Form Line Of Battle!

by Alexander Kent

  Quarme said suddenly, 'May I ask what you intend to do, sir?'

  Bolitho faced him and replied, 'Do you wish to make a suggestion?'

  The other man dropped his eyes. 'It is hardly my place, sir, but I believe dwould be prudent to inform Lord Hood of what has happened.' He seemed to expect an interruption, but then continued, 'You could not be blamed for what occurred. By delaying your despatch to the admiral you might, however, incur his real displeasure.'

  'Thank you, Mr. Quarme. I have already thought of that.' Bolitho stood up and walked across the carpet. For a moment he stared hard at his sword hanging by the doorway and then added, 'But we have only two ships. If I send the Princesa there is no saying what story will be laid before the admiral, in spite of whatever written despatch from me. And if we leave this station" do you really think the Spaniard can deal with some sudden attack from the mainland?' He saw Quarme shuffle his feet uneasily and smiled. 'You think perhaps that I was too hard on the Princesa's captain?'

  Without difficulty he could see the unhappy Spaniard sitting where Quarme now sat. He was a sullen, resentful man who at first had pretended to know little English. But Bolitho's scathing words had made his. eyes flash with anger and then shame as he had given him his verdict on the Princesa's failure to join the battle.

  At one point the Spaniard had leapt to his feet, his mouth twisted in anger. 'I must protest! I could not' reach the entrance in time. I will complain to Admiral Hood of your accusations.' Then more loftily he had added, 'I am not unknown in high government circles!'

  Bolitho had watched him coldly. Seeing again the death agonies of the Spanish flagship, the burned and butchered remains floating across the Hyperion's bows.

  'You will be even better known, Captain, when I have placed you under arrest for cowardice! Admiral Moresby invested full command in me before he died.' It was surprising how easily the lie had come to his lips. 'And nothing you have said so far has persuaded me that you are fit even to remain

  alive!'

  Bolitho hated to see any man humiliated, and he had had to force himself to watch the other captain's misery and fear. But that was two days ago, when there had still been a slight chance of reversing their mutual defeat. By now the Spaniard might have ideas of his own.

  Quarme said, 'I still think that you should inform Lord Hood, sir. Whatever the Spanish captain did or did not do will make little difference as far as the future is concerned.'

  Bolitho turned away, angry with himself. Angry with Quarme because he knew he was right. Yet in the back of his mind he seemed to hear Hood's words, 'I want that island taken without delay!' Without delay. Right at this moment aboard the Victory the admiral would be in the middle of his own problems. The internal politics of Toulon, the show of confidence he had so carefully described. And all the time the French army would be moving south towards the coast.

  Bolitho said calmly, 'You and I seem to disagree about several things. You disapproved of my burying Sir William Moresby at sea with the other dead seamen.'

  Quarme was disconcerted by this new tack. 'Well, I thought that under the circumstances....

  'Admiral Moresby died in battle, Mr. Quarme. I see no point in drawing a line between his sacrifice and those of the men who gave their lives for him.' His voice was still calm but cold. 'Sir William is as safe now as he would have been in some graveyard.' He made himself return to the stern windows. `Our people have lost heart. It is never good for men to lose a first battle. So much depends on their trust when next they face a broadside.' He added wearily, 'They died with their admiral. They will share his grave as well as his privilege!'

  Quarme opened his mouth and looked round startled as a distant voice entered the quiet cabin.

  'Deck there! Sail to the sou'westl'

  Bolitho stared at Quarme and then snapped, 'Come with me. Maybe the French are out already!'

  On the quarterdeck the sun greeted his shoulders like heat from a furnace, -but Bolitho hardly noticed it as he looked first towards the island and then to the masthead. Of Cozar there was still no sign. But to seaward the mist was thinner and more fragile above the blinding water, and as he took a telescope from Midshipman Caswell he asked, 'Can the lookout make her out yet?'

  In the glass he could see little more, but for a splinter of white sail barely making a break on the sea's edge.

  The lookout called, 'She's a small ship, sir! On 'er own an' steering due east!'

  Bolitho said, 'Get up there, Mr. Quarme, and tell me what ' you see.' He knew the others were watching him and had to control the urge to go aloft himself.

