Draffen nodded. ‘I will bear it in mind.’ He changed to a brisker tone. ‘All being well, your squadron is sailing tomorrow evening. The bombs will follow later, but your admiral can give you fuller details than I.’ He seemed to come to a decision. ‘I have made it my business to study your record, Bolitho. This venture we are undertaking will call for much resource and initiative. You may have to twist the Admiralty rules to suit the occasion. I happen to know that such methods are not unknown to you.’ He smiled dryly. ‘In my experience I have found that war needs special men with their own ideas. Hard and fast rules are not for this game.’
Bolitho had a sudden mental picture of Broughton’s face when he had requested him to give Zeus permission to chase the Frenchman. Of his plan of battle, his apparent mistrust of anything untried or smelling of unorthodox methods.
He said, ‘I only hope we are not too late and that the French have not enlarged the defences at Djafou.’
Draffen looked round quickly and then said, ‘I have certain influence, connections if you like, and I do not intend you should have to rely entirely on luck and personal bravery. I know the Algerian coast well, and its people, who for the most part are both murderous and completely untrustworthy.’ The smile returned. ‘But we will use what we can, and make the best of it. As John Paul Jones said under very similar circumstances, “If we cannot have what we like, we must learn to like what we have!”’
He thrust out his hand. ‘I must go and see some people ashore now. No doubt we will be meeting again very shortly.’
Bolitho watched him climb down into his boat and then joined Inch by the bulwark.
Inch said, ‘A strange man, sir. Very deep.’
‘I believe so. He wields a good deal of power, nevertheless.’
Inch sighed. ‘He was telling me earlier about the place where we are going. He seems well versed in details.’ He shook his head. ‘Yet I can find hardly anything about it.’
Bolitho nodded thoughtfully. Trade, but what sort of trade would anyone find in a place like Djafou? And where was the connection with the Caribbean and his meeting with Hugh?
He said, ‘I must return to my ship. We will talk more at dinner, although there are no familiar faces for you to see, I am afraid.’
Inch grinned, ‘Except Allday, sir. I cannot imagine you without him!’
Bolitho clapped his bony shoulder. ‘And neither can I!’
Later, as he stood alone in his cabin, Bolitho opened his shirt and toyed with the small locket, his eyes unseeing as he stared through the stern windows. Inch would never guess how much his arrival had meant to him. Like the locket, something to hold on to, something familiar. One of his old Hyperions.
There was a tap at the door and Calvert entered nervously, holding some papers before him as if for protection.
Bolitho smiled. ‘Be seated. I will sign them, and you may distribute them to the squadron before dusk.’
Calvert did not hide his relief as Bolitho sat at the desk and reached for a pen. Bolitho’s action saved him from having to face Broughton when he came offshore. His eyes fell on Bolitho’s sword lying on the bench seat where he had put it when he returned from seeing the Hekla.
In spite of all his caution he said, ‘Oh I say, sir, may I look at it?’
Bolitho stared at him. It was unlike Calvert to say much, other than mutter excuses for his mistakes. His eyes were positively shining with sudden interest.
‘Certainly, Mr. Calvert.’ He sat back to watch as the lieutenant drew the old blade from the scabbard and held it in line with his chin. ‘Are you a swordsman like Sir Lucius?’
Calvert did not reply directly. He ran his fingers around the old and tarnished hilt and then said, ‘A beautiful balance, sir. Beautiful.’ He looked at Bolitho guardedly. ‘I have an eye for it, sir.’
‘Then see that you restrain your eye, Mr. Calvert. It can cause you much trouble.’
Calvert replaced the blade and became his old self again. ‘Thank you, sir. For allowing me to hold it.’
Bolitho pushed the papers towards him and added slowly, ‘And try to be more definite in your affairs. Many officers would give their arms for your appointment, so make good use of it.’
Calvert withdrew, stammering and smiling.
Bolitho sighed and stood up as Allday entered the cabin, his eyes immediately falling on the sword, which he replaced on its rack against the bulkhead.
He said, ‘Mr. Calvert was here then, Captain?’
