He continued in the same quiet tone, ‘Buzzard’s main armament must be jettisoned at once. If that does not suffice she will have to be abandoned.’ He kept his eyes on Javal’s lowered head. ‘I am giving you the French prize, Immortalité. The bulk of your people can be spread amongst the squadron at your discretion. We will need every man jack before long. I understand that your first lieutenant was wounded in the fight, Captain?’
He saw him nod, and then turned to Gilchrist.
‘You will take charge of Buzzard and sail her to Gibraltar with a skeleton company. Avoid trouble, and you should make a safe passage. I will give you your orders, and also the recommendation that you be promoted to commander at the first opportunity.’
Gilchrist, who had been listening to his decisions with obvious dismay, jerked to his feet and exclaimed, ‘Thank you, sir! I’m only sorry that –’ He sat down again without finishing what he had started.
Bolitho said, ‘We have three ships of the line. They must be commanded by men of experience.’ He glanced briefly at Probyn, but the man stared through him. ‘And courage.’
Herrick asked, ‘Shall I order the squadron’s badly wounded to be transferred to Buzzard, sir?’
‘If Captain Javal is satisfied she is seaworthy after the guns have been jettisoned, I think it should be done.’ He raised his head to listen. ‘The wind has eased, I think. So let us be about it directly.’ He gave Inch a pat on the arm. ‘And you, Commander Inch, will be able to carry the news of our discovery to your new friend, Sir Horatio Nelson!’
As they prepared to leave the cabin, Herrick said, ‘Farquhar would have wished to be with us.’
‘Aye, Thomas.’ He saw Gilchrist waiting to say something. ‘See the others into the boats and then tell Pascoe to signal the squadron on the matter of wounded.’
He turned to Gilchrist. ‘What is wrong? I thought you were happy with your appointment, temporary though it will be.’
‘I am, sir.’ Gilchrist looked wretchedly at the deck. ‘I am not a rich man, but I have had great hopes in the King’s service. Now you have given me the first real chance –’. He sounded near breaking point. ‘And I cannot accept it.’
Bolitho watched him impassively. ‘Why? Because of Captain Probyn? The influence he has used on you to unsettle the flagship’s affairs?’ He saw the astonishment on his face and continued, ‘I knew that something was wrong. No man who wished to better his position in the Navy, and wanted to marry his captain’s sister, would have acted so foolishly, unless he was affeared of something.’
‘Yes, sir. It was from a long while back. My father was sent to prison for debt. He was a sick man, and I knew he could not endure it. He was weak in many ways and had no one to sustain him.’ He spoke fiercely, reliving his despair. ‘I borrowed money from the wardroom funds which we had built up to pay for extra wine and fresh food whenever possible. I intended to return it when I could. The first lieutenant found out about it. Made me write a confession which he threatened to use if I ever failed in my duty again.’
‘He did wrong, Mr. Gilchrist. As did you.’
Gilchrist did not seem to hear. ‘When I came to Lysander, and eventually became senior lieutenant, I thought I was going to be safe. I admired Captain Herrick, and I found his sister, crippled though she is, a most gracious person. Then we joined the squadron under your flag, sir. And with it came the Nicator and Captain Probyn.’
‘Your old first lieutenant from the past.’
‘Aye, sir.’
So that was it. All the years since his capture by the enemy, Probyn had nursed his hatred for Bolitho, the one face in his memory which he could reach and hurt. And when he had found Gilchrist again, he had been prepared to use threats to make him force a breach between himself and Herrick.
The effect on Herrick had been for the good. But it had cost others dearly, and had indirectly put Farquhar to an early death.
Gilchrist said desperately, ‘After your kindness, sir, I’d not allow myself to profit further at your expense.’ He gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘And my father died anyway. For nothing.’
Bolitho watched the other ships through the salt-caked windows. Buzzard would be safe now, he thought. Lighter without her guns, strong in the knowledge that she could avoid any sort of fight or manoeuvre beyond survival. She would survive.
He said quietly, ‘I am giving you Osiris’s surgeon. They say he is a sound doctor. Take good care of our wounded. They have suffered enough. Do not allow them to be left stranded at Gibraltar.’ He turned, seeing the surprise and gratitude on Gilchrist’s face. ‘I am counting on your vigilance, on their behalf.’