  Lieutenant Rooke was officer of the watch, and stood by the quarterdeck rail, a glass beneath his arm, his hat tilted against the glare. As always he was faultlessly dressed, and beside the other men in their stained shirts, or as most were stripped to the waist, he looked like a London dandy.

  Bolitho ignored all of them and tried not to stare up at Quarme's tall figure as he climbed swiftly towards the crosstrees. Rooke would be enjoying all this, he thought grimly. No doubt he would be quick to enlarge on his captain's failure once they rejoined the squadron. Bolitho told himself he was being unfair. Maybe his dislike for Rooke hinged on his more general aversion to privileged aristocrats within the Navy. Titles given as rewards for valour and true achievement were one thing, but so often they became intolerable burdens for the eager offsprings. Bolitho had found plenty of them on his visits to London. Spoiled, self-important little upstarts who owed their appointments to birth and financial power, and knew little of the Navy but for the uniforms they wore with such dash and conceit.

  Quarme shouted suddenly, 'I can see her right enough, sir! Sloop of war by the look of her! She's holding her course to the east'rd!'

  Rooke spoke for all of them. 'She'll be from Gibraltar. Despatches and mail for the fleet.'

  Bolitho looked across at Gossett's massive figure. 'You have served in these waters before, Mr. Gossett. Will this weather hold?'

  The master frowned, his eyes vanishing into his brown face. 'Not long, sir. These light airs come an' go, but I reckon the wind'll get up afore eight bells.' He was not boasting, he was giving a statement born of long experience.

  Bolitho nodded. 'Very well, Mr. Gossett. Call all hands and prepare to wear ship. We will alter course and intercept that sloop immediately.'

  Quarme arrived at his side breathing heavily. 'We could signal her to close us, sir.' He sounded almost shocked that a line-of-battle ship should make allowances for such a tiny unit of the fleet.

  Bolitho eyed him gravely. 'As soon as. we are within range have a signal bent on, if you please. I don't want to lose her now.'

  Quarme was mystified. 'Signal, sir?'

  Below on the maindeck the men pulled themselves from their dulled torpor as the pipes drove them to their stations for wearing ship.

  Bolitho said quietly, 'Tell her to heave to and await my orders.'

  'I see, sir.' Then Quarme said, 'So you have decided to send

  despatches to Lord Hood, after all.' He bit his lip and nodded slowly. 'It is the best decision, in my opinion. No one will blame you, sir.'

  Bolitho watched the marines clumping aft like soldiers to man the mizzen braces with their usual unseamanlike precision. Then he dragged his mind back to Quarme's remark and said flatly, 'I have no intention of sending a report to Lord Hood, Mr. Quarme. Not until there is something to report!'

  It took the best part of two hours to close the other vessel within hailing distance, but by six bells of the afternoon watch both ships had gone about and were heading due south, away from the mist-shrouded island. -"

  Then Bolitho signalled for the sloop's captain to come aboard, and as both ships shortened sail he returned to his cabin and sent for Quarme.

  'I want all officers assembled in this cabin fifteen. minutes after the sloop's commander, Mr. Quarme.' He ignored the mystified expression on the other man's face and continued crisply, 'And all warrant officers not employed in working th
e ship, right?'

  'Aye, aye, sir.' Quarme's eyes moved to the quarter windows where the little sloop rode easily in the Hyperion's lee. 'Can I ask what you intend, sir?'

  Bolitho eyed him -impassively. 'Fifteen minutes, Mr. Quarme.'

  He controlled his gnawing impatience as the sounds of a boat coming alongside and the shrill of pipes announced the new arrival. But by the time an equally mystified Lieutenant Bellamy, commander of H.M. Sloop Chanticleer, arrived in his cabin he was, outwardly at least, quite composed again.

  Bellamy was a young, gangling officer with troubled eyes and an air of sad apprehension about him.

  Bolitho got straight to the point. 'I am sorry to summon you aboard in this way, Bellamy, but as senior officer of this squadron I have need of -your ready assistance.'

  Bellamy digested the beginning without much show of excitement. But he did not question Bolitho's right of stopping him either, and Bolitho considered the use of the title 'senior officer' had already been of some value.

