Signal Close Action (17 page)

Grubb muttered, 'I can see scarlet! Them bloody bullocks got there after all!'

The rest of the voices were drowned in one tremendous explosion. It swelled out and down from the headland, hurling rocks and fragments right along the beach and scattering some soldiers who had been trying to approach the battery from there.

Herrick tried to control his grin. 'Heave-to, Mr. Veitch!' He nodded sharply. 'Yes,
yo
u.
Promotion comes fast in a ship of war!'

He pointed at the transport. The explosion in the remaining battery had finished all resistance, and he could see Fitz-Clarence's men swarming aboard, the Spanish flag dipping to confirm the capture. The second brig was under way, her sails filling as she made all possible speed to escape destruction.

Herrick watched her calmly.
'Harebell
will catch that one.'

Sails awry and thundering,
Lysander
came up into the wind. No more shots were fired from the land, and along the foreshore only the dead and injured remained to mark the extent of the bombardment.

'Get more boats lowered.' Herrick gauged the slow drift across the bay. 'We may have to anchor, but I want every man-jack picked up.'

Saxby shouted, 'Commodore's coming along the beach now, sir!' He was hopping up and down. 'And here come the marines!'

Herrick gripped the rail and watched the untidy procession with something like awe. He saw Lieutenant Steere standing up to his waist in water beside a boat which his seamen must have unearthed somewhere. The hesitant steps of the wounded being carried aboard, the two cutters speeding from the prize ship to help the others.

Grubb ambled to his side. 'It'll give the Dons somethin' to bite on, sir.'

Herrick nodded. One ship sunk, a larger one captured, and the defences in ruins.

He stiffened. 'Mr. Saxby! Give me your glass
!
'

Grubb stared at him. 'What is it, might I ask, sir ?'

Herrick handed him the glass and replied quietly, 'The commodore has his nephew with him.'

The master gave a low whistle. 'His cox'n, too, be God.' He snapped the glass shut. 'I don't reckon I can stand any more miracles in one day!'

Herrick walked slowly along the gangway, unable to take his eyes from the approaching boat. It had been a near thing. He had almost not made the decision. Perhaps Grubb was right about miracles.

He sought out Veitch's figure on the quarterdeck. 'Stand by to receive the commodore
!
'

Moments later Bolitho clambered up and through the entry port. His face was grimy with smoke and his elbows were showing through his sleeves, but he was smiling in a way which Herrick had almost forgotten.

Bolitho said, 'That was a fine piece of timing, Thomas!'

'I almost obeyed your orders, sir.' Herrick grinned awkwardly. "Then I remembered what you would have done in my place.'

Bolitho threw back his head and took several deep breaths. It had been very close. Leroux's men had fired three heated balls into the other battery, and he had thought they might surrender. But they had been urged on and rallied again and again by a slim, fanatical officer. Allday had said he was the camp's commandant. The Spaniard had also managed to keep up an accurate bombardment with his seaward cannon, and at least two balls had hit
Lysander,
maybe more.

Then, as the ship had seemed about to tack away from the merciless cannon fire, one of Leroux's heated shots had ploughed into the battery's powder store. It had ended there, and he had seen the Spanish captain torn apart in the blast, his sword still waving in the air.

He turned and watched as Pascoe limped through the port, accompanied by cheers and laughter as some of the gun crews clustered round to slap his shoulders or point at his wine-stained uniform.

Herrick shook his head. 'And I doubted if we could do it, sir.'

Bolitho eyed him sadly. 'With men like these I could do just about anything, Thomas.'

Allday walked past, his bare feet held painfully away from ring-bolts and gun tackles.

Bolit
ho unbuckled his tarnished sword and handed it to him. 'Here, Allday. I'll be down directly.'

Allday looked at him, the strain coming back to his face. 'Aye, sir.'

Bolitho added quietly, 'I'll take it amiss if the level in my decanters is still high when I examine them.' He watched him fondly. 'I'm grateful for your safety.'

Herrick waited until Allday had vanished through the cabin hatch before saying, 'It is the first time I have known him robbed of a reply, sir.'

Bolitho watched the marines climbing or being hauled bodily through the port, the looks of bewilderment, pain and sheer pleasure at being safe and alive. He could feel his own wildness ebbing away, and imagined what it had been like for Pascoe and Allday.

He shook himself from his thoughts. 'Well, Captain Herrick, get the boats secured and signal our prize to up-anchor and take station to lee'rd.' He clapped him lightly on the shoulder, his smile returning. 'We will rejoin the squadron directly.'

*

Bolitho waited in silence until Herrick had completed his examination of the chart. Through the stern windows he could see the captured Spanish transport wallowing heavily in
Lysander's
wake, and wondered for the hundredth time at his decision not to send her to Gibraltar as another prize.

Herrick straightened his back and looked at him. 'I agree, sir. According to our calculations we are standing into the channel between Spain and the island of Ibiza. Mr. Grubb assures me that Cape San Antonio is some twenty-five miles off the larboard beam.'

Bolitho leaned across the chart and studied the scattered bearings and soundings along the Spanish coastline. Two days since Herrick had sailed into the bay to rescue them before ordering Inch's
Harebell
in hot pursuit of the remaining brig. Either the brig was faster than she had appeared, or Inch had lost his sense of direction. The latter was more than likely, he decided.

Herrick said bluntly, 'I can discover no reason why we have not met with the squadron, sir.' His eyes remained steady as he added, 'Captain Farquhar knew very well that we might need support.'

