`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.