Bolitho followed his gaze. Vibart, flushed and unsmiling. Herrick, still grinning and unquenched by the admiral's earlier sarcasm. Rennie, stiff-backed but with eyes so glassy that they were beyond focus. Old Daniel Proby, humbled by being with such illustrious company, yet whose face was stiff with sudden pride, as if he had heard a deeper meaning in the admiral's words. And Ellice, the bucolic surgeon, who had been drinking without pause since they had arrived at table. Bolitho could find time to pity Ellice. Poorly paid, like all ships' surgeons, it was no wonder he was more of a butcher than a doctor. It was a race which would win. Drink or a fatal mistake, it was merely a matter of time.
Okes, still smarting from the admiral's keen appraisal of the half-remembered attack on Mola Island. Bolitho noticed how he kept darting quick, desperate glances towards Farquhar, who by comparison was calm and impassive, his thoughts perhaps far away. Maybe still back there below the shattered bridge where he had been left to die by the man who now sat watching him. The fact that Farquhar had made neither comment nor complaint must be all the more worrying for Okes, Bolitho thought grimly.
And the two other midshipmen, Maynard and Neale. Excited and untouched by the deeper channels of comment and thought around them, Bolitho was suddenly very aware of his responsibility to all of them.
The admiral stood up and lifted his glass. 'A toast!' His pale eyes flashed below the low beams. `Death to the French!'
The glasses came up as one and the voices rumbled the reply, 'And confusion to our enemies!'
The admiral. called to his captain, 'Time we were going, Cope!'
Bolitho followed him to the upperdeck, only half listening to the scamper of feet and the hurried creak of oars alongside. It was over. The admiral would never admit a mistake, but Bolitho knew that the worst was behind him. Phalarope was free of disgrace at last.
He lifted his hat' as the admiral crossed to the port and waited until he had vanished to the waiting barge. Then he clamped on his hat and began to pace the deserted quarterdeck, his hands clasped behind him.
The admiral had also made it plain in his own way that if the ship was free of disgrace it was up to her captain to keep her so.
He looked at the riding lights dancing across the water and listened to the plaintive scrape of a violin and the accompanymg sadness of an old shanty. If the men could still sing there was hope for all of them, he thought.
13
DANGER FROM WITHIN
The pipes shrilled in salute as Richard Bolitho stepped through the ornate entry port and on to the Formidable's wide deck. Automatically he doffed his hat to the quarterdeck, and as he returned the greeting of the flagship's officer of the watch he allowed his eyes to move swiftly up and around him, taking in the busy activity, the seemingly endless deck space and the long lines of gleaming guns.
An impeccable midshipman in white gloves crossed the deck at a trot, and under the beady eye of the duty officer led Bolitho aft towards the great stem cabin, to which every available captain had been summoned at an hour's notice.
Bolitho had been toying with his lonely breakfast, pondering on the previous night's strange dinner party and Sir Robert Napier's persistent questions, when Maynard had hurried into his cabin with news of the signal. As he had hurriedly changed into his best uniform Bolitho had wondered why Sir Robert had not mentioned this meeting with the Commander-in-Chief. He must have known about it. As Bolitho had stared unseeingly at his reflection in the bulkhead mirror he had wondered if Sir Robert was making just one more private test. He probably kept his glass trained on the Phalarope's deck from the moment Formidable had hoisted her general signal.
He almost cwnnoned into the midshipman and realised that they had reached the great cabin. The youngster called, 'Captain Richard Bolitho of the Phalarope!'
But only those officers standing near the door took any notice, and soon returned to their own busy conversation. For that Bolitho was grateful. He made his way to one corner of the cabin, and as one messman took his hat another placed a tall glass of sherry in his hand. Neither spoke a word, and Bolitho guessed that it was no easy matter to remain calm and unruffled when serving the Commander-in-Chief.
He sipped at his glass and carefully studied the other officers. There must be about thirty captains present, he decided. Captains of every size and shape, of every age and seniority. After the first scrutiny Bolitho decided that he must be the most junior, but, just as he had reached this conclusion he felt a movement at his elbow and turned to meet the gaze of a tall, gangling lieutenant whom he vaguely remembered as the commander of the little brig, Witch of Looe.
