Signal Close Action (49 page)

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.
Buzz
ard
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 quarterdeck.

Allday came out of the sleeping cabin, bis 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
Immortalite
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.

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 battl
e, 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
h
is
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 ad
miral's grand-daughter.
She
would
know.

He continued -
'Y
ou
will
remember
Francis
Inch
?
He
has
trebled in
siz
e
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
y
ou
and
the
children,
as
does
Adam,
who
still thinks
of
y
ou
as
a
kind
of
angel.
He
does
not
know
you
as
well
as
I.'