Signal Close Action (27 page)

Despite his great girth and his red, cunning face, the cousin was obviously the thinking member of the crew.

He suggested, warily at first, that if Bolitho provided another boat, and perhaps a little money or food, he would be prepared to tell him what he wanted to know.

Javal snapped, 'I'll have the varmint seized up and flogged, sir! I'll give him
boat!'

'That way we will learn nothing useful.' Bolitho walked to the windows and watched some low banks of pale cloud. A change in the weather perhaps. 'Tell him, Captain Farquhar, that he can have the boat and some food. You can signal for a boat to be sent from the
Segura.'
To Javal he added, 'Those fishermen will be unable to confide what they have seen to their authorities. The fact they disobeyed a port-order by putting to sea
and
return with a strange boat is proof enough of treachery.'

Java] swallowed hard. 'Then you intend to
release
them, sir?'

'We may come this way again, Captain.' Javal's astonishment settled it. 'You cannot choose your friends in war.'

And so, while the fisherman and his son were taken to examine the Spanish longboat, the fat cousin described what he had seen every day in Toulon.

The
Santa
Paula's
master had given Bolitho a fair description, but if anything it was a conservative estimate. A well-found fleet, co
nsisting of ships of the line a
plenty, and one of which, according to the fisherman, was of one hundred and twenty guns or more. She, it appeared, wore the flag of Vice Admiral de Brueys, and another that of Rear Admiral Villeneuve. Bolitho had heard of them both many times, and respected them. Preparations went on dail
y to provision and service this
great assembly of ships, and
the
local victualling officers
were
making a special effort to purchase every available kind of food. Which had been the main reason for the fishermen putting to sea. Even their meagre catch would have brought ready money from the navy.

Farquhar asked the man one careful question. Bolitho watched his reaction, his gestures above his head and towards the sea.

Farquhar explained softly, 'The fleet is not yet ready to sail. It is said to be waiting for the right time. The leader of the expedition, too.' His eyebrows lifted very slightly. 'It could be so.'

Bolitho nodded. He did not speak much French, but knew enough to recognise the name Bonaparte.

Farquhar said, 'He insists that one portion is ready to weigh, sir. Several storeships, and some kind of escort.' He glanced meaningly at the man's red features. 'He is too much of a coward to lie, I think. He says that the ships will not sail because of our presence. Their cargo is probably very valuable.'

'And
their destination.' Bolitho made his decision. 'Send them off in their boat. Then signal the squadron to close on
Lysander.
We will stand further to the south'rd.'

'Will they risk it, sir?'

'I would.' Bolitho looked at Javal.
‘I
will report your first lieutenant's part in all this. He did well. As did you.'

Risk, luck, coincidence, all had shared in this first real piece of vital intelligence. With his three seventy-fours staying well out to sea, and only
Buzzard
's
lookouts watching for the enemy's dash from port, Bolitho was in the best position to act as the situation dictated.

And when
Harebell
reached the admiral, it would be just a matter of time before a fleet, and not a mere squadron, came to complete what they had begun.

On the day that he watched the fishermen put over the side to begin their long haul back to the coast, Bolitho ordered his ships to their new position, some twenty miles South-west of Toulon. He wrote his orders and had them passed to each captain. He discussed the final details with Farquhar and Grubb, and when dusk finally descended he went to his cabin and enjoyed a filling meal of boiled pork from the cask, and the last of his cheese which he had carried from England.

As he sat at h
is table drinking a cup of coffee and listening to the creak and rattle of ship's gear, he thought of Falmouth and the empty house there. He thought, too, of the American captain, and the wife who was waiting for him in New Bedford. What a homecoming it would be. He could almost see it in his mind. How long would it be, he wondered, before he saw Falmouth again? He had been in
Lysander
for two months, and already it felt ten times as long. Perhaps now that luck was with them again time would pass more swiftly.

With that thought uppermost in his mind he went to his cot, and within minutes was in a deep, dreamless sleep.

It seemed as if his head had been on the pillow but a short while when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He awoke, staring into Allday's anxious face which shone yellow in a lantern above the cot.

"What is it?'

His senses returned and he struggled over the side of the cot. He had no further need to ask, and he cursed himself for sleeping so deeply. The night was alive with noise and violent motion, so that he almost fell as he groped his way to his chest.

Allday said, 'It's come on to blow, sir! Getting worse by the minute!'

Bolitho dragged on his breeches, staggering as the deck plunged and threw him against Allday.

'In the name of heaven, why wasn't I told of this ?'

Allday said nothing, but turned as Ozzard appeared blinking in t
he door, another lantern above h
is head.

'
Get the commodore's things, man!
'

But Bolitho snapped,
'Just a coat. I must go on deck!
'

Even before he reached the quarterdeck he knew it was no mere gale. It was a full-scale storm, and as he ducked beneath the poop deck beams he saw that the wheel was doubly manned, the seamen clinging to the spokes while the deck heaved violently to leeward.

It took several more moments to accustom his eyes to the dark, to pitch his hearing above the moan of wind, the boom and thunder of canvas overhead.

Figures darted past him, crouching and groping for handholds as spray lifted above the nettings and doused them violently before gurgling away through the scuppers. Every stay and shroud seemed to be vibrating and humming, and he
found time to pity the awakened watch below, who even now must be fighting out along the yards to fist and reef the treacherous canvas.

