Charlois raised his glass and said haltingly, 'Your health, Captain.' Then he drained the wine in one quick gulp.
Bolitho eyed him gravely. 'You speak good English.' He hated this waste of time spent in idle remarks, but knew it to be necessary as each summed up the other's strength and weakness.
The officer spread his thick hands. 'I was a prisoner in England in the last war. I was in a castle at Deal.'
'And why do you wish to see me, Lieutenant? Is there some trouble amongst your men?'
The Frenchman bit his lip and glanced quickly around the cabin. Then he lowered his voice and said, 'I have been thinking about our plight, Captain.' He seemed to come to a decision. 'Yours and mine. You have no water for your ships and men. You cannot hold out much longer, is that not so?
Bolitho kept his face impassive. 'If you came out here to tell me this then you have had a wasted journey,. m'sieu!'
Charlois shook his head. 'I regret that I have offended you, Captain. But I am getting old now, and I have outgrown the natural caution of a serving officer.' He smiled at some secret thought. 'But I must rely on your word as a gentleman to repeat nothing of what I am about to say. I have a wife and family in St. Clar and have no wish for them to suffer on my account.’
Before Bolitho could speak he continued quickly, 'I think maybe that you do not realise that my soldiers are not of the true army, eh? They are militia, recruited for the most part from St Clar itself. We have all grown up together. We are simple folk who did not ask for war and revolution, but had to make, as you say, the best of it. The garrison commandant_ was different, he was a true professional.' He shrugged wearily. 'But he died in the fighting.'
Bolitho slid his hands below the desk and gripped his fingers together to control his rising impatience. He asked quietly, 'What are you trying to tell me?'
Charlois dropped his eyes. 'It is said that your Lord 'Ood intends to attack Toulon. There is much feeling there because of the King and his death under the revolution.' He took a deep breath. `Well, Captain, in my small town there is the same feeling!'
Bolitho stood up and walked towards the charts which were spread across the dining table. He knew what the outspoken confession had cost the French officer, what it would mean to his future if it leaked out that he had betrayed his country with words to an English captain.
He said at length, 'How can you be so sure of all this?'
'I have seen the signs.' Charlois sounded sad. 'St. Clar is a small town, no different from a hundred others. We have a few vineyards, a little fishing and coastal trade. Before the Revolution we were slow but content. But this unrest in Toulon and to the east has made compromise impossible. Even now the government is sending an army to crush these idealists for all time. And when that happens they will go further. To fight a war with England our government cannot allow even a small chance of an uprising happening again.'
Bolitho turned and studied him gravely. 'They will come to St. Clar too, is that it?'
Charlois nodded heavily. 'There will be killings and reprisals. Old scores will be paid off in blood. It will be the end for us.'
Bolitho could feel the excitement churning at his insides as he turned the Frenchman's words over in his mind. After all, Lord Hood had indeed implied that the main purpose of taking Cozar was to give an impression of a multi-pronged attack on the French mainland. But even he had not suspected that such an invasion might be welcomed.
Charlois watched him anxiously. 'We could arrange a parley. I know the mayor very well. He is married to my cousin. It would not be difficult.'
'It sounds too easy, m'sieu. My ship would be in danger of attack should your words prove false.' He watched closely for some sign of guilt, but there was only desperation in the man's eyes.
'I have thought about it for many days. You have all my men as prisoners. In St. Clar they have the crew of your sloop Fairfax which we took as a prize here in Cozar. You could parley for an exchange. That is not uncommon, eh? Then if the signs were favourable we could explore the possibility of joining Toulon's fight against the King's murderers!' He was sweating badly, and not merely because of the heat.
Bolitho bit his lip until the pain steadied his racing thoughts. 'Very well.' He shot Charlois a hard glance. 'I would also want water in exchange for the prisoners.'
Charlois staggered to his feet, obviously relieved to be free of his inner burden. 'That would be simple, Captain. This island was to be fully garrisoned in a month or so, and the water lighters are already at St. Clar.'
