He said, ‘That was a long time ago.’
Probyn leaned forward, his sleeve knocking over the empty goblet. ‘Not so long, surely? It’s like a dog watch ago to me. She was a fine old ship.’
‘Trojan?’ Bolitho nodded to Ozzard who brought a full goblet for the captain. ‘She was hard and demanding, as I remember. A good school for those who wanted to learn, but hell on earth for the laggard. Captain Pears was never a one to tolerate fools.’
Probyn looked at him, his eyes glazed. ‘Of course, I was that bit senior to you. Knew a bit more, so to speak. Saw through their little game.’
‘Game?’
Probyn tapped the side of his nose. ‘Y’see? You didn’t even suspect. The first lieutenant was always on at me. The captain’s lickspittle. And that other lieutenant, the one who got killed, he was a crawler.’
Bolitho stood up and walked to the wine cabinet, seeing Kate’s face and hearing her infectious laugh when she had given it to him. She would laugh at him now, if she were here. How she despised the ways of true authority.
He said sharply, ‘Apart from the very junior lieutenants then, that only left you and me.’ He poured himself a glass of claret, waving Ozzard away as he continued, ‘I remember that ship in many ways, but one of the things which I recall most clearly, and which has come back to me during this last week, was the way you drank.’ He swung round, seeing the sudden alarm on Probyn’s face. ‘Several times that I knew of, men were flogged because of things which you had done wrong. Do you remember the night watches which others had to perform because you were too much in your cups to get on deck? That lickspittle you just mentioned saw to it that the captain knew nothing about it. But by God, Probyn, if I’d been your captain, I’d have made certain you never did it twice!’
Probyn lurched to his feet, his great shadow reaching towards Bolitho like a curtain.
‘Indeed you would! Like the time we took two prizes! I was put in charge of the first. A rotten, worm-infested hulk, that’s all she was! I never stood a chance when the enemy ship came after me!’ He was squinting with fierce concentration, his face and throat wet with sweat. ‘It was deliberate, to get rid of me!’
‘You were senior to me. The prize was yours by right. What about a previous one? A little schooner? You were supposed to take her into New York, but a master’s mate went in your place.’
He watched his words slamming home, the fuddled way which Probyn’s eyes were swivelling around the cabin as if to discover answers.
Bolitho said harshly, ‘You were drunk then. Admit it, man.’
Probyn sat down very slowly, his hands shaking as he supported himself on the arms of the chair.
‘I’ll admit nothing.’ He looked up, his reddened eyes filled with hate. ‘Sir.’
‘So you’ve nothing more to tell me about Nicator’s grounding?’
The question seemed to take him momentarily off guard. Then Probyn said, ‘I have made a full and proper report.’ He thrust his hands under the table. ‘And I have taken sworn statements from those of the watch who were involved.’ He leaned forward, his drink-sodden face crafty as he added, ‘If there is a court of enquiry, I will produce those statements. One of which may incriminate the officer of the watch, an admiral’s nephew, by the way. And it may be thought that you were not unbiased, sir. That you were levelling old scores by having my reputation tarnished.’
He fell back, startled, as Bolitho stood up, his eyes blazing with contempt.
‘Don’t you bargain with me! A week back we struck a blow against the enemy, but the harm which was done to our people was more deeply felt! But for Lysander’s arrival, and Buzzard’s support, yours would be the only ship afloat today! Think on these things the next time you dare to talk of bias or honour!’
He called for Ozzard and added, ‘You may return to your ship now. But remember, what cannot be proved is nevertheless between us. The squadron is undermanned, and officered for the most part by inexperienced youngsters. For that reason alone, I am not holding an official court of enquiry.’
Herrick appeared in the door with Ozzard, but stayed very still as Bolitho said, ‘But hear me, Captain Probyn. If I ever discover that your failure to give support was deliberate, or that at any time in the future you act against the interests of this squadron, I will see you hanged for it!’
Probyn snatched his hat from Ozzard and lurched blindly from the cabin.
When Herrick returned he found Bolitho as before, staring at Probyn’s empty chair with an expression of disgust.
