Flag Captain (42 page)

Lieutenant Bickford said quietly, “I can see
Auriga,
sir.” He lowered a big signal telescope. “She has struck to
Coquette.
” It was like a final taunt at Broughton's unbending determination to recover her.

Broughton looked at Bolitho and said, “I am going below for a moment. You have my authority to put your plan to the test.” He seemed about to add a rider but said savagely, “I wish Draffen was up here to see for himself what his deceit has cost us.”

Bolitho watched him go and then beckoned to Keverne and Tothill. “General signal. Squadron will tack in succession and steer due west.”

Keverne hurried to the rail yelling at the watching seamen.

As pipes shrilled and the men ran to their stations Bolitho watched the signal flags soaring aloft, the colours very bright against the pale sky.

As one acknowledgement after another was reported he said, “Another general, Mr Tothill. Prepare for battle.” He made himself smile at the midshipman's intent expression. “Yes, it seems we will fight this fine morning, so keep a good eye on your people.”

Order had settled over the decks as petty officers checked their watch-bills, and Partridge stood close to the helmsmen in readiness to follow the
Tanais
round and across the wind.

Tothill called, “Acknowledgements close up, sir!”

They were ready.
“Execute!”

As Keverne waited, balanced on his toes to watch first
Zeus
and then
Tanais
labouring round with all their sails in confusion, Bolitho said to him, “Lay her on the starboard tack while I prepare instructions for the other captains.”

“And then, sir?” Keverne kept his eyes on
Tanais.

“You may beat to quarters and clear for action.” He smiled. “And this time you will do it in eight minutes!”

Keverne yelled, “Stand by on the quarterdeck! Man the braces there!”

“Ready aft, sir!”

Bolitho turned at the sound of that voice and saw Pascoe standing by the afterguard at the mizzen braces, his hat pulled over his unruly hair as he squinted into the bright sunlight.

For an instant their eyes met, and Bolitho made to lift his hand to him. But the sudden stab of pain reminded him of his wound and he saw the dismay on the boy's face, as if he too was sharing it with him.

“Helm a'lee! Let go and haul!”

Figures darted in every direction, and groaning under the thrust of wind and tiller the
Euryalus
began to turn, until like a giant tusk her jib boom pointed once again at an enemy.

19 A SHIP OF
W
AR

“A
LTER COURSE
a point to larboard, Mr Partridge.”

Bolitho walked to the lee side to watch the
Zeus
which was almost directly abeam at the head of the other seventy-fours. It had taken less than an hour to put the squadron about and for individual captains to form up in their present divisions, and he was grateful they had had sufficient time for getting to know each other's ways.

“West by south, sir!” Partridge sounded grim.

“Steady as you go.”

Bolitho walked forward to the quarterdeck rail and ran his eye along his command. How much more space and vision to see and think now that
Euryalus
was in the van. With her great courses clewed up and topsails braced round to hold her on a steady starboard tack he could see the enemy like some painted panorama of battle. The ten ships were sailing in an almost perfect line, their approach diagonal to that of the British squadron. To an untrained eye it would appear as if the way ahead was completely sealed by this great line of ships, and even to the experienced onlooker the sight was enough to chill the imagination.

He made himself walk a few paces athwart the silent quarter-deck, darting an occasional glance towards
Zeus
to ensure she was still keeping on station to leeward. Astern of her,
Tanais
and
Valorous
followed at regular intervals, their double lines of guns glinting in the hard sunlight like rows of black teeth.

The
Euryalus
's high poop hid most of the
Impulsive
from view, but he could see her furled topgallants and whipping masthead pendant, and just as easily picture Herrick standing stolidly on his deck, feet apart, with those bright blue eyes watching the flagship.

Keverne asked quietly, “Do you think the Frogs have guessed what we are about, sir?”

Bolitho gauged the distance for the tenth time between the two small divisions. Captain Rattray's
Zeus
was about three cables distant, and he saw a gleam of scarlet as her marines began to climb up to the fighting tops. The best marksmen would be in dire need today.

He replied, “Our divisions are so ill-matched that I hope the French admiral imagines us to be unprepared.”

As well he might, he thought grimly. Five ships in two unequal divisions approaching that unwavering line like huntsmen trotting towards some unbreakable barrier.

