Signal Close Action (18 page)

Bolitho eyed him gravely. 'Which is
why
you crossed swords. For my name.' 'Yes.'

Bolitho walked to his desk and took out the broken sword.

'Take this. It was a comfort to me when everyone else thought you were dead.' He saw him holding it as if it was red-hot. 'But save it for the enemy, not for those who try to hurt you with words.'

He looked round as feet clattered down a companion ladder and seconds later Luce, who was apparently midshipman of the watch, hurried into the cabin and reported, 'Captain Herrick's respects, sir. It is
Harebell
in sight, and she will be in signalling distance within the half-hour.' His eyes flickered towards Pascoe. 'No other sail in sight, sir.'

'Thank you, Mr. Luce.' Bolitho compared the pair of them. Pascoe was a year older than Luce, if that. He was glad they had each other's friendship in the teeming and often heartless world of a ship of the line. 'My compliments to the captain.'

He needed to go on deck, up to the foretop if necessary, despite his hatred of heights, to see what was wrong with Inch and his overdue sloop. He sighed. It was quite useless.

While his own broad pendant remained above this or any ship he was bound to stay immovable, to keep his energies for decisions beyond ship-handling.

The others were watching him, and Pascoe asked, 'May I go with Mr. Luce ?'

'Of course.' He watched them leave. Nothing changed.

He had just completed writing his notes on the raid when Herrick came to the cabin again, his face relaxed into a smile.

'Harebell
has signalled, sir. Two sail to the nor'-west. If I wronged Captain Farquhar, then this is the moment to admit it.'

Bolitho moved quickly to the chart, recalling the change of wind, the feel of sand and dust on his cheek as he had listened wretchedly to the Cornish marine's news about the impassable gully.

He said, 'Admit nothing, Thomas. Not even Farquhar could drive his ships that fast to get them to the nor'-west of us
!
'

He snatched up his hat. 'Inch must have lost his brig, but by God he's brought bigger fish to us today
1'

Herrick hurried after him, his face working with fresh doubt and apprehension.

It was very bright on the quarterdeck, and the sun was almost directly above the main yard. Bolitho nodded to Veitch, who had the watch, and then strode to the weather side, his eyes reaching out beyond the forecastle to the glittering horizon and its attendant haze.

Herrick yelled, 'Make to
Harebell. Investigate. Keep station to lee'rd.'

Bunting slipped and slithered in colourful confusion across the deck until to Luce's satisfaction it was properly bent on to the halliards and was soon breaking to the wind.

'Harebell's
acknowledged, sir.'

Herrick said sourly, 'Should damn well think so. Francis Inch always was too quick off the mark.' He grinned despite his anxiety. 'The idiot!'

Minutes dragged by, and groups of seamen, who moments earlier had thought of nothing but their midday meal, poor though it was, were thronging to shrouds and gangways to stare towards the sloop's small outline.

Luce had swarmed halfway up the weather shrouds and had his glass steadied against the ship's easy plunge and roll.

Below him, Pascoe was looking up, his eyes slitted against the fierce glare, hands on his hips. Remembering perhaps, Bolitho thought, when he had been a signals midshipman.

Grubb said mournfully, 'If they're to be two more prizes, we'll be 'ard put for trained 'ands to manage
this
ship.'

Luce's cry brought sudden silence to the quarterdeck gossip. 'From
Harebell,
sir!
Enemy in sight!'

Bolitho walked slowly to the cabin hatch and leaned against the handrail. In his mind he could already see them, beating down the coast towards him. He had seen them long before the sloop's confirmation, perhaps when Luce had come to the cabin.

He said, 'Signal Inch to close on the
Segura.'
He waited, seeing their mingled expressions of doubt and excitement. 'When he draws nearer you can signal him to keep the prize under his lee. We'll not lose her if we can help it.'

Herrick asked flatly, 'And us, sir ?'

Luce called again, 'From
Harebell,
sir.
Two sail of the line.'

'Us,
Thomas?'

Herrick moved closer, shutting out the watching officers nearby. 'Will we take on the pair of them ?'

Bolitho pointed slowly along the bare horizon. 'Unless you can see anyone else, Thomas.'

Gilchrist came hurrying aft, his feet tapping in his strange bouncing gait. He looked straight at Herrick.

'Orders, sir?'

Bolitho said calmly, 'Beat to quarters, Mr. Gilchrist. And I want the ship cleared for action in ten minutes.'

Gilchrist strode away, his long arms beckoning urgently to the marine drummer boys.

Bolitho turned to Herrick again. 'And get the t'gallants on her, Thomas. I want the enemy to see how eager we are.' He held him back, adding softly, 'No matter how we feel, eh ?'

He walked to the poop ladder and started to climb. At his back he heard the staccato beat of drums and the immediate stampede of hurrying men as
Lysander's
company answered the call.

Bolitho leaned on the poop rail and shaded his eyes to watch the sloop's outline changing yet again as she heeled on another tack, trying to fight her way across the wind to rejoin her flagship. Soon now the enemy would show his face.

Bolitho examined his own feelings. It was his first sea action since last year.

He watched the haze around
Harebell's
masts, remembering the other times. Was that why he had ordered more canvas to be set ? To get it over with, if only to discover his own strength or weakness ?

Below decks he heard the screens being torn down, the clatter of gear being dragged free of guns and hatchways. From the age of twelve he had been a part of this life, shared it, endured all it could offer and threaten.

