Signal Close Action (3 page)

It was strange to realise that
Lysander's
original masters had fallen at St. Vincent. Her commodore, George Twyford, had been killed in the first broadsides, and her captain, John Dyke, was even now enduring a living hell in the naval hospital at Haslar, too cruelly maimed even to feed himself. The same ship had survived them and many more. He looked around the neat cabin with its well-carved chairs and dark mahogany table. He could almost feel them watching him.

He sighed and began to read the despatches.

*

Bolitho nodded to the five officers who stood around the cabin table and said, 'Please be seated, gentlemen.'

He watched them as they eased their chairs towards him, their mixed expressions of pleasure, excitement and curiosity.

It was a very special moment, and he guessed they were all sharing it with him, if for varied reasons.

Farquhar had not changed. Slim
and elegant, with the self-assur
ance he had carried even as a midshipman. Now a post-captain of thirty-two, his ambition shone in his eyes to match his gleaming epaulettes.

Francis Inch, bobbing and horse-faced, could barely restrain his great beam of welcome. As commander of the sloop he would be vital for inshore work and sweeping ahead of the squadron.

Raymond Javal, the frigate's captain, looked more like a Frenchman than an English sea officer. Very dark and swarthy, with thick greasy hair, he had features so narrow that his deepset eyes seemed to dominate his whole appearance.

He looked at Captain George Probyn of the
Nicator
and gave a brief smile. They had served together in the old
Trojan
when the American Revolution had erupted to change the face of the whole world. Yet it was almost impossible to see him in those times. He sat hunched against the table like a large, shabby innkeeper. A year or so older than Bolitho, he had left the
Trojan
in much the same manner as himself. To take command of a captured blockade runner and sail her as a prize to the nearest friendly port. Unlike Bolitho, however, whose chance had led directly to his first command, Probyn had been captured by an American privateer and had fretted out most of the war as a prisoner until an exchange had been made with a French officer. Those vital years in his early service had obviously cost him dearly. He looked uneasy, with a sly, darting way of examining his fellow captains and then looking down into his clasped hands.

Herrick said formally, 'All present, sir.'

Bolitho looked at the table. In his mind's eye he was seeing his written orders.
You are hereby authorised and directed to proceed with jour squadron
to ascertain by every means in y
our power the presence and destination of considerable armaments
...

He began quietly, As you will know, the enemy has spent much time in seeking out some flaw in our defences. Apart from our successes at sea, we have been able to do litde to stop the spread of French progress and influence. In my view, Bonaparte has never changed from his original tack, which was and still must be to reach India and seize our trade routes. The French admiral, Suffren, almost succeeded during the last war.' He saw Herrick's eyes flicker towards him, no doubt remembering when they had sailed together in the East Indies, seeing for themselves t
he determination of their old en
emy to regain ground lost in that uneasy peace. 'Today Bonaparte must know that any delay in his preparations can only give us time to gain strength.'

They all looked round as Inch exclaimed cheerfully, 'We'll show them, sir!' He grinned at the others. 'Like we did before!'

Bolitho smiled. Glad that Inch, if ignorant of the facts, had not changed. Thankful that his excited comment had broken some of the distance between himself and the others.

'Thank you, Commander Inch. Your optimism does you credit.'

Inch bobbed and flushed with pleasure.

'However, we have no real intelligence of which way the French will move first. The bulk of our fleet is operating from the Tagus, to keep a wedge between the French and their Spanish allies. But the enemy may attack Portugal because of our presence there, or indeed he may attempt to invade Ireland again.' He could not conceal his bitterness. As they intended when our own Navy was beset with misfortune which broke last year in the great mutinies at the Nore and Spithead.'

Farquhar looked at his cuff. 'Should have hanged a thousand of the devils, not a mere handful!'

Bolitho eyed him coldly. 'Perhaps if a little more thought had been given to our sailors' wants in the first place, no punishment would have been needed at all!'

Farquhar smiled up at him. 'I take the point, sir.'

Bolitho looked at his scattered papers, giving himself time. He had risen too easily to Farquhar's intolerance.

He continued, 'Our duty will be first to examine the progress of French preparations in the Gulf of Lions. At Toulon, Marseilles and any other port about which we can discover enemy activity.' He looked at each of them gravely. 'Our fleet is stretched to the limit. We cannot afford to allow the enemy to scatter it to the extent it can be devoured piece by piece. Likewise, we must not have a large fleet at one end of the ocean while the enemy is at the other. Seek, find and bring 'em to battle, it is the only way!'

Javal said harshly, 'And mine is the only frigate, sir.'

'Is that an observation or a complaint ?'

Javal shrugged. 'A malady, sir.'

Probyn darted him a quick glance. 'It is a vast responsibility.' He looked at Farquhar. 'If we meet with superior forces we will be without support.'

Farquhar eyed him coolly. 'But at least we will know they are nearby, my dear George!'

Herrick said, 'It is a
serious
matter!'

'Apparently.' Farquhar's eyes flashed. 'So let us tackle it
seriously.'

Bolitho made them all turn towards him. 'One thing is certain. We must work together. I do not care what you may think of the value of these orders. We must interpret them into deeds. Drive them to a rightful and profitable end.'

Farquhar nodded. 'I agree, sir.'

The others remained silent.

