Signal Close Action (51 page)

Bolitho looked at Herrick and drove one fist into his palm.

'De Brueys is holding his main squ
adron to the west of us, Thomas!
He must still expect
a chance to meet with our fleet!
'

Herrick nodded and said bitterly, 'If he only knew that
they had already gone from here!
'

Bolitho seized his ar
m. 'Mr. Veitch is not mistaken
' He looked at both of them, willing them to understand. 'De Brueys has kept his other supply ships to the east'rd,
protec
ted
by his lines of battle
'

'Then I'll warrant our appearance is causing some cackling!' Herrick climbed into the weather shrouds with a telescope. 'I can just make out some sails on the horizon. But yo
u may well be right, Mr. Veitch.
Our Frenchmen are protecting their c
harges from the wrong direction
'
He said in a duller voice, 'But the French have plenty of time to re-arrange their defences.'

Bolitho toyed with the idea of going up to the topgallant yard to see for himself.

'There are but three of us, Thomas. The French will have sighted
Harebell
and may assume she is about to relay our signals to the main fleet.'

Leroux said quietl
y, 'Then I'd not be in Commander Inch's boots.'

Some of the gun crews had left their weapons and stood on the gangways to watch the enemy's slow approach. Like plumed cavalry topping a hard blue rise, the masts and sails began to show themselves even to the men on the gun deck. More and still more, until the horizon seemed engulfed by their sails. 'A fleet indeed, Thomas.'

Bolitho ti
lted his hat to keep the light from his eyes. He could feel the sun on his right cheek, the clinging weight of his coat. It would be hotter than this soon. In more ways than one.

Hour ran into hour, and as the sunlight grew stronger and harsher, the enemy ships took on style and personality. The measured lines of French seventy-fours, and the whole dominated by one great first-rate, the largest ship Bolitho had ever seen. That would be de Brueys's flagship. He wondered what the French admiral was thinking, how the small line of British ships would look to him and his officers. He wondered, too, if Bonaparte was there with him, watching and despising their brave gesture. Bonaparte was their one real hope. De Brueys was a very experienced and courageous officer, and of all those present he probably understood his enemy's navy best. His intelligence and cunning were well known and respected. But would Bonaparte be willing to listen to advice now, with Egypt almost in sight and nothing but three ships in his way ?

He said, 'Tell your marines to strike up a tune of some kind, Major. This waiting burrs the edge off a man's strength. I know it does off mine!'

Moments later the drums and fifes led off with
The
Old
East Indiaman,
the youthful marines marching up and down the quarterdeck, stumbling only occasionally over a gun tackle or a seaman's out-thrust leg.

After some hesitation, and the knowing grins from his mates, Grubb delved into his pocket and joined the fifes with his tin whistle, the one which had become something of a legend.

'Deck there! Enemy frigate steerin' due south, sir!'

'She's after
Harebell,
sir!'

Bolitho gripped his hands behind him, as with a growing pyramid of sails a powerful frigate tacked away from the unending line of ships and headed towards the sloop.

Inch had the edge on her. With this slow south-westerly it would be hard for the French captain to overreach him now, and unless he crippled
Harebell
with a long shot from a bow chaser, he should be safely clear.

A gun echoed dully across the glittering water, and a thin white fin spurted in the sunlight. It was well short, and brought a ripple of cheers from the watchers in the tops.

The deck tilted heavily, and one of the marching drummer boys almost pitched headlong.

Grubb thrust his whistle into his coat and growled, 'Wind's gettin' up, sir!' To his helmsmen he added,
'Watch
it,
my beauties!'

Bolitho looked at Herrick. 'You may load and run out when you are ready.'

He felt the ship lifting and then dipping into a low swell, the spray darting through the beakhead like broken glass.

Herrick cupped his hands. 'Mr. Veitch I Pass the word! Load and run outl'

Leroux said to his lieutenant, 'Bless my soul, Peter, I do believe that the French are keeping their formations!'

Nepean peered at him vacantly. 'But that will surely take
us
right amongst the second group, sir ? Those supply ships seem to be heavily protected also.' He swallowed hard and blinked the sweat from his eyes. "Pon my word, sir, I think you're right!'

The major looked up at the poop. 'Sar'nt Gritton! Spread your sharpshooters to either side! At this rate I think we will be into the ene
my's centre before he knows it!
'

Bolitho heard all of it. The busy clatter of rammers and handspikes, the shrill of whistles as the guns were run out, one side gleaming like teeth, the other still in a purple shadow.

Bolitho thought of Pascoe and his great charges, three decks beneath his feet. He wanted him here with him, and yet knew that the lower deck was probably safer.

'Run out, sir!'

Bolitho took a glass from Midshipman Saxby and it almost dropped to the deck. The boy was shaking badly and trying not to show it. Bolitho ran up a poop ladder and trained the glass astern.

He said sharply, 'Signal to
Nicator,
Mr. Glasson.
Make
more sail.'

He returned to the quarterdeck and said, 'We want no great gap between us.'

The remark reminded him of Saxby and he said quietly, 'Take this glass, my lad, an
d go aft with the marines. Keep
levelled on
Nicator
for me, until I say otherwise.'

Herrick dabbed his face with a handkerchief. 'Worried about young Saxby, sir?'

'No, Thomas.' He lowered his voice. 'About Probyn.'

'Nicator's
acknowledged, sir.' Glasson sounded very alert now.