  He continued, 'Over yonder lies Cozar, which as you may know is now in enemy hands. It is my intenton to reverse that arrangement, and at once.' He eyed the lieutenant searchingly. 'But only with your help, you understand?'

  Bellamy obviously did not. If a seventy-four was powerless to act it hardly seemed likely that his frail-timbered sloop could add much to the proceedings. But he nodded nevertheless. Maybe only to humour Bolitho, a squadron commander who had to all appearances but one ship at his disposal.

  Bolitho smiled, 'Very well then, I will tell you what I intend.'

  Fifteen minutes later Quarme opened the door and stood aside as the Hyperion's officers filed silently into the cabin, their eyes at first busy on these sacred quarters, and then finally settling on the gangling lieutenant.

  Bolitho faced them calmly. 'Well, gentlemen, at last we have a plan.'

  The eyes shifted to him and stayed there.

  'In an hour or so we will alter course to the north and beat back towards the mainland. There is not much time, and a great deal to do. Now, it seems to me that the French will not attempt to return to Cozar during the night. For one thing it is a mite dangerous, and the other is that they might run against us or the Princesa.' He unrolled a chart on the table. 'By dawn tomorrow I intend to be in this position to the nor'-west of the island, and as soon as we are sighted by the garrison then Lieutenant Bellamy will take his ship into the harbour.'

  If he had announced a visitation from God his words could not have had a greater effect. Some of the officers stared incredulously at Bellamy for explanation or confirmation, but the latter merely looked at his feet. Others exchanged baffled glances and threw strange stares at Bolitho, as if to reassure themselves that he had not gone raving mad.

  Bolitho smiled slightly and continued, 'In the next hour I want one of our carronades taken across to the Chanticleer.' He tightened his jaw, hearing his own words committing himself and every man present. 'In addition she will carry one hundred of our seamen and all the marines.'

  Captain Ashby could contain himself no longer. 'But what will happen, sir? I-I mean, dammit, sir . . He trailed away into helpless silence as Rooke's drawling voice broke in from the side of the cabin.

  'So you want the Frogs to think that the sloop is the Fdirfax returning to harbour, sir?'

  Bolitho nodded silently. Rooke was sharp enough anyway, and well ahead of the rest.

  'Exactly.'

  There was a great buzz of murmurs and questions, and then Quarme asked doggedly, 'What chance is there of success, sir? I mean to say, the Chanticleer is a sloop, but she's nothing like the Fairfax. She's older and smaller!' There were several nods around him.

  'A good point, Mr. Quarme.' Bolitho thrust his hands behind him. `However, I have found from experience that men usually see what they expect to see. ' He looked around their faces very slowly. 'And the enemy will see a sloop being chased back into harbour by the Hyperion. They will open fire on this ship to cover her escape. By the time they realise what has happened we will be inside the harbour and too close to the landing place for the French to depress their guns.'

  He had every man's full attention now. Even the midshipmen were craning forward to listen.

  He said, 'But it has to be quick, gentlemen. At any moment from now on the French might be sending other ships. Then again some keen-eyed lookout might see the difference in sloops before we can enter harbour. But the garrison will be soldiers. Need I say more?'

  Surprisingly, several of them actually laughed. It was a small beginning.

  Bolitho looked round. 'Do we have a French flag? One of the new ones?'

  Several heads were shaken.

  Bolitho sought out the grey-haired sailmaker. 'Well, Mr. Buckle, you have thirty minutes to make one, so get to it!'

  He did not wait for the man to reply but turned to the Hyperion's gunner. 'Mr. Pearse, you can get the carronade swayed across as soon as you like. Select a good crew for it, and use whatever boat you require.'

  He watched him follow the sailmaker and then added evenly, 'When we made our last attack on the harbour we were hiddedn from the battery for a few moments by a shoulder of land. If this ship keeps on that same course as before the enemy might move some of the other guns across to hit us better. They will be very confident by that time, and will know that we would never attempt to sail directly into a trap. If they do that the sloop willl have an even better chance.'

  There was a murmur of excitement. It was a plan at last. There was still a lot to be sorted out and explained. But it was a plan.