He said, ‘That was an ugly side of me, Thomas. But by God, I meant every word of it!’
17
Storm Clouds
IT WAS NEARER to two weeks before Bolitho could hoist his signal to up anchor and leave their sheltering islet. Even then, the ships were plagued by fierce gusts of gale force, and it soon became apparent that Buzzard’s damage was worse than Javal had realised. His men worked through every watch on the pumps without a break, and with the limited resources he had aboard, he used all spare timber and canvas for the most severe hull damage.
After the savagery of battle, the elation at seeing Lysander thrusting her bows through smoke and falling spray, this renewed effort by the weather to delay their every move was all the more disheartening.
As the ships became scattered, and worked back and forth on varying tacks to gain headway into equally determined south-westerly winds, Bolitho was thankful they had not sighted an enemy squadron across their path. His crews were worn out by constant work, and with each ship left underhanded because of dead and wounded, he knew that any sort of a victory would fall to the opposing side.
Perle, the captured French corvette, had made off with his despatches, and he knew that Herrick was still worrying about Lieutenant Fitz-Clarence’s ability to make the right landfall and pass his information to the admiral at Gibraltar.
Perhaps he should have directed Perle to sail directly to Gibraltar. But if his news was to reach all available sources of communication, he knew that Fitz-Clarence must first call at Syracuse.
He was pacing his cabin, his chin on his chest, his body angled to the ship’s tilt, when he heard the cry, ‘Deck there! Sail to the nor’-west!’
For once he was unable to restrain himself, and without waiting for a message from the quarter-deck, he hurried from the cabin to join Herrick and the other officers at the rail.
Herrick touched his hat. ‘You heard then, sir?’
‘Aye, Thomas.’
Bolitho ran his eyes quickly along the upper gun deck. Due to the weather and the necessary delays while repairs were carried out, it was a month since they had watched the French supply vessels sinking and burning under their bombardment. Since Farquhar had died with so many of his men. And Nicator had gone aground.
The men who were by the bulwarks and gangways, or standing in the shrouds in the hopes of sighting the newcomer, looked tougher, he thought. Herrick had done well. It was not easy for common seamen to understand what was happening beyond their own ship. Some captains did not bother to tell them, but Herrick, as always, had tried to explain whenever he could the reasons and the rewards.
Had Farquhar remained in Lysander, he would have benefited from Herrick’s example. These men, Bolitho knew, would have given that bit extra as the ship had drifted towards the sandbars, her master dead, and the helm shot away.
He looked up sharply as a lookout yelled, ‘’Tis the Harebell, sir!’
Herrick grinned, his face shedding some of the strain as he said, ‘Good old Inch! I was beginning to wonder what had happened to him!’
They watched the sloop’s sails growing out of the horizon, the steep angle of her masts as she crammed on more canvas to run down on the squadron.
Bolitho saw the changing shadows on the sloop’s topsails, and found himself pleading that the wind would not choose this moment to desert them. The thought of being becalmed, with Inch and his news too far away to contact, was almost unbearable. And the win
d had acted in that fashion several times since they had sailed from the Greek islands. Strong to gale force, and then breathing away to nothing, the sodden decks and sails steaming in fierce sunlight, the ships motionless, like men beaten senseless in a brawl.
Herrick asked softly, ‘What d’you think, sir? Good or bad news?’
Bolitho bit his lip. Inch had been away a long while. As his little squadron had sifted information and news of the enemy’s whereabouts and strength, almost anything might have happened.
He replied, ‘My guess is that a blockade will now be built up around the French ports. Once de Brueys knows his supply fleet and siege artillery are destroyed at Corfu, he may think differently about invasion. Our people have worked hard, Thomas. I hope their efforts will have given the fleet time.’
The air was heavy with greasy smoke from the galley before Harebell had tacked close enough to lower a boat. Bolitho noticed that most of the off-watch seamen remained on deck, instead of going for their midday meal. To see Inch come aboard, to try and learn something of what was happening.
In the great cabin, Bolitho made Inch take a glass of wine, to give him a moment to regain his breath.