Bolitho smiled at Allday’s curiosity. ‘He was. He seemed very interested in the sword.’
Allday eyed it thoughtfully. ‘And so he might. Yesterday I saw him showing off to some of the midshipmen. They lit a candle, and Drury, the youngest of ’em, held it in the air for Mr. Calvert to strike at.’
Bolitho swung round. ‘That was a damned stupid thing to do.’
Allday shrugged. ‘Need have no worry, Captain. The flag-lieutenant’s blade parted the wick and flame without even touching the candle.’ He cleared his throat noisily. ‘You’ll have to watch that one, Captain.’
Bolitho looked at him. ‘As you say, Allday. I will.’
* * * * *
Jed Partridge, the master, tugged at his battered hat as Bolitho strode from beneath the poop and reported, ‘Steady, sir. Sou’ east by east.’
‘Very well.’
Bolitho nodded to the officer of the watch and then crossed to the weather side of the quarterdeck, filling his lungs with the cool evening air.
The squadron had weighed in the remorseless heat of a noon sun, but with an encouraging north-westerly breeze had soon formed into a tight column, each ship taking her prescribed station and keeping their interchange of signals to a minimum.
Many telescopes must have followed them from the Spanish coast, and there would be plenty of speculation as to their destination. It was unlikely that the enemy would give much weight to so small a force, but there was no sense in taking chances. Once clear of the land each captain would know that almost any ship he might meet would be an enemy. Even neutrals, and there were precious few of those, must be treated with suspicion and as possible informers of the squadron’s course and whereabouts.
But now it was evening, and in the Mediterranean it was a time which Bolitho always found full of fresh fascination. While the four ships-of-the-line rolled and plunged easily in a deep swell, with a steady and unwavering wind sweeping down across the larboard quarter, he could see the shadows lengthening on the gangways, the sea beyond the bows already vague in deeper purple. Yet astern the sky was salmon pink, the dying sunlight trailing down from the horizon and making the Valorous’s topsails shine like giant sea shells.
If this wind and sea held, it would be possible for all of them to keep good station during the night, which should please Broughton, he thought.
Keverne crossed the deck and said, ‘The visibility will not endure much longer, sir.’
Bolitho glanced towards the master’s rotund shape by the helmsmen. ‘We will alter course two points directly, Mr. Partridge.’ He sought out Midshipman Tothill by the lee shrouds and added, ‘You will bend on the signal for the squadron. Tack in succession. Steer east by south.’
He did not have to bother further with the midshipman. Tothill and his signal party had already proved themselves more than capable. He would make a good officer, Bolitho thought vaguely.
He said to Keverne, ‘Each ship will show a stern light, in case we get scattered. It may help the Coquette if she comes searching for us.’
The frigate in question was sweeping some fifteen miles astern of the column, a wise precaution to ensure they were not already being shadowed by some curious enemy patrol.
The little sloop Restless was only just visible to windward of the Zeus, and Bolitho imagined that her young and newly appointed commander would be considering the sudden importance of his role. The sloop was the only vessel present and fast enough should a suspicious sail need investigating.
It was always
the same. Never enough frigates, and now that the Auriga was denied them they must be even more sparing in long-range operations.
Tothill called, ‘Signal bent on, sir.’
‘Good.’ Bolitho nodded to Keverne. ‘Carry on. I must inform the admiral.’
He found Broughton and Draffen sitting at opposite ends of the long table in the admiral’s dining cabin, and sensed the complete silence stretching between then.
‘Well?’ Broughton leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping slowly against an untouched glass of claret.
‘Ready to alter course, Sir Lucius.’ He saw Draffen watching him, his eyes gleaming in the light from the overhead lanterns and the pink glow through the windows.
‘Very good.’ Broughton tugged out his watch. ‘No sign of pursuit?’
‘None, sir.’
Broughton grunted. ‘Carry on then, if you please. I may come up later.’
Draffen rose to his feet and steadied himself against the table as Euryalus tilted her massive bilge into another lazy trough.