The latter raised his glass and said quietly, `Your health, sir! I was coming across to see you and tell you how glad I am of your safe return.'
Bolitho smiled. `Thank you.' He shrugged. `I am afraid your name has escaped me.'
`Philip Dancer, sir.'
`I will remember it in future.' Bolitho saw the lieutenant loosening his neckcloth with one finger and suddenly realised that he was actually nervous. It "was not easy to be so junior in such an illustrious gathering. He said quickly, `I expect this seems a bit luxurious after your little brig?'
Dancer grimaced. `Just a bit!'
They both looked at the great stern windows with the wide gallery beyond where the admiral could take an undisturbed walk above the ship's own wake. There were long boxes of potted plants too, and on the handsome sideboard Bolitho caught a glimpse of gleaming silver and cut glass below a fine painting of Hampton Court Palace.
Then the buzz of conversation died away, and every man turned to face a side door as the small procession entered the cabin.
Bolitho was shocked to see the change which had come over Sir George Rodney since he had last seen him some two years earlier. Beneath the resplendent uniform with its bright ribbon and decorations the admiral's once upright figure appeared bent and drooping, and his mouth, now set in a tight line, betrayed the illness which had plagued him for so many months. It was hard to picture him as the same man who had overwhelmed a powerful enemy force only two years ago to break through and relieve the besieged fortress of Gibraltar, or who had attacked and sacked St. Eustatius and taken over three million sterling back to England as a prize.
But the eyes were the same. Hard and steady, as if they drew and contained all the energy of his being.
At his side his second in command, Sir Samuel Hood, made a sharp contrast. He looked calm and composed as he studied the assembled officers, his features dominated by his large, arrogant nose and high forehead.
Behind his two superiors Sir Robert Napier looked almost insignificant, Bolitho thought.
Sir George Rodney lowered himself into a tall chair and folded his hands in his lap. Then he said curtly, `I wanted you all here to tell you that it now seems likely the French and their allies will attempt a final overthrow of English forces in this area.' He coughed shortly and dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief. 'Comte de Grasse has assembled a strong force of ships of the line, the most powerful vessels ever gathered under one flag, and were I in his fortunate position I would have no hesitation in preparing to do battle.'
He coughed again, and Bolitho felt a tremor of uneasiness transmit itself through the watching, officers. The strain of years of planning and fighting were paring Rodney away like a knife blade. When he had sailed for England there was not an officer in his fleet who did not believe it was his last journey and that another would return to take his place. But somewhere within that tired body was a soul of steel. Rodney intended to see no replacement in the West Indies to take either the fruits of his hard and unsparing work or the shame and misery of possible defeat.
Sir Samuel Hood said evenly, Intelligence has reached us that there is more to de Grasse's intentions than a mere sea victory. He has been gathering seasoned French troops, as well as supplying arms and assistance to the American colonials. He is a shrewd and dedicated strategist, and I believe he intends to exploit whatever successes he has already made.' H
e looked suddenly across the nearest heads and fixed his heavy lidded eyes on Bolitho.
`The captain of the frigate Phalarope has added to this information in no little amount, gentlemen!'
For a few seconds every head in the cabinn turned to stare at him, and caught off guard by this turn of events Bolitho felt a tinge of confusion.
In those few seconds he got a vague impression of faces and the reactions of their owners. Some nodded approvingly, and some merely eyed him with barely masked envy. Others studied his face as if to search out some deeper meaning from the admiral's comment„ A small item of praise from Hood, and therefore condoned by the great Rodney himself, could immediately mark Bolitho as a firm rival in the ladder of promotion and reward.
Hood added dryly. `Now that you all know each other, we will continue! From this day forward our vigilance must be stepped up. Our patrols must make every effort to watch each enemy port and spare no efforts to pass information back to me. When de Grasse breaks out it will be swift and final. If we cannot call his challenge and close him in battle we are done for, and make no mistake about it!'
His deep, booming voice' filled the crowded cabin, so that Bohtho could almost feel the import of his words like a physical force.
