Bolitho waited for the servant to pour the wine and leave the cabin.
“I was delayed on passage here, sir. We were struck by a squall three days out of Madras, and two of my people were badly injured by falling from aloft. Two others were lost overboard.”
He looked away, remembering the pity he had felt at the time. The squall which had come with the swiftness of sound in the middle of the night had departed just as quickly. Two dead and two permanently crippled for no reason.
“I decided to put into Timor and land the men there. I have had business with the Dutch governor at Coupang and he has always been most helpful.”
The commodore watched him above the rim of his goblet. “Yes. You’ve had fine successes against pirates and privateers in that area.”
Bolitho faced him. “But for my unplanned visit I would not have heard the news. A ship, a King’s ship, had a mutiny aboard, some six months ago, according to the governor. She had been outward bound from Tahiti when it happened. I am not certain of the reasons for it, but one thing is clear, the mutineers cast their officers and loyal men adrift in a small boat. But for the commander, I am told his name is Bligh, they would have perished. As it was, he found his way to Timor, over three thousand, six hundred miles, before he could summon help. The ship was an armed transport, sir. The Bounty.”
Sayer stared at him, his face grave. “I’ve not heard of her.” He stood up and walked to the broad stern windows. “So the mutineers will probably use her for piracy. They have little choice, other than hanging.”
Bolitho nodded, feeling his own uncertainty. Mutiny.
Even the word was like the touch of some terrible disease. He had felt it aboard his first frigate, Phalarope. It had not been of his doing, but the memory was still sharp in his mind.
As the commodore remained silent and continued to stare through the windows Bolitho added, “I up-anchored and headed south-west and then around the southern coast of this colony, sir. I put into Adventure Bay in Van Diemen’s Land. I thought the mutineers might have gone there before the news broke about their crime.” He shrugged. “But they have vanished. It is now my belief they have no intention of returning to a civilized country where they might be seized. They’ll stay in the Great South Sea. Add to the list of renegades and murderers who are living off traders and natives alike. But a King’s ship. It does not bear thinking about.”
Sayer turned and smiled sadly. “You have cause to hate the word mutiny. I am glad you discovered what you did. But higher authority than ours will decide what to do next, have no doubt.” He sipped at his goblet. “Bligh, you say?” He shook his head. “Must be a determined man to survive such a journey.”
Bolitho felt himself relax in the chair. Ever since he had spoken with the Dutch governor he had held the story of the mutiny on his mind. Now, under Sayer’s influence, he could face it in its proper proportion. He had reacted like most captains, seeing himself in the same predicament. Without knowing the ship, the men or the exact circumstances it was like baying at the moon for more light.
He watched Sayer with sudden compassion. Tired out with this unenviable appointment, broken by some past fever, he was nevertheless the senior officer. Just as Bolitho had been the only representative of the world’s greatest navy as he had covered many hundreds of miles in search of pirates and the local rulers who gave them encouragement. Perhaps one day he might fly a broad pendant of his own, but he doubted if he would carry Sayer’s selfassurance to go with it.
The commodore said, “I shall see the governor without delay. I suggest you return to your ship and take on water and whatever stores you need.” He studied him calmly. “I am afraid I’ll be sending you to sea very quickly. I would have done so anyway. Your news hastens the event.” As Bolitho rose he added, “If you need extra hands I daresay it can be arranged. After two years of Botany Bay it is hard to discover where a transported convict leaves off and an honest man begins!” He winked. “I’ll speak with the receiving officer ashore.”
At the entry port Sayer stood with Bolitho looking across at Tempest. In the bright glare her rigging and shrouds shone like black glass.
“Fine ship.” He sounded wistful.
Bolitho said, “I imagine you will soon return to England, sir.”
The commodore shrugged. “I would wish to see Cornwall again.” He reached out and touched the worn gangway rail. “But like my poor old Hebrus, I expect I will die out here.” He said it without rancour or bitterness.
Bolitho stood back and removed his hat to the quarterdeck.
As the side party paid its respects to him once more and he climbed down to the waiting gig he found himself thinking of the fine houses in St James’s. Would anyone there care if they read Sayer was dead?
But he thought he already knew the answer, and he was frowning when he ordered Allday to cast off.
As he sat in silence and the boat left the flagship’s shadow and moved into the blazing heat he glanced at the faces of the oarsmen. What did he really know of these men? It was different in war. The enemy was clear to see, the cause, though vague, was always a just one because it was your own. Holding together, cheering and hitting back were all part of that desperate world. But now, miles from real civilization, what would men like these think if pressed too far?
Allday glanced down at Bolitho’s squared shoulders, at the black hair which as always was tied neatly above his gold-laced collar. The captain was going over it all, as he usually did. Fretting and bothering himself for other people’s sakes. He could guess what was uppermost in his mind. Allday had been aboard Bolitho’s ship in the mutiny, a pressed man at that. He’d not forget it either. He looked at the oarsmen, each picked and trained by him. They knew about the Bounty mutiny, and by sundown every man-jack and convict in the colony would, too.
Allday had never known his parents, and could not properly remember at what age he had first set foot aboard ship. He had been at sea all his life but for a short while in Falmouth, where he had been pressed by men from Bolitho’s own ship. Over the years before that time he could recall several captains who would warrant a mutiny. Cruel, vindictive men who seemed to delight in making their people suffer. Men such as those could make even the tiniest act of kindness in the crowded world between decks seem like a kind of miracle. It was wrong that it should be so when there were others like Bolitho who cared for their responsibility.
Bolitho snapped, “If you do not watch your helm, Allday, we’ll be inboard by way of a gunport, I’m thinking!”
Allday swung the tiller and grinned at Bolitho’s back.
That was more like it.
The dusk which quickly enclosed the harbour was like a seductive velvet curtain. It helped men to forget the heat of the day and the strain of re-provisioning the ship with anything which Benjamin Bynoe, the hard-eyed purser, could obtain at the lowest barter.
Bolitho leaned back on the bench beneath the open stern windows and watched the lights winking from every level of the town. It was to be their second night at anchor in Sydney, but his first on board. Commodore Sayer had kept him busily engaged, mostly ashore, meeting the assistant governor, his superior being elsewhere in the colony attending to some petition from those damned farmers, as he described them. The first settlers, even with the available if reluctant aid of the convict labour, were not finding their lives easy.
Bad crops, some floods and theft by natives and escaped prisoners had left them in no mood for tolerance.
Bolitho had also met the officers of the local military. He had got the distinct impression they were not eager to discuss their affairs with anyone from outside the colony. He had said as much to Sayer, who had smiled at his doubts.
“You are quite right, Bolitho,” the commodore had said. “At first the governor was content to use marines to keep order and contain the transported convicts. But they were required in England, and most have been shipped home. These ‘soldiers’ you spoke with are some of the New South Wales Corps. They are specially recruited at high expense, and in many cases are more dishonest than those they are supposed to be guarding! I would not wear the governor’s coat for a sack of gold.”
Bolitho’s impressions of Sydney had been equally mixed. The dwellings were rough, but well sited for the most part, with ready access to the waterfront. Some, like the huge windmills behind the town, standing on the slopes like gaunt onlookers, showed signs of the Dutch influence. Practical and well designed.
Bolitho was well used to the crudity and drunkenness of seaports in many countries, but Sydney’s rash of grog shops and worse made some he had seen appear quite mild. Sayer had told him that many of the shanty-keepers were actually employed by the officers of the Corps, who openly encouraged immoral liaisons between their own