Bolitho walked to the stern windows and watched the Spanish ship's foresail billowing in the uncertain wind. She was a strange catch. Filled to the deck seams with powder and shot, with fodder for horses and mules, and enough tents to shelter an army, she remained a mystery. She was named
Segura,
and once clear of the land he had sent for her master, a squat, furtive looking man who had been openly dumbfounded by Bolitho producing a letter which Javal's men had brought from the captured schooner.

The Spanish master had insisted in halting English that he did not know his ultimate destination. Indeed, there was nothing in his quarters to prove otherwise, and unless he had hurled his orders overboard at the first sign of danger, he was as much in the dark as his captors.

He did not seem like a clever liar. He had admitted that he had been told to take his cargo to a rendezvous in the Gulf of Valencia where he could expect an escort and maybe other merchant vessels under charter for the military. He had pleaded that he was a poor sailor who had no wish to become involved in war. The Spanish commandant who had been in charge of loading his vessel had given him instructions which would place him under French control. There were many vessels, the master had said, which the French were using throughout the Mediterranean to support their newly-founded outposts.

Should he ignore this unexpected catch? If some sort of rendezvous did lie ahead, it would be better to re-form the squadron before making a new intrusion into enemy waters.

But Farquhar was not here. There was little variation in wind, nothing in fact which should have prevented the other ships from making contact.

He said slowly, 'Perhaps Captain Farquhar was involved with the enemy.'

'Perhaps.' Herrick sounded doubtful. 'But the fact remains, sir,
Harebell
has not returned, with or without a prize, and we are alone. Very much so.'

Bolitho nodded. 'True. I think we will maintain the present course. Farquhar may decide for reasons of his own to rejoin us closer to our final destination.' He ran his fingers over the chart and the area marked
Golfe du Lion.
'The French are stirring up an ants' nest, Thomas. They have more in mind than invading England, I think.' He moved his hand to the shores of Africa. 'I am certain it will be
here?

He thought suddenly of the vivid flash above the ramparts as Leroux's men had fired a glowing ball into the Spanish powder store. In this short while how his men had changed. They had rarely hesitated, and he had been moved by their efforts even when the attack had seemed hopeless.

The news must have reached higher authority by now. Even as far ahead as France. If the squadron was feeling its way, so, too, the enemy must be wondering at its intentions.

He walked aft yet again and stared at the prize ship. Lieutenant Fitz-Clarence was in command, no doubt relishing his unexpected promotion.

Herrick said, 'If
Harebell
doesn't return within a day, I fear we must assume her lost.' He rubbed his chin. 'And that'll mean we will be without "eyes".' He added with sudden bitterness, 'Damn that Javal! I'll wager he's away after some fat capture to line his pockets!'

Bolitho watched him thoughtfully. 'That is as may be. Or perhaps the whole squadron is destroyed?' He touched his arm and smiled. "That was a
joke,
Thomas. But do not imagine I am untroubled.'

He turned as a tap came at the screen door. It was Pascoe, a stranger almost in his proper uniform.

'You sent for me, sir ?'

'Yes.' Boli
tho gestured to a chair. 'Have you had any more time to think about your ordeal?' He saw the youth's dark eyes go distant and added, 'It could be important, Adam.'

Pascoe stretched his legs.
‘I
had the impression that the Spaniards are so willing to aid their ally that they will do anything but fight. They were using galley slaves, felons, anyone who could lift and carry to build defences and prepare ways of loading all manner of vessels.'

Bolitho looked at them and smiled. 'With the Earl of St. Vincent's ships watching Cadiz and the Biscay ports, I think it unlikely that all this is for England's benefit.' He nodded firmly. 'This is what I intend. On to Toulon and the smaller French ports close by where, with luck, we shall meet with our other ships. Then south-east to Sicily where we can water our vessels and make discreet enquiries.' His smile broadened as he watched Herrick's doubt.
‘I
know, Thomas, the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies is at peace with France. It does not follow it is at war with
us,
eh ?'

He looked at the open skylight as he heard the lookout's hail, 'Deck there! Sail on the larboard bow!'

Herrick stood up. 'If you will excuse me, sir.' He gave a shy grin. 'Though I fancy you still find it hard not to run on deck with the rest of us!'

Bolitho waited for him to leave and then said, 'And you, Adam, how are all the aches and pains ?'

Pascoe grinned.
‘I
never knew a body had room for so many bruises.'

Feet padded overhead, and Bolitho could picture the midshipman of the watch being chased to the shrouds with the biggest telescope available.
Harebell
was obviously alone. No matter. One more prize might have helped their esteem with the admiral, it would not have been worth risking their only sloop.

Pascoe asked quietly, 'I would wish to ask something, sir?'

Bolitho faced him, seeing the determination, a touch of anxiety. 'You've earned the right to ask as you will.'

Pascoe did not return his smile. 'The lady, Uncle. Catherine Pareja. The one you - ' He faltered. 'You knew in London.'

'Well?' He waited. 'What of her?'

'I was wondering. Did you take her
home,
I mean, to your house in Falmouth ?'

Bolitho shook his head slowly. Seeing her face. Feeling her warmth, her need of him. 'No, Adam. Not to Falmouth.'

Pascoe licked his lips. 'I did not mean to pry.'

'It is all right.' Bolitho crossed the chequered deck and gripped his shoulder. 'It is important to you, I can see that. But my feelings mean a lot to me, too.'

Pascoe tossed the hair from his eyes. 'Of course.' He smiled. 'I understand.' He hesitated again. 'I liked her. Which was
whyI-'