he would learn who had commanded her. The Spanish frigate had been careful to stand between the victor and defeated, to prevent, it seemed, any attempt to pick up survivors.
Napier said, 'Two Spanish men-of-war did stand inshore for a while. They were going to land a party at the island mission.'
He sounded surprised that Bolitho had not already questioned him about it. In fact, Bolitho was so fatigued he had barely skimmed over the commander's neatly written report.
Bolitho made himself stand and walk towards the open stern windows as Achates continued towards the island. He could still smell the heat and sweat of battle. The scent of death.
'What did you do?'
Napier relived his proudest moment as acting-governor.
'I warned them off, sir. Fired a shot from the battery to liven things along.'
Liven things along. Bolitho wanted to laugh, but knew if he did he might not be able to stop.
When and where would it end? Tyrrell had betrayed him, or had been about to. Now, not only the French were intent on San Felipe but the Spaniards also.
Keen entered the cabin and said, 'We are about to enter harbour, sir. The wind is steady from the sou'- east.'
He looked strained and extremely tired. He was feeling the ship's pain as if it were his own.
The pumps had barely stopped since the battle. Achates had taken two bad hits in her bilge. And a 'long nine', as a thirty-two-pounder was nicknamed, could do terrible damage. Achates was, after all, twenty-two years old. That represented a lot of miles under her keel.
'I'll come up.' Bolitho added bitterly, 'There may be some watching from the shore who will be disappointed to see us still afloat.'
He thought of the two Spanish men-of-war and their apparent intention to land men on what they still claimed as Spanish territory. But for Tyrrell's change of heart, the two ships would have been joined by the ship which now lay below a Caribbean reef.
Napier suddenly went pale. 'I – I do beg your pardon, sir. I had almost forgotten. There was a packet-ship from England.'
Bolitho stared at him and said sharply, 'Continue.' Napier fumbled inside his coat and then produced a letter. 'For you, sir.'
He seemed to shrink under Bolitho's gaze.
Keen snapped, 'Come on deck, Commander Napier, I wish to discuss certain matters about docking my ship… ' But he paused at the door and glanced back at Bolitho. He was holding the letter with both hands, afraid to open it, afraid to move.
He turned and almost bumped into the flag-lieutenant. 'Not yet, Adam. There's a letter.'
In the gloom between decks Allday leaned on a blistered eighteen-pounder and peered through the gun-port to watch a green finger of land slide abeam. There were people there to watch the stained and battered ship sail past, but nobody waved or cheered.
To Allday it was just another landfall. He had been in so many harbours they had become merged and mixed in memory. He sighed. That letter was all that mattered for now. He could remember as if it was yesterday when together they had clambered into the overturned coach and found a beautiful woman more dead than alive. The resemblance to Bolitho's previous wife had been too much to believe.
He cocked his head as a gun boomed out from the old fortress. Better than any mock tears, he thought. A proper welcome, though there were too many jacks who would not hear the guns now or ever again.
He straightened his back as the door opened in the cabin screen and the scarlet-coated sentry snapped to attention.
Bolitho ducked beneath the deckhead beams and then saw Allday waiting for him.
He looked at Allday's anxious features and felt his own strength begin to ebb away. The careful composure he had tried to build up as he had read carefully through her letter, the moments of despair when his gaze had become misty, each was taking a toll now on his reserves.
He paused and listened to the guns, the jarring response from Achates' upper deck as she returned the salute.
Then he reached out and grasped Allday's hard hand.
Allday asked thickly, 'Is all well, sir?'
Bolitho squeezed his hand. It was somehow right that he should be here. The first to know.
'We have a fine daughter, Allday.'
How long they stood like this it was hard to tell. Achates changed tack around the point, and on the poop the marine fifers and drummers struck up a lively march, Come cheer up my lads 'tis to glory we steer… To Bolitho it could have been anything.
Allday nodded slowly, savouring the moment as he would retell it when he eventually put his feet ashore for the last time.
'And Ma'am, sir?'
'Very well.' Bolitho walked towards the sunlight. 'She asked to be remembered to you.' He quickened his pace on to the quarterdeck. Now he could face anything. Do anything. He looked at Allday's great beaming grin. 'She hopes we are not too bored by being employed in peacetime!'
Allday glanced up at the splintered cross-jack yard, the stains and marks of battle which were everywhere.
Then, despite the solemnity of the moment, a King's ship entering harbour, the salutes and the flag which dipped to Old Katie above the battery walls, he threw back his head and laughed.
Keen looked at him and then at Bolitho. The reward for the victor was plain to see.
Captain Valentine Keen watched his superior with unconcealed surprise and admiration. Since Achates' return to San Felipe the work of repairs, the replacement of timbers and spars, had continued without a break. The facilities in Georgetown were poor, and they had been confronted by non-cooperation and hostility at every turn.
English Harbour at Antigua was the only suitable place for a proper refit, but Keen was resigned to seeing his ship put to rights in what amounted to primitive conditions. If Achates quit the island he had little doubt that an invasion of some kind would soon follow.
He knew that Bolitho had not spared himself. He had been ashore many times, had visited the ex-governor, Rivers, had even allowed him to return to his own home under open arrest, although Keen had voiced his disagreement on that score.
It was late August and the heat unbearable. But any day, at any hour, the fortress lookouts might report the approach of Spanish ships, French too for that matter, and Achates had to be ready for sea and prepared if need be to fight.
Electra had sailed that forenoon for Antigua. Despatches for the admiral, if he had returned, and others to be sent with all haste to the Admiralty in London. All this and a lot more had kept Bolitho working in his cabin until the middle watches, and yet he never seemed to tire or show his irritation at the delays and lack of help from the islanders.
The letter from his wife in Falmouth had done more for Bolitho than a hundred victories, or so it seemed.
Bolitho looked up from the litter of papers on his table. It had been something of a relief to send Napier to Antigua with his ideas and intentions which Sheaffe would eventually read at the Admiralty. He had committed himself. Right or wrong, he had made a decision. It was what he had veered away from previously. Now he was glad, even eager, to act with a freedom he had once found hard to express.
'Rivers has agreed not to interfere. Others can decide later what will become of him.' He saw the deep lines around Keen's mouth and was moved to add, 'It has been a difficult time for you, Val. I understand that.'
Keen shrugged. 'Mr Quantock, the master, Mr Grace, the carpenter, all are in rare agreement, sir. If this ship is called on to fight without proper attention in a dockyard she may suffer severe consequences.'
Bolitho nodded. 'I know that. You are also short-handed because of our losses and with no chance of replacements.'
Keen said, 'If we do not get support from other ships, sir, we will be hard put to defend ourselves, let alone this island.'
