Signal-Close Action!

2. Small Beginning

BOLITHO moved restlessly around his day cabin, one hand reaching out to touch objects not yet familiar. Around and above him the Lysander's seventeen hundred tons of timbers and spars, artillery and men creaked and groaned to the pressure of a rising north-westerly wind.

He had to forcibly restrain himself from peering from one or other of the quarter windows to see how the rest of his squadron were getting on with preparations for weighing. He heard occasional shouts and the thump of bare feet as seamen raced in all directions to complete last minute tasks, and he could picture Herrick as he, too, fretted over each delay. It was all Bolitho could do to leave Herrick alone on the quarterdeck.

As a captain, Bolitho had been made to take his ships to sea in every sort of condition. From a lively sloop to the towering three-decker Euryalus in which he had been flag captain he had experienced the anxious moments before the anchor broke from the sea bed.

For Herrick it would be much the same, if not worse. To look at a captain on his own quarterdeck, remote and aloof from the bustle and confusion all around him, protected from criticism by his authority and his gleaming epaulettes, any idler might think he was beyond ordinary fears and feelings.

Bolitho had thought much in that way when he had been a junior lieutenant, or for that matter a midshipman. A captain had been a sort of god. He had lived an unreachable existence I beyond his cabin bulkhead, and had but to scowl to have every officer and seaman quaking.

But now, like Herrick, he knew differently. The greater the responsibility the greater the honour. Equally, you had I further to fall from grace if things went badly.

Allday came into the cabin and rubbed his large hands.

There were droplets of spray on his blue jacket, and he had a kind of wildness in his eyes. He too, was feeling it. Eager to quit the land again. Like a hunter who goes to pit his strength against the unknown. Needing to do it, but never knowing if each time was the last.

The coxswain grinned. "They"re doing well, sir. I’ve just been up to the boat tier to watch over your barge. There's a fair breeze from the nor"-west. The squadron will make a goodly sight when "we beat clear of the Rock."

Bolitho tensed, his head to one side as something clattered and dragged along the deck above. A voice bellowed harshly, "Belay that line, you bugger!"

He bit his lip, imagining all manner of things going wrong. Allday watched him thoughtfully. "Cap"n Herrick will see us clear, sir."

"I know." He nodded as if to seal the conviction. "I know. " "He’ll not be wanting to let you down."

Allday removed the sword from its rack on the bulkhead and waited for Bolitho to lift his arms while he buckled it round his waist.

He said softly, 'same old sword, sir." He touched the worn hilt. "We’ve come a few leagues together."

Bolitho looked at him gravely. "Aye." He let his fingers run over the sword's guard. "And I dare say it will-outlast the both of us."

Allday grinned hugely. "That's better, sir! You sound just like a flag officer!"

The door opened silently and Herrick stepped into the cabin, his hat under One arm.

"The squadron is ready to weigh, sir." He sounded very calm. "Anchors hove short."

"Very well, Captain Herrick." He kept his tone formal. "I will come up directly. "

Herrick hurried out and his footsteps could be heard clattering quickly up the ladder to the poop above the stern cabin. He would be taking into" account the position of other shipping, which mercifully was sparse. The strength of the wind and the nearness of shoals. He would be aware that there were more eyes than Bolitho's on him this forenoon. The other captains who had appeared so relaxed and jovial around the cabin table last night at dinner would be gauging his skill as a " sailor, measuring it in Lysander's sail drill, the smartness of getting under way. There would be glasses trained on the ships from the garrison, too, and from the enemy defences at Algeciras.

Bolitho said quietly, "I am ready, Allday."

Allday hung back below the cabin skylight and gestured above him. "Up there, sir."

Bolitho stood beside him and stared up towards the black mass of rigging, and beyond it to the towering main mast with its whipping broad pendant at the truck.

"Yes, I see it."

Allday studied him gravely. "That pendant is yours by right, sir. There's many watching it this day who"d have it off you if they had the chance. But while it flies, they will obey. So leave the worrying to others, sir. You’ve got fatter-fish to Cook."