Gilchrist nodded dazedly. ‘You have my word, sir.’
‘Then get about your business.’ Bolitho could not bear to watch his emotion. Like a man released from a great weight of worry. From the shadow of the gallows itself. ‘You’ve a lot to do.’
Gilchrist walked towards the screen door, his long legs ungainly, his steps without their usual bounce. He turned aft, his face in shadow.
‘I’ll tell them when I get home, sir. About what we did . . .’
‘Just tell them we tried, Mr. Gilchrist.’
He heard him walking very slowly towards the quarter-deck.
Allday came out of the sleeping cabin, his face grave.
‘Let me pour you a glass of wine.’ He glanced meaningly at the closed door. ‘You were too easy on that one, sir, if you’ll pardon the liberty.’
‘He learned a hard lesson, Allday. I think others will profit from it one day.’
Allday watched him sipping the wine. ‘What about Cap’n Probyn, sir?’
Bolitho smiled sadly. ‘A good question. But he’ll fight when he has to.’ He looked at Allday. ‘Three captains. It is all we have. Personal differences must wait their turn.’
Allday grinned. ‘We do have a commodore, sir. And with all respect, he’s not a bad one at that.’
Bolitho smiled at him. ‘Go to hell, Allday.’
‘Aye, sir. I don’t doubt I will.’ He made for the door. ‘If there’s any deck space with so many flag officers in residence!’
Bolitho walked to the windows and leaned against the warm timbers. All the weeks and delays, the hopes raised and dashed, and now he saw a point in it all.
He thought of Gilchrist. Tell them we tried. It sounded like an epitaph.
He stirred himself and put down the glass.
It would be dusk in five or six hours. He needed to be under way by then. The wind aiding instead of hampering, and this time the objective would be far too big to miss.
*
In the following days while the three ships sailed east and south, each watch passed much like the one before. Bolitho deployed his small force in line abreast, with Lysander to the north and the Immortalité to the south.
The wind became sluggish and uncertain but maintained its south-westerly direction, so that after losing station during each night, Bolitho worked through the longer hours of daylight to regain his extended line. In the centre, Probyn’s Nicator was a constant reminder of what Gilchrist had admitted. The weak link, but still the only man with experience enough to handle his two-decker in battle. Nearly three miles separated each ship, and with carefully chosen lookouts, he hoped the area covered would betray some sign, or an outflung patrol of the enemy’s strength.
He had sent Inch away ahead of the squadron, to use his agility and speed to reach Alexandria well ahead of his heavier consorts. Only after he had received Inch’s report could he release him to carry his final information to the fleet.
Day by day, with the sun getting hotter, and the first sweeping wave of excitement giving way to a more realistic attitude of resignation. Gun drill was carried out whenever possible, as much to keep the hands occupied as to incorporate the newly-joined men into their team. Herrick had told him that the purser was opening some of the lower tiers of salt beef and pork. And there was no fruit, and barely enough water to drink, let alone use for personal comfort.
&nbs
p; In Lysander, Herrick did his best to keep his men busy on watch, and involved in their own entertainment once the sun had departed at the end of each long day. Hornpipes, and wrestling, a prize of a double rum ration for the most original piece of ropework. In many ways it was harder to think of new ideas than to keep the hands at work and drills.
Bolitho hoped that Javal and Probyn were acting with equal vigour to sustain their own companies. For if they failed to find the enemy this time, there would still be no relief. Just a long, relentless haul back to Syracuse, or to some other mark on the chart which their commodore thought profitable.
Several times Bolitho received signals from Javal that he had sighted the northernmost coast of Africa, but otherwise it seemed as if they had the sea to themselves.
Arguments began to break out, and a knife fight ended in a man being badly gashed, and the other flogged senseless as a grim reminder of discipline.
Then, when Bolitho was starting to worry for Harebell’s safety, the masthead sighted the sloop beating up from the south-east. It took another full day for Inch to draw near, and when he eventually arrived on board, his news was like a slap in the face.