He looked at the men darting around their guns on the upper deck, the marines marching stolidly along either side of the poop as if on a routine parade.

Now he was the commodore. He smiled grimly. But without a squadron.

7

One Company

C
leared
for action, sir.' Gilchrist's face was inscrutable. Nine minutes exactly.'

Bolitho did not hear Herrick's reply and walked unhurriedly to the weather side of the deck. With her great mainsail brailed up and every visible gun manned and ready, the ship had taken on an air of tension and of menace.

Herrick came towards him and touched his hat. 'Apart from seven sick or injured men, sir, the ship's company is at quarters.' He watched him enquiringly. 'Shall I pass the order to load and run out ?'

'Later.'

Bolitho took a telescope from its rack and trained it towards the larboard bow. The sea's face glittered painfully in the glare. Like a million dny mirrors. More silver than blue. He stiffened as first one and then the other of the ships swam across his lens.

Herrick was still watching his face. Searching for something. Their fate, perhaps.

Bolitho said, 'Seventy-fours, at a guess. This wind is making it heavy going for them.'

He held the glass on the leading ship. She was turning away, displaying her length, the twin lines of chequered gunports. Her sails were in disarray, he could see them criss-crossing with shadows as her master tried to hold the wind until he had completed his change of course.

He said, 'She handles badly, Thomas.' He bit his lip, trying to picture his own ship from the. enemy's viewpoint. It would take an hour before they were at grips. To have a chance against two powerful seventy-fours he must hold on to the wind-gage. At least until he could rake one, or pass between the pair of them. He added slowly, 'Too long in port maybe. Like us, they need all the drill they can manage.'

Bolitho watched
Harebell's
slender hull passing across the bows on a converging tack, her officers steeply angled on the small quarterdeck. He thought he saw Inch waving his hat, but forgot him as Luce's men hoisted the signal for
Harebell
to take up her new station. As a mere spectator, at worst a survivor who would carry the news to the admiral or Farquhar.

He walked to the gangway and ran his eyes along the upper deck. The worst part. The waiting. It was a pity only half the company had found time to eat before the call to quarters.

He asked, 'Do we have any beer left, Thomas ?'

Herrick nodded. 'I believe so. Though I doubt that the purser will be pleased to broach it at this moment.'

'But
he
will not be fighting.' Bolitho saw his remark rippling along the nearest group of gun crews. 'Pass the word for it to be issued directly.'

He turned away. It was a cheap way of raising their morale. -But it was all he had.

He returned to the quarterdeck and stood with one foot balanced on a nine-pounder. Its captain peered up at him and knuckled his forehead. Bolitho smiled at him. The man was old, or looked it. His hard hands covered with tar, his arms entwined with fierce, blue-coloured tattoos.

He asked, 'And who are you?'

The man showed his uneven teeth. 'Mariot, sir.' He hesitated, doubtful at prolonging a conversation with his commodore. Then he said, 'Served with your father, sir, in the old
Scylla.'

Bolitho stared at him. He wondered if Mariot would ever have told him had he been on another gun in some other part of the ship.

He asked, 'Were you there when they took off his arm ?'

Mariot nodded, his faded eyes far away. 'Aye, sir. He were a fine man, I served none better.' He grinned awkwardly. 'Savin' your presence, sir.'

Herrick stopped beside him, his face questioning.

Bolitho said, 'This man served with my father, Thomas.' He shaded his eyes to look for the enemy. 'What a small world is bound up in a navy.'

Herrick nodded and asked Mariot, 'How old are you?'

The man shook his head. 'I can't righdy recall, sir.' He patted the gun's breech. 'But young enough for this little lady!'

Bolitho walked slowly back and forth across the deck, his ears deaf to the cheerful shouts which were welcoming the first of the beer.
All in one company.
A man who had been with his father in India. Allday, his trusted coxswain and friend who had first been brought to him by a press-gang. Herrick, once a junior lieutenant under him, and Adam Pascoe, his brother's only son, perhaps the link between all of them.

Herrick was saying, 'They may be handled poorly, sir, but I'd be happier if we had some support. Even a frigate to snap at their damned backsidesI'

Bolitho paused at the nettings, realising that he was soaked in sweat. 'Lysander fought and defeated the Athenian fleet nearly four hundred years before our Lord was born. He captured Athens a year later, if my old tutor was to be believed.' He smiled at Herrick. 'Surely he will not let us down today?' He added in a quieter tone, 'Be easy, Thomas. Your people are watching you. Show one sign of doubt and we may well be done for.'

Herrick linked his hands behind him, his chin on his neckcloth. 'Aye. I'm sorry. It is strange how you never get used to the one thing you've worked and trained for. The sight of an enemy's sail, the sound of his broadside. Keep going until he's struck or gone under.' He added with unusual bitterness, "Those fancy people in England who go all weepy at the sight of a King's ship working out of harbour never spare a thought for the poor devils who have to man 'em. Who die every day just to keep
them
in comfort and safety.'

Bolitho watched him impassively. It was easier to see the old Herrick now. Quick to speak out for the underdog, no matter how much wrath he incurred from his superiors. Which was probably why he was still a junior post-captain.

He asked, 'And your sister, Thomas, how is she keeping ?'

Herrick brought his thoughts under control. 'Emily?' He looked away. 'She is missing our mother, no doubt, although she took some looking-after towards the end.'

Bolitho nodded. 'And you have hired someone to take care of Emily while you are at sea ?'