Signal Close Action (50 page)

He smiled, seeing her pleasure as she read that part and remembered. When he had been at sea, and Adam had walked unknown and unhelped out of nowhere, it had been to Nancy that he had gone. Until that moment in time, nobody in the family, not even Hugh, had realised Adam had existed. Born illegitimate, he had lived to his fourteenth year with his mother at Penzance, and when she had died he had set out on foot for the family to which he really belonged.

Yes, she would recall those days as she read his letter.

He finished -
'Think
of
us
sometimes.
Your
loving
brother, Dick.'

Allday entered the cabin and looked at him curiously. 'Moffitt's finished copying your orders for
Harebell,
sir.' He watched as Bolitho sealed the letter and addressed it. 'Falmouth, sir?'

'Yes.' He leaned back in the chair and looked at the spiralling lantern overhead. 'I've told my sister that you are as difficult as ever.'

Allday turned as Ozzard came through the door. 'Well?'

Ozzard flinched. 'Will the commodore be requiring anything more to eat or drink, please?'

Bolitho stood up and walked uncertainly to the bulkhead and touched the sword.

'Lay out my best uniform coat and hat tomorrow, Ozzard.'

Allday turned towards him very slowly. "Then you think
..
.'

'Yes.' Bolitho looked past him. 'I
feel
it. It will be tomorrow or not at all.'

'I'll need a tot to make me sleep on
that
news, sir.' But he grinned. 'Several, most like.' Bolitho roamed about the c
abin for a full hour after mid
night, thinking of faces, and things he had shared with them.

Then he turned into his cot, leaving orders with the watch on deck that he was to be called at dawn.

Surprisingly, he felt calmer than he had since the return of his fever, and within minutes of closing his eyes he was fast asleep.

He was awakened by a hand on his shoulder, and saw Herrick studying him in the light of a dimmed lantern. Beyond him, the cabin skylight showed a pink glow.

'What is it, Thomas?'

Then he heard it. Very faint, drifting across the sea like echoes on a beach.
Cheering.

'Harebell
hoisted a signal at first light, sir.' Herrick watched him grimly.
'Enemy
in
sight.'

18
The Din of
Wa
r

B
olitho
strode across the quarterdeck with Herrick beside him. Figures, mostly in shadow, cleared a path for him, and he heard Grubb say, 'Steady at east-by-north, sir.'

Veitch, who had the watch, came to meet him, and touched his hat.

'Harebell
has just signalled again, sir.
Ships
in
sight
to
the nor'-west.'
He glared at the signal party. 'Mr. Glasson was somewhat slack with his men, and I fear we missed some of
Harebell's
flags.'

Bolitho nodded. 'I've little doubt that the ships which Inch saw were patrols ahead of a larger force. Otherwise they'd have come closer.'

He peered up at his pendant. It was shining cleanly in the new daylight, but the lower yards and shrouds were still in deeper shadow.

He said, 'Very well. Make to the squadron.
Prepare
for battle.'
He smiled at Veitch. 'Have our people had breakfast ?'

'Aye, sir.' Veitch looked at Herrick and stammered, 'Someone told me of the commodore's feelings about today, sir. So I had all hands called an hour earlier.'

Bolitho rubbed his chin. 'I will shave now, and have some coffee, if there's any left.' He heard the squeak of halliards as the signal dashed up the yards and broke to the wind.
‘I
hope
Nicator
is awake and repeats the signal to Javal.'

He turned to look for
Harebell's
lithe shape, but she was stem-on, her braced topsails very pale against the sky.

He said, 'We must deploy our ships to best advantage, Thomas. Alter course directly and steer due north on the larboard tack.'

Across the heaving water he heard the staccato beat of drums, and pictured
Nicator's
seamen and marines hurrying to quarters.

Herrick nodded. 'Aye, sir. It'll be more prudent. I'll have the signal bent on, once
Nicator
has acknowledged.'

'She
has,
sir
1'
Glasson's normally sharp voice was hushed.

Veitch snapped, 'Then
say
it, Mr. Glasson! Or your rank will never rise above "acting"!'

Bolitho did not even hear the exchange. He was thinking. Imagining the breadth of an enemy fleet. The control from one or several flagships.

He said, 'Send away the quarter boat, Captain Herrick. Have the despatch bag sent over to
Harebell.'
He hesitated. 'And any letters there may be for England.'

Shouts echoed along the deck and the boat's crew dashed aft, Yeo, the boatswain, urging them with his powerful voice.

Bolitho looked once more at his pendant. Brighter yet again, but there was not much of a wind. His new course and tack would aid their speed a little, but it would still feel like an age before they got to grips with the enemy.

Pascoe hurried towards him, the heavy bag under his arm.

'Boat's ready, sir!'

'Off you go, Adam. Don't delay, and tell Commander Inch to make all speed to rejoin the fleet.'

Herrick asked, 'Will we take the wind-gage, d'you think ?'

'I am not certain.' He felt his stomach contract.
Hunger? Fear?
It was hard to tell. 'But if it is the force I imagine, it will be large enough to see.'

Veitch came aft again. 'Boat's away, sir. Pulling like the devil.'

