It would not be dark for several hours. He said, “Post a good watch, Sergeant. Then join me.”
He hurried down the slope and into a tangle of dried-up bushes. The whole place seemed scorched by the sun and covered by the droppings of countless sea-birds.
Keen and the others crowded round him.
He said, “I believe there’s a boatload of men ashore somewhere. They’re probably out on the headland. It’s too dangerous to run a boat through those rocks, which is why they were taken by surprise by the canoes. It’s my guess they’ve mounted a guard there. To watch for ships and to drive off any native canoes before they can pass through the rocks.”
Keen nodded. “And their boat is unguarded!”
Ross ran his thick fingers through his red hair. “Now it is, Mr Keen. After night it’ll be another story entirely.”
Bolitho said, “We’ll take cover. As soon as it’s dark we’ll go to the beach.” He glanced at Keen. “When you boarded Eurotas, did you see many of her company?”
Keen looked surprised. “Well, no, sir. I suppose I assumed they were working below decks.”
With a King’s ship entering the bay and a pack of yelling warriors nearby in canoes, Bolitho thought it was unlikely that any seaman would be so set on his work. It was strange he had not thought about it earlier. So there had to be a second, even a third ship.
He turned and scrambled back up the slope to the two boulders and crawled beside a watching marine. He studied the ship for several minutes. There was no doubt about it. The Eurotas was standing higher in the water. All those cannon, a valuable cargo and ship’s stores. No wonder there were so few hands visible about her decks. Just enough to watch over the ship, the wretched convicts battened below. He tried not to think of the murdered girl.
He returned to the others. Keen watched him, his face tight with anxiety.
Bolitho said, “It will be a gamble.” He saw Allday’s hand drop to his cutlass. “But I intend to board that ship as soon as it’s dark. Once there, we can hold her until Tempest arrives.”
Ross said flatly, “The wind’s no helping Mr Herrick, sir. It’s veered quite a piece since we stepped ashore.” He looked at the clear sky. “Aye, we may have a long wait, I’m thinking!”
Keen said, “Why don’t you take a rest, sir? I will stand the first watch.”
But Bolitho shook his head. “I must go and have another look at the ship.”
Keen watched him climbing towards the twin boulders. “He should rest, Mr Ross. We’ll need all his edge tonight.”
Allday heard him and stared up at the boulders. Bolitho would not rest or close even one eye until it was done. Until he knew. He drew his cutlass and sliced its heavy blade through the sand.
Allday had grown to like Viola Raymond very much. She had been good for the captain when he had needed her most. But he had been secretly grateful when she had sailed for England. She represented trouble, a threat to his captain’s future.
Fate, or Lady Luck, as Lieutenant Herrick would have it, had decided otherwise. No matter how it had all begun, it looked as if it might well have a bloody ending before another dawn.
Bolitho licked his lips and felt sand grate between his teeth. Waiting for darkness had been a test for everyone in his party. Scorched by the sun, stung and pestered by flies and crawling insects, it had been torture.
He saw the splash of oars in the gloom and knew a boat was heading for the beach. All through the afternoon and evening, while they had tried to find shelter amongst the scrub and eke out their rations of water and biscuit, Bolitho had watched the occasional comings and goings between ship and shore. The boat had made several trips, but never fully manned. It seemed likely there was a constant picket or lookout on the headland, and few hands could be spared for manning the boat. But the timing was haphazard, and it was impossible to gauge any sort of routine.
One thing was certain, once it had begun to grow dark the boat was always challenged.
Aboard the anchored ship there had been hardly any sign of movement. But what there had, had struck dismay and anger into the watching sailors.
A woman had been seen on deck in mid-afternoon, her dark hair hanging over bare shoulders, her screams shrill across the heaving water as she was chased and finally dragged to one of the hatchways.
Later, a body, that of a man, had been carried to the bulwark and hurled into the sea. It floated away from the hull and made no effort to swim, so it seemed there was another murder to their account.
The boat grounded violently in the surf and the men struggled with oars and then a small anchor to kedge it on to hard sand. From the din they were making, and the attendant clink of bottles, it was obvious they were all drunk, or nearly so. One slumped down on the beach, his shoulders against the dripping boat, while his companions trudged away towards the headland.
Bolitho touched Keen’s arm. It was now or never. The men might be back for more drink, or to change places with their comrades aboard Eurotas within the hour.
He said, “Tell Sergeant Quare to begin.”
He looked at the sky. There was cloud about, but not enough to hide the moon. The wind was fresh, and with the hiss of surf and the distant boom of waves over the reef they might be able to get near the ship unheard.
Bolitho strained his eyes into the darkness, but the shadows played tricks with his vision. He heard the seamen breathing and shifting along the cleft in the hillside, and guessed they were imagining what was happening. Blissett creeping towards the boat, smothered in sand which they had plastered on his body with the aid of their precious water.
Only the unending line of writhing surf separated land from sea, against it the grounded longboat lay like a dead whale.
Bolitho stared towards the ship. There were no anchor lights, but he could see a faint glow through some of the open ports, and knew they were where the remaining guns were stationed. Loaded with grape, they would make short work of any clumsy attack. But there were no boarding nets. Once alongside, the odds might alter.
He stiffened as he heard something like a dry cough. Then Quare said hoarsely, “All done, sir.” He sounded pleased.
Bolitho drew his sword and rose to his feet. At two hundred yards, plus the distance down the final slope, they would be invisible. He started to walk towards the beach, his shoes scraping noisily on loose stones, while the seamen emerged in a ragged line behind him, most of them hunched forward as if expecting to meet a volley of shots.
This was the worst part so far. As he walked Bolitho tried not to think of the muskets and pistols, now all loaded and primed, the rasp of steel from axe to cutlass.
He turned with surprise as he heard a man humming quietly as he strode behind him. It was the American, Jenner, walking in his familiar loose gait, his hair flopping over his eyes. He saw Bolitho turn and nodded companionably. “Fine night for it, sir.”
Beyond him was the Negro, Orlando, a boarding axe over his powerful shoulder like a child’s toy.
What they were doing here, the cause they represented were of no value now. They were going to fight, and if possible stay alive.
All at once Bolitho was standing beside the boat while the seamen gathered into tight groups as they had been ordered.
The marine, Blissett, took his musket from Quare and looked at Bolitho.
“I left him, sir.” He touched the spreadeagled corpse with his foot. “He’s not carrying anything but his weapons. He could be anyone.”
Bolitho looked at the dead man. Around his head and shoulders the sand looked black where his blood had soaked away. He forced himself to kneel beside him, to examine him for some sort of clue. The moon swept momentarily between the clouds, so that the man’s eyes came alight in the glow as if to rebuke him. His clothes were poor and ragged, but his belt, pistol and cutlass were in perfect condition.
Bolitho touched his wrist and arm. The skin was warm, but quite still. There was no wasting, no loose flesh. This man was a sailor. He stood up slowly. Had been a sailor.
Keen whispered, “I’ve got my party around the boat.” He sounded out of breath. Excited or frightened, it was hard to tell.
“Ease her into the water.”