He had sighted the Pharos and had sailed as near as he could to Alexandria. As before, it was empty but for the elderly Turkish men-of-war. Perplexed as to what to do, Inch had gone about, and almost by accident had fallen on a small Genoese trading vessel. Her master had confirmed what Bolitho had believed from the start. After leaving Naples, Nelson had sailed direct to Alexandria, but finding it empty, had led his fleet back to the west again. How far, and to what purpose, Bolitho could only guess, but he could imagine the little admiral searching out information from Syracuse or Naples, and trying to determine what action to take.
The Genoese trader also told Inch’s boarding party that he had heard of heavy French ships of war off the Cretan coast. That had been many days ago. Despite all the questions, comparing of charts, even threats, the trader could not be more definite.
It was almost dark by the time Inch had completed his report, and Herrick and Grubb had noted his sparse facts on the chart for future reference.
Tomorrow, Bolitho would send Harebell to search for the fleet again. In his shoes, Bolitho would have been glad to go. To get away from the ponderous manoeuvrings of the two-deckers. But Inch protested, ‘One more day cannot hurt, sir. The French are to the north of us somewhere. It would be better to remain with you and gather something definite for Nelson. Rather than finding the fleet once more with little but rumour to offer.’
Bolitho agreed with him in part. But for the weather, and long delays left in the wake of battle, they might have had better luck.
When he had confided his anxiety with Herrick, the latter had protested as strongly as Inch.
‘There is nothing more you could do, sir. Even Rear Admiral Nelson was dismasted in a storm and allowed the Frogs to escape from Toulon. It’s like seeking a hare in a burrow. With only one ferret, the odds of success are hard against you.’
Bolitho looked at them and smiled. ‘If I ordered you to sail up the cliffs of Dover, I believe you would obey.’
Inch grinned. ‘I’d need it in writing, sir.’
They went on deck together, and while Inch waited for his boat to pull alongside, Bolitho watched the molten ball of sunset spreading like stained glass in a church.
‘Tomorrow then.’
He walked aft and peered at the compass, and nodded to Plowman, the master’s mate of the watch.
‘How is the wind?’
‘Steady ’nough, sir.’ He squinted at the broad pendant, curling lazily in the sunset. ‘Tomorrow’ll be another day like this one.’
Bolitho waited as Herrick came from the entry port and said, ‘Signal the ships to remain in close contact tonight, Thomas.’ He shivered, and clasped his arms around his stomach.
Herrick peered at him, startled. ‘Are you ill, sir? Is that damned fever returning?’
Bolitho looked at him and smiled. ‘Rest easy. It’s just a feeling.’ He turned towards the poop. ‘I have a letter to write. It can go with Inch and his despatches.’
Later, in the great, creaking cabin, with the shadows swaying and looming around his table, Bolitho rested his head on his hand and stared at the letter he was writing to his sister in Falmouth.
He could picture Nancy without difficulty. Dark-eyed, and unusually cheerful, she remained closer than his other sister, Felicity, whom he had not seen for six or seven years. She was in India, with her soldier husband, while Nancy remained in Falmouth, the wife of Lewis Roxby, landowner, magistrate, and as far as Bolitho was concerned, a pompous bore.
Once they had all lived together below Pendennis Castle walls. With Hugh, and then, years later, Nancy’s two children, Helen and James. Now, Hugh was dead, and Felicity across the world, knowing nothing of the French army moving in a blue flood towards Egypt, and towards her.
Nancy’s children were grown up, and nearly as old as Adam. It was another world. In Falmouth the air would be heavy with blossom and the sounds of cattle, horses and sheep. The taverns would be full of laughter, of relief that the farms and fishing grounds had once more been good to them.
He wrote – ‘and young Adam is keeping well and does his duty with a dash which would have pleased Father.
It is not yet certain, dear Nancy, but I think Thomas may have met his lady at long last. Indeed I hope so, for there could be no better husband.’
He looked up as voices and feet crossed above the skylight. But they moved away, and he tried to think of something more to tell his sister. He could not write of the other side of things. The faces of Lysander’s company whenever you caught them in an unguarded moment. Thinking of their own families, as with each hour they fell further and further astern. Nor could he explain what they were doing, or the great odds against any sort of success.
