Form Line Of Battle! Page 4

  Breathless and groaning, the men at the braces dug in their toes and hauled the great yards round, further and further, until with the jubilant roar of thunder the sails billowed and then filled, taut and bulging, while the ship beneath them heeled over to the wind.

  Bolitho saw Gosset grinning and said, 'She handles well, Mr. Gossett. Slow but very determined.' He added, 'We will have the royals off her, Mr. Quarme.'

  The fresh orders sent more men clambering aloft, and as the sails grew smaller and then vanished at the hands of the topmen Midshipman Caswell, who had run frantically to the opposite side of the quarterdeck, shouted, 'Flag to Hyperion, "Captain repair on board forthwith!"

  Bolitho snapped, 'Acknowledge!' He looked down at his shabby seagoing uniform. There was no time to change now. From any admiral 'forthwith' meant immediately, if no sooner. 'Call away my barge!'

  As the six other ships drew closer the Hyperion turned once more into the wind, sails thundering in protest and every shroud and stay vibrating like some mad musical instrument.

  The barge was already swayed out, and as Bolitho took his sword from an anxious Gimlett, Allday shouted, 'Lower away!' By the time Bolitho had reached the entry port the boat was dipping and plunging alongside, the white oars raised like twin lines of polished bones.

  He almost missed his footing, but as the barge squeaked heavily against the Hyperion's fat flank he jumped out and down, praying that he had not misjudged it.

  Allday breathed out. 'Out oars! Give way together!' Then he thrust the tiller hard over, and by the time Bolitho had regained his wind the Hyperion was already dropping fast astern.

  She was swinging round once more to keep station on the flagship, and Bolitho felt a touch of pride as he watched the sails filling and the sluice of spray breaking back from her counter. He had been aboard her for twelve days only, yet_ already he could hardly remember what had gone before.

  No sooner had Bolitho made another precarious climb from his barge to the flagship's entry port than he was met by her captain, and with hardly more than a curt greeting was led aft to the great stem cabin. If Bolitho's quarters in Hyperion were spacious, those of Admiral Hood were even grander on every scale.

  Hood was seated on the bench below the stem window with one leg propped comfortably on a stool and his massive head in silhouette as he stared out at the ships which followed slowly in Victory's wake. He made no effort to stand but waved his hand towards a chair beside his writing table.

  'I am very pleased to see you here, Bolitho. You appear to have carried the years well.'

  Bolitho seated himself carefully and studied his superior with interest and admiration. He knew that Hood was nearing seventy, yet apart from a certain looseness around the jowl and the slowness of his speech he appeared to have changed little in the eleven years since their last meeting. The heavy brows and large beaked nose were the same. And the eyes which now swung to study him across the table were as clear and bright as a young man's.

  The admiral asked, suddenly, `How do you like your ship, eh? Good enough for you?'

  'I am well satisfied, sir.' Bolitho knew that Hood rarely wasted much time on unnecessary conversation and was taken slightly off guard. Perhaps, after all Hood was feeling his years. But for the war he would now be enjoying a more restful life well away from the burden of commanding a fleet.

  Hood continued abruptly, 'I remember you well. You did good work at the Saintes.' He sighed. 'I wish I had my old flagship, the Barfleur, here with me today, but she is with Lord Howe in the Channel Fleet.' He heaved himself from the seat and moved heavily across the cabin. Over his shoulder he said, 'You've read all the intelligence reports, I suppose.' He hurried on without waiting „for a reply. It was safe to assume that any captain joining his command would have made himself fully familiar with every available detail if he wished to stay a captain. 'Just over yonder the French have at least twenty sail of the line bottled up in Toulon. I intend to see that they stay there until I decide what next action to pursue.'

  Bolitho digested this information carefully. With a growing British squadron daily patrolling the French coastline it would be madness for the enemy to expect their own ships to enter or leave Toulon, or -Marseilles either for that matter.

  Hood added sharply, 'In a week or so I shall have twentyone ships under my flag, and by that time I will know what to do. Compte Trogoff commands the French ships at Toulon, and our agents there have already reported that he is ready to negotiate terms with us. He was loyal to his king, like many more in Toulon. But his position is dangerous. Unless he can be sure of real support from his own people he will never allow us to land our men and take over the port.'

