party. He was going to stop the brigantine and so distract the war canoes in the only way he knew.
As the realisation came to him, Undine opened fire. It was a slow, carefully-aimed broadside, the guns belching smoke and flame at regulated intervals while the frigate swept further and further amongst the hidden shoals.
Someone gave a cracked cheer as the brigantine's foretopmast shuddered and then curtsied down into the sea alongside in a tangle of rigging and canvas. The effect was immediate, and within seconds she was paying off to the wind, her hull broadside on as another volley crashed and ricocheted all around her. One twelve-pound ball struck the sea near her quarter and shattered into fragments, so near was the shoal to the surface.
'She's struck!'
Everyone was yelling and screaming like a madman, hugging each other and sobbing with disbelief.
Bolitho dragged his gaze from the brigantine which had slewed round either on a shoal or a sandspit, her canvas in pandemonium while she continued to drive ashore.
He held his breath as Undine shortened sail, the tiny figures on her yards like ants, her copper glinting brightly as she thrust round again on the opposite tack. Another half a cable, and she would have been aground.
Allday shouted, 'She's hove-to, Captain, an' there's a boat being dropped!'
Bolitho nodded, unable to answer.
The canoes were paddling furiously towards the helpless brigantine, and more canoes had appeared around the headland, the latter very careful to stay clear of Undine's bared guns. The frigate's big launch was speeding across the choppy water, and when one of the canoes turned towards it the crash of its swivel gun was enough to make the yelling natives join their companions elsewhere.
Davy stood in the sternsheets, very erect and proper. Even his oarsmen seemed totally unreal against the tattered, cheering remnants of Bolitho's landing party.
The captured longboat was already sinking, more planks having been stove open by stones, and Bolitho doubted if they could have lasted another half-hour even without the attacking canoes.
As the launch. grappled alongside, and hands dragged the gasping survivors to safety, he turned to watch the listing brigantine. Even at this distance it was possible to hear the muskets, the baying chorus from the canoes as they surrounded her for the final attack. Revenge or justice, the slaver's end would be terrible indeed.
Davy took his wrist and helped him into the other boat. 'Good to see you again, sir.' He looked at Soames and grinned. 'And you, of course.'
Bolitho sat down and felt his limbs beginning to quiver uncontrollably. He kept his eyes on the ship as she grew and towered above him, very conscious of his own feelings for her, and those who had risked their lives for him.
Herrick was waiting to greet him, his anxiety matched only by his relief as he took Bolitho's hands and said, 'Thank God you're safe!'
Bolitho fought for time, looking at the loosely flapping sails, the watching marines, the gun crews who had paused in their swabbing to look at him and grin. Herrick had taken a terrible chance. It had been sheer lunacy. And he could tell from Mudge's expression, beaming and nodding by the compass, that his was an equal share.
But there was something new here, which had been lacking before. He tried to name it.
Herrick was saying, 'We heard the shooting, sir, and guessed you might be in trouble. Instead of sending boats, we came in strength, so to speak.' He let his glance move along the busy figures at the guns and waiting by the braces. 'They did well. They were glad to be here.'
Bolitho nodded, understanding. Pride. That was it. To find it had cost them dear, and it could have gone much worse.
He said, 'Get the ship under way, if you please. Let us stand away from this damnable coast.' He paused, searching for the words. 'And, Thomas, if you ever doubt your ability to command again, I will remind you of today. You handled her to perfection.'
Herrick looked at Mudge and almost winked. 'We have a good captain, sir, and are beginning to feel the benefit of his drills and exercises.'
Bolitho turned aft, suddenly spent. 'I shall not forget.'
Then he walked to the cabin hatch with Allday at his heels.
Mudge ambled to Herrick's side. 'A near thing, Mr. 'Errick. If you 'adn't given the order, I don't know if I'd 'ave 'ad the will to persist through them shoals.'
Herrick looked at him, remembering Bolitho's expression, the guard no longer hiding his thoughts.
'Well, Mr. Mudge, I reckon it was well worth it.'
He stared at the misty shore line and at a growing plume of smoke. The brigantine must have caught fire, he thought. For a while longer he held on to the picture of the battered, listing boat, with Bolitho upright in the sternsheets, that old tarnished sword in his hand. If he had not disobeyed Bolitho's order to put the ship's safety before all else, he would indeed be in command now, and Bolitho back there, dying in agony.
'Get the hands to the braces!' He walked to the rail with his speaking trumpet. 'And God bless lady luck!'
Below the cabin hatch Bolitho heard Herrick laugh, and then the clatter of blocks as the seamen went to their stations for getting under way again.
Allday asked quietly, 'Can I fetch you some wine, Captain? Or something a mite more powerful?'
Bolitho leaned against the mizzen mast trunk and felt it vibrating urgently to the pressure of wind and canvas high overhead.
'D'you know, Allday, I think that after all the trouble we went through to get it, I would like a glass of fresh water.'
8. Madras
Bolitho stood very still by the quarterdeck rail and watched the vast spread of land which reached away on either bow. In the morning sunlight the countless white buildings seemed to rise tier upon tier, the uneven skyline decorated at irregular intervals by tall minarets and plump golden domes. It was breathtaking, and he could tell from the quiet way the seamen were moving around the decks that they were equally impressed.
He turned and looked at Herrick. Very tanned, and strangely unreachable in his best uniform.
'We did it.'
Bolitho raised his telescope and watched some high-prowed dhows scudding abeam, their gaunt sails like wings. Even they were part of the magic.
Mudge said, 'Ease off a point'. Then he, too, fell silent as the wheel squeaked over.
Perhaps he was satisfied, and so he should be, Bolitho thought. Madras, the name itself was like one great milestone for what they had achieved together. Three months and two days after weighing anchor at Spithead. Back there, Bolitho had seen disbelief on Mudge's heavy face when he had suggested they might make the voyage in one hundred days.
Herrick said quietly, 'Aye, sir. Since we quit the African coast lady luck came with us for certain.' He grinned broadly.
'You and your lady luck.' But he smiled all the same.
It had seemed much as Herrick had described. Within a few days of leaving the land, the dead and dying far astern, the wind had risen from the south-west, the fringe of the monsoon which on this occasion had acted as a friend. Day after day, with all sail set, Undine had bounded along, freely, recklessly, her forecastle never clear of bursting spray, while dolphins and other strange fish had stayed close in company. It was just as if that terrible confrontation with the war canoes, seeing the seaman being flayed alive, and all else had been one last great challenge.
He glanced up at the gently flapping topsails and forward to the solitary jib, the power barely enough now to carry them into the wide anchorage and between that impressive spread of shipping.
Madras, the most important British station on the south-east coast of another continent. A stepping-stone to advancement elsewhere, to trade and further discovery. Even the names were like fresh challenges. Siam and Malacca, south-east to Java, and beyond to a million unknown islands.
He saw a towering merchantman spreading more sail as she tacked heavily into a pale bank of sea-haze. With her chequered gunports and impeccable sail drill she could have been a manof-war. But she was one of the East
