Success To The Brave Part 32

'It's my right to ...

A ball ripped through Bolitho's coat and he vaguely saw Langtry, the master-at-arms, cut down the marksman with a boarding axe.

They were all dying. And for what?

A new explosion made both ships roll and groan together, and for an instant Bolitho imagined that a magazine had caught fire, that both ships would be joined in one terrible pyre.

Swords and cutla.s.ses hovered in mid air, marines paused in their desperate efforts to reload their muskets, as like a towering forest giant the Frenchman's mainmast began to topple. It seemed to take an eternity, so that even some of the wounded tried to prop themselves up to watch, or called to their friends to discover what was happening.

Bolitho let his arm fall to his side, the pain tearing at his muscles as if they were exposed.

Knocker yelled hoa.r.s.ely, 'There it goes, by Jesus!'

Slowly, and then with greater haste, the mast began to drop. Topmast and topgallant, spars and loosely brailed canvas tore apart as shrouds and stays snapped like threads, unable to hold the tremendous weight or restrain its fall. The fighting-top, complete with swivel-guns, barricades and men, split in halves, hurling its occupants to the deck below, or carrying them down with the topmast as it crashed through timber, rigging and guns into the hull beneath.

Even in Achates Achates Bolitho could feel the weight and power of the fallen mast, the way the deck beneath his feet tilted steeply to the new pressure. Bolitho could feel the weight and power of the fallen mast, the way the deck beneath his feet tilted steeply to the new pressure.

A trumpet blared through the rising smoke and some of the boarders retreated into a larger group near the forecastle.

It was the usual sailor's instinct to save his own ship no matter what.

Bolitho cleared his raw throat and shouted, 'To me, Achates!' 'To me, Achates!'

It was their only chance, if a precious frail one.

But from forward came a sharp command and then a sparkling line of musket-fire. Bolitho stared, unable to believe it. It was like the moment at San Felipe when Dewar had chosen his moment on the track to the fortress. The neat lines of scarlet, the muskets ready and waiting. But now Dewar lay dead, his face shot away, his body trampled on a dozen times as they had fought back and forth across him. And the marines had not been waiting, gauging the moment. They had been in action since the first shots.

And yet they were doing it. He could see Hawtayne's hat above the smoke, hear his shrill voice as he shouted, 'Rear rank, advance! Present! Fire!' Fire!'

The shots raked through the packed ma.s.s of French boarders.

There would be no time to reload.

Bolitho dashed down one of the quarterdeck ladders, the pain of his wound forgotten as he ran through the litter of bodies and fallen rigging, his eyes fixed on the enemy.

Hawtayne was calling, 'Advance!' 'Advance!' The bayonets glittered in the hazy light as the marines moved into the attack. The bayonets glittered in the hazy light as the marines moved into the attack.

Bolitho saw a young officer running to meet his challenge. He was about the same age as Adam, with similar dark good looks. The steel clanged against steel and Bolitho was almost blinded by the realization that his nephew was very likely dead.

The young French officer lost his stance as Bolitho parried his blade away. Just for the merest split-second he saw the officer's eyes widen with understanding or acceptance. Then he was down. Bolitho pulled the sword free and felt his men surge past him, their voices strengthened by the sudden change of roles.

Lieutenant Scott waved his sword. 'Boarders away!' 'Boarders away!'

Cheering, cursing, and sometimes dying, a tide of seamen and marines fought their way across to the other ship.

Bolitho hacked another officer to one side but could barely raise his sword now. How long could they hold out?

He was on the gangway, carried part of the way along by his men as they rushed aft to seize the p.o.o.p.

Small pictures flashed across Bolitho's mind. Adam's face when he had tried to tell him about the girl in Boston. Tyrrell's old pride returning as he had stepped aboard the ship for pa.s.sage to a country he had never seen. Little Evans, watching the burning Spanish ship, or following him like a small shadow. And Allday, trying to protect him when his own terrible wound was tearing him apart. Pulling him down like a fallen oak.

Shouts and screams exploded across the broad quarterdeck and bodies were flung about in b.l.o.o.d.y bundles from a murderous blast of canister.

Bolitho wiped the sweat from his eyes with his forearm and stared up at the p.o.o.p.

He must really be mad. But surely it was Adam and another lieutenant up there with some of Achates' Achates' men? The smoking swivel, depressed on to the ma.s.s of defending seamen and their officers, had had the same effect as the sight of the marines charging from the smoke with their levelled bayonets. men? The smoking swivel, depressed on to the ma.s.s of defending seamen and their officers, had had the same effect as the sight of the marines charging from the smoke with their levelled bayonets.

Lieutenant Scott forgot all his usual self-control and clapped Bolitho hard across the shoulder.

'By G.o.d, it's the flag-lieutenant, sir! The young devil's blown the heart out of 'em!'

