Signal, Close Action! Read online

  Herrick gave a deep sigh. ‘I tell myself that I must never be surprised at your ideas. Ever since I can recall –’ He shook himself. ‘I will pass the word to Allday at once.’ He swung round, his sudden determination making him appear almost pathetic. ‘But I’ll be greatly pleased to see you back inboard again!’

  Bolitho smiled and walked to his sleeping compartment and the big chest in which he kept a pair of pistols. As he knelt over the lid he felt the ship tilting more readily to the wind, the urgent clatter of blocks and rigging to betray its growing power. He looked up, seeing himself in the small cabin mirror, the unruly lock of black hair above his right eye. He grimaced sadly, touching the deep scar which was partly hidden beneath the lock. An early reminder of what could happen in a split second. Like the dull ache in his shoulder. The small step between life and oblivion.

  Allday clattered into the adjoining cabin, the hilt of his cutlass glinting under his blue jacket.

  ‘Party ready, sir.’ He was already reaching up for Bolitho’s sword. ‘All fighting Jacks!’ He grinned. ‘Picked ’em myself.’

  Bolitho let him buckle his sword around his waist. He asked mildly, ‘Were they not volunteers?’

  The big coxswain grinned all the broader. ‘Of course, sir. After I told ’em my point of view, so to speak.’

  Bolitho shook his head and strode out of the cabin without looking back.

  A cutter was pitching and creaking at the main chains, and the picked seamen were crowded amongst their weapons and the hands at the oars in an untidy mass.

  Bolitho glanced around the quarter-deck and at the men who were already at the braces and along the yards overhead preparing to make more sail once the cutter had returned.

  Herrick stood with the side party at the entry port, his features composed again.

  Bolitho was about to reassure him, to tell him to take good care of the ship in his absence. But Lysander was Herrick’s ship, not his.

  Instead he said lightly, ‘Until we meet again, Captain Herrick.’

  Then he swung himself out of the port towards the waiting boat.

  By the time he had reached the sternsheets and regained his breath the cutter was clear of the ship’s side, the oars losing their confusion and falling into a slow rhythm across the choppy water.

  It was then Bolitho realised that Pascoe was also in the boat, his dark eyes alight with excitement as he waved to someone on the two-decker’s gangway.

  Allday hissed angrily, ‘I knew you’d want him left on board, sir. No sense in putting all the eggs in one basket, so to speak.’ He hid his face from the oarsmen. ‘It was Mr. Gilchrist who gave the order.’

  Bolitho nodded. If he had harboured any doubts about Herrick’s first lieutenant, they were gone now. By ordering Pascoe into the cutting-out party he had achieved two things. He could say that Bolitho was taking his nephew as an act of favouritism. He would share fully in any glory if the attack was successful. And if it was not? He looked at the youth, seeing his excitement as he had once known it at eighteen years. If that happened, then Allday’s comment would be only too true.

  He stared across Pascoe’s shoulder and watched the frigate’s masts spiralling and swaying in the wind.

  Pascoe said brightly, ‘By God, I’d like to command a ship like Buzzard!’ He saw Bolitho’s expression and added, ‘One day, sir.’

  Bolitho said, ‘We will deal with this business first, Mr. Pascoe.’ He smiled. ‘But I understand your feelings.’

  Allday fingered his cutlass and looked from one to the other. Now he had two to watch over. He frowned as the boat’s coxswain failed in his first attempt to steer under the frigate’s lee chains. And if anything happened to either of them he would settle Lieutenant bloody Gilchrist’s hash for him no matter what.

  The last seaman had barely scrambled aboard when Javal shouted, ‘Hands aloft and get the ship under way, Mr. Mears! We’ve a lot of distance to cover before nightfall!’

  He looked at Bolitho and doffed his hat. ‘You are most welcome, sir. Though I fear you may find my quarters a mite cramped.’

  Bolitho returned his smile and replied evenly, ‘I have commanded three such vessels in my time, Captain Javal, but thank you for the reminder.’

  Allday glanced down as Pascoe nudged him in the ribs.

  Pascoe murmured quietly, ‘I think my uncle made his point very well, don’t you?’

  Allday grinned, suddenly reassured.

  ‘And that’s no error, Mr. Pascoe!’

