Signal Close Action (41 page)

'No sign of a boat?'

'None. I sent the other cutter away under sail three hours back. If Veitch saw it he made no signal with either lantern or pistol-shot.'

'Very well. How long does the master think we can remain on this tack?'

'An hour more at the most, sir. Then I'll have to recall my cutter, and by that time I'll be ready to come about. Otherwise, we'll be too close to lie-to, and if we continue round in another great circle we'll be further away from the southern channel than I care for when dawn comes.'

'I agree.' Bolitho added reluctantly, 'Another hour then.'

Farquhar asked, 'Are you certain you did right by sending
Nicator
to the northern channel, sir? It will be a disaster if Probyn fails to engage in time.'

'The channel is narrow, I know, but with favourable winds
Nicator
will be able to manage.'

'I
was not referring to the channel or the danger, sir.' Farquhar's face was in the moon's shadow, his epaulettes very bright against his coat. 'I have to admit, I feel no faith in
Nicator's
captain.'

'When he sees our dependence on his support, Captain Farquhar, he will do his duty.'

He recalled Probyn's reddened features, his indirect manner. His caution. But what could he do ? If things happened as he had predicted,
Osiris
would take the worst of it, and would need the most tenacity. He could not ask Javal to thrust his frail ship into the teeth of a bombardment, although his part in the attack was bad enough anyway. Without
Lysander's
support, the surprise would have to be left to
Nicator.
There was no other way. He wondered if Farquhar was cursing himself now for letting Herrick go unaided, for failing to act as a squadron against the enemy when he believed himself in overall command.

'Deck there! Light on th' weather bowl'

Bolitho ran to the larboard gangway and peered above the painted canvas.

He heard Far
quhar snap, 'The signal, by God
!
Mr. Outhwaite!
Heave-to, if you please, and
prepare to hoist boats inboard!
'

The ship came alive, the hurrying seamen like phantoms in the eerie moonlight as they ran without hesitation to halliards and braces.

Someone raised a cheer as first one and then the second cutter bumped alongside, and men scrambled down to them to bear a hand.

Sailing and pulling at the oars, it must have been an unnerving job for the crews, Bolitho thought.

He waited by the quarterdeck rail, gripping his hands
behind him to prevent his impati
ence from sending him down to the entry port with the others.

He saw a sturdy figure limping aft and recognised him instantly.

'Mr. Plowman!
Come over here!'

The master's mate leaned against the hammock nettings and tried to regain his breath. 'Glad to be 'ere, sir.'

He waved his arm towards the invisible land, and Bolitho saw that his hand was wrapped in a stained bandage, the blood soaking through it like black oil.

' 'Ad to lie low, even when we saw t'other boat standin' inshore. Place was alive with pickets. We run into one of 'em. Bit of a fight.' He examined his bandaged fist. 'But we done for 'em.'

'And Mr. Veitch ?' He waited for the inevitable.

But Plowman said, ' 'E's fine, sir. I left 'im ashore. 'E
ordered
me to find you an' report.'

Even the cabin lanterns seemed too bright after the strange moonscape on deck, and Bolitho saw that Plowman was filthy from head to toe, his face and arms scarred from rock and gorse.

'Have a drink.' Bolitho saw Farquhar and his first lieutenant, and behind them Pascoe, coming into the cabin. 'Anything you like.'

Plowman sighed gratefully. 'Then I'd like a measure o' brandy, if I may dare ask, sir.'

Bolitho smiled. 'You deserve a cask.' He waited in silence, watching Plowman's expression as he drank a complete goblet of Farquhar's brandy. 'Now tell me the news.'

Plowman wiped his mouth with his wrist. 'It ain't good, sir.' He shook his head. 'We did like you said, and Mr. Veitch was fair amazed by what we saw. Just like you told us it would be, only more so.'

Farquhar snapped, 'Ships ?'

'Aye, sir. Thirty or more. Well-laden, too. An' there's a ship o' the line at anchor offshore, a
seventy-four.
An' two or three smaller ships. A frigate, an' a pair o' corvettes, like the Frenchie we done for with
Segura.'

Farquhar said softly, 'What a find! A small armada, no less!'

Plowman ignored him. 'But that ain't all, sir. They've hauled a pair o' them new guns to the 'eadland.' He leaned heavily across the chart and jabbed it with his thumb. 'There. We thought for a bit they was unloadin' all the ships, but they just ferried these two beauties ashore. We met up with a shepherd at dawn. One of the lads won 'is confidence like, speaks a bit of the language. The locals don't care for the Frogs. They've bled the island white. An' the women, too, by th' sound of it. Anyway, he said that the ships are preparin' to leave. Goin' to Crete or somewhere, to wait for more ships.'

'De Brueys.' Bolitho looked at him gravely. 'Why did Lieutenant Veitch stay behind?' He had already guessed the answer.

'Mr. Veitch told me that 'e thinks you'll attack, sir. Said you'd not let the
Nicator
go in on 'er own.' He sco
wled. 'But for this mangy fist I’
d 'ave stayed there with 'im.'

Bolitho said, 'Your return is of greater value to me. And I thank you.'

Veitch had seen it, right from the beginning. That without more ships they could not keep in contact with
Nicator,
nor could they reach her before dawn and the moment of attack.

Plowman added wearily as Bolitho refilled the glass, 'Mr. Veitch said 'e would try to 'elp, sir. He got three volunteers with 'im.' He gave a sad grin. 'All as mad as 'im, if you'll pardon the liberty, sir, so I can't tell you no more.'

