Signal Close Action (23 page)

Bolitho watched him sadly. 'I am not removing you from duty.'

Herrick exclaimed, 'Then why have you agreed that - ' Bolitho stood up quickly. 'What would you have me do, eh? Give Gilchrist command and send you home? Replace you with Javal perhaps, when we have but one frigate for this whole mission ?' He looked away.
‘I
am giving you
Osiris.
She is a well-found ship, and trained to a high standard.' He heard Herrick's intake of breath but went on remorselessly. 'You will not have to worry about the affairs of the squadron for the present, but concentrate instead on
command.
What you make of it is up to you. But I trust you, above all else, to do your duty well.' He turned slowly and was shocked to see that Herrick was as before, unnaturally calm. 'Farquhar will assume your present duties until. . .'

Herrick nodded. 'If that is your order, sir.'

'Order?
Bolitho made to move towards him. 'Do you think I want you faced day by day with the officers and men you have trained and commanded since you took
Lysander?
To know that every hour brings a doubt, a fear that you will let them down in some way?' He shook his head. 'That I will not do. Nor will I,
can
I, jeopardise the squadron's strength because of something which is precious to me.'

Herrick looked round the cabin. 'Very well. I will prepare to leave.'

'No slur will fall on you, Thomas. I will see to that. But I'd rather see you captain of some worn-out brig than breaking your heart on the beach, deprived of the one life you love, and for which you have given so much.'

Herrick seemed momentarily confused. He said, 'Farquhar. I never liked him. Even as a midshipman, I never really liked him.' He turned to the door. 'I little thought it would end like this.'

Bolitho crossed the cabin towards him and held out his hands. 'Not
end,
Thomas!'

But Herrick kept his hands at his sides. 'We will see, sir.' He left without looking back.

Allday entered the cabin, and after a slight hesitation took the sword from its rack and examined it.

Bolitho sat down on the bench seat again and watched him miserably.

'Cap'n Herrick's off then, sir?' Allday kept his eyes on the sword.

'Don't
you
start at me, Allday.' But there was no bite to his tone. 'I have taken enough for one day. For a thousand days.'

Allday looked at him," his eyes very clear in the reflected light. 'You did right, sir.' He smiled sadly. 'I'm just a common seaman, who but for you would be working aloft or being punished for some petty fault or other. But I'm a man, and I've notions for those I serve, an' - ' he seemed at a loss,' - and feel strong for.' He drew the old sword carefully and held the blade in line with the sun, apparently studying its edge. 'Cap'n Herrick is a good man. In another ship he will find his feet again.' The sword went into its scabbard with a sharp click. 'But if not, then the deck of the flagship is no place for him, sir.'

Bolitho stared at him. It had happened often in the past, but never before had he needed Allday's support more. In his ship, indeed the whole of his little squadron, there was no man with whom he could really share his fears, his doubts. When he had crossed from wardroom to cabin, and then been given his own broad pendant, he had left such luxuries behind him for good.

Allday added calmly, 'When I was first pressed into your ship, I'd planned to give leg bail at the first opening. I knew the penalty for desertion well enough, but I was that determined. Then at the Saintes, when all God's protection was thrown aside under the cannon's bellow, I looked aft and saw you. And it was then that I knew there were some captains who
did
care for the likes of us, the poor buggers who were expected to cheer for King and country when we sailed into the enemy line.'

Bolitho replied quietly, 'I think you've said enough.'

Allday watched his lowered head with something like despair. 'And you never sees it yourself, do you, sir ? You fret about Cap'n Herrick, or what chance we have against this foe or that, but you never take a watch to think of yourself.' He tensed as Ozzard padded through the other door, Bolitho's coat and hat in his hands. 'But it's said and done now.' He watched Bolitho stand up, his eyes blind as he held out his arms for the coat. 'And I reckon it will be all right.'

Bolitho felt the sword-belt around his waist. Allday had understood better than most would do. Had guessed his intention perhaps from the moment of Herrick's admission.

He said, 'I will go on deck now and greet the others.'
And afterwards
say
goodbye
to
Herrick.
'And thank you for
-'
He looked at Allday's homely face.
'Reminding
me.'

Allday watched him stride from the cabin and then put his arm round Ozzard's shoulders.

'By God, I'd not have his position for a dozen wenches and a whole ocean of rum!'

Ozzard grimaced. 'Not likely to get the offer, I'd say.'

On deck it was still clear and bright, the afternoon sea choppy with lively cat's-paws and long shallow swells. The three ships of the line, sails in flapping confusion as they hove-to to drop and receive boats, would have gladdene
d Bolitho's heart at any other ti
me. Now, as he stood on the poop deck and watched the two barges speeding towards
Lysander's
side, the marines already lined up at the entry port to receive the two other captains, he felt a deep sense of loss.

He saw Herrick at the lee rail, his hat well down over his eyes, and close by his first lieutenant, Gilchrist, arms folded, spindly legs apart to take the staggering motion. Of the action there was little to show. Brighter patches of planking where the carpenter and his mates had done their work well, fresh paint to hide other scars and replacements. Above the busy decks the sails, too, were neatly patched, and it was difficult to picture the smoke, to remember the din of war.

What Herrick was thinking at this moment he could hardly dare imagine. He must be very proud of the way h
is company had faced up to battl
e and its backbreaking aftermath. Just months ago most of these hurrying seamen had been working ashore on farms, in towns, with skills or without, life in a King's ship not even a possibility.