  3

  Alone

  UNDER TOPSAILS AND jib the thirty-two gun frigate Buzzard stood close-hauled on the larboard tack, her yards braced round so tightly that from the deck they appeared almost fore and aft.

  Bolitho gripped the hammock nettings and strained his eyes through the gloom. The light had gone suddenly, as was natural in these waters, and he was conscious of the muttering between Buzzard’s master and her first lieutenant as they peered at the compass or inspected the set of each flapping sail.

  Javal seemed confident enough and content to leave the navigation to his subordinates. Like him they were well-used, a trained and self-reliant team. There was nothing false about Javal, and no trimmings in his quarters, which for a successful frigate captain were spartan. The cabin furniture consisted mostly of heavy chests, scattered about and within easy reach when required.

  Javal joined him, his eyes screwed up against the spray which spattered above the nettings with each steep roll.

  He said, ‘The coast is about a mile or so on the larboard bow, sir. If I am to weather the headland I’ll have to stand clear very soon or come about for another approach. I wanted a wind, but this one blows too merrily for my liking.’ He pulled a stone bottle from his coat. ‘A drink, sir? A warming swallow of Hollands will do you good.’

  There was no offer of cup or goblet, so Bolitho held the fat bottle to his lips, feeling the gin running down his tongue like fire.

  Javal remarked offhandedly, ‘Took quite a few bottles off a blockade-runner last August in the Channel. Better than nothing.’ He swung round, his voice harsh. ‘Watch your helm, damn your eyes! You’ll have us in irons before the next hour!’ He became calm again. ‘I’d suggest we make our play soon now, sir.’

  Bolitho smiled. That sudden spark of anxious rage had shown that Javal was more human than he wished him to believe. It was never easy to close a little known shore in the dark. Harder still with a senior officer breathing down your neck.

  He replied, ‘I agree.’

  Javal said, ‘I’m putting my first lieutenant in charge. The launch and the cutter should suffice, but in case there is a chance of a hue and cry being carried inshore to some Spanish garrison, I’d suggest a small landing party below the headland.’ He hesitated. ‘Your lieutenant perhaps?’

  ‘Very well.’ Bolitho looked across the blurred procession of white-capped waves. ‘Mr. Pascoe is young, but has seen action enough.’

  Javal studied him curiously. ‘I will attend to it.’

  He hurried away barking out orders to the already assembled seamen. Blocks squeaked noisily and the boats began to move above the tier, the hands guiding them without effort, as if it was all in broad daylight.

  Bolitho tried not to listen to the clatter of weapons, the occasional hesitation as a man failed to answer his name on a check list.

  Allday loomed out of the darkness and said, ‘It’ll be a hard pull in this wind, sir.’ He seemed to sense something. ‘Can I help?’

  Javal strode past. ‘We will heave-to, if you please!’ In a louder tone he called, ‘Mr. Mears! Stand by to lower boats!’

  Bolitho said swiftly, ‘Go with Mr. Pascoe. He will take the jolly boat.’

  Allday understood but replied awkwardly, ‘But my place is with –’ He grinned. ‘But you are right, sir.’

  Bolitho saw the gleam of white breeches against the opposite bulwark and heard Pascoe say, ‘I’m going now, sir.’

  Bolitho moved to his side. ‘See you tak
e care, Adam.’ He tried to make light of it. ‘Your aunt would never forgive me if anything happened.’

  Pascoe turned his head as some seamen dashed past, their chequered shirts very pale and stark.

  ‘I must go, sir.’

  Bolitho stood aside. ‘Good luck.’

  Moments after the frigate had laboured round into the wind, her remaining sails booming in confusion, the three boats were in the water alongside, and then soon pulling away towards the land.

  Javal rubbed his hands. ‘Bring her about and steer sou’-east by east, Mr. Ellis. And put two good hands in the chains just to be sure we do not gut the keel out of her!’

  He crossed to Bolitho’s side and waited in silence until his ship was once more under command of wind and rudder. Then he said cheerfully, ‘This is always the worst part. The waiting.’

  Bolitho nodded, his ears trying to hold on to the swish and creak of oars. But they had gone, swallowed in the other sea noises.

  He said, ‘Aye. I’d prefer to be going with them.’

  Javal laughed. ‘God’s teeth, sir! I wish to make the Navy my career for many years yet. What chance would there be of that if I allowed my commodore to be taken?’ It seemed to amuse him greatly.