" Bolitho faced him with surprise. "Admiral Beauchamp said much the same. If not in the same words, then in the I" same sense." He slapped Allday's arm. "And thank you."

As he strode beneath the poop and out past the big double wheel he was very conscious of the watching men all around him. Once on the quarterdeck, with the wind throwing beads of spray above the nettings and gangway, he saw the press of figures at halliards and braces, the scarlet coats of the marines in the afterguard where they waited to add their weight to that of the seamen.

"Attention on the quarterdeck!"

That would be Gilchrist, the first lieutenant, and Herrick's right hand man. Tall and lean like a bean pole, with a permanent frown, he looked much like a disapproving schoolmaster.

Beyond him were some of the lieutenants, the midshipman "of the watch and numerous other nameless faces.

Bolitho touched his hat to the deck at large, comparing, despite his determination to avoid it, all this with what he had known and loved as a captain. He would have made certain that he had met and memorised the features and name of every officer aboard just as soon as was possible. The first lieutenant especially. He glanced at Herrick's stocky figure by the quarterdeck rail and wondered if he, too, was making a I comparison.

A voice at Bolitho's elbow said thickly, "A fine day, sir, if I may make so bold. "

Bolitho turned and saw a broad, red-faced lump of a man who seemed to fill the space of three. Not so much in height but in beam and depth, he stood with his fat legs straddled as if for a sudden gale, his heavy; mournful features studying Bolitho with unmasked curiosity.

He added, "I’m Grubb, sir. Sailing master."

Bolitho smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Grubb."

He should have known. There had been many tales lingering in the ship about Ben Grubb, Lysander's master at St. Vincent. He had, it was said, played on a tin whistle as the seventy-four had nudged through the enemy formation and after the marine drummer boys had been cut down by grapeshot.

He looked over.Grubb's vast untidy shape and decided it was probably true. He was an odd mixture. His features were like the rest of him. Wrecked by countless winds and storms, the damage well aided by heavy drinking. There was something rather fearsome about him, too. And from now on he would be one of the most valuable men in the squadron.

Grubb took a watch the size of an apple from one pocket and examined it before saying. "Bout now, I’d suggest, sir. "Bolitho nodded and turned towards Herrick. He saw Pascoe and one of the midshipmen ready and waiting with the signal party, a petty officer writing on his slate.

"Very well, Captain. We will get the squadron underway, if you please. "

He made himself walk slowly across the littered deck, trying not to look down at the various blocks and tackles which the quarterdeck division had been preparing since dawn. It would be a splendid sight for the Lysander's people to see him catch his toe and pitch headlong amongst them. Strangely enough, the dreadful picture helped to steady him, and he was able to concentrate on the other ships as one by one the flags soared up to the yards to acknowledge Herrick's signal "Up anchor".

He heard a midshipman call, "All acknowledged, sir!" Then Pascoe's voice, quivering slightly to betray his own excitement. 'stand by on the quarterdeck!"

Gilchrist's feet thudded across the planking, and even through his speaking trumpet his tone was disapproving. "Mr. Yeo, have more hands put to the capstan bars! I want no delays!"

Bolitho did not turn. Yeo was the boatswain. He would meet him in due course. He saw the little Harebell rolling drunkenly, her yards alive with busy seamen. Her cable was up and down, and he thought he saw Inch's scarecrow figure by the quarterdeck rail, one arm pointing across the countless white cat's-paws which moved down with the wind and turned the anchorage into a miniature sea.

Bolitho took a telescope from the midshipman of the watch. As he trained it towards the other two-deckers he asked, "And what is your name?"

The midshipman was staring at him, almost transfixed. 'saxby, sir."

Bolitho watched the seamen dashing aft along Nicator's gangways. Saxby was about thirteen. Round-faced and innocent looking. His otherwise pleasant appearance was spoiled when he opened his mouth as both his front teeth were missing.