'Now, if you will return to your commands and relay my wishes to your people, I will be pleased to have you aboard to dine with me tonight.'

They all stood up, already planning how they would rephrase his words to their own subordinates. Like Bolitho, each one of them, except Inch, would probably wish to be alone in his own ship to prepare himself and his ideas for whatever lay ahead. But they would have little enough time together, Bolitho thought. He needed to know each of them better, just as when a signal broke from
Lysander's
yards his captains would read the mind of the man who made it.

One by one they made their farewells. Probyn was the last to leave, as Bolitho knew he would.

He said awkwardly, 'Good to see you again, sir. They were great times we once shared. I always knew you would be successful, famous even.' His eyes moved hurriedly round the cabin. 'I have been less fortunate. Through no fault of mine. But without influence . . .' He did not finish it.

Bolitho smiled. 'It makes my appointment all the easier to have old friends in company.'

The door closed and he walked slowly to the heavy mahogany wine cabinet which he had brought from London.It was beautifully worked, every join and surface the mark of a craftsman.

He was still looking at it when Herrick returned from seeing the other captains over the side into their various boats.

He sighed. 'Went well, I thought, sir.' He saw the cabinet and gave a low whistle. 'Now
there
is a thing of beauty!'

Bolitho smiled. 'It was a gift. More useful than some, I'd say, Thomas.'

Herrick was examining it carefully and said, 'I have your nephew outside, sir. I have dealt with his foolishness. Some extra duties to entertain his busy mind. I thought you'd like to see him.'

He touched the cabinet, adding, 'May I enquire who gave you this fine piece, sir ?'

Bolitho replied, 'Mrs. Pareja. You will recall her, of course.'

He checked himself as something like a shutter dropped behind Herrick's eyes.

Herrick said flatly, 'Yes, sir. I remember her well.'

'What is it, man?'

Herrick faced him. 'With ships coming fresh from England, sir, there is always rumour, scandal if you like. There was some talk about your meeting with that lady in London.'

Bolitho stared at him. 'In God's name, Thomas, this doesn't sound like you.'

Herrick persisted, 'Because of it, your nephew crossed swords with another lieutenant.' He added stubbornly, 'A matter of
honour
they call it.'

Bolitho looked away. And he had been imagining it was because of Pascoe's background, his dead father. Traitor and renegade.

He said, "Thank you for telling me.'

'Somebody had to, sir.' The blue eyes were pleading. 'You've done so much, for all of us, I'd not wish to see it thrown away because of a - '

'I thanked you for
telling
me, Thomas. Not for your opinion of the lady.'

Herrick opened the door. 'I will call him in, sir.' He did not look back.

Bolitho sat down on the bench seat below the stem windows and watched a fishing boat sculling below the two-decker's counter. The fisherman glanced up at him without expression. Probably in the pay of the Spanish commandant across the water in Algeciras, he thought. Taking the names of the ships. Tit-bits of information which might convey something in return for a few coins.

The door opened and Adam Pascoe stood inside the cabin, his hat tucked under his arm.

Bolitho stood up and walked towards him, feeling something like pain as he saw the way the youth was holding his arm away from his ribs. Even in his lieutenant's uniform he looked the same lean boy who had first been sent to him as a midshipman.

He said, 'Welcome aboard, sir.'

Bolitho forgot the weight of his new responsibility, his unwanted clash with Herrick, everything but the youth who had come to mean so much.

He embraced him and said, 'You've been in trouble, Adam. I am sorry it was of my doing.'

Pascoe watched him gravely. 'I would not have killed him, Uncle.'

Bolitho stood back from him and smiled sadly. 'No, Adam, but he might have finished you. Eighteen years is a beginning, not an end.'

Pascoe pushed the black hair from his forehead and shrugged. 'The captain has given me enough extra duties for my pains.' He looked at Bolitho's shoulder. 'How is the wound, Uncle?'

'Forgotten.' He led him to a chair. 'Like your own, eh ?'

They smiled like conspirator
s as Bolitho poured two glasses
of claret. He noticed that Pascoe's hair was cut in the new style, without any queue at the nape of his neck like most sea officers. He wondered what sort of a navy it would be when his nephew's broad pendant flew one day.

Pascoe sipped the wine. 'They are saying in the squadron that this command would have been Nelson's had he not lost his arm.' He watched him questioningly.

Bolitho smiled. There were few secrets in the fleet. 'Perhaps.'

Pascoe nodded, his eyes distant. 'A great honour, Uncle, but-'

'But what?'

'A great responsibility also.'

Herrick reappeared at the door. 'May I ask what time you would wish the other cap
tains to return aboard, sir
?'

He looked from one to the other and felt strangely moved.

About twenty years between them, yet they looked like brothers.

Bolitho replied, 'I will leave it to you.'

When Herrick had gone Pascoe asked simply, 'Is anything between you and Captain Herrick, Uncle ?'

Bolitho touched bis arm. 'Nothing that can harm our friendship, Adam.'

Pascoe appeared satisfied. 'I'm glad.'

Bolitho reached for the decanter. 'Now, tell me what you have been doing since I last saw you.'

2
Small Beginning

Bolitho
moved restlessly around his day cabin, one hand reaching out to touch objects not yet familiar. Around and above him the
Lysander's
seventeen hundred tons of timbers and spars, artillery and men creaked and groaned to the pressure of a rising north-westerly wind.