He saw Farquhar, his slim figure very pale against the sea and sky, his hands cupped as he yelled to one of the lieutenants. He noticed Bolitho and lurched towards him, his fair hair streaming from his head. He was dressed only in shirt and breeches, and his feet were bare.

If any other evidence was needed to show the height of the emergency, Bolitho could not think of it.

Farquhar shouted, 'Wind
's veered to the nor'-west, sir!
I've ordered the hands to reef top
s'ls and take in the forecourse!
'

He swung round as a sound like a musket shot came from forward, and then changed to a great rippling tear as the foresail exploded into a mass of flapping fragments.

'They will be spared
that!’

Bolitho clawed his way to the rail and peered along the slanting deck. To one side the sea was as black as pitch. To the other it lifted and surged in tremendous banks of foam, building up beneath the quarter until the lee gunports were awash. Of the other ships there was no sign, and he guessed that each captain would be too preoccupied to care much about
Lysander's
plight.

He heard Grubb's deep voice rising like a bellow. 'Ease off, lads!' You'll
'ave the sticks out of 'er else!
'

A man slipped beneath the weather gangway and fell kicking and yelling in a flood of swirling water. He came up against an eighteen-pounder, and Bolitho could almost imagine that he heard his ribs stove in.

'In heaven's name, Captain, why so late ? The squadron will be driven for miles in this!'

A broken halliard fell from aloft, writhing about the upper deck like a live thing. More would follow unless Farquhar acted, and immediately.

Farquhar spat out spray and replied, 'That
fool
Gilchrist! He left it too long! By God, where is that man, I'll have him - '

Bolitho gripped his arm. 'There is no time now! We must lie-to and make the best of it.'

Farquhar stared at him, nodding. 'Yes, sir. At once!' He sounded desperate.

Bolitho did not release his arm. 'Bring her about as
soon as you've shortened sail!
' He had to shout to make himself heard. 'We will lie-to under the main tops'lsl' He ducked, closing his eyes tightly as a wall of spray tumbled over the empty nettings and swept mercilessly across the deck and down to the one below. 'But have the main stays'l manned and ready to set in case the other carries away!'

He heard Farquhar's voice receding as he struggled along the rail, hand over hand, saw the blurred shapes of seamen hurrying to obey. Above in the darkness he could see the wildly flapping sails where the topmen were still fighting to obey the last order. Voices, too, caught up in the deafening chorus of wind and sea, of straining rigging and spars.

Grubb shouted harshly, 'Pass the word! Stand by to come about!' He blinked at Bolitho. 'I'll bet those damned Frogs are laughin', sir!'

Bolitho did not answer. But it was uppermost in his thoughts. A strong north-westerly was a curse to his squadron. To any French commander trying to gauge the right time to quit Toulon it would be merciful, a chance he could not possibly ignore.

He watched as Gilchrist's beanpole figure emerged above the quarterdeck ladder, shining dully in his long tarpaulin coat. Gilchrist had probably been more frightened of his captain than he had of the first storm signs. Or so eager to prove that he could manage any eventuality he had left it far too late for anything but submission.

He wiped his streaming face with one sleeve, feeling the sting of salt in his eyes and mouth. When he peered aloft again he saw that much of the canvas had vanished, although the fore topsail was only lashed to its yard at one end. At the other a great balloon of canvas filled and puffed as if it contained a living, savage monster. Something passed across the scudding cloud formations, and he ran to the rail as it struck the forecastle with a sickening thud.

A voice called hoarsely, 'Get
that man below to the sickbay
'
Then Lieutenant Veitch. 'Belay that order. There's nou
ght the surgeon can do for him
'

Poor wretch, he thought. Fighting the lashing sail, with only his feet to support his body as he craned over the great, swaying yard. His messmates on either side of him, all cursing and yelling into the darkness
, punching the wet, hard canvas
until their nails were torn out, their knuckles raw. One slip,
an extra gust of wind, and he had fallen.

'Man the braces the
re! Stand by on the quarterdeck
'
Grubb snarled,
'Ease
the spoke when
I
gives the word!

Treat 'em like they was babies!' 'Helm a'lee!'

More figures staggered through the dismal gloom, a midshipman bleeding from the head, a seaman holding his arm to his side, teeth bared with agony.

'Lee braces!
Heave!'

The
Lysander
dipped her seventeen-hundred tons of oak and artillery heavily into a maelstrom of bursting spray. Above, in a shortened, iron-hard rectangle, the reefed topsail seemed to swing independent of their muscle and bone, every mast groaning to the strain of wind and sea.

Bolitho saw it all, heard his ship and seamen fighting to bring the bows round and into the wind, to hold her under command. If the rudder failed, or the topsail was ripped to ribbons like the forecourse, it might be too late for them to set the staysail. And that could carry away just as easily.

But with the wheel hard over, the helmsmen's bare feet treading wet planking as if they were walking uphill, the two-decker responded. Bolitho watched the sea boiling inboard from the weather gangway to the beakhead, saw it surging across and down to the opposite bulwark, taking men and loose gear in its path. Much of it would find its way deep into the hull. The pumps must be going now, but in the din he could not hear them. Stores would be spoiled, fresh water, as precious as gunpowder, polluted and rendered useless.