He steadied the glass and shut Gilchrist's metallic voice from his mind. It was all taking far too long. Caution was one thing. This amounted to a nervous crawl.

He snapped, "There is some delay, Captain Herrick."

“Sir?" Herrick sounded off guard.

"Execute the signal, if you please." He hated doing it, but there was more at stake than personal feelings.

He heard the bark of orders, the muffled shouts of the topmen as they clawed along the vibrating yards.

Then, as the signal was hauled down at the rush, the cry echoed aft from the forecastle, "Anchor's aweigh!"

Lysander's broad hull dipped heavily to one side, as with her anchor swinging free and the wind already banging and thundering in her released topsails she started to swing down across the choppy wavelets.

"Man the braces there!"

Feet skidded on damp planking, arid more men ran wildly from the capstan to lend a hand.

One by one, the three ships of the line went about like. ponderous beasts, while further to seaward the frigate Buzzard and Inch's sloop were already spreading more sail to stand clear of their big consorts.

Somebody cried out sharply, and Bolitho heard the crack of a starter across a man's naked back.

High above the deck the topmen were racing each other in their efforts to beat the rest of the squadron as Herrick shouted, "Get the forecourse on her, Mr. Gilchrist!" He added sternly, "And tell that bosun's mate to be less free with his rope's-end, or I will know the reason!"

Bolitho walked to the opposite side and watched as Osiris tacked heavily astern of the Nicator. She made a fine sight. Her topsails set and hard-bellied to the wind, she was heeling so steeply that her bow wave was almost up to the lower gun ports. Her forecourse and then mainsail flapped and then filled as one, so that in the hard sunlight they looked like white metal.

He said, "Nicator is falling astern. Signal her to make more sail."

It might be that Captain Probyn was too busy to notice that his ship was already badly out of line with the other seventy- fours. Equally, he could be testing his commodore's mettle and powers of observation.

The signal midshipman called, "Nicator's acknowledged, sir. "

Probyn's topmen were already setting the fore topgallant sail. It was just a bit too quick, Bolitho decided. Probyn was testing him.

Grubb was peering at the sails overhead, the compass and his helmsmen, and all without apparently shifting a muscle. Only his eyes moved, swivelling up and down, forward and abeam, like lanterns in a rough scarlet cliff.

Within an hour the squadron was free of the approaches, the three ships of the line making a proud sight under reduced canvas as they stood clear of the land. To leeward, their pyramids of pale canvas already blurred in haze, Buzzard and Harebell tacked busily under all possible sail to take station well ahead of their commodore.

Herrick called, "Very well, Mr. Grubb. Steer east-sou"-east."

Then he crossed to the nettings where Bolitho stood with one foot on the truck of a quarterdeck nine-pounder.

Bolitho looked at him and gave a quiet-smile. "Well, Thomas, how does it feel now?"

Herrick's face lost some of its lines. It was like seeing a cloud moving away, Bolitho thought.

Herrick replied, "Better, sir." He let out a deep breath. "A whole span better!"

Bolitho shaded his eyes to look towards the land. There were probably couriers already galloping along a coast road even at this very minute. But there was no point in slipping like poachers through the GibraltarStrait under cover of darkness. He had his orders, but the Earl of St. Vincent had

. made it very clear it was up to him how he interpreted and executed them. It would do no harm for the enemy to know a British force was once more abroad in the Mediterranean.

He let his gaze move up to the masthead, to the big dovetailed flag which was now as stiff as a plank in the steady wind. His flag.

He looked along the crowded decks at the scurrying seamen, the great coils of rope and lashings which to any landsman would seem like a hopeless tangle. And still further to the beakhead, beneath which he could just see one of the Spartan general's massive shoulders. Inch's sloop was a mere sliver of white against the horizon haze, leading the squadron. He smiled to himself. As he had once done in his own first command at the Chesapeake. Another ship. Another war.

Herrick asked; "Do you have any instructions, sir?"

He looked at him, seeing Pascoe watching from the lee rail, one hand on his hip

"The ship is yours, Thomas." He made to turn away and added, "What did you have in mind?"