It was strange, he thought, that after all the battles and the pain, it often fell to men like Inch to carry really important news. You would hardly notice him in a street. Gangling, with his long horseface and excited manner, he did not seem the stuff of heroes as their public liked to imagine. But Bolitho knew differently, and would not have traded him for a dozen others.
Inch explained, ‘I delivered the despatches, and,’ he shot Herrick a quick glance, ‘and my passenger, sir. Then I was caught up in tremendous activity.’ He frowned to gather his thoughts. ‘Rear-Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson in his flagship Vanguard passed through Gibraltar Strait at the beginning of May and headed for Toulon.’
Herrick breathed out deeply. ‘Thank the Lord for that.’
Inch stared at him. ‘No, sir, I beg to differ. There was a great storm, and Nelson’s ships were scattered, his own completely dismasted and almost run ashore. He had to make for shelter to effect repairs. To St. Peter’s at Sardinia.’
Herrick groaned. ‘That’s bad!’
Inch shook his head. ‘Well, in some ways, sir.’
Bolitho said, ‘Come, man, spit it out!’
Inch grinned apologetically. ‘Nelson’s repairs delayed his plans, but allowed his other reinforcements to join him. He now commands fourteen sail of the line, but –’ He saw Herrick’s face and added hurriedly, ‘The truth is, sir, the same gale which dismasted Vanguard allowed the French to slip past.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘The French are out, sir.’
Herrick said bitterly, ‘And they escaped much as our Frenchmen did. God damn the weather!’
‘Is that all, Commander Inch?’ Bolitho kept his tone level, but could feel the disappointment rising inside him.
Inch shrugged. ‘The French have taken Malta without a fight, sir. Nelson’s ships have been searching for de Brueys’s fleet without success. He has followed their passage through the Ligurian Sea, and even looked into some ports where other French ships might have been sheltering until they were ready to move out.’
‘You have done well, Inch.’ Bolitho gestured to Ozzard for some more wine. ‘And you have brought despatches?’
Inch nodded. ‘I was ordered to Naples by the admiral, sir. There I met with the fleet at last.’ He grinned awkwardly. ‘And with Nelson.’
‘The devil you have!’ Herrick stared at him. ‘That I should like to have seen!’
Bolitho said quietly, ‘So you did not meet with Perle.’
He looked away as Herrick started to explain about the battle and the new prizes. But Bolitho’s mind was elsewhere. By the time Fitz-Clarence had reached Gibraltar it would be too late for him to return and find Nelson. He blamed himself for not thinking that a fleet would be sent so quickly to act upon his own sketchy information and the captured siege guns.
Inch was asking excitedly, ‘So where are the French? Nelson has been off Elba and Civita Vecchia and into Naples without sighting a one. And you have come west’rd without meeting them. I do not understand it.’
Bolitho faced them again. ‘Did Nelson receive you well?’
‘Indeed yes, sir.’ Inch frowned. ‘He was not quite as I expected, but I found him most compelling, in spite of his anxieties.’
Bolitho tried to imagine what might lie behind those simple words. Was Nelson blaming him for losing the French, too? For leading a British fleet which was sorely needed elsewhere to an empty trap?
Inch added, ‘If and when I was able to find you, sir, I was to tell you to join the fleet with all speed off Alexandria.’ He saw Bolitho’s surprise and said, ‘Oh yes, sir, Nelson has every faith in your conclusions. He still believes that the French are heading for, if not already in Egypt.’ He seemed to expect a show of excitement.
Bolitho said, ‘Captain Herrick took it upon himself to visit Alexandria. But for a few decrepit Turkish men o’ war and the usual coastal craft, it was empty. As it will be when Nelson gets there.’ He looked at Herrick. ‘Are you agreed, Thomas?’
Herrick nodded. ‘I fear so. From what we discovered and heard at Corfu, it seemed as if those supply ships were expecting to leave for another destination before they joined their main fleet.’ He looked at the chart on Bolitho’s table, his face grim. ‘So when Nelson sails east he will miss de Brueys by a hundred miles or more. The French will rendezvous up here.’ He tapped the chart with one finger. ‘Most likely off Crete.’ He looked at Bolitho. ‘While we sheltered amongst those islands, the greatest force since the Spanish Armada probably steered just a few miles to the south’rd of us, and we knew nothing of it!’
