li had a crew of natives which had been recruited by the French authorities in Martinique. No wonder a man like Lieutenant Contenay had been picked for such a small and lonely command. He was a cut above many officers Bolitho had met, and well suited for such arduous work. It was no mean task to sail the lugger from Martinique in the Caribbean all the way to this poorly charted anchorage.
Even with such a devastating and lethal cargo she would make a pleasant change from this, he thought. And once in New York, anything might happen before Trojan's authority caught up with him again. A frigate perhaps? Going back to the most junior aboard a frigate would be reward enough.
He thought he had misheard as Paget continued, 'Mr Probyn is to command. He will take some of the lesser wounded men to watch over the native crew.'
Bolitho turned, expecting Probyn to explode in protest. Then it came to him. After all, why should not Probyn feel as he did? Go with the prize and present himself to the commander-inchief in the hopes of getting a better appointment, and promotion to boot.
Probyn was so obsessed with the idea he had not touched a drop of wine or brandy, even after taking the fort. He was not shrewd enough to see beyond the new prize and his eventual entrance to Sandy Hook, not the sort of man to consider that others might think it strange for so senior a lieutenant to take so small a command.
Probyn stood up, his features showing satisfaction better than any speech.
Paget added, 'I will write the necessary orders, unless…' he glanced at Bolitho, 'you intend to change your mind?'
Probyn's jaw lifted firmly. 'No, sir. It is my right.'
The major glared at him. 'Only if I say so.' He shrugged. 'But so be it.'
D'Esterre murmured, 'I am sorry for your missed chance, Dick, but I cannot say the same of your remaining with us.'
Bolitho tried to smile. 'Thank you. But I think poor George Probyn may soon be back in Trojan. He is likely to run into a senior ship on his journey whose captain may have other ideas about the lugger's cargo.'
Paget's eyebrows knitted together. 'When you have quite finished, gentlemen!'
D'Esterre asked politely, 'What of the French lieutenant, sir?'
'He will remain with us. Rear-Admiral Coutts will be interested to meet him before the authorities in New York get the chance.' He gave a stiff smile. 'If you can see my point?'
The major stood up and flicked some sand from his sleeve. 'Be about your affairs, and see that your men are on the alert.'
Probyn waited by the door for Bolitho and said curtly, 'You are the senior here now.' His eyes glittered through his tiredness. 'And I wish you luck with this rabble!'
Bolitho watched him impassively. Probyn was not that much senior in years, but looked almost as old as Pears.
He asked, 'Why all this bitterness?'
Probyn sniffed. 'I have never had any real luck, or the background of your family to support me.' He raised his fist to Bolitho's sudden anger. 'I came from nothing, and had to drag myself up every rung by my fingernails! You think I should have asked for you to be sent with the lugger, eh? What's a damned Frenchie blockade-runner to a senior lieutenant like me, that's what you're thinking!'
Bolitho sighed. Probyn was deeper than he had imagined. 'It did cross my thoughts.'
'When Sparke was killed, the next chance fell to me. I took it, and I intend to exploit it to the fullest range, d'you see?'
'I think so.' Bolitho looked away, unable to watch Probyn's torment.
'You can wait for the relief to arrive, then you can tell Mr bloody Cairns, and anyone else who might be interested, that I'm not coming back to Trojan. But if I ever do have to visit the ship, I will be piped aboard as a captain in my own rightV
He swung on his heel and walked off. Whatever pity or understanding Bolitho might have felt melted when he realized that Probyn had no intention of speaking with the men he was leaving behind, or visiting those who would die from their wounds before the lugger had tacked clear of the anchorage.
D'Esterre joined him on the parapet and watched Probyn as he marched purposefully along the beach towards one of the long-boats.
'I hope to God he stays out of his cups, Dick. With a hull full of powder, and a crew of frightened natives, it could be a rare, voyage if George returns to his favourite pastime!' He saw his sergeant waiting for him and hurried away.
Bolitho went down one of the stairways and found Quinn leaning against a wail. He was supposed to be supervising the collection of side-arms and powder flasks, but was letting his men do as they pleased.
Bolitho said, 'Well, you heard what the major had to say, and what Probyn said to me just now. I have a few ideas of my own, but first I want to know what happened at dawn when we attacked.' He waited, remembering the awful cry, the bark of musket fire.
Quinn said huskily, 'A man came out of the watch-tower. We were all so busy, looking at the gates and trying to mark down the sentries. He just seemed to come from nowhere.' He added wretchedly, 'I was the nearest. I could have cut him down easily.' He shuddered. 'He was just a youngster, stripped to the waist and carrying a bucket. I think he was going down to get some water for the galley. He was unarmed.'
'What then?'
'We stood looking at each other. I am not sure who was the more surprised. I had my blade to his neck. One blow, but I couldn't do it.' He looked desperately at Bolitho. 'He knew it, too. We just stood there until…
'Rowhurst, was it?'
'Yes. With his dirk. But he was too late.'
Bolitho nodded. 'I thought we were done for.' He recalled his own feelings as he had stood over the man he had shot to save himself.
Quinn said, 'I saw the look in the gunner's mate's eyes. He despises me. It will go through the ship like fire. I'll never be able to hold their respect after this.'
Bolitho ran his fingers through his hair. 'You'll have to try and earn it, James.' He felt the sand and grit in his fingers and longed for a bath or a swim. 'But we've work here now.' He saw Stockdale and some seamen watching him. 'Take those hands to the pontoon directly. It is to be warped into deep water and broken up.' He gripped his arm and added, 'Think of them, James. Tell them what you want done.'
Quinn turned and walked dejectedly towards the waiting men. At least with Stockdale in charge he should be all right, Bolitho thought.
A petty officer knuckled his forehead and asked, 'We've broached the main magazine, zur?' He waited patiently, his eyes like those of a sheepdog.
Bolitho collected his thoughts, while his mind and body still tried to detain him. But it had to be faced. He was in charge of the seamen, just as Probyn had said.
He said, 'Very well, I'll come and see what you've found.
Cannon had to be spiked and made useless, stores to be set alight before the fort itself was blasted to fragments with its own magazine. Bolitho glanced at the empty stables as he followed the petty officer into the shade. He was thankful there were no horses left in the fort. The thought of having to slaughter them to deny them to the enemy was bad enough. What it might have done to the battle-wearied seamen was even worse. Death, injury or punishment under the lash, the average sailor seemed to accept as his lot. But Bolitho had seen a boatswain's mate split open a man's head in Plymouth, merely for kicking a stray dog.
Marines bustled everywhere, in their element as they prepared long fuses, stowed casks of powder and trundled the smaller field-pieces towards the gates.
By the time the work was half completed, the pontoon had been warped into deep water, and from a parapet Bolitho saw the seamen hacking away the ropes and destroying the ramp with their axes. Small in the distance, Quinn stood watching them. The next time he was thrown into a fight he would not be so lucky, Bolitho decided sadly.
He saw Midshipman Couzens in the watch-tower, a telescope trained towards the anchorage. When he turned, Bolitho saw the lugger making sail, her anchor swinging and dripping as it was hoisted to the cathead.
The same wind which would delay Spite should carry Probyn and his little command well clear of the land by nightfall. Pity was never a good reason for making friends, Bolitho thought. But it had been a bad parting, and if they