  Bolitho said carefully, 'I would think that he has little time left to make up his mind, sir.'

  Lord Hood gave what passed for a smile. 'You are right there, by God! There are reports that the French General Carteau is already marching south. I am hoping that such information is also available to Trogoff, for either way I am afraid his days will be numbered unless he obtains our assistance.' He drew one hand across his throat. 'He would not be the first French admiral to die on the scaffold. Not even one of the first dozen!'

  Bolitho tried to imagine himself in the position of the wretched Admiral Trogoff. His was a difficult decision indeed. Beyond the sealed door the giant hundred-gun flagship murmured with life, the creak of spars and rigging, the muffled shout of orders. Across in his own ship Quarme and the others would be watching and wondering. Like himself.

  Pipes shrilled from the upper',deck and there was more stamping and shouting. Another captain from one of the ships astern no doubt.

  The admiral said calmly, 'What this campaign needs is a show of confidence. We cannot afford a failure at this early stage.' He looked hard at Bolitho. 'Have you heard of Cozar Island?'

  Bolitho tore his mind back from the crowded possibilities of a full-scale invasion with the Hyperion in the van of the attack.

  'Er yes, sir.' He saw the glint of impatience in Hood's eyes and added, 'We passed it to seaward on the night of the sixth.'

  'And I take it that is all you know of it?' Hood's question was sharp.

  'It lies off the French coast, sir, but is actually Spanish.'

  'Well, that is slightly better,' said Hood dryly. 'In fact, Cozar was given by the late King Louis to Spain in exchange for some concession in the Caribbean. It lies about one hundred and twenty-five miles west-south-west from the chair you're sitting on. It is 'a miserable, sun-scorched place, and until recently was used by the Spaniards as a penal settlement. With their usual contempt for human life they realised that only convicts and scorpions could live there.'

  He stood quite still, looking down at Bolito as he continued, 'But Cozar has one important asset. It has a magnificent harbour, and no other landing places at all. There is a fort of some kind at either end, and a well-sited battery could keep a whole fleet at bay for as long as necessary.'

  Bolitho nodded. 'So close to the French coast it could be used like a stone frigate. Our ships would be safe for replenishing stores and sheltering from bad weather, and could dash out and attack any coastal shipping without warning.'

  Hood said nothing and Bolitho realised with sudden clarity what the admiral had implied about his 'show of confidence'. He said quietly, 'Also we could launch a second in vasion from there should the Toulon venture prove successful.'

  Hood eyed him grimly. `You get there in the end, Bolitho. Well done!' He walked back to the windows. `Unfortunately the French may have realised Cozar's importance already. I sent the sloop Fairfax to investigate a week ago. Nothing has been seen of her since.' He slapped his. hands together violently. 'Spain is our new ally, but under real pressure who can say how long such allegiance will last?'

  There was a nervous tap at the door and a flag-lieutenant peered in at them.

  Hood glared at him. 'Get out, damn you!' In a calmer voice he continued, "I have a Spanish squadron with me now. If we are to seize and occupy
Cozar then the Spanish must outwardly be the main cause of the victory.' His eyebrows lifted slightly. 'It will clinch our relationship and will show the French that we are united not merely from fear but out of mutual respect.' He smiled grimly. 'Well, that is how it should look, eh?'

  Bolitho rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'And you want the Hyperion to take part, sir?'

  `I do. Of all the captains under my command I think you arepossibly the best suited. I seem to recall that you carried out some very successful raids in the Caribbean. That sort of initiative and imagination is what we need at the moment.' He looked away. 'You will accompany two Spanish ships of the line, of course, but the operation will be under the overall command of Vice-Admiral Sir William Moresby, d'you know him?'

  Bolitho shook his head, his mind still mulling over Hood's words. After coming so far with the hope of taking part in the real campaign, and now this. Hyperion would go about and sail back again, with nothing but some local skirmish at the end of it. Once ensconced on their own territory the Spanish would be quick to rid themselves of Hyperion, Vice-Admiral Moresby or not.