They would be sorry to see their captain leave. For the new men especially Herrick would be familiar, in some way a beginner like themselves. If they had displeasure to show it would be turned towards their commodore. If necessary, he would see to it himself, he thought grimly. Herrick's name was too valuable to be damaged because of his actions, right or wrong.

The first boat hooked on to the chains. It was Farquhar.
Naturally.
He came through the entry port, as elegant and as smart as if he had just left his London tailor. He doffed his hat to the quarterdeck and ran his eyes calmly along the swaying lines of marines and glittering bayonets. His hair was very fair, gathered at the nape of his neck, and it shone above his collar like pale gold.

Bolitho watched him shake hands with Herrick. How ill-matched they were. Had always been. Farquhar's uncle, Sir Henry Langford, had been Bolitho's first captain. At the age of twelve he had joined the eighty-gun
Manxman,
terrified and filled with awe. Fourteen years later, Langford, then an admiral, had given him command of a frigate. His nephew had been appointed into her as midshipman. Now, Farquhar, in his early thirties and a post-captain, was with him again. If he survived the war he would rise to high rank and position, both at home and in the fleet. Bolitho had never doubted it from the beginning, just as Herrick had never accepted it.

More shrills from the silver calls, and he saw George Probyn of the
Nicator
heaving his untidy shape through the port.

On the other side of the quarterdeck Pascoe was standing with Luce by the signal party, and Bolitho imagined that he himself must have looked like that when as a lieutenant he had witnessed comings and goings of aloof and unreachable beings.

He sighed and walked to the ladder.

Herrick said, 'If you will come to my quarters, Captain Probyn. The Commodore wishes to speak with Captain Farquhar.'

Farquhar's eyebrows rose slightly. ' 'Pon my word. Bit formal, aren't we, Captain Herrick ?' Herrick regarded him coldly. 'Yes.'

Bolitho watched Farquhar as he strode into his cabin. Watchful, wondering probably what his commodore's reactions were going to be, sensing something deeper around him, too. But confident above all.

‘I
have my report, sir.'

Bolitho gestured to a chair. 'In a moment. Our attack, as you will have realised, was successful. We have one good prize, and despatched another Spanish vessel in the bay. Four days ago we met with two French ships of the line and engaged them. We broke off the action after crippling both vessels. Our losses were small. Considering.'

Farquhar smiled quietly. He did not look quite so confident now. He said,
‘I
followed your instructions, sir.
Buzz
ard
reported sighting a convoy of some five sail, and we gave chase. Under the circumstances . . .'

'You acted correctly.' Bolitho watched him gravely. 'Did you catch them ?'

'Captain Javal managed to damage a couple, sir, but he only succeeded in making one heave-to. Unfortunately, I was unable to reach the scene on time as I had lost my main topgallant mast in a squall.
Nicator
took the
lead, and due to some, er, mis
understanding of signals, fired a half-broadside into the French vessel, so that she began to founder.' 'And then?'

Farquhar tugged an envelope from inside his elegant coat. 'My boarding officer managed to save this letter from the master's safe before the vessel capsized and sank. It is addressed to a Yves Gorse, who apparently resides in Malta. It contains instructions for Gorse to prepare watering arrangements.' He thrust the letter across the table. 'For merchant vessels on their lawful occasions, or words to that effect. I believe the letter to be in some sort of code, but the vessel's master is such a dolt that I could get nothing from him. But the small convoy was out of Marseilles. A French corvette was escorting them through these waters, not because of any threat from us, but because of Barbary pirates and the like.' He was keeping the most important until the last. 'My first lieutenant did manage to discover one thing, sir. I have several Frenchmen pressed into my company, and one of them told my senior that he'd heard one of the survivors claim that the letter had been sent aboard their ship by order of Admiral Brueys himself!'

Bolitho looked at him. Brueys was perhaps the finest and most capable admiral in the French navy. In any navy for that matter.

'You did well.' Bolitho rubbed his hands on his thighs. 'This man Gorse may be a spy or agent of some kind. Perhaps the French intend to attack Malta.'

'Or Sicily?' Farquhar frowned. 'Bonaparte is said to have intentions towards the kingdom. They are at peace, but he probably believes, as I do, that in war there is no such luxury as neutrality.'

'Maybe.' Bolitho tried not to think of Herrick. 'We will make haste to Toulon and Marseilles. Following your discovery, we can now determine the strength of these preparations.'

Farquhar asked, 'Your prize, sir. What does she hold?'

'Powder and shot. And fodder.'

'Fodder?'

'Yes. It troubles me, too. All the French and Spanish preparations are for a full-scale attack. They blend together into a sort of strategy. But fodder. It does not sound like a local attack. It sounds like cavalry and heavy artillery. And all the men and horses to sustain them.'

Farquhar's eyes gleamed. 'This vessel, too, was carrying fodder.' He looked around the cabin. 'I am sorry, sir. But should we not wait for the others ? It will save time.'

Bolitho looked at the sealed envelope. 'This is for you, Captain Farquhar.' He walked to the stern and watched the other ships, hearing the rasp of a knife as Farquhar slit open the envelope.

Farquhar said quietly, 'You have me all aback, sir.' Bolitho turned and studied him thoughtfully. 'It was a hard decision.'

'And Captain Herrick, sir?' Farquhar's face was masklike. 'Is he ill?'

'Not ill.' He added shortly, 'Execute the arrangements directly. I want the squadron under way before dusk.'

Farquhar was still watching him, the letter in one hand.
‘I
cannot begin to thank you, sir.'

Bolitho nodded. 'You obviously think I made the right choice.'

Farquhar had blue eyes. But they were not like Herrick's, and in the light from the sea they were like ice.