Bolitho crossed to the door. 'Pass the word for the first lieutenant.' Then he walked back to the desk and eyed the French officer for several seconds.
He said quietly, 'If you have tried to deceive me, m'sieu, you will regret it.'
Quarme entered the cabin. 'Sir?
'I want all the French prisoners stowed aboard within the hour. By that time I will have drafted fresh orders for Captain Ashby, for we will have to sail without him.'
Quarme stared at him. 'Sail, sir?
Bolitho signalled for the waiting guards to escort Charlois from the cabin then he said calmly, 'I want all the boats swung out forthwith. Our people can warp the ship from the anchorage. With luck we will take advantage of some offshore breeze to get under way again.'
Quarme still did not seem able to grasp what was happening.
'But, sir, the hands are too parched and exhausted for that sort of task! Some of them are lying below like dead menl'
"Then stir them, Mr. Quarme, stir them!' He looked through the windows towards the haze-covered hills. 'Break out every last drop of water for them. I want this ship at sea, do. you understand? By tonight I intend to close St. Clar and arrange a parley.' He watched his words causing consternation on Quarme's face.
Almost gently he added, 'It may be the breeze I was telling you about earlier.' Overhead he heard the shrill of pipes and the sounds of the guardboat being pulled clear of the side. 'Before we see another day dawn, Mr. Quarme, we may have had some small achievement. We will either have paved the way for future operations on the mainland, or we will all be prisoners of war.' He smiled openly at Quarme's rigid features. 'Either way we will have water to drink!'
Bolitho walked slowly across the quarterdeck and held his watch close against the shaded binnacle lamp. In the dim glow he saw that the time was exactly half past three in the morning, and less than fifteen minutes since he had last allowed himself a glance at his watch.
He recrossed the deck with the same slow tread, every step a concentrated effort to control his rising sense of urgency and despair. It had been two full hours since the Hyperion had hove to and dropped her jolly boat in the black, undulating water alongside. Two hours of waiting and fretting while the Hyperion had sailed slowly back and forth with the great wedge of land barely two miles abeam. Soon it would be getting lighter, although for the moment the night was as dark as ever. Only the stars remained bright and unmoving, and as he stared upwards through the black tracery of shrouds and rigging it seemed as if some were within feet of the gently spiralling topmasts. They cast a small glow across the topsails, so that against the night sky they appeared ghost-white and vulnerable.
The offshore breeze was holding steady and felt ice cool after the heat of the day, and although the ship was cleared for action most of the gun crews still lolled beside their weapons, exhausted from the agonising haul out of Cozar. In relays they had pulled on their oars, blinded with sweat, their hands raw and blistered as like beasts of burden the ship's boats had warped the Hyperion clear of the anchorage and out to the open water beyond.
Once it had seemed as if the Hyperion was only intent on destroying herself on the shoals by the harbour entrance, and only the extra efforts of the oarsmen, urged on by blows and curses from their petty officers, had pulled her clear. But even that had not been enough. The dazed and gasping seamen had stared hopefully astern, their eyes watching the sails for some sign of life. But the canvas had mocked them, hanging from the yard
s limp and flat, so that it seemed as if the wind would never come.
Sun-dried, exhausted men were barely a team to combat the Hyperion's bulk at the best of times. Her one thousand six hundred-odd tons seemed to play with the puny boats which tugged at her massive bows like so many beetles. And then, even as one of the cutters had fallen away from her station, the oarsmen drooping at their thwarts indifferent to both blows and threats from a frantic midshipman, the sails had given one violeut shiver, and as the men had stared wearily with disbelief, the water around their boats had come alive with small, whipping catspaws.
For the rest of the daylight and deep into the night hours the ship had regained her power from the growing northwesterly and had driven up and around the distant coastline.
Then, as soon as night had closed in around them, they had shortened sail and beaten nearer and nearer to that great slab of deeper darkness, beyond which lay the sheltered port of St. Clar.