  Hood eyed him gravely. 'He's a good flag officer. He knows what to do.'

  Bolitho stood up, knowing the interview was over. He turned as Hood said suddenly, 'I sent for you personally because I want you to realise the importance of this mission. Whatever happens, and I mean just that, I want that island taken without delay. If the French have time to garrison it properly they will be in a position to harry my supply ships and spy on everything I do. My fleet is stretched to the limit already. I cannot afford to send more ships to watch Cozar for the rest of time. Do I make myself clear?'

  The door opened a few inches and the flag-lieutenant said desperately. 'I beg your pardon, my lord, but the captain of gamemnon has come aboard and wishes to have an audience with you.'

  Instead of flying into a rage Hood gave a rare smile. 'That's young Captain Nelson, a contemporary of yours, Bolitho. Well, he's going to be disappointed this time.' His hooded eyes glinted with amusement. 'He'll have heard about the Cozar business, and like you he is a man who prefers to act on his own sometimes!'

  Bolitho toyed with the idea of suggesting a change of orders when Hood added briefly, 'But his Agamemnon is a fast ship. I'll need her here if things go against us.'

  'Yes, sir.' He thought of Rooke's contemptuous words, 'She's as slow as an old cow!' and added, 'Hyperion will show her ability when the time comes.'

  The admiral stared at him. 'I never doubted it, my boy.' He chuckled as Bolitho walked towards the door. 'I doubt that the war will end tomorrow. There will be plenty of opportunities yet!'

  Bolitho walked out of the door and almost cannoned into a harassed flag-lieutenant who immediately thrust a large sealed envelope into his hand and muttered, 'Your orders, sir. Vice-Admiral Sir William Moresby will be shifting his flag to Hyperion from the Cadmus within the hour. May I suggest you make haste back to your ship, sir? Sir William is, er, rather rigid in his requirements about being properly greeted.'

  Bolitho grunted and hurried towards the entry port, his mind buzzing with the swift turn of events. Cadmus was a big three-decker. No doubt Lord Hood needed her too, he decided bitterly.

  The flagship's captain was waiting with the side party and gave Bolitho a worried smile. It could not be easy to serve in the same ship as Lord Hood.

  ' But as Bolitho clambered down into his waiting barge he forgot him and turned his mind to the problems of turning Hyperion into a flagship. She was no three-decker, and Sir William might find it somewhat crowded.

  The barge pulled clear, and Bolitho saw Allday watching him anxiously from the tiller. Then he looked back at the towering side of the Victory and guessed that already his short visit had also been forgotten.

  Then as he glanced up at the flagship's great quarterdeck he saw a slight, even frail, figure leaning on the nettings and watching him. His uniform was more faded than Bolitho's, and his hair tied back in a stiff, unfashionable queue. As the barge crew pulled lustily around the Victory's quarter Bolitho saw the other man raise his hand in what might be a salute or a gesture of resignation.

  Bolitho lifted his hand to his hat in reply. It must be Nelson of the Agamemnon, he thought. Such a fragile figure for a captain of a ship of the line, and on the Victory's quarterdeck he.looked dejected and lost.

  Bolitho settled himself grimly in the sternsheets and stared across at his own command. Well, this Nelson had nothing to be jealous about, he thought angrily. He could have the Cozar operation and welcome!

  Allday lowered his head and asked softly, 'Good news, Captain? Are we staying with the fleet?'

  Bolitho glared at him. 'Attend to your steering! This barge is swaying like a Portsmouth whore!'

  Allday watched the back of Bolitho's shoulders and smiled to himself. For months he had worried about Bolitho's health. Opposition from above was better than any medicine, he thought cheerfully. But heaven help the French!

  3

  DECISION FOR SIR WILLIAM

  Bolitho waited beneath the poop just long enough to accustom his eyes to the gloom and then strode out on to the quarterdeck. At first glance there was little to show that the dawn hovered just below the invisible horizon, but as he looked up through the dark tracery of rigging and beyond the ghostlike outlines of the sails he noticed that the stars were paler and the sky, instead of being like black velvet, now held that strange purple hue which never failed to. fill him with pleasure.

