Free In Gallant Company by Alexander Kent Page A

now?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘Good. The only way.’
    Bolitho asked, ‘Does she have any sort of cargo, sir?’
    â€˜None. She was obviously expecting to get
that
from our convoy.’ He looked up at the bare masts. ‘Put some hands to work on this deck. It’s like a slaughter-house. Drop the corpses over the side and have the wounded carried below. There’s precious little comfort for them, but it’s a sight warmer than on deck.’
    As Bolitho made to hurry away, Sparke added calmly,‘Besides which, I want them to be as quiet as possible. There may be boats nearby, and I intend to hold this vessel as our prize.’
    Bolitho looked round for his hat which had gone flying in the fight. That was more like it, he thought grimly. For a brief moment he had imagined that Sparke’s reason for moving the injured was solely for humanity’s sake. He should have known better.
    The work to clear up the deck and to search out the vessel’s defences and stores went on without a break. The fit and unwounded men did the heavy work, the ones with lesser injuries sat with muskets and at the loaded swivels to watch over the prisoners. The badly wounded, one of whom was the man who had foolishly fired his musket and had lost half his face in doing so, managed as best they could.
    Sparke had not mentioned the musket incident. But for it the casualties would have been much reduced, even minimal. The schooner’s crew were brave enough, but without that warning, and lacking as they did the hardened discipline of
Trojan
’s seamen, it would likely have ended with little more than a bloody nose or two. Bolitho knew Sparke must have thought about this. He would doubtless be hoping that Pears would see only the prize and forget the oversight.
    Several times Bolitho climbed down to the master’s cabin where the late Captain Tracy had lived and made his plans. There, Quinn was lying white-faced on a rough bunk, his bandages soaked in blood, his lip cut where he had bitten it to stem the anguish.
    Bolitho asked Stockdale what he thought and the man answered readily, ‘He has a will to live, sir. But he’s precious little hope, I’m thinking.’
    The first hint of dawn came with the lightening of the surrounding mist.
    The schooner’s lazaret had been broken open and a generous ration of neat rum issued to all hands, including the two young midshipmen.
    Of the attacking force of thirty-six officers and seamen, twelve were already dead, or as near to as made no difference, andseveral of the survivors had cuts and bruises which had left them too weak and dazed to be of much use for the moment.
    Bolitho watched the paling mist, seeing the schooner taking shape around them. He saw Couzens and Midshipman Libby from Sparke’s boat staring at the great bloodstains on the planking, perhaps realizing only now what they had seen and done.
    Mr Frowd, the master’s mate, waited by the wheel, watching the limp sails which Bolitho’s men had shaken out in readiness for the first breeze. The only sounds were the clatter of loose gear, the creak of timbers as the vessel rolled uncomfortably on the swell.
    With the dawn came the awareness of danger, that which a fox might feel when it crosses open land.
    Bolitho looked along the deck. The
Faithful
carried eight six-pounders and four swivel guns, all of which had been made in France. This fact, added to the discovery of some very fine and freshly packed brandy in the captain’s lazaret, hinted at a close relationship with the French privateers.
    She was a very handy little vessel, of about seventy-five feet. One which would sail to windward better than most and outpace any heavier, square-rigged ship.
    Whoever Captain Tracy had once been, he would not have planned to be dead on this new dawn.
    The boom of the large gaff-headed mainsail creaked noisily, and the deck gave a resounding tremble.
    Sparke shouted,