Alexander Kent - Midshipman Bolitho and the Avenger

Then, taking good care to avoid local shipping,

Avenger had stood away from the land before heading down channel again, towards Penzance.

Hugh was ashore now, as usual leaving neither explanation nor destination.

Bolitho studied the passing men and women, seamen and fisherfolk, traders and idlers. Had the rumour gone out yet? Was someone already plotting a way of ambushing Hugh's fictitious capture?

Dancer clambered up from the cutter and stood beside him, rubbing his hands to ward off the cold.

Bolitho said, `It seems very peaceful, Martyn.'

His friend nodded cheerfully. `Your brother has thought of everything. The chief revenue officer has been here, and I'm told that waggons are being sent to collect our, precious hoard!' His mouth widened to a grin. `I didn't know the Navy ever got mixed up in this kind of game.'

A seaman called, 'Cap'n's a'comin', sir!'

Bolitho waved to the man. He had grown to like the friendly way, that forecastle and afterguard shared their confidences when one might expect such an overcrowded hull to drive them further apart.

Hugh Bolitho, wearing his sword and looking very sure of himself, climbed swiftly down to the deck, the midshipmen following at a respectful distance.

Hugh touched his hat to the poop and briskly flapping ensign and said, 'Waggons will be here presently. They've done well. The whole town's agog with news of our little enterprise. Good muskets and powder, seized from a potential enemy.'

He ran his glance swiftly over the large bundles of muskets which were already being swayed up from the hold under the gunner's watchful eye.

He sniffed the air. `Good day to begin too. No hanging about. It's what they will be watching. Probably right now. To see if we're really intent on getting the cargo ashore and into safe hands, or are trailing our coats as a ruse.'

Gloag, who had been listening, said admiringly, `You've a clever mind an' no mistake, sir. I can see you in your own flagship afore too long!'

`Maybe.' Hugh walked to the companionway. `The waggons will be loaded and under guard from the moment they arrive. There'll be a party of revenue men as additional escort.' His eyes fixed on Dancer. `You will be in charge. The senior revenue man will know what to do, but I want a King's _officer in charge.'

Bolitho said quickly, `I'll go, sir. It doesn't seem right to send him. It was because of me he is here at all.'

`The matter is closed.' Hugh smiled. `Besides, it will all be over before you know it. A few bloody heads and the sight of the dragoons will be sufficient. Sir Henry Vyvyan can have all the hangings he wants after that!'

As he vanished below Dancer said, `It's no matter, Dick. We've done far worse in the old Gorgon. And this may stand us in good stead when our examiations come due, whenever that wretched day will be!'

By noon the waggons had arrived and were loaded without delay. Again, Hugh Bolitho had planned it

well. Not enough fuss to make the preparations appear false, but enough to suggest the genuine pride of a young commander's capture.

If it went well, Gloag's remark would make good sense. The prize money from the stranded Dutch vessel and the destruction of a gang of smugglers or wreckers would do much to push Hugh's other problems to one side.

`You there! Give me a hand down with my bag!'

Bolitho turned to see a seaman helping a tall, loose-limbed man in a plain blue coat and hat down. on to the cutter's bulwark.

The seaman seemed to know him well and grinned. `Welcome back, Mr Whiffin, sir!'

Bolitho' hurried aft, raking through his mind to place where he had heard the name. He had now been aboard the cutter for ten days and had learned the names and duties of most of the men, but Whiffin's role eluded him.

The tall man regarded-him calmly. A mournful, expressionless face.

He said, 'Whiffin. Clerk-in-charge.'

Bolitho touched his hat. Of course, that was it. These cutters carried a senior clerk to do several jobs in one. To act as purser, captain's clerk, in some cases even to try their hand at surgery, and Whiffin looked as if he could do all of them. Bolitho remembered hearing his brother mention vaguely he had put Whiffin ashore for some reason or other. Anyway, now he was back.

`Captain aboard?' He was studying Bolitho curiously. `You'll be the brother then.'

Wherever he had been, Whiffin was remarkably well informed.

`Aft.'

'Very well. I'd better see him.'

Shooting another glance at Dancer he went below, twisting himself around and down the companion like a weasel.

`Well now.' Dancer pursed his lips in a whistle. `He's a strange one.'

The boatswain's mate of the watch called, 'Cap'n wants you below, sir!'

Bolitho hurried to the ladder, wondering if Whiffin's return had changed something. Perhaps he and not Dancer was going with the waggons after all.

His brother looked up sharply as he entered the cabin. Whiffin was sitting near him, filling the air with smoke from a long clay pipe.

`Sir?'