He ran after his men but paused to look back at his vice-admiral. It was just a glance, but it spoke more than a thousand words.

The enemy still outnumbered Achates' Achates' men and at any moment a leader would emerge, one for them to follow, to renew the fight. men and at any moment a leader would emerge, one for them to follow, to renew the fight.

Bolitho looked at his gasping, gashed and bruised seamen, the way they leaned on their cutla.s.ses and pikes. They could not take another battle.

Lieutenant Trevenen marched across the deck and touched his hat with the hilt of his sword.

Achates' junior lieutenant, who had been a hostage in Rivers' fortress. junior lieutenant, who had been a hostage in Rivers' fortress.

Seconds ago he had been fighting with his men and working the guns in his division.

Now, filthy but bright-eyed, he was a boy again, and his eyes shone with emotion as he reported, 'They have hauled down their colours, sir.' He fell silent as the seamen and marines crowded closer to hear. Then he tried again, 'Mr Knocker has sent a messenger across . . . ' He looked down, the tears running unheeded on his grimy cheeks.

Bolitho said quietly, 'You've done well, well, Mr Trevenen. Please continue.' Mr Trevenen. Please continue.'

The lieutenant looked at him. 'A ship has been sighted to the south'rd, sir. One of our our seventy-fours!' seventy-fours!'

Bolitho moved through his men, hearing them cheering and slapping each other. It was as if it was all somewhere else and he was a mere spectator.

He found the French rear-admiral by the wheel. He had been slightly wounded in the arm and was supported by two of his officers.

They stood and faced each other.

Then Jobert said simply, 'I should have known when I saw it was your was your ship.' He tried to shrug but the pain made him wince. He added, 'You were to give me an island.' He struggled with his sword. 'Now I must give you this.' ship.' He tried to shrug but the pain made him wince. He added, 'You were to give me an island.' He struggled with his sword. 'Now I must give you this.'

Bolitho shook his head. 'No, M'sieu. M'sieu. You've earned the right to it.' You've earned the right to it.'

He turned and walked back towards the side, his ears ringing to the shouts and wild huzzas.

Hands reached out to a.s.sist him across to the Achates' Achates' torn and littered deck, and he saw Midshipman Ferrier and Rooke, the boatswain, watching him, grinning and waving their hats. torn and littered deck, and he saw Midshipman Ferrier and Rooke, the boatswain, watching him, grinning and waving their hats.

If only they would stop.

He glanced at the figures on the gun-deck, ones who would never cheer now. How sleep the brave? How sleep the brave? And he thought of the others on the orlop who were paying the price of his victory. And he thought of the others on the orlop who were paying the price of his victory.

He turned as he heard Allday's painful, dragging steps and saw that he was carrying Jobert's flag over his shoulder.

Bolitho gripped his arm. 'You old dog! Will you never do as I say?'

Allday shook his head, his breath wheezing. But he managed to grin as he replied, 'Doubt it, sir. Too long in th' tooth now.'

Bolitho walked blindly to the rail where Keen was sitting propped in a chipped and blood-stained chair while Tuson examined his wound.

Keen said huskily, 'We did it, sir. I'm told the ship which is heading this way is a seventy-four.' He tried to smile. 'You'll be able to shift your flag to her and be home long before us.'

Bolitho heard the cheering again and again. Three to one. Three to one. Yes, they had won, and all England would soon know about it. Yes, they had won, and all England would soon know about it.

He said, 'No, Val. My flag stays here. We'll sail home together.' He smiled sadly. 'With Old Katie.' Old Katie.'

Epilogue.

Bolitho's home-coming was more than he had dared to hope for during the long months he had been away. In other ways it was sad, as he knew it would be. The farewells at Plymouth were as moving as the welcome when the scarred and battered Achates Achates had dropped her anchor, her prize, the had dropped her anchor, her prize, the Argonaute, Argonaute, given immediately into the hands of the dockyard. given immediately into the hands of the dockyard.

It must have been Old Katie's Old Katie's finest hour, Bolitho thought, with her pumps going as they had every hour of the day since that terrible battle. Even her ill-matched jury-rig had somehow managed to look rakish with his flag fluttering at half its proper height. She had brought crowds to the Hoe which few could remember. finest hour, Bolitho thought, with her pumps going as they had every hour of the day since that terrible battle. Even her ill-matched jury-rig had somehow managed to look rakish with his flag fluttering at half its proper height. She had brought crowds to the Hoe which few could remember.

Adam had watched Bolitho's grave features as he had walked from beneath the splintered p.o.o.p to say good-bye to those who had become so familiar to him since they had sailed from the Beaulieu River a year ago.

Scott and Trevenen, Hawtayne and young Ferrier. And Tuson, the surgeon, who had removed a metal splinter from Keen's side the size of a man's thumb. And little Evans, who in his own way had become a man.