He looked once more at his own ship. Keverne had cleared for action in eight minutes in spite of everything else. From the moment the drummer boys had started their nerve-jarring tattoo the seamen and marines had gone to quarters with the intentness of men under sentence of death. Now there was only silence. Only here and there was there any movement. A ship's boy scampering with sand to give the gun crews better grip on the deck. Fittock, the gunner, in his felt slippers making his way once again down to the threatening gloom of the magazine.

Nets were rigged above the decks and chain slings on each yard, and at every hatch an armed marine had been posted to prevent those terrified by the sights of battle from fleeing below to illusionary safety.

How clean and open it all seemed. The boats were either cast adrift or being towed astern, and below the gangways he could see the gun crews, naked to the waist, as they stared at their open ports and waited for bedlam to begin.

And it would not be long. He raised a glass and steadied it upon the leading enemy ship. She was less than two miles away on the larboard bow and therefore almost directly across
Zeus
's line of advance.

She was strangely familiar, but it had taken Partridge to explain the reason. He had said with professional interest, “I knows 'er, sir.
Le Glorieux,
Vice-Admiral Duplay's flagship. Met up with 'er once off Toulon.”

Of course he should have seen it. It was like the one additional twist of fate, for
Le Glorieux
came from the same yard as
Euryalus,
to the same specifications down to the last keel bolt. But for her colouring, the broad scarlet stripes between her gunports, she was an exact twin of his own command.

He shifted the glass slowly to starboard and then held it on the two vessels in the middle of the line. Unlike the rest, they wore the red and yellow colours of Spain, placed for security's sake in the centre where they could follow their admiral without having to display too much initiative. Initiative which had already cost their French allies dearly at St Vincent.

He heard Calvert murmuring to Midshipman Tothill, and when he lowered the glass saw him poring over the signal book, as if giving one last effort to make himself useful. Poor Calvert. If he survived this day, arrest and trial awaited him in England. Draffen's friends would see to that.

Bolitho turned and saw Pascoe standing by the quarterdeck nine-pounders, a hand resting on his hip, and one foot on a bol-lard. The boy did not see him and was staring towards the enemy line.

He said to Keverne, “If possible we will break through by the Spanish ships. It will be the weakest point, if I am any judge.”

Keverne was watching
Zeus.
“And Captain Rattray, sir?”

Bolitho looked at him gravely. “He will act as he sees fit.” He thought of Rattray's heavy, bulldog face and guessed he would need no urging to close with the enemy. Only one thing counted now, that they could separate the French flagship from her consorts long enough to break the line and obtain the advantage of the wind. After that it would be every man for himself.

Vice-Admiral Broughton strode out into the sunlight and nodded curtly to the officers on the quarterdeck.

For a moment longer he looked at the lee division of ships, his eyes clouded with doubt and anxiety. Then he said, “The din of battle I can endure. But the waiting is torture.”

Bolitho watched him thoughtfully. He appeared calmer again. Or was it resignation? The admiral was wearing his beautiful sword, and beneath his coat the scarlet ribbon of the Bath. Was he so despairing that he was even offering himself as target to some French marksman? All at once he felt sorry for Broughton. Recriminations and accusations were pointless now. He was watching his squadron and his proud hopes sailing towards what must seem certain destruction.

He asked, “Will you walk a while, Sir Lucius? I find it helps ease the tension!”

Broughton fell in step beside him without protest, and as they strode slowly up and down Bolitho added quietly, “The centre of the line is the best choice, sir. Two Spanish seventy-fours.”

Broughton nodded. “Yes, I saw them. Astern of them is the second-in-command.” He halted suddenly and snapped, “Where the hell is
Coquette?
”

“She is making good some repairs, sir.
Auriga
too has suffered damage to foremast and mizzen.” He added quietly, “They will not be of much use yet.”

Broughton looked at him for several seconds, his eyes very still. Then he asked, “Will our people fight?” He held up his hand urgently. “I mean
really
fight?”

Bolitho turned away. “Have no fear on that score. I know them, and . . .”

Broughton interrupted, “And they know
you.
”

“Yes, sir.”