  Bolitho snapped, ‘I dare say.’

  Javal cleared his throat and said in a more sober tone, ‘It will be all of four hours before we know anything, sir. My first lieutenant is very experienced. He has been with me for some eighteen months. He has cut out several such vessels without many losses to us.’

  Bolitho nodded. ‘I will use your cabin again, if I may. A short sleep will refresh me for tomorrow.’

  He could almost hear the lie being thrown back in his face. Sleep? It would be easier to walk on water.

  Javal watched him grope towards the cabin hatch and shrugged. Bolitho was probably worried about this first action under his overall command. Surely he would not be troubled at the thought of a man or two being killed? He reached for the stone bottle and shook it against his ear. It would help the hours to pass more quickly, he decided.

  *

  Bolitho felt his way to the glowing compass bowl and peered at the steeply tilting card. Buzzard’s head was almost north-east.

  The master said helpfully, ‘Beg pardon, sir, but the wind ’as backed two points or so. An’ some rain ‘as bin fallin’.’

  Bolitho nodded and walked forward, his body angled against the deck and the wet pressure of wind across the quarter. It would be dawn soon, and already he could see the nine-pounders on the gun deck standing out like black bars below the weather gangway.

  Javal was by the quarter-deck rail, hatless, and with his hair whipping in the wind.

  He said shortly, ‘Nothing yet.’ He looked at him briefly. ‘Did you sleep well, sir?’

  Bolitho rested his hands on the rail, feeling the hull shivering and straining like a living thing. He had been unable to remain in the cabin a moment longer. The hours had been an eternity, and Javal’s quarters like a damp, unsteady prison.

  ‘A little, thank you.’

  ‘Deck there! Land on th’ weather bow!’

  Javal snapped, ‘Leadsmen to the chains again, Mr. Ellis! Lively now!’ In a calmer voice he added, ‘That will be the headland. We have clawed round in a mad circle during the night. With the damned wind backing on us, I feared we might be blown hard aground.’

  Bolitho said, ‘I see.’

  He looked away, hiding his feelings from the other man. What had happened? Where was a signal? Any sign that the raid had been completed?

  Javal remarked, ‘Mears should have fired a gun or a rocket.’ Even he sounded uneasy. ‘God damn it, we’ll be too close inshore within the hour.’

  Bolitho ignored him and tried to imagine what it was like beyond the dim shadow which the lookout had reported as land. If Lieutenant Mears and his boats had failed to take the schooner, or for some reason had been unable even to grapple with her, they would have to pull back to the Buzzard as best they could. In a stiff wind, and after a night at the oars, they would be in need of help, and quickly.

  From forward came the cry, ‘By th’ mark seven!’

  Javal said quietly, ‘Jesus!’

  The master called anxiously, ‘It shallows fast hereabouts, sir!’

  ‘I am aware of that fact, thank you!’ Javal glared at him. ‘Watch your helm!’

  ‘By th’ mark five!’ The leadsman’s chant sounded like a dirge.

  Javal muttered, ‘I will have to alter course to starboard, sir.’ The words were being dragged from his throat.

  Bolitho looked at him, noticing how the people and objects around the quarter-deck had assumed shape and reality in the first dull light.

  He said briskly, ‘Do your duty, Captain Javal.’

  He turned away, sharing the other man’s despair.

  ‘Deep four!’

  Bolitho thrust his hands behind his back and walked aft. The frigate was sailing in about twenty-four feet of water. It was only minutes before she ran her full length ashore. Over his shoulder he saw the land reaching out towards the bowsprit. Mocking him.

  ‘Man the lee braces!’ Feet scampered across the decks. ‘Put up the helm!’

  With a squeal of blocks the yards creaked ponderously above the decks, and as the wheel was hauled over and over Buzzard started to swing once again towards the open sea.

  Javal said harshly, ‘Steer due east. Lay her as close as you dare to the headland.’

  ‘By th’ mark ten!’

  Bolitho watched the land as it started to slip past the forecastle, the faint marks of white at its foot where the wind drove the sea into beaches and small coves.

  ‘Deck there! Sail on the weather bow! Comin’ round the point!’