Now it was over there abeam, lost beneath the stars and below the rolling bank of hills beyond. There was not a light or beacon, and more than once a nervous lookout had report ed small craft approaching the ship, only to discover they were shadows or some trick of current to pluck the nerves of every man aboard.
Bolitho laid his hands on the quarterdeck rail and stared fixedly into the darkness. He was unable to stop himself going over and over what he had done, and as the minutes dragged past he felt the rising tension of despair. adding to his uncertainties.
He had allowed the French officer, Charlois, to go ashore in the jolly boat to make contact with his friends in St. Clar. The chance of the rough plan succeeding had always been thin, but Bolitho still tortured himself with doubts of what he could have done, of what he should have done to give the scheme even a small hope of success. It was no consolation to know that he still had all the French prisoners aboard. Without water he might just as well surrender to St. Clar, or scuttle the ship within reach of the shore.
He thought too of Lieutenant Inch's excited horse-face when he had told him that he was to take charge of the jolly boat's small party. Inch was a keen enough officer, but he lacked experience for this sort of thing, and Bolitho knew that deep in his heart he had chosen him more because he was the junior lieutenant and therefore the least loss if Charlois chose treachery rather than any desire to parley.
He thought suddenly of Midshipman Seton. It was strange that he had voluntereed to go with inch, and stranger too that Bolitho felt such a sense of loss now that he was gone from the ship. But if Seton had a terrible stammer, he could do something better than anyone else aboard. He could speak fluent French.
Quarme murmued at his side, `Any orders, sir?'
Bolitho squinted his eyes at the distant hump of land and tried to memorise the picture of the chart in his mind. `Lay her on the larboard tack, Mr. Quarme. Full and bye.'
Quarme hesitated. `That will bring us very close inshore, sir.'
Bolitho looked past him. 'Put two good leadsmen in the chains. We must give the jolly boat every chance.'
He heard the men stirring at the braces and the gentle slap of water around the rudder as the helm went over. What was the point? If Inch was already a prisoner he was only prolonging the agony. With the morning sun would come disaster. The end of everything.
From forward came a splash followed by the leadsman's droning chant, 'By th' mark twenty!'
A small figure moved below the nettings, and he saw Midshipman Piper's monkey-like shape standing on tiptoe to peer at the land. It was strange how close he and Seton had become. The cheeky, devil-may-care Piper and the nervous, stammering Seton. But as Bolitho watched the boy's apprehensive movements he knew just how firm that friendship had become.
.. and a quarter less fifteen!' The chant floated back to mock him further. Once around this slab of headland and the water shoaled considerably.
The big wheel creaked at his back and the helmsman intoned, 'Nor' by west, sir! Full an' bye!'
Quarme crossed to his side again. 'If this wind drops away, sir, we'll not be able to beat clear of the headland on the far side of the bay.' He sounded very much on edge.
'I'm as much aware of that as you, Mr. Quarme.' He faced him in the darkness. 'More so, I expect, since it is my responsibility.'
Quarme looked away. 'I'm sorry, sir, but I just thought. ..' He broke off as the leadsman called tonelessly, 'By the mark ten!'
Bolitho rubbed his chin. 'Shoaling.' Just one word, yet it seemed to mark the failure like a crude signature.
He heard himself say, 'We will continue deeper into the bay. By the time we reach the other side the sky will be brightening, and by then . .
He swung round as a voice yelled, 'Boats on the larboard quarter, sir!' As he ran to the nettings the lookout added sharply, 'hree, no four on 'em, sir!'
Bolitho snatched a telescope and swung it across the, nettings, his mind aching with concentration as he stared over the heaving pattern of dark water and reflected stars. Then he saw them, low black shapes outlined by a disturbed pattern of white splashes.
He heard Rooke snap, 'hey're under oars, my God! Big sweeps too by the look of 'em!'
Bolitho shut the glass and handed it to Midshipman Caswell. But before he could speak he heard Quarme's voice right by his ear, sharp and insistent, and only barely controlled.