‘I would like to join you if I may, Captain.’ He nodded equably to Broughton. ‘Never get weary of watching ships under command, y’know.’
Broughton snapped, ‘Er, just a moment!’ But when Bolitho turned back from the door he shook his head. ‘Nothing. Attend to your duties.’
On the quarterdeck Draffen remarked calmly, ‘Sharing the admiral’s quarters is not the easiest way of travelling.’
Bolitho smiled. ‘You can have my own quarters with pleasure, sir. I spend more time in my chartroom than I do in a cot.’
The other man shook his head, his eyes already seeking out the various parties of seamen mustered at their stations in readiness for the next order from aft.
‘Sir Lucius and I come from different poles, Bolitho. But it would be well to forget social differences for the present at least.’
Bolitho forgot Draffen and the tensions in the great cabin and turned towards Keverne.
‘Make the signal.’ And as the flags darted up the halliards and broke impatiently to the wind he added sharply, ‘Be ready, Mr. Partridge.’
‘Zeus has acknowledged, sir!’
The leading ship was in fact already swinging importantly on her new course, her topsails and driver flapping for a few more moments until brought under control. Tanais followed, one curved side glowing in the dying sunlight as she laboured too readily in response to canvas and rudder.
Keverne raised his speaking trumpet, his lithe figure poised against the rail as if to test the agility of the great ship beneath him.
‘Braces there I’ He pointed into the purple shadows below the mainmast trunk. ‘Mr. Collins, take that man’s name! He’s stumbling about like a whore at a wedding!’
Unknown voices mumbled out of the gloom, while from aft the wheel creaked obediently, Partridge’s white hair changing to yellow as he squinted at the lighted compass bowl.
‘Heave! Lively with it!’
The men leaned back, angling their bodies to take the strain of the ship’s massive yards, while the marines dumped noisily and in perfect time on the mizzen brace. The hull tilted still further, the sails shivering and booming to the change of pressure.
Bolitho leaned over the rail, searching along the length of his command, his ears interpreting the varying groans from shrouds and rigging, the action automatic yet ever watchful.
‘Lay her on the larboard tack, Mr. Partridge.’ He looked aloft, watching as Broughton’s flag and the masthead pendant licked out lazily and then pointed almost directly across the starboard bow.
‘East by south, sir!’ Partridge rolled to the other side of the compass as Bolitho came aft to stare down at the swaying card.
‘Steady as you go.’ He felt the ship responding, saw the huge, dark rectangles of canvas stiffening to the wind as she settled obediently on her new tack.
The light was going fast now. As it always did hereabouts. One minute a bright and seemingly everlasting sunset, and then nothing but the cream of spray beneath the counter, an occasional whitecap as the wind explored the edge of a deep trough in the sea’s face.
He heard Keverne bark, ‘The weather forebrace! In God’s name take in that slack, man! Mr. Weigall, your people must do better than this!’
Voices echoed above the thrumming din of rigging and canvas, and he imagined the third lieutenant cursing Keverne’s uncanny eyesight, or shrewd guesswork, as the case may be.
Draffen had been watching in silence, and as the hands mustered once again at their various divisions he murmured, ‘I hope I will be aboard when you get a chance to show her real paces under sail.’ He sounded as if he was enjoying himself.
Bolitho smiled. ‘There’ll be no such opportunity at night, sir. We may well have to reef tops’ls as it is. There is always a risk of collision when moving in close company.’
Keverne came aft again and touched his hat. ‘Permission to dismiss the watch below, sir.’
‘Yes. That was well done, Mr. Keverne.’
A voice called, ‘The Valorous is on station, sir!’
‘Very well.’ Bolitho moved to the weather side as the parties of seamen and marines hurried across the planking and vanished to their messdecks below. A cramped, teeming world where they lived between the guns they would serve in battle, with little more than a shoulder’s breadth to swing a hammock. He wondered what some of them were thinking of their new destination.
Draffen’s face glowed momentarily as he peered at the compass. Then he moved back to Bolitho’s side and fell in step with him as he began to pace slowly up and down below the empty nettings.
