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'
Parns slung his leg over the bulwark and looked around. He was not even out of breath.
He said calmly, 'She's the schooner Sptca, Sir Richard.'
The man named Aashng stared. 'Sir Richard?'
Parns eyed him through the darkness. 'Yes. So mind your manners.'
Bolitho said, 'I regret this inconvenience – Captain. But you are anchored in enemy waters. I had no choice.'
The man leaned forward until his coat was touching Allday's unwavering cutlass.
'I am about my peaceful occasions! You have no right -'
Bolitho interrupted him. 'I have every right.' He had nothing of the kind, but the minutes were dashing past. They must get the mortars into position. The attack had to begin as soon as it was light enough to move into the anchorage.
At any second a picket ashore might notice something was wrong aboard the little schooner. She might be hailed by a guardboat, and even if Parns's men overwhelmed it, the alarm would be raised. The helpless lighter, Thor too if she tried to interfere, would be blown out of the water.
Bolitho dropped his voice and turned to Parns. 'Take some
men and look below.' His eyes were growing used to the schooner's deck and taut rigging. She mounted several guns, and there were swivels where they had rushed aboard, more aft by the tiller. They had been lucky. She did not have the cut of a privateer, and the Swedes usually kept clear of involvement with the fleets of France and England. A trader then? But well armed for such a small vessel.
The master exclaimed, 'Will you leave my ship, sir, and order your men to release mine!'
'What are you doing here?'
The sudden question took him off balance. 'I am trading. It is all legal. I will no longer tolerate -'
Parris came back and stood beside Jenour as he said quietly, 'Apart from general cargo, Sir Richard, she is loaded with Spanish silver. For the Frogs, if I'm any judge.'
Bolitho clasped his hands behind him. It made sense. How close they had been to failure. Might still be.
He said, 'You lied to me. Your vessel is already loaded for passage.' He saw the man's shadow fall back a pace. 'You are waiting to sail with the Spanish treasure convoy. Right?'
The man hesitated, then mumbled, 'This is a neutral ship. You have no authority -'
Bolitho waved his hand towards his men. 'For the moment, Captain, I have just that! Now answer me!'
Spica's master shrugged. 'There are many pirates in these waters.' He raised his chin angrily. 'Enemy warships too!'
'So you intended to stay in company with the Spanish vessels until you were on the high seas?' He waited, feeling the man's earlier bombast giving way to fear. 'It would be better if you told me now.'
'The day after tomorrow.' He blurted it out. 'The Spanish ships will leave when -'