The admiral went on tirelessly and methodically outline the known whereabouts of supply ships enemy force showed neither strain nor impatience, and there was nothing at all in his manner to betray the fact that he had only recently returned to Antigua after holding St. Kitts against the whole French military force and their attendant fleet.
Sir George Rodney interrupted, 'I want every one of you to study and familiarise yourselves with my signal requirements.' He looked sharply around the cabin. 'I will not tolerate any officer misunderstanding my signals, any more than I will accept excuses for failing to execute same!'
Several captains exchanged quick glances. It was well known that when Rodney had tried to close the French admiral de Guichen off Martinique, and had not succeeded because some of his captains had failed either to understand or react to his signals, he had been quite ruthless. More than one captain now lived on miserly half-pay in England with nothing but disgrace and bad memories for comfort.
Rodney continued in a calmer tone, `Watch for my signals. Wherever, and on whatever ship my flag flies, watch for my signals!' He leaned back and stared at the deckhead. `This time there will be no second chance. We will win a great victory, or we will lose everything!'
He nodded to Hood, who added briefly, `Orders will be issued immediately to senior officers of squadrons. From the moment you leave here the fleet will be in all respects ready for sea. It is up to our patrolling frigates and sloops to watch the enemy's lairs like hounds.' He pounded the table with his fist. `Give the Commander-in-Chief the scent and the kill is assured!'
There was a murmur of approval, and Bolitho realised that the meeting was over.
Lieutenant Dancer said quietly, `I wonder where our squadron will be sent? I would hate to miss the final scene when it comes!'
Bolitho nodded, mentally smiling at the picture of the tiny Witch of Looe engaging de Grasse's'three-deckers. Aloud he said, `There are never enough frigates. In every war it is the same story. Too little too late!' But he could say it without bitterness. Phalarope would be needed more than ever now. With the vast sea areas, the complex hiding places amongst the lines of scattered islands, every frigatee would have more than enough to do.
He realised with a start that a sharp-faced flag-lieutenant had crossed the cabin to stop him leaving with the others.
`Sir George Rodney wishes to speak to you.'
Bolitho hitched up his 'sword and walked across the thick carpet. By the table he halted, half listening to the retreating scrape of footsteps. He heard the door close and the distant shrill of pipes speeding the exit of the fleet's captains, and for a terrible moment he thought he had misunderstood the flag. lieutenant's words.
Rodney was still sitting in his chair, his eyes half closed as he stared at the deckhead. Hood and Sir Robert Napier were completely engrossed in a chart on a nearby desk, and even the messmen seemed busy and oblivious to the young captainn by the table.
Then Rodney lowered his eyes and said wearily, `I know your father, Bolitho. We sailed together, of course. A very gallant officer, and a good friend.' He let his gaze move slowly across Bolitho's tanned face and down the length of his body. `You have a lot of him in you.' He nodded. `I am glad to have you under my command.'
Bolitho thought of his father alone in the big house, watch-, ing the ships in the bay. He said, `Thank you, sir. My father wished to be remembered to you.'
Rodney did not seem to hear. `There is so much to do. So few ships for the task.' He sighed deeply. `I am sorry you had to meet your only brother in such a fashion.' His eyes were suddenly fixed and unwavering.
Bolitho saw Sir Robert Napier stiffen beside the chart and heard himself reply, `He believes what he is doing is right, sir.'
The eyes were still hard on his face. `And what do you believe?’
'He is my brother, sir. But if we meet again I will not betray my cause.' He hesitated. `Or your trust, sir.'
Rodney nodded. `I never doubted it, my boy.'
Sir Samuel Hood coughed politely, and Rodney said with sudden briskness, `Return to your ship, Bolitho. I hope that both you and your father will be spared further hurt.' His eyes were cold as, he added, `It is easy to do your duty when there is no alternative. Yours was not an easy choice. Nor will it be if your brother is taken!'