"I should like to exercise the gun crews." Herrick tried to relax. "I am satisfied with the sail drill at present."

Bolitho smiled. 'so be it."

He realised that Gilchrist was hovering close by and added, "I will be in my cabin."

As he walked towards the wheel he heard Gilchrist say coldly, "I have two men for punishment. Slackness on duty, and insolent to a bosun's mate."

Bolitho hesitated. Floggings at this early stage would be bad enough under any conditions. With the little squadron standing out to sea where almost any sail might be a Frenchman or a Spaniard, it was hardly in keeping with their proud mission.

He heard Herrick say something and Gilchrist's quick retort, "His word is good enough for me, sir!"

Bolitho strode aft beneath the thick deck beams. He must not interfere.

He passed the marine sentry by his cabin door and frowned. Not yet, anyway.

A full day after leaving Gibraltar the promise of a fast passage to the Gulf of Lions received a setback. Perverse as ever, the wind dropped away to a faint breeze, so that even with all available canvas set to her yards the Lysander was barely able to command three knots.

The squadron was scattered from its original formation, and each of the two-deckers moved with little enthusiasm above her own perfect reflection.

Bolitho had sent the frigate to scout far ahead of the main force, and as he paced restlessly back and forth across the poop deck he was thankful for taking that one small precaution. Captain Javal would be able to take advantage of the inshore winds, and it was to be hoped he would use them to some purpose. He smiled despite his impatience. Both he and Farquhar were still frigate captains at heart, and the thought of Javal's freedom, out of reach from any signal, was enough to rouse the envy of a man tied to a ponderous seventy-four.

He heard Herrick speaking with his first lieutenant and thought suddenly of the flogging on the previous afternoon. The usual brutal ritual of administering punishment had aroused little excitement amongst the assembled company. But as Bolitho had watched from the poop as Herrick had read briefly from the Articles of War he had imagined he had seen something like triumph on Lieutenant Gilchrist's narrow face.

He had expected Herrick to take Gilchrist aside and warn him of the dangers of unnecessary punishment. God alone knew that the penalties for thoughtless hardship could be harsher than the actual event. The mutinies at Spithead and the Nore should have been warning enough even for a blind man.

But as he paused to glance down at the quarterdeck he could see little between the two officers other than what you might expect under normal circumstances.

Gilchrist touched his hat and then walked forward along the weather gangway, his shoes clicking on the planking as he strode in the strange bouncing manner which Bolitho had already noticed.

After a moment he ran lightly down the larboard ladder and joined Herrick at the weather nettings.

He said, "A snail's pace. I wish to heaven we could find that wind again."

Herrick watched him warily. "Lysander's copper is clean, sir. And I have checked each sail myself and there is nothing we could do to gain even half a knot."

Bolitho turned, surprised at his tone. "That was not a criticism, Thomas. I know a captain can do many things, but controlling the elements is not one of them."

Herrick forced a smile. "I am sorry, sir. But I have been feeling it badly. So much is expected of us. If we fail before we have begun…" He shrugged. "A whole fleet may suffer later. "

Bolitho stood up on some bollards and steadied himself against the nettings while he peered across the quarter to where Nicator was steering lethargically on the same larboard tack. Her topsails were barely filling, and her masthead pendant lifted only occasionally against the empty sky.

Of the land there was no sign, although the lookouts, clinging like tiny monkeys high above the deck, would be able to see it as a purple blur. The southern shore of Spain, he shivered in spite of the clammy heat, remembering the other times he had come this way. He wondered why Herrick was being so evasive. It was so unlike him to concern himself with what might happen because of "maybes". Again that nagging doubt. Was it because he was feeling his responsibility as too heavy a burden?

He said without turning, "Your senior, Thomas. What do you know of him?"

Herrick sounded guarded. "Mr. Gilchrist? He's competent in his duties. He was in Lysander as second lieutenant when she fought at St. Vincent."

