr Gulliver. How you can find your way about the ocean under such a weight of despair I cannot fathom!”
Midshipman Henderson called, “The Spaniard has passed the point, sir!”
Dumaresq grunted. “You have good eyes.” To Palliser he added, “He is on a lee shore. It will be now or not at all.”
Bolitho found that he was gripping his hands together so tightly that the pain helped to calm him. He saw the reflected flashes from the San Augustin’s hidden gunports, the great gouts of smoke, and then seconds later came the rumbling crash of her broadside.
Puffs of smoke and dust rose like plumes along the hill-side, and several impressive avalanches of rocks tumbled down towards the water.
Palliser said savagely, “We shall have to come about shortly, sir.”
Bolitho looked up at him. After Destiny, Palliser had been hoping for a command. He had made little secret of the fact. But with hundreds of sea officers on the beach and on half-pay, he needed more than an empty commission to carry him through. The Heloise could have been a stepping-stone for him. But promotion boards had short memories. Heloise lay on the bottom and not in the hands of a prize court.
If Don Carlos Quintana succeeded in vanquishing Garrick’s defences, all the glory would go to him. The Admiralty would see too many red faces for Palliser to be remembered as anything but an embarrassment.
There was a solitary bang, and another waterspout shot skywards, well clear of the Spaniard’s hull.
Palliser said, “Garrick’s strength was a bluff after all. Damn him, the Dons must be laughing their heads off at us. We found their treasure for them and now we’re made to watch them take it!”
Bolitho saw the Spaniard’s yards swinging slowly and ponderously, her main-course being brailed up as she edged past another spine of coral. To the anchored vessels in the lagoon she would make a fiercesome spectacle when she presented herself.
He heard someone murmur, “They’m puttin’ down boats.”
Bolitho saw two boats being swayed out from the San Augustin’s upper deck and then lowered alongside. It was not smartly done, and as the men tumbled into them and cast off, Bolitho guessed that their captain had no