Bolitho had been thinking of those he would not see again, who could not share in the home-coming.

The captured seventy-four would be under the British ensign in a matter of months, a very valuable addition to the depleted fleet. But Achates Achates had taken the battle badly. It was unlikely she would ever feel the blue waters of the Caribbean again, and would probably end her days as a hulk. had taken the battle badly. It was unlikely she would ever feel the blue waters of the Caribbean again, and would probably end her days as a hulk.

It had been a slow and painful pa.s.sage up the Channel, and they had sailed so near to the Cornish coast that Adam had shinned aloft to the mizzen cross-trees with a gla.s.s to see it for himself.

When he had returned to the deck he had said simply, 'I saw part of the house, Uncle.' It had seemed to bring to him then and there how near he had been to not seeing it again. 'There are crowds on the headland, all the way to St Anthony.'

So slow had been their progress in the warm spring airs that a carriage had been sent to Plymouth in time to meet him.

He was thankful Belinda had not come herself. He had made her promise because of Allday, and if she had seen the ship, listing and blackened, she would have been deeply distressed.

Keen had accompanied him in the barge for the last time. The crowds on the waterfront had cheered and thrown their hats in the air, and women had held up their babies to see Bolitho. The news of his victory had preceded him like a rainbow. He had noticed there were few young men in the crowds.

Once again England was at war with the old enemy, and the press-gangs would be quick to s.n.a.t.c.h any suitable hands left over by the recruiting parties.

He had also said good-bye to Tyrrell. That had been harder than he had expected. But Tyrrell's dogged independence forced them apart.

Tyrrell had grasped his hands in both of his own and had said, 'I'll be lookin' around for a while, d.i.c.k. Just to discover if I like what I see.'

Bolitho had persisted. 'Come to Falmouth soon. Don't forget us.'

Tyrrell had slung his bag over his shoulder and had said, 'I never forgot you, d.i.c.k. Nor will I. Ever.'

That had been a week ago. Now, as Bolitho stood by a window and looked out across the flowers and shady trees, he could still scarcely believe it.

Their first meeting had been one of joy and tears.

Belinda had pressed her face into his coat and had whispered, 'I made Ferguson take me to the headland. I saw you sail past. That poor little ship. I was so afraid, and yet so proud.' so proud.' She had looked up at him, searching out the strain on his face. 'There were people everywhere. They began to cheer. You couldn't hear them of course, but they seemed to want you to know they were there.' She had looked up at him, searching out the strain on his face. 'There were people everywhere. They began to cheer. You couldn't hear them of course, but they seemed to want you to know they were there.'

Bolitho saw Allday speaking with the groom, making the man laugh with one of his yarns. That was another memory fixed in his mind.

When Allday had walked from the coach, worried and trying not to drag his feet up the stone steps.

She had gone to him and had put her arms round his neck and had said quietly, 'Thank you for bringing my men home, Allday. I knew you would.'

She had given him life, as she had this old house, he thought. Her very presence here had made its mark.

How quickly the week had flashed past and yet they had not left the grounds. Her gentle understanding after what he had endured, her pa.s.sion which she gave without restraint, had brought them closer than ever.

He thought too of his first meeting with their child. He smiled as he recalled the exact moment.

The way Belinda had laughed at him and had cried at the same time when she had said, 'She won't break, Richard! Pick her up!'

Elizabeth. A new person. Belinda had chosen the name herself, like she had managed everything else during his absence.

Nothing seemed to matter now beyond here and his family. Rivers had gone to London in the same coach as Jobert. The French admiral would be exchanged eventually, but Rivers' fate was less certain.

He looked from the window again but Allday had gone. It was hard to think there was a war again. What had happened to the peace?

The door opened and she entered carrying Elizabeth. Bolitho took her and carried her to the window while the child's hands tugged at his gilt b.u.t.tons.

It was all perfect, and he felt he should be ashamed when so many had nothing, and so many had died.

Adam entered the room and looked at them. He belonged here. They had made it possible.

Allday hurried towards the outer doors and Bolitho heard him say to one of the maids, 'Quick, girl, here's a courier!'

Belinda's hands went to her breast. In a mere whisper she said, 'Oh no, not now, not so soon!'

Bolitho heard her despair and held the child more tightly to his body.

In this very room his father had once said to him, 'England needs all her sons now.' That had been another war, but the same was just as true today. It was here that his father had given him the old sword, and the last time he had seen him alive.

Adam strode from the room and returned a few minutes later with a heavy, sealed envelope.

He said, 'The courier's not from the Admiralty. He is from St James's in London.'

Belinda nodded without understanding. 'Please read it, Adam, I am too afraid . . .

Adam opened the envelope and read it in silence.