  'Very well, gentlemen, you may go. Attend to your duties. I will be on deck directly to deal. with the next phase.' -

  As they left the cabin Bolitho turned once more to Lieutenant Bellamy. He had expected some comment, even protest, but Bellamy had said nothing at all, and Bolitho was not sure he had understood half of what was expected of him-.-

  He said, 'Thank you, Bellamy, that was most helpful.'

  The lieutenant stared at him and swallowed hard. It was? He gulped again. 'Er, thank you, sir.'

  Bolitho followed him on deck and watched him walk unsteadily towards the entry port. Then he breathed out very slowly. He had failed to inform Lord Hood of the failure to take Cozar. He had assumed overall command of an operation which might end in real disaster and a great loss of life. He had even waylaid a sloop with its despatches and mail, and would possibly destroy the little ship for good measure.

  He looked up at the masthead and saw the pendant lifting and stirring itself in a growing breeze. But if there had been any excuse for avoiding action before, there was none now. The consequences for what he had already done had made that impossible.

  Then pushing the doubt from his mind he crossed to the weather side of the quarterdeck and began to pace up and down with steady concentration.

  Bolitho awoke with a violent start and for several seconds stared at Allday's stooping shape and the heavy jug which he carried in one hand.

  Allday said quietly, 'Sorry to wake you, Captain, but it's getting a mite lighter on deck.' He held out a mug and began to pour a hot drink while Bolitho gathered his thoughts and peered around the sloop's tiny cabin.

  Above the chair in which he had fallen into an exhausted sleep he could see a pale rectangle of light from the quarterdeck skylight, and the sudden realisation of what lay ahead held him rigidly in his seat, like a man emerging from a nightmare only to find it is real.

  The hot coffee tasted bitter, but he felt it exploring his insides and was grateful for it.

  'How is the wind?'

  Allday shrugged. 'Light by steady, Captain. Still from the nor'-west.'

  'Good.' He stood up quickly and let out a curse as his head struck the low deck beams.

  Ailday controlled the impulse to grin. 'Not much of a ship, is she, Captain?'

  Bolitho rubbed his arms to restore the circulation and replied coldly, 'My first command was a sloop of war, Allday. Very like this one.' Then he smiled rue
fully. 'But you are right. Such craft are for the very young, or the very small!'

  The door opened a few inches and Lieutenant Bellamy bobbed his head inside, 'Ah, sir, I see you have been called.' He showed his teeth. 'A fine day for it!'

  Bolitho eyed him with surprise. It was amazing bow Bellamy had thrown himself into the scheme of things. If anything went wrong he would have much to explain. In the Navy it was not always sufficient to hold on to the excuse that you were only obeying someone else's orders.

  Bent almost double, Bolitho followed him up a short ladder and on to the sloop's quarterdeck. It felt very cool, and in the pale light he could see patches of broken cloud and a few catspaws of tossing water. He shivered and wished he was wearing his coat. But like the rest he had discarded anything which might be seen and recognised by a vigilant sentry.

  Bellamy was pointing across the larboard bow. 'Cozar is about five miles over yonder, sir. It'll not be long now.'

  Bolitho walked aft to the taffrail and strained his eyes astern. The breeze was steady on his skin, but of the Hyperion there was no sign. He walked slowly back past the unprotected wheel, his shoes sounding strangely loud in the silence.

  Once again he pushed his mind back over the past hectic hours, seeking any flaw or mistake in his plans. He recalled Quarme's brief show of dismay when he had told. him that he was to be left in charge of the ship. Even Bolitho's patient explanation had done little to change things.

  If the French were not deceived; or the sloop was overcome before she could be laid alongside the landing place, nobody in the attacking force would survive.

  It was Bolitho's plan. -He would take the risk. But he could sympathise with Quarme all the same. He had learned that Quarme was a career officer with little money or influence to back his progress. His sort depended on being given charge of a cutting-out operation, or a scatter-brained scheme like this one. Others climbed the slippery ladder to promotion by way of the deaths or advancements of their superiors, and maybe Quarme had already hoped that Captain Turner's sudden demise would see him on his way.