Inch asked dubiously, ‘What will de Brueys do, sir?’
Bolitho stared at the chart. ‘In his shoes I’d gather up all the surviving transports, then wait for any others which may have been scattered amongst smaller islands and bays. Then I’d sail south-east. For Egypt.’
‘Alexandria, sir.’ Herrick watched him searchingly.
‘Yes. But I think his fleet will remain outside the harbour. Somewhere where they can present their resistance to best advantage.’
Herrick nodded, understanding. ‘The Bay of Aboukir. There could be none better.’ He grimaced. ‘For them.’
Bolitho walked to the stern windows, his legs braced as the ship swayed dizzily across some deep troughs.
‘And Nelson will return to the west.’ He was speaking almost to himself. ‘He will imagine that de Brueys has tricked him, and has attacked some other place after all.’
He had often heard of Nelson’s sudden depressions, his self-criticism when his bold ideas failed to show immediate results.
Something flashed across the windows, and he saw it was a gull, darting down to seize an unsuspecting fish below the counter.
A few hundred miles, and yet it meant the difference between success and nothing at all. He knew where the French would gather their combined strength, which with or without siege guns could soon occupy the walls and batteries of Alexandria. He knew it, but could not tell the rear-admiral in time. If only he were like that gull and his news could be carried as swiftly as a bird’s flight. The gull would be sleeping on some Greek or Italian shore tonight, and his ships would have made little progress in any direction.
He said slowly, ‘I want all commanding officers aboard at once, Thomas. If we are to be of any use we must use our independence.’
Inch bobbed. ‘Not join Nelson, sir?’
Bolitho smiled at his anxiety. ‘Eventually.’
Herrick jerked his head to Inch. ‘Come with me while I have the signal made.’ He glanced at Bolitho’s grave face. He knew from experience when he needed to be alone with his thoughts.
Two hours later they had all assembled in the cabin. Javal, hollow-eyed from sleepless nights, fighting the sea and wind with weakening resources. Probyn, his heavy face wary, and avoiding Bolitho’s glance as h
e found a chair in a patch of shadow. Lieutenant Gilchrist, awkward amongst his superiors, but more sure of himself than Bolitho had ever seen before. Being in charge of a seventy-four could affect a man in several ways. It appeared to have been good for him.
Herrick and Inch completed the gathering, while Moffitt, the clerk, sat at a small table with his pad and pen, and Ozzard stood curiously beside the polished wine cabinet.
Bolitho faced them. ‘Gentlemen, I have to tell you that we must go and search for the French again. De Brueys is out, and so far has avoided the fleet which was sent to contain him.’ He saw Javal’s tiredness slip away, the exchange of glances between them. ‘We, in this small force of ours, must do all we can to delay the enemy’s plans. You’ve done far more than any orders dictated,’ he smiled, ‘or left unsaid!’
Herrick grinned ruefully and Inch nodded in silent agreement.
He continued, ‘I will be honest with you. If we are called to fight unaided, the odds will be great. Perhaps too great.’ He looked straight at Javal. ‘And from you, Captain, I must have complete honesty, too.’
Javal’s narrow features were guarded. ‘Sir?’
‘Your ship. Without a proper refit, and within a short space of time, what chance does she have?’
The others looked at the deck or the chart on the table. Anywhere but at Javal’s face.
Javal half rose and then sat down heavily. ‘I can fight another storm if it’s no worse than those gone before, sir.’ He looked into Bolitho’s eyes. ‘But that is not what you were really asking, is it?’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t fight her, sir. She took a great hammering. A few more balls into her and I fear she’d founder.’ He stared at some point above Bolitho’s epaulette. ‘She’s a fine ship, sir, and I’d not ask –’ His voice trailed away.
Bolitho watched his distress, the agony his words had cost him.
He said quietly, ‘I was a frigate captain myself. I know what you are feeling. But I am grateful for your honesty, more so because I know what Buzzard means to you.’
Signal, Close Action! Page 32