`Slight alteration, Richard.' He gave a small smile. `I want you to get ashore and find the chief revenue officer. Hand him this letter, and bring me a signature for it.'

Bolitho nodded. `I see, sir.'

`I doubt it, but no matter, so off you go.'

Bolitho looked at the address scrawled on the waxsealed envelope and then returned to the deck.

He led Dancer to the side and said, `If I'm not back aboard before you leave, good luck, Martyn.' He touched his arm and smiled, surprised at his sudden uneasiness. `And take care.'

Then he climbed on to the jetty and strode quickly towards the town.

It took over an hour to find the revenue officer in question. He seemed out of sorts, probably because of the extra work he was being given, and also at having to sign for the letter, as if he was not to be trusted.

When Bolitho returned to the jetty nothing seemed to have changed. Not at first glance. But as he drew nearer to the Avenger's tall mast and furled sails he realized that the waggons had already gone.

As he lowered himself to the deck Truscott, the gunner, said, `You're wanted below, sir.'

Again? It never stopped. He was still a midshipman, no matter what title Hugh had chosen for him.

Hugh Bolitho was seated at the table, as if he had not moved. The air was still wreathed in smoke, and it gave the impression that Whiffin had only just left.

`You didn't take long, Richard.' He sounded preoccupied. `Good. You can tell Mr Gloag to call the hands and prepare to get under way. We'll be shorthanded, so see that,they know what they are doing.'

`The waggons are gone.'

His brother watched him for several seconds. `Yes. Soon after you left.' He raised one eyebrow. `Well?'

`Is something wrong?' Bolitho stood his ground as he recognized the quick flash of impatience.

'Whiffin brought news. There is to be an ambush. The waggons will take the road to the east'rd towards Helston, then nor'-east to Truro. Whiffin has made good use of his time ashore and a few guineas in the right palms. If all goes as expected, the attack will be between here and Helston. The coast road is within easy reach of a dozen coves and beaches.

Avenger will get under way now and be ready and waiting to offer assistance.'

Bolitho waited for more. His brother was explaining crisply, confidently, but there was a difference. He sounded as if he was speaking his thoughts aloud to convince himself of something.

Bolitho said, `And the letter I carried was for the dragoons?'

Hugh Bolitho leaned back against the curved timbers and said bitterly, `There are no dragoons. They're not coming.'

Bolitho could not speak for several moments, seeing only his friend's face as they had parted, recalling Hugh's remark about Avenger being short-handed. The plan had been for ten seamen to go with Dancer, while the rest of the escort would be some revenue officers. The dragoons from Truro, superbly trained and experienced, were to have been the main force.

The fact that Hugh had sent more seamen than intended showed he had known for some while.

He said, `You knew. Just as you did about the informant Portlock.'

`Yes. If I had told you, what would you have done, eh?' He looked away. `You'd have passed the news to Mr Dancer, frightened him half to death before he'd even started.'

`As it is, you might be sending him to his death.'

`Don't be so bloody insolent!' Hugh stood up, stooping automatically between the deckhead beams. It made him look as if he was about to spring at his younger brother. `Or so self-righteous!'

`I could ride after them.' He could hear his own voice. Pleading, knowing at the same time it was wasted. `There'll be other ways of catching the smugglers, other times.'

`It is settled. We sail on the tide. The wind has veered and is in our favour.' Hugh lowered his voice. `Rest easy. We'll manage.'

As Bolitho made for the door he added, `Mr Dancer is your friend, and we are brothers. But to all else we are authority, with a plain duty to carry out.' He nodded. `So be about it, eh?'

Standing aft by the taffrail as he watched the Avenger's depleted company preparing to take in the mooring lines, Bolitho tried to see it as his brother had suggested. Detached. Uninvolved. It would be simple to recall the waggons. A fast horse would be up to them in less than two hours. But Hugh was not prepared to risk his plan, no matter what chance it had of success without the dragoons' aid. He would rather put Dancer and two dozen of his own men in mortal danger.

Standing out of harbour almost into the eye of the wind, the Avenger made a leisurely exit.

Bolitho watched his brother by the compass, seeking some sign, a hint of his true feelings.

He heard Gloag say, `Damn this fair weather, I say, sir. We'll not be able to change tack 'til we're hid from the land by dusk.' He sounded anxious, which was unusual. `Time's runnin' out.'

Then Bolitho saw through his brother's guard as

he thrust himself away from the compass with a

sharp retort. `Keep your miseries to yourself, Mr

Gloag! I'm in no mood for them!'

He went below, and Bolitho heard the cabin door slam shut.

The acting-master remarked to the deck at large, `Squalls ahead.'

