Alexander Kent - Signal-Close Action!

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.