Anyway, she would guess some of it. She was a captain’s daughter, an admiral’s grand-daughter. She would know.
He continued – ‘you will remember Francis Inch? He has trebled in size and confidence since meeting with Sir Horatio Nelson. He was much impressed, although I suspect he thought “Our Nel” would be a giant, instead of a slight man with one arm and a temper to match that of any collier’s master!
‘I send my love to you and the children, as does Adam, who still thinks of you as a kind of angel. He does not know you as well as I.’
He smiled, seeing her pleasure as she read that part and remembered. When he had been at sea, and Adam had walked unknown and unhelped out of nowhere, it had been to Nancy that he had gone. Until that moment in time, nobody in the family, not even Hugh, had realised Adam had existed. Born illegitimate, he had lived to his fourteenth year with his mother at Penzance, and when she had died he had set out on foot for the family to which he really belonged.
Yes, she would recall those days as she read his letter.
He finished – ‘Think of us sometimes. Your loving brother, Dick.’
Allday entered the cabin and looked at him curiously. ‘Moffitt’s finished copying your orders for Harebell, sir.’ He watched as Bolitho sealed the letter and addressed it. ‘Falmouth, sir?’
‘Yes.’ He leaned back in the chair and looked at the spiralling lantern overhead. ‘I’ve told my sister that you are as difficult as ever.’
Allday turned as Ozzard came through the door. ‘Well?’
Ozzard flinched. ‘Will the commodore be requiring anything more to eat or drink, please?’
Bolitho stood up and walked uncertainly to the bulkhead and touched the sword.
‘Lay out my best uniform coat and hat tomorrow, Ozzard.’
Allday turned towards him very slowly. ‘Then you think . . .’
‘Yes.’ Bolitho looked past him. ‘I feel it. It will be tomorrow or not at all.’
‘I’ll need a tot to make me sleep on that news, sir.’ But he grinned. ‘Several, most like.’
Bolitho roamed about the cabin for a full hour after m
idnight, thinking of faces, and things he had shared with them.
Then he turned into his cot, leaving orders with the watch on deck that he was to be called at dawn.
Surprisingly, he felt calmer than he had since the return of his fever, and within minutes of closing his eyes he was fast asleep.
He was awakened by a hand on his shoulder, and saw Herrick studying him in the light of a dimmed lantern. Beyond him, the cabin skylight showed a pink glow.
‘What is it, Thomas?’
Then he heard it. Very faint, drifting across the sea like echoes on a beach. Cheering.
‘Harebell hoisted a signal at first light, sir.’ Herrick watched him grimly. ‘Enemy in sight.’
18
The Din of War
BOLITHO STRODE ACROSS the quarter-deck with Herrick beside him. Figures, mostly in shadow, cleared a path for him, and he heard Grubb say, ‘Steady at east-by-north, sir.’
Veitch, who had the watch, came to meet him, and touched his hat.
‘Harebell has just signalled again, sir. Ships in sight to the nor’-west.’ He glared at the signal party. ‘Mr. Glasson was somewhat slack with his men, and I fear we missed some of Harebell’s flags.’
Bolitho nodded. ‘I’ve little doubt that the ships which Inch saw were patrols ahead of a larger force. Otherwise they’d have come closer.’
He peered up at his pendant. It was shining cleanly in the new daylight, but the lower yards and shrouds were still in deeper shadow.
He said, ‘Very well. Make to the squadron. Prepare for battle.’ He smiled at Veitch. ‘Have our people had breakfast?’
‘Aye, sir.’ Veitch looked at Herrick and stammered, ‘Someone told me of the commodore’s feelings about today, sir. So I had all hands called an hour earlier.’
Bolitho rubbed his chin. ‘I will shave now, and have some coffee, if there’s any left.’ He heard the squeak of halliards as the signal dashed up the yards and broke to the wind. ‘I hope Nicator is awake and repeats the signal to Javal.’
He turned to look for Harebell’s lithe shape, but she was stern-on, her braced topsails very pale against the sky.
Signal, Close Action! Page 33