  A shadow loomed from the quarterdeck rail and Quarme said, The dawn'll be up within thirty minutes, sir. I had the hands called an hour early as you ordered, and they have all been fed.'

  Bolitho nodded. 'Very good.' His vision was improving, or was the light already strengthening? He heard the splash and sizzle of embers alongside and knew that the cooks were throwing the remains of the galley fire overboard, also in accordance with his instructions. He suddenly felt stiff and cramped, and wished he had taken the time for another mug of coffee.

  With Vice-Admiral Moresby occupying his quarters Bolitho had been sleeping in a makeshift cot in the chartroom. Most captains would have taken over their first lieutenants' cabins under such circumstances, but Bolitho found the cramped privacy of the tiny chartroom more suitable for his present mood of uncertainty and doubt.

  For nearly three days the Hyperion with two Spanish ships in company had headed for the island of Cozar. Days of irritations and maddening conferences between Moresby and the Spanish admiral, which had uncovered little but the intention of each man to have his own way. Now the two other ships were miles astern, having hove to for the night with the usual Spanish indifference for urgency and timing.

  Bolitho said suddenly, 'Hands aloft, Mr. Quarme. Get the topgallants and courses in, if you please. Tops'ls and jib will suffice for our purposes.' He heard Quarme passing his orders and saw the immediate air of activity across the maindeck.

  According to his careful calculations the island now lay some four miles off the starboard bow, and with the sun soon to rise astern of her, Hyperion would be less visible to a drowsy sentry if stripped down to minimum canvas. In the light airs the slower speed would be an additional advantage.

  All- his inbuilt caution might be proved as empty as the Spanish admiral ,had outspokenly declared on the previous afternoon when he and his two captains had been rowed across to the Hyperion for another long conference. Cozar might indeed- still be in Spanish hands, and his preparations, his stealthy approach under cover of night, might show as a waste of time. But Bolitho respected the French as much as he disliked them. They would be foolish to overlook the possibilities presented by such a formidable fortress.

  The Spanish admiral, Don Francisco Anduaga, was a tall, disdainful autocrat who had made no bones right from the start about what he thought of serving under Moresby's overall command. Moresby was a thickset, aggressive little man who showed little interest in Anduaga's more sensitive feelings, and ploughed through the planned arrangements with the st
ubbornness of a bull terrier. And the arrangements about which they could agree were few indeed. An acceptance of British signals, a rough plan of approach, but little more beside.

  But Anduaga had brought one useful addition on his last visit. A swarthy lieutenant who had actually served at Cozar Island when it was used as a penal settlement. His facts were impressive, but only to those who actually controlled the island from within.

  Barely five miles from end to end, it sounded the most inhospitable place on earth. Surrounded by steep, dangerous cliffs and scattered rocks it was only accessible by way of the great natural harbour on its southern side, and then by one landing place below the battery of a strong hill fortress. There was a 'smaller hill at the other end of the island with an ancient Moorish castle and a lesser battery to forestall anyone foolhardy enough to attempt to storm the cliffs by day or night. And between the two hills was one central one which rose to over a thousand feet, and from which even a halfblind lookout could see an approaching ship before it topped the horizon.

  The lieutenant had rolled his eyes sadly. 'It is a terrible place, Captain. Not fit for beasts.'

  Bolitho had persisted, 'What about fresh water? Have they good supplies?

  `Alas, no. They depend on a rainfall to fill a manmade reservoir. Apart, from that they bring it by sea.' He had dropped his eyes with sudden embarrassment. 'From the port of St. Clar, but of course that was when we were allied with France, you understand.'

  Moresby had interrupted angrily, 'If you are thinking of cutting off the water supply, Bolitho, you can think again. We have no time for a blockade, and in any case we don't know what supplies they have at their disposal.'

  Anduaga had watched them with obvious irritation. 'But why are you all so concerned? He. had a smooth, silky voice which matched his air of complete superiority over the rest of them. 'My eighty-gun Marte will pound them to fragments! But I can assure you that there will be no problems.' His eyes had become suddenly cruel. 'The Spanish garrison would have me to reckon with if they were foolish enough to surrender to a lot of peasant soldiers!'