now, whenever he heard a footfall on the companionway, he almost expected to see Bolitho emerge on deck, his grey eyes moving automatically from one end of his ship to the other.
He walked to the nettings and looked at the island with something like hatred. To most people it would appear much as any other small point of land in the Great South Sea. To him it was a mocking challenge. A millstone which held him helpless.
He saw Tempest’s launch pulling lethargically between ship and shore, the sunlight glinting on weapons. For although they had found no sign of the French frigate or Tuke’s schooners, they had company just the same. Large war canoes, crammed with dark figures, had moved as near as they dared. Watching or waiting for Tempest’s men to break the sanctity of their island by stepping ashore.
His mind returned frequently to the settlement and he wondered what was happening. No sign of the fever had appeared on board, so it seemed likely it was of a local nature and could bring down only those closely exposed to it and who lacked the toughness of the average sailor.
He had discussed it with the surgeon several times, but he had been unhelpful. He had explained to an impatient Herrick that a “sniff of a cold” which would do no harm to a country parson in England could kill every man, woman and child on one of the islands if the conditions were right for it. On the other hand, no European could withstand the terrible torture of some initiation ceremonies which were performed and accepted without a murmur. Gwyther had said, “It is all a question of balance, you see.”
Herrick mopped his face. Question of balance indeed.
Borlase appeared on deck and watched him guardedly. “Have you made a decision, Mr Herrick?”
“Not yet.”
Herrick tried to turn it aside in his mind. It was fifteen days since he had left the Levu Islands and had watched Bolitho being pulled ashore. He ought to have heard something by now. He wondered what Bolitho would say when he discovered about the letter. In his own round handwriting Herrick had written a private report for Commodore Sayer at Sydney and had sent it across to the brig Pigeon before she had weighed anchor.
Herrick knew about courts martial and boards of enquiry. He understood that something in writing, put down at the time of the events under examination, carried far more weight than a carefully worded document written much later when the man concerned knew which way the cat would jump. Although what notice anyone would take of the view of a lowly lieutenant was harder to understand. But the thought of that pig Raymond using his influence and guile to destroy Bolitho was something he would not stand by and watch.
He looked at Borlase, waiting with his childlike smile.
“I have carried out the captain’s orders. But there has been not even a smell of Narval or the pirates. If there had been a sea fight, we’d have discovered something surely? Driftwood, corpses, something.”
Herrick forced himself to think back. He had found Hardacre’s small schooner off North Island, but her master had nothing to report. He had been very glad to see Herrick, happier still to be ordered to the settlement. There were too many war canoes in the vicinity for his liking. It was more than probable Bolitho would send the schooner back again, here to Rutara, with fresh instructions. He shook his head angrily. No, he was doing it again. Shutting his eyes. Turning from responsibility.
He considered it more calmly. It could happen at any time in a man-of-war. By accident, in battle, or from disease, a captain might die. Then his subordinate took charge, and so on. There was no other way. And here, thousands of miles from anywhere, it was his own burden now.
He said abruptly, “I will weigh tomorrow.” He saw Borlase’s eyes sharpen. “That schooner should have brought us news.”
Borlase let his lashes hide his eyes. “It is a heavy decision for you.”
“God damn it, d’you think I don’t know that, you fool!”
Borlase flushed. “I am sorry you take that attitude, sir!”
“Good!”
Herrick saw Acting-Lieutenant Swift walking wearily along the larboard gangway. He was on watch. It was like having a wardroom full of children and old men, Herrick thought angrily.
“Mr Swift!” He saw the youth jump. “Recall the boat and change crews. It is your job to remember these things!”
Ross, the big master’s mate who was also appointed actinglieutenant by Bolitho’s order, strolled across to him.
Herrick glowered. “And don’tyou start asking what I am going to do!”
Ross kept his face stiff. “Och, sir, I had no such intention.”
There was a scuffle of feet by the entry port and then Swift ran aft, his sun-reddened face alive with excitement.
“Sir! The sentry saw two men on the island! As I hailed the guard boat they seemed to appear out of nowhere!”
Herrick snatched the glass and trained it on the shore. For a moment he could not find anything because of a dancing haze which made the low hills quiver like jelly. Then he saw them, two staggering, bewildered figures, lurching against one another, sometimes falling, only to rise up and continue towards the sea. Like two drunken scarecrows, he thought.
Ross said sharply, “Those canoes have sighted ’em, sir!”
Herrick swung his telescope round like a swivel gun, masts, rigging and then open water sweeping through the powerful lens and then settling on the nearest canoes. A mile distant, but there was no doubting their purpose. They must have seen the men on the island, too. The closest canoe was a grand affair, with a great castle-like structure in its stern, decorated with man-o’-war birds’ feathers, and richly carved. Must be all of forty feet long, he thought, with professional interest.
He barked, “Rouse the hands, but don’t send them to quarters. Tell Mr Brass to clear away whatever twelve- pounder he thinks fit to bear on those fellows. I’ll have no nonsense from them!”
Calls trilled below his feet, and seamen and marines appeared from all directions.
Borlase remarked, “They’re both white men anyway.”
The guard boat, still unaware of the two men ashore, pulled gratefully into Tempest’s shadow. Herrick ran to the gangway, and as he leaned out under an awning felt the sun on his neck like a branding iron. Schultz, the German boatswain’s mate, was peering up at him.
Herrick yelled, “Go back and lie offshore. Tell those two men to swim out to you. Put one of yours overboard if need be, but keep the boat away from the beach!”
The heads in the launch swivelled from the island to the canoes and back again.
Herrick added, “And, Schultz, let somebody else do the hailing.”
“Ja, zur, I understand!” He grinned.
“God.” Herrick went into the shade again. “This damned heat!”
He looked up at the loosely brailed sails. Ready to release and set in minutes. Tempest was desperately shorthanded, but as prepared to give fight as any ship could be.
A gunport opened, and one of the twelve-pounders trundled squeakily into the sunlight. Mr Brass, the gunner, stood hands on hips, watching the selected crew loading and ramming home a black, shining ball. Beside the gunner, Midshipman Romney, small and delicate against the muscular seamen, was trying not to get in anybody’s way.
“Ready, sir!”
Herrick nodded. The canoes were much closer, the paddles rising and dipping in perfect unison. He shivered despite the heat. He remembered other times when he had watched them, without the stout timbers of a ship to protect him.
“May I speak, sir?” It was a young seaman called Gwynne, one of the volunteers Herrick had signed on from the Eurotas. He had settled in well and seemed quite happy with his somewhat harsher surroundings.
“Yes, Gwynne.”
The seaman shifted awkwardly on his bare feet as the officers clustered around him. Even Prideaux was here now, his foxy face set in disapproval.
“Them two fellows, sir. I knows ’em. They’m off Eurotas, same as me.”
Herrick stared at him. “Take the glass, man. Have another look!”
Prideaux said softly, “If it is true, they must have changed sides when Tuke captured the ship in the first