Bolitho bit his lip. He was angry with himself for being unable to hold his silence for more than a day at sea. More than that, he was hurt in a" way he could not explain. Thomas Herrick was a friend, and over the years when they had fought and almost died in one battle after another, had endured thirst and fever, fear and despair, he had never felt such a gulf between them.

He said, "I did not ask about his appointments!" He had not meant it to sound so blunt. "I want to know about the man!"

"I have no complaints, sir. He is a good seaman. "

"And that is enough?"

"It has to be, sir." Herrick was watching him with some- thing like desperation. "It's all I know."

Bolitho stepped down and took out his watch. "I see."

"Look here, sir." Herrick moved his hands vaguely. "Things change. As change they must. I feel so marooned from my ship and people. Whenever I try to rouse the old style of things I become entangled with the affairs of the squadron. Most of my wardroom, are young lieutenants, and some have never heard a gun fired in anger. Young Pascoe, the most junior lieutenant aboard, has seen more action than they have." He was speaking quickly, unable to check the sudden flow of words. "I’ve excellent warrant officers, some of the best I’ve sailed with. But you know how it is, sir, the word has to come from aft, it must"

Bolitho studied him impassively. He wanted to take Herrick aside. To the cabin or a place beyond the scope of watching eyes. To tell him he understood. But then their roles would be as before. Bolitho thinking of a ship's routine and crowded world between decks and Herrick waiting to put his thoughts into deeds like the excellent subordinate he had always been.

He made himself say, "Yes, it must be so. A ship relies on her captain. As I do."

Herrick sighed. "I had to speak-"

Bolitho added slowly, "I did not agree to your appointment because of our friendship. But because I thought you were the most fitting man for the task." He saw his words hitting Herrick's face like blows and continued, "I have not changed my mind about that. "

From the comer of his eye he saw the master's vast bulk surrounded by serious-faced midshipmen as they gathered for the noon ritual of using their sextants to estimate the ship's position. By the rail Lieutenant Fitz-Clarence, the officer of the watch, was making a convincing show of studying the men working above on the main yard, but the stiffness of his shoulders betrayed that he was also trying to hear what his two superiors were discussing.

Bolitho said, 'so let's have no more gloom, eh? There’ll be enough to fret about if we close with an enemy. That has not changed either. "

Herrick stepped back a pace. "Aye, sir." His face was grim. "I am sorry if I disappoint you." He watched as Bolitho returned to the poop ladder before saying quietly, "I will endeavour not to do so again."

Bolitho strode right aft to the taffrail and clasped the gilded scroll work with sudden despair. Try as he might he seemed unable to meet Herrick, to cross the bridge between them. "Deck thar!" The lookout's hoarse cry made him start. "Harebell's signallin"!"

Bolitho hurried to the poop rail and checked himself, fretting until Fitz-Clarence, Lysander's second lieutenant, came out of his thoughts to shout, "Aloft with your glass, Mr. Faulkner! I want that signal, and I want it now!"

The midshipman of the watch, who seconds earlier had been drowsing by the nettings, congratulating himself on being spared Mr. Grubb's formidable instruction in the intricacies of navigation, fled to the lee shrouds and began to climb rapidly towards the maintop.

Fitz-Clarence surveyed his progress, hands on hips, his elegant head thrown back as if he expected the midshipman to slip and fall. The lieutenant seemed to like striking poses. He was very smart, even dapper, and what he lacked in height he obviously tried to replace with a constant show of authority.

Herrick stood by his elbow, hands behind him. Bolitho noticed that the hands were clasping and unclasping, making a lie of his outward calm.

Eventually the boy's shrill voice floated down to them. "From Harebell, sir! Buzzard in sight to the nor"-east!" Bolitho thrust his hands into his pockets, his fingers gripping his watch to steady his sudden anxiety.

Captain Javal was retracing his course to rejoin the squadron. He must have sighted something either too powerful to deal with or to warn his commodore that the enemy were even now giving chase.

He saw Herrick hurry to the ladder, and seconds later he joined him at the rail.