‘It must be a strange feeling for you, Bolitho.’
‘How so, sir?’ Bolitho had almost forgotten that he was not alone in his usual restless pacing.
‘To command a ship like this. One which you yourself took in battle.’ He hurried on, exploring a theme which had obviously given him some thought. ‘In your shoes I would be wondering if I could defend a vessel when I had in fact seized her in the face of great odds.’
Bolitho frowned. ‘Circumstances must always play a great part, sir.’
‘But tell me, as I am greatly interested. What do you think of her as a ship?’
Bolitho paused by the quarterdeck rail, resting his palms on it, feeling the wood shaking under his touch as if the whole complex mass of timber and rigging was a living being.
‘She is fast for her size, sir, and only four years old. She handles well, and the hull has some fine factors too.’ He gestured forward. ‘Unlike our own ships-of-the-line, her planking is continued right around the bow, so there is no weak bulkhead to receive an enemy’s fire.’
Draffen showed his teeth. ‘I like your enthusiasm. It is some comfort. But I imagined you would say otherwise. A born sea officer, a man from a long line of sailing men, I’d have laid odds on your despising the work of an enemy shipyard.’ He laughed softly. ‘I was wrong, it appears.’
Bolitho eyed him calmly. ‘The French are fine builders. Line for line their hulls are faster and better than our own.’
Draffen spread his hands in mock alarm. ‘Then how can we win? How have we been victorious against greater numbers of the enemy?’
Bolitho shook his head. ‘The enemy’s weakness does not lie in his ships, or in his courage either. It is leadership. Two-thirds of their trained and experienced officers were butchered in the Terror. And they’ll not regain their confidence while they are bottled up in harbour by our blockade.’ He knew Draffen was deliberately drawing him out but continued, ‘Each time they break out and engage our squadrons they learn a little more, grow steadily more confident, even if a sea victory is denied them. Blockade is no longer the answer, in my opinion. It hurts the innocent as much as those for whom it is intended. Clearcut, decisive action is the solution. Hit the enemy whenever and wherever you can, the size of the actions is almost immaterial.’
The officer of the watch was admonishing a defaulter who had been brought aft by a bosun�
��s mate, his voice grating in a fierce whisper.
Bolitho moved away with Draffen falling in step beside him.
Draffen asked, ‘But there will be a final confrontation between the two major fleets, eventually?’
‘I have no doubts, sir. But I still believe the more attacks we can make on the enemy’s communications, his bases and trade, the more likely we are of a lasting victory on land.’ He smiled awkwardly. ‘As a sailor it hurts me to say it. But no victory can be complete until your own soldiers have hoisted a flag on the enemy’s battlements!’
Draffen smiled gravely. ‘Maybe you will have a chance to put your theory into action very shortly. It will largely depend on our meeting with one of my agents. I arranged for him to make a regular rendezvous. It is to be hoped he has found it possible.’
Bolitho pricked up his ears. That was the first he had heard of anything about a rendezvous. Broughton had given him the briefest of detail so far. The squadron was to patrol off Djafou, out of sight of land, while the Coquette explored inshore for further information. Normal tactics. Normal and frustratingly dull, he had thought. Now with the prospect of gaining other, more secret news of the enemy’s deployment, the whole face of the operation had changed.
Draffen said, ‘I find it slightly unnerving when I think of tomorrow. We might meet with an entire enemy fleet. Does that not upset you?’
Bolitho looked at him, but his face was in deep shadow. It was hard to tell if he was testing him again or merely making light of what was a very real possibility.
‘I have lived with that prospect in fear, excitement or mere bewilderment on and off since I was twelve, sir.’ Bolitho kept his voice equally grave. Then he grinned. ‘But so far I have never had any of my reactions taken into consideration, least of all by the enemy!’
Draffen chuckled. ‘I will go below and sleep easily now. I have taxed you too much as it is. But please keep me informed if anything unusual occurs.’
Bolitho stood aside. ‘I will, sir. You and my admiral.’
The Flag Captain Page 12