He lapsed into silence, and the flag-lieutenant said impa
tiently, `Your hat, sir! And I have just called for your boat!' Bolitho followed the harassed officer into the sunlight, his mind still dwelling on the admiral's words. So the whole fleet would now know about his brother. In the confined, monastic world- of ships permanently at sea he would be discussed and measured against past exploits and future events.
He ran down the gangway to the waiting boat and stared across at the anchored Phalarope. Once she had been on trial. Now it was the turn of her captain.
On the evening of the same day that Bolitho had attended the conference aboard the Formidable, and with a minimum of fuss or ceremony, the Phalarope weighed and headed for the open sea.
The following morning found her a bare fifty miles to the south-west, her full set of sails drawing on the gentle breeze which did little to ease the growing power of the sun.
But this time she was not completely alone. Even from the deck it was possible to see the Cassius, her tall pyramids of canvas golden in the early sunlight as she moved on a ponderous and slow parallel course. Somewhere beyond her, hidden below the lip of the horizon, was the frigate Volcano. Invisible, and ahead of the slow-moving formation, Lieutenant Dancer's tiny Witch of Looe alone enjoyed a certain freedom of movement beyond the scrutiny of her admiral.
Lieutenant Herrick had just taken over the forenoon watch and stood relaxed by the quarterdeck rail as he idly watched the men at work on the maindeck. Earlier the swabs and holystones had made the planking wet and pliable, but now as the heat slowly mounted above the gently swaying hull the decks shone in shimmering whiteness while the normal business of splicing and running repairs was carried out.
It was a peaceful scene, and the combination of warmth and a good breakfast left Herrick drowsy and at ease. Occasionally he cast an eye towards Midshipman Neale to make sure he had his glass trained on the distant flagship, and Phalarope was keeping as good a station as the wind allowed.
He could see Lieutenant Okes inspecting the starboard battery of twelve-pounders with Brock, the gunner, and wondered, not for the first time, what was going on behind his strained features. Ever since the raid on Mola Island Okes had been a changed man. And the admiral's casual comments across the dinner table had made him withdraw even more into himself.
As for Farquhar, it was quite impossible to tell what he was thinking. Herrick was not sure, if he envied the midshipman's aloof reserve or ad
mired him for it. It was strange how Farquhar's manner had always made him feel on the defensive. Perhaps it was because of his own humble beginnings, he decided. Even here, cooped up in a small frigate, Farquhar retained his distance and individuality.
Herrick tried to imagine what he would have felt if, as Rennie had suggested, Okes had retreated from the raid without care or interest, and had left him to die. He pictured himself reacting as Farquhar had done, but instantly in his heart he knew he was deceiving himself. More than likely it would have ended in an open conflict, with a court martial to round it off.
The helmsman coughed warningly, and Herrick turned quickly as Bolitho came up the cabin hatch. He touched his hat and waited as Bolitho walked first to the compass and then stood looking up at the masthead pendant. Then he relaxed slightly as Bolitho crossed to his side and looked down at the busy seamen on deck.
'Another fifty miles to our patrolling station, Mr. Herrick. At this speed we will need another day!' There was impatience in his tone, and a touch of irritation which Herrick was now able to recognise immediately.
Herrick said, `But still it is comforting to see the Cassius abeam, sir. If de Grasse ventures out this way we will not be alone!'
Bolitho stared at the distant gleam of sails, but there was no response to Herrick's forced cheerfulness. 'Ah yes, the flagship.' He gave a bitter smile. 'Forty years old, and so much weed on her bottom that she crawls even in a strong gale!'
Herrick looked quickly at the Cassius. Up until this moment size and seniority had represented safety and a ready shield. He replied, 'I did not know, sir.'
'She was a Dutch prize, Mr. Herrick. Look at the rake of her beakheadl' Then as if realising that he was speaking from memory of things which were of no importance he added harshly, 'My God, this crawling makes me sick!'
Herrick tried another tack. 'Our orders, sir. May I ask what is expected of us?'
He immediately regretted his impulse and checked himself as Bolitho turned his head away to watch a slowly circling gull. But from the set of the captain's shoulders and the way his hands were locked on the rail he knew that he had struck on something uppermost in Bolitho's mind.
To Glory We Steer Page 24