Bolitho said, 'signal the squadron to close on the flagship. We will shorten sail directly to make their task easier."

Herrick stared astern, his gaze very clear in the reflected glare. He said with surprising bitterness, "Osiris is already gaining, sir. Captain Farquhar must have eyes like a cat."

Bolitho watched him in silence. Reading Herrick's mind as if he had shouted it aloud. He knew that if Farquhar was here as flag captain there would have been no hesitation. No need for the commodore to suggest the obvious.

Herrick touched his hat and returned to the ladder. But Gilchrist was already on the quarterdeck, his speaking trumpet in his hand as he snapped, "Bosun's mate! Pipe all hands to shorten sail! Take the name of the last man aloft!"

He turned to look at Herrick, adding, "Council of war, sir?" It sounded like a challenge.

Herrick nodded. "Aye, Mr. Gilchrist." He hesitated. "Captains repair on board."

Bolitho looked away, realising that he had been willing Herrick to speak out. To silence Gilchrist's arrogance once and for all.

The hands came hurrying from their work above and below in answer to the shrill of calls, barely glancing round as they ran to their stations for shortening sail. Bolitho saw Pascoe buttoning his coat as he followed his own men to the quarterdeck, touching his hat to Gilchrist, who responded with, "Take a firm hand of your people, Mr. Pascoe."

Pascoe looked at him questioningly, his eyes flashing in the sunlight. Then he nodded. "I will, sir."

"By heaven you will indeed!" Gilchrist's voice made several seamen pause to stare. "I’ll have no favourites in my ship!"

Pascoe glanced briefly at Bolitho on the poop and then turned on his heel, his seamen closing around him like a protective barrier. Bolitho looked at Herrick. But he was on the weather side, withdrawn from all of them.

He relaxed very slowly. Gilchrist had made his play openly but too soon. He had displayed to his commodore that he would expect to be upheld by him even against his own nephew. Gilchrist was a remarkable man. There was a lot more to him than Herrick recognised or understood. No mere lieutenant would dare to speak as he had done at such short acquaintance. No amount of personal influence could save a lieutenant from a flag officer, even a mere commodore, should the latter choose to use his authority to his own ends. He had never sailed with Gilchrist before, nor had he even met him. But Lysander's first lieutenant knew a great deal about him, nonetheless. Knew enough to understand that Bolitho would never use personal ties to show favouritism. But for what purpose?

He walked to the opposite side of the deck, feeling the sudden heat on his face as the great main course was brailed up to the yard, allowing the glare to enfold the deck like a dying fire.

And from whom was Gilchrist drawing such confidence?

He turned to watch the other two-deckers, overhauling steadily, and moving into a short, uneven line. Farquhar? Was he so eager for promotion that he had gained an ally for just that reason? He certainly had both influence and the funds to tempt a man. Or was it Probyn? From what he had seen of that one it seemed unlikely. He was lucky to hold a command in this squadron at all, let alone risk his good name for spite. He thought of Herrick. Impossible.

Allday appeared on the poop deck and touched his forehead.

"It’ll be an hour or so afore Buzzard's up to the squadron, sir. "He looked meaningly at the open skylight. "Your servant has cooled some wine in the bilge for you."

Bolitho hardly heard him.

"I hope Javal brings us good news."

Allday studied him, momentarily taken aback. It was not like Bolitho to speak so openly about his thoughts. He must be worried about something. To Allday it seemed impossible that Bolitho should be troubled about the squadron's affairs, for in his eyes he could do almost anything. Nor about the dark-eyed Catherine Pareja back there in London. There had been talk in plenty, but that had probably been born of envy, he thought. God knows she was a fine looking woman and did not give a damn for what people might say about such "goings-on". One thing was certain, she was responsible for Bolitho's recovery from his wound after their last visit to this sea. But that was over and past. It was unlikely they would meet again.

So what then? Lieutenant Pascoe? He grinned. He was a lively young devil. Very like his uncle, and the same as some of the faces in the portraits Allday had seen at the old house in Falmouth.