Bolitho nodded and climbed on to a nine-pounder, one hand resting on a seaman's bare shoulder. Heading on a diagonal tack towards
Lysander's
larboard bow he saw the French men-of-war reforming to protect their scattered convoy of supply ships.

He counted them carefully. Four ships of the line. Odds against his own strength, but not too much so. Beyond the overlapping straggle of supply vessels he saw the squared sails of a frigate, snapping at the heels of those vital ships like a Cornish sheepdog when a fox was after the lambs.

He looked past Veitch without seeing him. An hour more at the most. The French admiral would know by then that there were no more British ships close by. What then? Revenge and destruction of the little squadron? Or on to Alexandria in case there was one more trick to play ?

Bolitho saw the gleam of red amongst the enemy's formation and knew it was the supply ship from Corfu. Veitch would remember. He'd had plenty of opportunity to watch her and her scattering consorts while he had set fire to the hillside to protect
Osiris
from the guns. And she would be carrying more of those great guns. Without the last of them, de Brueys would never dare to anchor inside Alexandria's narrow entrance. He would need their protection for his ships and the landing of so many soldiers and stores. Denied them, he would do it as Herrick had described, in Aboukir Bay.

And with any kind of luck, Nelson would find them there. After that, it would be up to him.

He looked along
Lysander's
decks, his heart heavy. And what of us ?
We
did
our
best.

He heard several bangs, and saw smoke drifting downwind from the leading French two-decker. Some of the balls whipped across the low waves like flying fish, but were well clear of
Lysander.

It was a show of anger. A sign that the French were ready and eager for battle after so long preparing behind their booms and harbour batteries.

Herrick said, 'Bow chaser, Mr. Veitch! Try a ranging ball or two!'

The crash of the larboard bow chaser brought some cheers from those who were unable to see the enemy's show of strength.

Below the quarterdeck, other men were already wrapping their neckerchiefs around t
heir ears, and placing their cutl
asses and boarding axes in close reach.

Bolitho heard Glasson say, 'Half a cable short!' But nobody answered him.

The leading French ship was firm placed towards
Lysander's
larboard bow, sailing as close to the wind as she could, every sail fully visible on her tightly braced yards.

Bolitho watched narrowly, gauging time and distance. Whether they would collide or break the enemy's line. They had to get amongst the supply ships.

A ripple of bright orange tongues from the leading ship, and this time the controlled broadside was better directed. He felt the hull jerk, and heard the searing whine of iron passing over the poop.

Up and down between the eighteen-pounders and their motionless crews, Kipling, the second lieutenant, walked unhurriedly, his drawn sword over his shoulder like a stick.

'Easy,
my lads!' He was speaking almost softly. As if calming a horse. 'Stand-to and face your front!'

Bolitho saw the Frenchman's forecourse stretched and hard-bellied on its yard, and it looked for all the world as if it was spread on
Lysander's
bowsprit and jib boom.

Bolitho snapped, 'Let her fall off two points!'

He nodded to Herrick as Grubb's men put up their helm.

'As you bear!
Fire!

*

From forward to aft,
Lysander's
larboard guns fired, reloaded and fired again, smoke and fire belching from her ports, the trucks squealing as the crews trundled them back again for another broadside.

Bolitho gritted his teeth, feeling the deck shaking violently to the guns' recoil. His eyes smarted as he trained his glass beyond the bow, seeing the Frenchman's sails jerking and tearing under the barrage. Some of
Lysander's
guns would not bear on the French leader, but he hoped that the heavier balls from the thirty-two-pounders might be finding targets over and beyond her stern.

Herrick shouted, 'The French
captain's altered course, sir!
' He cursed as the enemy ship fired
, the broadside haphazard and ill
-timed, but nevertheless deadly. Great thuds shook the hull, and two large holes appeared in the main topsail.

Bolitho watched the enemy's yards moving, narrowing the ex
posed sails as she turned slightl
y away. To give her gun crews a better chance to fire and to take advantage of the wind, which by being so close-hauled had been denied her.

Bolitho said sharply, 'Alter course to larboard again! Steer north by west!'

He had not wasted his first broadsides. It had unnerved the enemy captain enough to make him edge round to return fire. It would take him far too long to work his ship back so close to the wind.

Men hauled wildly at the braces, the yards creaking and allowing the sun to spill more light into smoke-hazed decks.
'Fire/'

The larboard guns came crashing inboard, one by one, the crews sponging out and yelling like madmen as they reloaded.

Bolitho saw the second French ship rising above the rolling smoke, and knew he had caught the leader unprepared. The second one was already probing towards the larboard bow, and ahead of her, hidden in
Lysander's
own gunsmoke, was the gap between the ships, the hole in the line.

'Set the forecourse!' Bolitho heard balls whimpering overhead and saw tall waterspouts bracketing the ship on either side. The deck bucked sharply, and several lengths of broken cordage fell unheeded on the spread nets. 'Hold her, Mr. Grubb!'

Major Leroux yelled, 'Ready, Marines!' He had his sword above his head. 'By sections,
fire
!
'

The sharper cracks of the muskets, the hollow bang of the maintop swivel, must have made the men at the lower battery on the starboard side realise for the first time just how near the Frenchman was. And as
Lysander,
holding the wind in her increased canvas, surged across the leader's stern, the crews cheered, blinking in the
sunlight, then reeling aside as
Lieutenant Steere blew his whistle, and the whole line of thirty-two-pounders roared out at the enemy.