Honour This Day

misplaced!'

The others laughed. It was the first healthy sign.

Bolitho said, 'We destroy the battery, then Thor can follow through the sandbars. Her carronades will more than take care of any guardboats.' He stood up carefully to avoid the low beams. 'And then we shall attack.'

Parris said, 'And if we are repulsed, Sir Richard?'

Their eyes met across the small table. Bolitho studied his gipsy good looks, the reckless candour in his voice. A West Country man, probably from Dorset. Allday's blunt words seemed to intrude, and he thought of the small portrait in Haven's cabin.

He said, 'The treasure-ship must be sunk, fired if possible. It may not prevent salvage, but the delay will be considerable for the Don's coffers!'

'I see, sir.' Parris rubbed his chin. The wind's backed. It could help us.' He spoke without emotion, not as a lieutenant who might well be dead, or screaming under a Spanish surgeon's knife by morning, but as a man used to command.

He was considering alternatives. Suppose, if, perhaps.

Bolitho watched him. 'So shall we be about it, gentlemen?' They met his gaze. Did they know, he wondered? Would they still trust his judgment? He smiled in spite of his thoughts. Haven certainly trusted nobody!

Imrie said cheerfully, 'Och, Sir Richard, we'll a' be rich men by noon!'

They left the cabin, stooping and groping like cripples. Bolitho waited until Imrie alone remained.

'It must be said. If I fall, you must withdraw if you think fit.'

Imrie studied him thoughtfully. 'If you fall, Sir Richard, it will be because I've failed you.' He glanced around the cramped cabin. 'We'll make you proud, you'll see, sir!'

Bolitho walked out into the darkness and stared at the stars until his mind was steady again.

Why did you never get used to it? The simple loyalty. Their honesty with one another, which was unknown or ignored by so many people at home.

Thor dropped anchor, and as she swung to her cable in a lively current, the boats were manhandled alongside or hoisted outboard with such speed that Bolitho guessed that her commander had been drilling and preparing for this moment since he had weighed at English Harbour.

He settled himself in the sternsheets of the jolly boat, which even in the darkness seemed heavy, low in the water with her weight of men and weapons. He had discarded his coat and hat and could have been another lieutenant like Parris.

Allday and Jenour were crowded against him, and while All-day watched the oarsmen with a critical eye, the flag lieutenant said excitedly, 'They'll never believe this!'

By they, he meant his parents, Bolitho guessed.

It seemed to sum up his whole command, he decided. Captains or seamen, there were more sons than fathers.

He heard the grind of long sweeps as the lighter was cast adrift from Thor's quarter, spray bursting over the blades until two more boats flung over their tow-lines.

It was a crazy plan, but one which might just work. Bolitho plucked his shirt away from his body. Sweat or spray, he could not be sure. He concentrated on the time, the whispered soundings, the steady rise and fall of oars. He did not even dare to peer astern to ensure that the others were following.

The boats were at the mercy of the currents and tides around the invisible sandbars. One minute gurgling beneath the keel, and the next with all the oars thrashing and heaving to prevent the hull from being swung in the wrong direction.

He pictured Parris with the main body of men, and Dalmaine in the lighter with his mortars, the hands baling to keep the craft afloat. So close inshore he would not dare to use the pumps now.

There was a startled gasp from the bows, and the coxswain called hoarsely, 'Oars! Easy, lads!'

With the blades stilled and dripping above either beam, the jolly boat pirouetted around in the channel like an untidy sea-creature. A man scrambled aft and stared at Bolitho for several seconds.

He gasped, 'Vessel anchored dead ahead, sir!' He faltered, as if suddenly aware that he was addressing his admiral. 'Small 'un, sir. Schooner mebbee!'

Jenour groaned softly. 'What damned luck! We'd never -'

Bolitho swung round. 'Shutter the lantern astern!' He prayed that Parris would see it in time. An alarm now would catch them in the open. It was too far to pull back, impossible to slip past the anchored ship without being challenged.

He heard himself say, 'Very well, Cox'n. Give way all. Very steady now.' He recalled Keen's calm voice when he had spoken with his gun crews before a battle. Like a rider quieting a troubled mount.

He said, 'It's up to us. No turning back.' He made each word «ink in but it was like speaking into darkness or an empty boat. 'Steer a little to larboard, Cox'n.' He heard a rasp of steel, and a petty officer saying in a fierce whisper, 'No, don't load! The first man to loose off a ball will feel my dirk in 'is belly!'

And suddenly there she was. Tall, spiralling masts and furled sails, a shaded anchor light which threw thin gold lines up her shrouds. Bolitho stared at it as the boat glided towards her bows and outstretched jib-boom.

Was it to be here, like this?

He heard the oars being hauled inboard with elaborate care, the sudden scramble in the bows where the keen-eyed seaman had first sighted this unexpected stranger.

Allday muttered restlessly, 'Come on, you buggers, let's be 'avin' you!'

Bolitho stood up and saw the jib-boom swooping above him as the current carried them into the hull like a piece of driftwood. Jenour was crouching beside him, his hanger already drawn, his head thrown back as if expecting a shot.

'Grapnel!'

It thudded over the bulwark even as the boat surged alongside.

'At 'em, lads!' The fury of the man's whisper was like a trumpet call. Bolitho felt himself knocked and carried up the side, seizing lines, scrabbling for handholds, until with something like madness they flung themselves on to the vessel's deck.

A figure ran from beneath the foremast, his yell of alarm cut short as a seaman brought him down with a cudgel; two other shapes seemed to rise up under their feet and in those split seconds Bolitho realised that the anchor watch had been asleep on deck.

Around him he could sense the wildness of his men, the claws of tension giving way to a brittle hatred of anything that spoke or moved.

Voices echoed below deck, and Bolitho shouted, 'Easy, lads! Hold fast!' He listened to one voice in particular rising above the rest and knew it was speaking a language he did not recognise.

Jenour gasped, 'Swedish, sir!'

Bolitho watched the boarding party prodding at the schooner's crew, as singly or in small groups they clambered through two hatches to gape at their change of circumstances.

Bolitho heard the stealthy movement of oars nearby and guessed that Parris with one of his boats was close alongside. He had probably been expecting a sudden challenge, the raking murder of swivels.

Bolitho snapped, 'Ask Mr Parns if he has one of his Swedish hands on board!' Like most men-of-war Hyperion had the usual smattering of foreign seamen in her company. Some were pressed, others volunteers. There were even a few French sailors who had signed on with their old enemy rather than face the grim prospects of a prison hulk on the Medway.

A figure strode forward until Allday growled, 'Far enough, Mounseer, or whatever you are¹'

The man stared at him, then spat, 'No need to send for an interpreter. I speak English – probably better than you!'

Bolitho sheathed his hanger to give himself time to think. The schooner was unexpected. She was also a problem. Britain was not at war with Sweden, although under pressure from Russia it had been close enough. An incident now, and…

Bolitho said curtly, 'I am a King's officer. And you?'

'I am the master, Rolf Aashng And I can assure you that you will live to regret this – this act of piracy'