He started as Bolitho said sharply, "The wine will be red-hot by the time you have decided to stand clear of the companion way!"

Allday stood aside feeling slightly better. He waited until he heard Bolitho speaking with Ozzard, the cabin. servant, through the open skylight, and then sauntered down to the quarterdeck where the afterguard were still busily making up halliards and securing the braces after trimming the sails.

Pascoe shook his head. "Advantage of you? When that day comes Bonaparte will be crowned King of England!" Allday grinned. "Now then, Mr. Pascoe, it's not fair to take advantage of a poor sailorman!"

Pascoe shook his head. "Advantage of you? When that day comes Bonaparte will be crowned King of England!" Gilchrist's shadow fell between them.

"I believe that you have been given extra duties, Mr. Pascoe?" He stared at him flatly. "By the captain?"

"Yes, sir." Pascoe regarded him without expression.

"Then be so good as to get on with your tasks, Mr. Pascoe." He glanced at Allday. "And not waste time with the commodore's coxswain." He tapped one foot gently on the deck. "A good seaman no doubt, but hardly fitting company for a King's officer, eh?"

Allday saw the sudden flash of anger in the youth's eyes and said hastily, "My fault, sir."

Gilchrist's mouth twisted very slightly. "Really. I do not recall asking for the opinion of a common seaman. I am not accustomed to passing the time with-"

They all turned as Bolitho appeared beside the wheel. He said harshly, "In that case, Mr. Gilchrist, I would be obliged if you would take a glance at the weather forebrace and attend to it, instead of, what was it you said? Passing the time in idle gossip!"

Gilchrist opened and shut his mouth like a landed fish… Then he said, "At once, sir."

Herrick appeared by the rail. "Is something wrong, sir?" Bolitho looked past them, his eyes angry. "Very, Captain. And when I discover what it is I will be glad to let you know. " He" glared at the others. "All of you!"

'show me again on the chart."

Bolitho stood beside the cabin table as Javal leaned across it. The other captains waited in silence, their bodies swaying while Lysander lifted and dipped heavily in irregular troughs.

Javal explained, 'sighted her at first light, sir." His tanned fingers cradled the Spanish coastline as if to trap what he had seen. 'small vessel. Schooner most like." He glanced calmly at Bolitho, his greasy hair still showing droplets of spray as.evidence of the haste with which he had been pulled to the flagship by his boat's crew. "I expect her master took sight of Buzzard and thought prudence to be more use than valour."

Farquhar did not try to hide his disappointment. "A schooner, you say? God damn it, Javal, I’d hardly think it proper to run for the squadron because of a mere toy!"

Javal ignored him, his dark eyes still on Bolitho. "I have good men for lookouts. I reward "em from my pocket if they do their work to my satisfaction. I find that more profitable than flogging "em for failing in their vigilance." His eyes seemed to flicker towards Osiris's captain. "Unlike some."

Herrick stepped nearer, as if to stop a flare-up of tempers.

"Then tell us, Javal. My sailing master assures me that a wind is close by, and I’ve little room for passengers. Especially the squadron's captains."

Javal showed his teeth. Like the man, they were jagged.

She was running with the wind and had all canvas spread. Yet she was making precious little headway. " He looked at Bolitho. 'strange for a Mediterranean schooner, I’d have thought, sir?"

Bolitho leaned above the chart, his mind.going back and forth over Javal's report. With Buzzard and Harebell sweeping ahead and to windward of the squadron it was unlikely they would have failed to sight the schooner had she over- reached them along the coast.

He saw Javal's strong fingers touch a point on the chart. Almost to himself he said, "Out of Malaga, you think?"

Javal nodded. "Almost certain, sir. And heading to the east"rd. In my opinion she’ll remain at anchor here," he tapped the chart again, "until nightfall, or such time as she believes her way is safe."

Bolitho walked quickly to the stern windows and watched the slow caress of wind over the blue water. Here and there, just the merest dab of white foam. Grubb was right. The wind was returning as he had prophesied.