Darkness had closed over the choppy waters of Mounts Bay when Hugh Bolitho came on deck again.

He nodded to Gloag and the watchkeepers on the lee side and said, `Tell Mr Pyke and the gunner to attend to both boats. They must be armed and ready for hoisting outboard at short notice.' He peered at the feeble compass light. `Call the hands and bring her about. Steer due east, if you please.'

As the word was passed between decks, and the seamen came hurrying once more to their stations, he crossed to where Bolitho stood beside the helmsmen.

`It'll be a clear night. Wind's brisk, but no need to take in a reef.'

Bolitho barely heard him. He was picturing the cutter's progress, as if he were a sea-bird high overhead.

From the calculations on the chart, and the new course, he knew that they would be heading inshore again, to dangerous shoal waters, towards the very coastline where the Dutchman had gone aground, and many more fine ships before.

If Whiffin's information was correct there would be an attack on the slow-moving waggons. If the attackers already knew of the deception they would be beside themselves with glee. If not, it would still make little difference unless Dancer and his men received help.

He looked up at the hard-bellied sails, the long whipping tongue of the masthead pendant.

His brother called, `Very well. Stand by to come about.'

When order had replaced the confusion of changing tack, and Avenger's long, pole-like bowsprit was pointing towards the east, the gunner came aft, leaning over to a steeper angle as the wind pushed the hull over.

`Boats checked an' ready, sir. An' I've got a good man by the arms chest in case we…'

He swung round as a voice called hoarsely, `Light, sir! On th' larboard bow!'

Dark figures slithered down across the tilting deck to the lee side to search for the light.

Someone said, `Wreckers, mebbe?'

But Gloag, who had also seen it, said, `No. It was too regular.' He pointed. `See? There it be again!'

Bolitho snatched a telescope and tried to train it across the creaming wash of crests and spray. Two flashes. A shuttered lantern. A signal.

He felt Hugh at his side, heard his telescope squeak as he closed it and said, `Where is that, d'you reckon, Mr Gloag?' Calm again. In charge.

"Ard t' tell, sir.'

Bolitho heard Gloag breathing heavily, any animosity between him and his youthful captain momentarily forgotten.

Pyke suggested, `Round the point, towards Prah Sands, is my guess, sir.'

The light blinked out twice like a malevolent eye against the black shoreline.

Pyke said with disbelief, `God damn their eyes, they're runnin' a cargo tonight, the buggers!'

Bolitho chilled, imagining the unknown vessel, somewhere ahead of the lightless cutter. If they sighted the Avenger they might sheer off. Then again, they might raise an alarm which in turn would warn the ambush. The attack would be brought forward and there would be no hope of quarter.

`We will shorten sail, Mr Gloag. Mr Truscott, have the guns loaded with grape and canister.' The sharpness in his tone held the gunner motionless. `But do it piece by piece. I don't want to hear a sound!' Hugh peered round for a boatswain's mate. `Pass the word forrard. A flogging for the first man to alert the enemy. A golden guinea for the first man to sight him!'

Bolitho crossed the deck before he knew what he was doing.

`You're not going after her?'

His brother faced him, although his face was hidden in the gloom.

`What did you expect? If I let her slip away we could lose both. This way we might do for all the devils at once!'

He swung away as the hands ran to the braces and halliards.

`I've no choice.'

As the Avenger ploughed her way through each succession of wave crests, Bolitho found it harder to contain his anxiety. The cutter seemed to be making an incredible noise, and although he knew it would not be heard beyond half a cable, he could find no comfort. The sluice of water against the hull, the boom of heavy canvas with the attendant strains and rattles in the rigging, all joined in an ever-changing crescendo.

The topsail had been taken in, as had the jib, but even under fore and mainsail alone Avenger would stand out to any watchful smuggler.

As Gloag had mentioned, it was a fair night. Now that their eyes had become accustomed to it, it seemed even brighter. No clouds, a million glittering stars to reflect on the frothing waves and spume, and when you looked up the sails were like great, quivering wings.

A man craned over a stocky six-pounder and thrust out his arm.

7. A Tragedy

`There, sir! Fine on th' lee bow!'

Figures moved about the decks, as if taking part in a well practised dance. Here and there a telescope squeaked or a man whispered to his companion. Some in speculation, others probably in envy for the man who would receive a golden guinea.

Hugh Bolitho said, `Schooner, showing no lights. Under full sail too.' He shut his glass with a snap. `-Bit of luck. He'll be making more din than we are.' He dispensed with conjecture and added shortly, `Bring her up a point, Mr Gloag. I don't want the devil to slip past us. We'll hold the wind-gage if we can.'