  Javal sucked in air. ‘Run out the larboard battery, Mr. Ellis!’ He added sharply, ‘Belaj that order!’ His face glowed faintly in a bright red flare which had just burst clear of the land. ‘Stand by to shorten sail!’ To Bolitho he exclaimed, ‘The schooner, by God! Mears has taken her!’

  Even without a glass Bolitho could see the low-hulled vessel thrusting away from the encroaching land, her great sails rising like wings above the choppy wavecrests. At her counter he saw the darker shapes of Buzzard’s boats being towed astern, a lantern rising and dipping at her foremast to confirm the capture. Perhaps Mears feared that because of the delay, his failure to signal earlier, he might be met with a broadside rather than cheers.

  Javal snapped, ‘We will come about. Lay her on the starboard tack and steer sou’ by west until we have more sea room.’ He glanced at Bolitho by the nettings. ‘You will wish to rejoin the squadron, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He walked clear of the busy seamen and marines as they ran to obey the pipe. It was over, and as far as he could tell, without a shot being fired. He found he was shaking badly. As if he had been there with them.

  When Buzzard leaned steeply on her new tack Bolitho saw the schooner following suit, her lee bulwark almost awash. She was certainly deep laden.

  He said abruptly, ‘Heave-to at your discretion, Captain. Signal your lieutenant to close within hailing distance.’

  Javal eyed him doubtfully. ‘Aye, sir. If you say so.’ He saw Bolitho’s expression and said no more.

  Bolitho walked slowly to the nettings, shutting out the sounds of the unexpected preparations to heave-to once again. He did not even hear the squeak of halliards as the signal flags ran up the yards and broke to the wind. He was watching the boats surging along under the schooner’s stern. The jolly boat was not one of them.

  *

  Lieutenant Mears had no intention of shouting his news from the captured schooner’s deck. While Buzzard rolled heavily in short, steep waves he crossed the narrow gap between the two ships in his cutter, its sleek hull lifting and rearing like a dolphin until it was made fast to the frigate’s chains.

  In the stern cabin the sea’s noises were muted, like surf booming in a long cave.

  Bolitho kept h
is hands clasped behind him, his head lowered between the deck beams as Mears, still panting, told his story.

  ‘We pulled under the headland as planned, sir. Then we separated. I took my boat direct for the schooner’s seaward side, and Mr. Booth headed his around and under her bowsprit. There is no doubt that the schooner’s master was expecting the weather to worsen and was anchoring for the night. Our suspicion he had sighted Buzzard was ill-founded.’

  Bolitho asked quietly, ‘And the jolly boat?’

  Mears rubbed his eyes. ‘Your lieutenant was ordered to take it to the western side of the headland and beach it. If the Dons had tried to send for help from the land, Mr. Pascoe’s party would have been able to intercept them.’

  Javal snapped, ‘You took your damn time, Toby.’

  The lieutenant shrugged limply. ‘The first part went well. There was only an anchor watch, and they didn’t even raise a shout until our fellows were amongst ’em. No boarding nets, no swivel guns, they almost died of fear.’ He hesitated, sensing the tension around him for the first time. ‘We waited for the jolly boat to come around the point and join us again. When it failed to appear I sent Mr. Booth in the cutter.’ He spread his hands helplessly. ‘With dawn close by, and every minute adding to the chance of discovery, I dared not fire a signal until I had received news of the landing party.’

  Javal nodded grimly. ‘That was well said, Mr. Mears. Some would have left the few to save the many.’

  Bolitho asked, ‘What did your people discover?’

  ‘It had been raining, sir.’ Mears looked at the stern windows, streaked with salt and droplets of spray. ‘As it is now. Booth found the beached jolly boat with its hull stove in and two seamen dead nearby. Another was lying in some dunes. They had all been killed by sword thrust, sir.’ He fumbled inside his stained coat. ‘Mr. Booth found this in the sand. I could not understand it. It is surely an admiral’s sword –’

  He broke off as Bolitho snatched the glittering hilt from him and held it to the windows. The blade was snapped like a carrot halfway from the ornate guard. It was like yesterday. Vice Admiral Sir Lucius Broughton on the splintered quarter-deck of his flagship. Handing his beautiful sword to an astonished Adam Pascoe and saying gruffly, ‘Any damn midshipman who tackles the enemy with a dirk deserves it! Besides, a lieutenant must look the part, eh?’