Captain Probyn said thickly, "This damn schooner might be anything at all. Or nothing. I agree with Farquhar, there's no.point in-"

He turned as Farquhar strode to Bolitho's side, his hand- some features suddenly eager.

"I think there is a point after all." Farquhar watched Bolitho's profile. "The Dons have an arsenal at Malaga, I believe? A great foundry for artillery?"

Bolitho smiled slightly, his eyes searching. "Yes. I could be mistaken, as could Captain Javal's lookouts, but a coastal schooner makes good speed, unless well laden."

He returned to the table, the others crowding on either side of him.

"The Dons will wish to show their ally they can help in any future campaign against us. Bonaparte needs armaments of every kind, and the waters around Malaga dictate that small ships be used to carry just such weapons." He straightened his shoulders, feeling the wound beneath his coat like a bum. "It is a small beginning, but it is sooner than} had hoped. We will close the land at dusk and cut her out. At best we may gain information. At worst will seize another vessel for the squadron, eh?" He could not contain his smile of excitement. It was like a tonic. "Does anyone not agree?"

Probyn shook his head, his features still brooding over Farquhar's change of heart.

Javal said, "I know the bay where she is anchored." He was thinking aloud. "After dark we should be able to take her with little trouble."

Bolitho could sense them waiting for his next words. He said, "You will take charge, Captain Javal. I will make a" signal to Harebell to assume your duties until this affair is settled." He looked at Herrick. "I will transfer to Buzzard with some of our own people, say twenty or so good hands. Seamen, not marines. I want no boots and bayonets for this venture." He smiled at Javal. "I trust you will agree to that"?"

Javal gave a wolfish grin. "Willingly!"

Herrick asked quietly, "And the squadron, sir?"

"I will give you your orders." He said it deliberately, excluding the others. Showing Probyn and Farquhar where his trust lay. "You can stand closer inshore tomorrow, if you feel it prudent. If not, we will make a rendezvous to fit in with Captain Javal's plan of attack."

He glanced quickly around their faces. Farquhar, cool and expressionless. But his fingers tapping a little tattoo on the table betrayed his true feelings. Thinking perhaps that he could do the work better than Javal. Better than Herrick.

Probyn, his heavy face lined with doubt, watching Javal as if to discover something. Considering maybe the extent of Javal's prize money if he succeeded in taking the schooner, or what would become of the squadron if Buzzard and the commodore came to grief.

And Herrick? He was never any use at hiding his doubts.

His face was set with worry, his eyes almost hidden in a frown as he peered at the chart, seeing perhaps the whole venture laid in bloody ruins.

There was no such anxiety troubling Javal.

"Then I suggest we make a start, sir. "He rubbed his hands. "Or the bird may quit the coop."

If he was feeling any dismay at being accompanied by his commodore he was concealing it admirably, Bolitho thought.

He replied, "Yes. Return to your ships. My flag captain will make known the final orders by signal. "He lowered his voice. "I wish to make one thing clear. The squadron will stay together. I want no foolhardy risks taken, but if an opportunity presents itself I want no hesitation either."

They hurried from the cabin and he added slowly, "Pass the word, Thomas. Some volunteers and a boat to ferry them to Buzzard without delay. Send Allday to manage it, if you will." He looked up, seeing the same wretchedness on Herrick's face. "Well?"

Herrick said, "Must you go, sir? Let me take charge of the attack. "

Bolitho watched him. He was more afraid of controlling the squadron than he was of the raid. Of being killed even.

"No. Javal is a hard man. And two captains in one ship are never close to success. Rest easy, man, I have no wish to end up dead, or rotting in a Spanish prison. But we must make a beginning. Show our people that we can lead as well as we can command their daily lives." He reached out impetuously and touched his arm. It was as stiff as a teak rail. "It applies to the pair of us, as well you know."

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 quarterdeck 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’tyou?"

Allday grinned, suddenly reassured.

"And that's no error, Mr. Pascoe!"