'Boats under sweeps, sir! They'll be oared galleys. My God, I've seen them in the Indies. A big gun right in the bow and 98
able to row round under a ship's counter and pound her to boxwood without her being able to turn fast enough to hit back!'
His voice must have carried to the other side of the quarterdeck and Bolitho saw several faces turned towards him and heard a sudden buzz of alarm.
`Control your voice, Mr. Quarme! Do you want our people to panic?'
But Quarme seemed unable to stop himself. 'I knew this would happen! You wouldn't listen! You don't care about anything but your own glory!' He was sobbing now, as if he neither knew nor cared what he was saying.
Bolitho said harshly, `Keep silent, man! Get a grip on yourself!'
Rooke's voice cut through the darkness like a knife. 'I heard that, sir!' He seemed to have forgotten about the approaching boats. About everything but the fact that by speaking up he had killed Quarme's career as surely as if he had shot him with a pistol.
Quarme turned and stared at him, his body suddenly limp and swaying with the deck. like a drunken man.
It was a tableau. An unmoving collection of statues, none of whom could control events any more.
Gossett, massive and unmoving beside the wheel. The gunners by the quarterdeck nine-pounders, crouching and watchftd like disturbed animals. Caswell and Piper too shocked to move or speak, and Rooke by the rail, hands on hips, head on one side, his face pale against the night sky.
As if from the sea itself a voice suddenly shattered the silence. 'Hyperion ahoy! Permission to board!'
Bolitho looked away. It was Lieutenant Inch. Quietly he said, 'Heave to, if you please, and signal Mr. Inch's boat alongside. Open the boarding nets for him, but watch the other craft in case of tricks.'
Quarme broke from his trance and made as if to carry out the orders, his movements automatic, the products of discipline and training.
Bolitho's words halted him in his tracks. 'You are relieved, Mr. Quarme. Go to your quarters.' To Rooke he added, 'Carry on, if you please.'
Quarme said, 'I only meant to say ..: Then he turned on his heel and walked to the ladder, the men parting to let him pass. Ashamed for him, yet unable to take their eyes from his misery.
Bolitho-walked aft to the poop ladder and stood for several long minutes while his anger and disappointment gave way to dull acceptance. If Rooke had stayed quiet he might have been able to overlook Quarme's insubordination. If Quarme had retained his self-control for just a moment longer, inch's unexpected return -might have saved him. But in his heart he also knew that he would never have been able to trust Quarme again, no matter what Rooke had sa
id or done. Quarme had been afraid, and later his fear might have cost lives other than his own. Bolitho knew that every man but an idiot was afraid. But showing it was unforgivable.
Lieutenant Inch clattered up the quarterdeck ladder and groped his way breathlessly past the silent onlookers. 'I'm back, sirl' His long face was split in an excited grin. 'We found the mayor of St. Clar. He's coming up the side now.'
`And those other boats, Mr. Inch, what are they?'
Inch became aware of the heaviness in Bolitho's tone and of the tension around him. He swallowed hard. 'I brought the water lighters, sir. I thought it would save time.'
Bolitho stared at him impassively. 'Save time?' He thought of Quarme below in his private prison. Of Rooke and all the others who depended on him, right or wrong.
Inch nodded awkwardly. 'Aye, sir. They were all jolly decent about it really ...' He looked down aghast as something long and dark fell from his coat and rolled to Bolitho's feet.
'And what is ,that, Mr. Inch? Bolitho could feel the tension of his mind like a vise.
Inch said in a small voice, 'A loaf of fresh bread, sir.'
From the darkness a voice broke into a helpless burst of laughter. It was taken up by the midshipmen and by the men at the guns, some of whom had not heard a word. It was relief, despair and gratitude all mixed together.
Bolitho said slowly, 'Very well, Mr. Inch. You have done a good piece of work tonight.' He felt the same nervous excitement plucking his words like strings. 'Now pick up your loaf and attend to your duties.'
As Inch fled past the chuckling seamen he added, 'Prepare to anchor, Mr. Rooke. As the fifth lieutenant has just told us, it will save time!'
Form Line Of Battle! Page 11