His head lolled with fatigue, and Bolifho said quietly, 'Tell Allday to help him to the sickbay and have his hand dressed. And see that both boat crews are rewarded in some way.'

He looked at their faces. Farquhar's set in a grim frown. Outhwaite's liquid eyes watching him with quiet fascination. And Pascoe, his black hair falling across one eye, as if he, too, had a scar to hide.

Bolitho asked, 'Well, Captain Farquhar, what is your opinion on this ?'

He shrugged. 'But for
Nicator's
safety, I'd advise you to withdraw, sir. There is no sense in putting your honour before the loss of a squadron. We gambled on the French keeping all their precious artillery stowed in their holds, and relying on more "conventiona
l" weapons.' He glanced briefly
at Plowman's sagging shoulder. He had fallen into an exhausted sleep. 'But if fellows like Plowman here, and Lieutenant Veitch, are prepared to throw their lives down the haws
e, I suppose I will do the same!
'

He looked calmly at his first lieutenant. 'Commodore's instructions, Mr. Outhwaite. One hot meal and a double ration of rum for all hands. After that, you may douse the galley fires, and then clear for action. Our people will sleep beside their guns tonight.' He looked at Bolitho. 'If sleep they can.'

Farquhar nodded curtly. 'Now, if you will excuse me, sir. I have some letters to write.'

Bolitho looked at Pascoe. 'I wish you were in almost any other ship, Adani. In any place but here.'

Pascoe regarded him searchingly. 'I am content, sir.'

Bolitho walked to the windows and stared at the silver glow across the water. Like rippling silk, the patterns changing endlessly. He thought of Farquhar writing his letters. To his mother? To the Admiralty?

He said, 'In my steward's keeping at Falmouth, Adam, there is a letter. For you.'

He felt Pascoe step beside him, and saw his reflection in the thick glass. Like brothers in the strange glow.

'Don't say anything.' He reached out and put his arm round his shoulder. 'The letter will tell you everything you must do. The rest you will decide for yourself.'

'But, Uncle.' Pascoe's voice sounded unsteady. 'You must not speak like that!'

'It must be said.' He turned and smiled at him. 'As it was once said to me. And now,' he forced the pain out of his thoughts, 'we must help Mr. Plowman below.'

But when they turned from the windows, Plowman had already gone.

15
Disaster

'S
teer
nor'-nor'-east.' Farquhar remained near the wheel, looking towards Bolitho. 'We will weather the headland as close as we dare.' He glared at the master. 'Do you
understand,
Mr. Bevan?'

'Aye, sir.' The master shifted under his stare. 'It's a bad entrance. Shoals below the headland. Some others offshore, but the charts can't fix them exactly.'

Farquhar walked down to the quarterdeck rail. 'No sign of life yet, sir.'

Bolitho raised a telescope and moved it slowly along the uneven summit of the headland. About a mile across the larboard bow. But it was still resting in deep shadow, with only the paling sky to give some indication of height and depth. But he could see the writhing movement at the bottom of the nearest point, to mark the sea breaking and sluicing over a steep, stony beach, and jagged reefs, too. He heard Farquhar's sudden impatience with the sailing master, and guessed it had been as much to relieve the tension as anything. But he had been wrong to vent his feelings on him. Bevan, the master, ex-mate of an Indiaman, needed all his wits about him now, and the complete confidence of his three helmsmen, without his captain throwing his temperament to all and sundry.

'I expect none.'

Bolitho stiffened as something passed above the nearest hump of land. For a moment he thought it was smoke, but it was a solitary feather of cloud, moving diagonally towards the water beyond the headland which was still in semi-darkness. He saw that the forepart of the cloud was pale gold, holding the sun which was still hidden to the men in both ships.

He strode to the nettings and climbed on the top of a nine-pounder to peer across the quarter.
Buzzard
was right on station. Two cables astern, with her mainsail and topgallants clewed up and her big forecourse braced round to contain the light south-westerly wind. She looked very slender and frail in the dim light, and he pictured Javal with his officers watching the same jutting land, and willing time to pass. To get on with it.

But it would be some while yet, he thought. The French would bide their time and not risk their enemy's escape by opening fire too early.

He stepped down from the gun and-almost fell. Despite the liberal scattering of sand along every gun deck, the planks were damp with night dew and treacherous underfoot. A seaman caught his elbow and grinned at him.

'Easy sir I We'll not 'ave 'em sayin' it was our gun which downed the commodore!'

Bolitho smiled. As in every part of the ship, the guns were fully manned and loaded. All it needed to complete her preparedness was to open the ports and run out. But if there was some watcher on the land, there was no point in showing that
Osiris's
upper line of gun ports was only black squares painted on canvas.

He said, 'Nor that I was too drunk to stand upright, eh ?'

They laughed, as he knew they would. The air around the guns, even in the cool wind, was heavy with rum, and he guessed that far more than a double tot had found its way to each man. Or that some had used their issue to pay old debts, or to purchase something better. Most likely, some had held back their rum to cover bets: What had they bet on? Who would live or die? How much prize money they would receive? Which officer would hold his nerve the longest? He had no doubt that the bets would be many and varied.

He walked forward again to the rail and stared along the shadowed gun deck. Figures moved restlessly around each black barrel. Like slaves as they tested each piece of tackle and equipment for their trade. The gun captains had done their part. Had made certain that the first balls to be fired were perfect in shape and weight, that each charge was just right. After the opening shots, it was usually too desperate, too deafening to pause for such niceties.

He looked up and saw the marine marksmen in the tops, while right forward on the forecastle there were more of them, standing loosely beside their long muskets, or chatting with the carronade crews.