'Thank you.' He pulled out his watch. 'You may clear for action in fifteen minutes, Mr. Veitch. In the meantime, make to the squadron,
Steer
north.
When that is completed, make one other. To
Form
line
of
battle.'

He walked away as the calls started to shrill and men ran to their stations for altering course. He could leave all that and more to Herrick. Now.

He ducked his head automatically beneath the poop as Grubb yelled, 'Stand by at th' braces there!' The wheel was going over, the sails napping and banging and spattering the men beneath with great droplets of moisture.

In the cabin it seemed very cool, and he sat almost unmoving while Allday gave him a speedy shave and Ozzard plied him with black coffee.

Ozzard said dolefully, 'That was the last of it, sir.'

He heard Allday mutter, 'Never mind. We'll take some off a Frenchie, eh ?'

More stamping feet overhead, and the shriek of blocks and rigging.

Veitch's voice, hollow in his trumpet. 'Make fast there! Belay that brace, Bosun!'

With the lantern giving only a feeble light, the cabin became extra dark, and he imagined the ship heading due north, the others following in a line astern.
Soon
now.

There was sudden stillness, broken within seconds by the rattle of drums, sharp and nerve-racking, so that he knew Leroux's little drummer boys were just above the skylight.

The hull trembled, each deck giving its own sound and reaction as screens were torn down, chests and unwanted gear stowed below, and every gun captain bustled around his crew like a mother hen.

Allday stood back and wiped the razor. 'Eight minutes, sir. Mr. Veitch is learning your ways.'

Bolitho stood up and waited for Ozzard to bring his best coat.

He said, 'Captain Farquhar did the honours last time.' Their eyes met. 'I think that is all.' He smiled. 'But for the sword.'

Ozzard watched the pair of them and then darted forward to adjust the bow around Bolitho's black queue.

Bolitho recalled his feelings about Farquhar.
Like
an
actor.

He heard more yells from the upper deck, a clatter of oars as the boat returned alongside.

He looked at Allday, wondering if he was thinking the same. All together. Herrick and Pascoe, Allday and himself.

BoHtho said, 'It's time.'

They walked through the screen door, where instead of a dining table and polished chairs there was only open deck, the dark shapes of the waiting guns and their crews stretching away beneath the poop and towards the strengthening daylight.

He strode past the mizzen mast's great trunk and tried not to recall the broadside which had ripped through
Osiris's
stern like a bloody avalanche.

Some of the gun crews turned to watch him, their eyes glittering white in the gloom behind the sealed ports.

One man called,
'Yew'm a fair zight today, zur!
' He was finding courage in the darkness and ignored the harsh threats of a petty officer. 'Bet there's no better l
ookin' sailor in the 'ole fleet!
'

Bolitho smiled. He knew the accent well. A Cornishman like himself. Perhaps even a face he had seen as a youth, now brought close for this encounter.

He walked past the double wheel and the imperturbable helmsmen. The master and his mates, the midshipman of the watch, little Saxby. And further, to the centre of the quarter deck.

He saw Pascoe, his head and shoulders soaked in spray, speaking in a fierce whisper to Glasson, who had taken charge of the ship's signals.

Pascoe touched his hat to Bolitho and said,
‘I
will go below, sir.'

Bolitho nodded, knowing that some of the seamen nearby were watching them curiously. Pascoe's new station was down on the lower gun deck with the great thirty-two-pounders. He had Lieutenant Steere as his superior, and a midshipman to fetch and carry messages. Youth indeed for
Lysander's
main batteries.

'God be with you, Adam.'

'And you,' he hesitated, 'Uncle.' He shot a smile towards Herrick and then hurried down the companion.

'Deck there!
Sai
ls in sight on the larboard bow!
'

Bolitho snapped, 'Aloft with you, Mr. Veitch. I'd like a firm opinion this morning.'

He stared at the sky, now pale blue and devoid of cloud. The red blobs of the marine marksmen and swivel gunners in the tops, the great yards and black tarred rigging. A living, vital weapon of war. The most complex and harshly demanding creation of man. Yet in the weak sunlight
Lysander
had a true beauty, which even her bulk and tonnage could not spoil.

He crossed to the larboard side and clung to the neatly stacked hammock nettings.
Harebell
was already fighting round in a steep tack, her topsails flapping, her topgallants and maincourse being set even as he watched.

Astern he could see the black lines of
Nicator's
weather shrouds and tumblehome, but her outline, and
Immortalité
's,
too, were hidden beyond the sloping poop.
¹
Major Leroux ran lightl
y down a ladder and raised his drawn sword to his hat with a flourish.

'I
have arranged my men as you ordered, sir. The best marksmen where they will be unhampered by those less accurate.' He smiled, his eyes far-away. 'Maybe the French will expect to meet with Nelson ?'

Herrick heard him and laughed. 'Our gall
ant admiral must take his turn!
'

Veitch returned to the deck by way of a backstay with as much ease as a twelve-year-old midshipman.

He wiped his hands on his coat and said, 'It
is
the enemy fleet, sir. They seem to be steering south-east, and the bulk of it lies well to windward.' He hesitated and then said, 'There is a
second
squadron directly across our bows on a converging tack, sir. I had a good look at it, and I am certain that one or more of the ships were at Corfu. One of 'em was painted in red and black. I saw her just now, as plain as day.'