Even the soft Virginian drawl brought back a hundred more memories.
Tyrrell sat down carefully and adjusted his coat. 'I'd best be off. Just wanted to see you. Don't want to – '
Bolitho exclaimed, 'I was your commanding officer once, remember? You'll stay here and tell me everything. I tried to discover your whereabouts after the war.'
Tyrrell watched Ozzard bustling round him with goblets and bottles.
He said, 'When I was sent young Adam there as a passenger I knew I had to see you.' His eyes shone in the reflected sunlight.
'They were great days, eh?' He glanced at the spell-bound lieutenant. 'Real young terror he was. Younger than me too. Fought a duel for a girl who wanted him dead, and almost took on the Frogs single-handed.' He was smiling broadly but his eyes were incredibly sad.
Bolitho asked gently, 'What are you doing these days?'
'This an' that. I command the Vivid, but she's not mine, worse luck. Do a lot o' trading between the islands. The Dons and the King's ships are always after me as they think I'm a smuggler too. That's a joke. Look at me!'
The door opened and Keen entered warily.
Bolitho said, 'This is Jethro Tyrrell.' He looked at the grey-haired man in the chair. 'My first lieutenant in the Sparrow.' He smiled at Keen's surprise. 'Another war, Val, but a fine little ship.'
Tyrrell shifted in his chair, uncomfortable under their stares.
'Anyways, I hear you're having a spot of trouble here. Goin' to hand back San Felipe to the Frogs, right?'
Bolitho nodded gravely. 'News travels a long way.'
Tyrrell grimaced. 'Not fast enough, it seems. It's the bloody Dons you want to worry about. They intend to take this island.' He regarded their faces with quiet satisfaction. 'They will too if you're not damn careful. They've got eyes everywhere. They even tried to stop my Vivid to search her and see if I was carrying despatches or letters.' He glanced at Adam. 'My God, if they'd found him aboard they'd have murdered the lot of us, I shouldn't wonder.'
Bolitho leaned towards him. 'Is that really true? About the Spaniards?'
Tyrrell looked at him grimly. 'I need money to buy the Vivid. She's not much, but it would be a new start for me.' He turned his face away. 'Just as you want the ship which put down your frigate.'
He sounded hurt. Ashamed. But there was no doubting his sincerity.
Bolitho said, 'I'll help you, Jethro. I would have done anyway if I'd only known.'
'I had some pride, Dick. Then I did. Now I'm desperate. Lost my family, all gone. All I've got left is the sea, and I need a ship.'
Bolitho walked past him and then stopped with his hand on the big man's shoulder. 'You shall have it. Trust me.'
Tyrrell gave a great sigh. 'Then I'll take you to that bloody Spaniard.'
Bolitho looked at Keen. He seemed too stunned to speak. Twenty years. It could be yesterday.
10. The Face of Loyalty
'For God's sake close the skylight, Allday!'
Bolitho leaned over his chart again, his hands around neat calculations and soundings, San Felipe and the neighbouring shores of Cuba and Haiti.
With the stern windows shut and now the cabin skylight, the place was like a kiln. It was to no avail anyway, and Bolitho heard Black Joe Langtry's voice quite easily as the master-at-arms counted out the stroke of the cat- o'-ninetails.
It was strange Bolitho had never accepted or grown used to it. A captain's last resort at maintaining discipline.
A roll of drums, a pause and then that awful crack of the lash across a man's naked back.
He stared hard at the chart until his eyes watered.
Ten!' Langtry's harsh voice intruded again.
Keen would be up there with his officers, watching it. Hating it. But any King's ship sailing alone and without resort to other support was always in danger of exploding into chaos.
Three trusted seamen had deserted while working ashore for the purser, but had been hunted down and brought back by some of the local militia. They had apparently met some half-caste girls at one of the plantations. The rest needed little imagination.
Crack. 'Eleven!'
Now they were paying the price for their momentary pleasures. Keen had awarded the minimum punishment of twenty-four lashes apiece. But it was enough to turn a man's back into a tangle of raw flesh.
Bolitho thought of Tyrrell again. He was aboard his brigantine Vivid attending to storm damage and putting right the other scars left by the Spaniard's swivels.
It was unnerving that Tyrrell should appear like this. Memories of those far-off days together, of the little Sparrow and what she had meant to both of them.
Am I to be ever plagued by memory?
Just as the frigate Phalarope, which had been Bolitho's second command, had sailed in his squadron last year like a spectre from the past, now came Sparrow's reminder to haunt him.
Was it really so? Was I happier then with less responsibility? Prepared to risk life, even lose it, rather than chance reputation as he was doing now.
The drums ceased and he realized the floggings had ended.
He knew Tyrrell, really knew him. Had been with him when he had been smashed to the deck and had lost his leg.
Now he was a shabby reflection of that other man. Outwardly he was no danger to anyone. He was just the sort of ship's master who would hear rumours about the movements and activities of men-of-war. Their nationality and colours mattered little to the master of a small trader. All were potentially dangerous. Seeking prime seamen, even through press-gangs, was no longer in use. Who would know or care until it was too late for the luckless sailor anyway?
Tyrrell had been unshakeable about the powerful two-decker. She wore no colours and carried no name, but Spanish frigates from Santo Domingo, even those from La Guaira hundreds of miles to the south'rd, knew her and kept their distance.
This mysterious ship, which had not hesitated to fire on Achates when Keen had outwitted her in the darkness and had butchered Sparrowhawk's people without mercy, was in the Caribbean and its approaches for a purpose. A task in which she would risk anything if required.
He heard Allday open the skylight and knew that he, like Ozzard and everyone who came near, was being especially careful.
Bolitho looked at his big coxswain and shrugged helplessly. 'I do not know what is happening to me.' Allday nodded his head and smiled. ' Waitin', that's what's wrong, sir.' 'I suppose so.'
Bolitho looked down at the chart again. It was a week since Vivid had sailed into the harbour and Tyrrell had re-entered his life. Without another ship Bolitho dared not leave San Felipe. An attack might be launched by Rivers' supporters, there were plenty of them in evidence. Bolitho could not blame them. They would have to quit their homes and their plantations when the French came. Perhaps Keen had been right. If they hanged Rivers it might end there.
But Rivers had powerful friends in America and the City of London. In Bolitho's eyes he was no better than a pirate. But a proper trial in London would be required by their lordships to prove it.
If Tyrrell was right and the unknown two-decker was preparing to mount an attack on San Felipe, it was folly to leave the harbour unguarded. Achates had proved what could be done when it seemed worth the risk.
The door opened and Adam walked into the cabin.
A full week since they had been reunited and yet they had said very little. Adam was keeping something from him. Or maybe he had been too busy and preoccupied to share the young lieutenant's confidences.
He said, 'Signal from the battery, sir. The brig Electra is standing into the bay. She should anchor within the