When he looked forward again the enemy line had extended itself across either bow, so that it seemed to hide all of the horizon with a wall of sails. At any moment now the French admiral might guess what was happening, in which case they were beaten before they had made even the smallest impression on him. Had they been given more time, or better still the fluidity and independence denied to them by Broughton's rigid demands, they could have sent some meaningless signal to Rattray and the others. It would have made the enemy believe that at any moment now they would tack and engage his line in the same hidebound traditional style still approved by so many. But without previous experiments of that sort, any false signal would throw their meagre resources into terrible and fatal confusion.

Unless . . . He looked at Broughton's strained profile.

“May I suggest a general signal before the one to engage, sir?” He saw a nerve jumping in Broughton's throat, but his eyes were unblinking as he stared at the oncoming ships. He persisted. “From you, sir.”

“Me?” Broughton turned and looked at him with surprise.

“You said earlier that our people know
me,
sir. But this is my ship, and they understand my ways, as I have tried to appreciate theirs.” He gestured towards
Zeus.
“But all these ships are
yours,
and they are depending on you today.”

Broughton shook his head. “I cannot do it.”

“May I speak, sir?” It was Calvert. “The signal should read ‘My trust is in you.'” He flushed as Keverne strode towards him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“By God, Mr Calvert, I never thought you had the imagination!”

Broughton licked his lips. “If you really believe . . .”

Bolitho nodded to Tothill. “I do, sir. Now get that bent on and hoisted immediately. We have little time left.”

He saw the sunlight flashing on glass as several officers on
Zeus
's poop watched the sudden array of flags streaming from
Euryalus
's yards.

But he turned swiftly as the air quaked and shook to a sudden roar of gunfire. The French flagship had fired, the orange flame spurting from gun after gun as she discharged a slow broadside towards the oncoming squadron. With the approach being diagonal, most of the balls were blind, and he saw them ripping through the short wave crests and throwing up water spouts far beyond the lee division. The smoke rolled down from the enemy in a steep brown fog, until only
Zeus
's topmasts were visible.

Broughton was gripping his sword-hilt, his face tight with fixed concentration as another French ship fired and a ball slapped through the fore topsail and shrieked away over the water.

Bolitho said tersely, “
Listen,
sir!” He strode to the admiral's side. “Hear them?”

Faintly above the wind and the dying echo of cannon fire came the sound of cheering, distorted and vague, as if the ships themselves were calling the tune. As word was shouted from gun to gun and deck to deck the
Euryalus
's seamen joined in, their voices suddenly loud and engulfing. Some stood back from the main deck twelve-pounders and waved to Broughton, who still stood like a statue, his face as stiff as his shoulders.

Bolitho said quietly, “You see, sir? They don't ask for much.”

He turned away as Broughton muttered, “God help me!”

More ships were firing now, and some of the balls were flicking across the water close by, and he saw several holes in the
Zeus
's sails as she continued purposefully into the smoke.

He turned as Broughton said firmly, “I am ready. Signal the squadron to engage.” Before he hurried back to the rail he saw that Broughton's eyes were bright with shock or surprise at hearing the cheers. Cheers for a short, trite signal which at the threshold of death could mean so much.

Bolitho shouted, “Make the signal, Mr Tothill!” To Keverne, “Man the braces. We will endeavour to keep station on
Zeus
until the last moment.”

More crashes echoed across the shrinking arrowhead of water, and he felt the deck shudder as some hit home. He saw Meheux walking behind the forward guns, his sword bared as he spoke to some of the crews, his round face completely absorbed.

“Ready, sir!”

Bolitho raised his hand very slowly. “
Steady,
Mr Partridge!” He felt the pain throbbing in his shoulder to mark the rising tension in his blood. His hand sliced down.
“Now!”

The flags vanished from
Euryalus
's yards, and while men threw themselves on the braces and the wheel squealed against the rudder lines he saw the French line changing as if on a great gate, swinging across the bowsprit until
Euryalus
was pointing directly towards it at right-angles.

A quick glance told him
Zeus
was leading her own division in obedience to the signal, her sails flapping violently as more balls screamed through them from the enemy guns. But instead of a converging bunch of ships, the French gunners now had the more slender targets to compete with. End on, their gundecks still silent, the two British lines moved steadily towards them, although because of the gentle turn to starboard
Euryalus
was a good ship's length ahead of
Zeus.

Bolitho gripped the rail as smoke rolled down from the flashing guns. Iron shrieked above the quarterdeck, and here and there a severed line or block fell unheeded on the taut nets.