Signal, Close Action!

by Alexander Kent

  Later, as the calls trilled and the marines banged their muskets to the present, Herrick watched Farquhar’s handsome face for some indication. But there was nothing, beyond a slight smile at the corners of his mouth.

  He snapped, ‘Cabin.’ And strode past Herrick with barely a glance at the assembled marines.

  In the cabin he turned and faced Herrick.

  ‘Harebell has brought despatches from Gibraltar.” He darted a glance around the cabin. ‘Some wine would not come amiss.’

  Herrick asked, ‘Then there is no news of the commodore?’

  Farquhar stared at him. ‘Did I say there was?’ He shrugged. ‘Really, Thomas, you are the most stubborn of men!’

  ‘I thought perhaps that Harebell might have sighted . . .’

  ‘Commander Inch has brought news of more pressing matters.’ He sounded irritated at Herrick’s interruption. ‘Admiral Lord St. Vincent has been kept fully informed. Those heavy guns which we captured must have convinced him. He has appointed Rear Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson to command a fleet which will be powerful and ready enough to enter the Mediterranean and seek out the French, once and for all.’

  Herrick looked away. It was good news of course, or should have been. Bolitho had been given the trust he needed to bring this plan into being. But now that an idea was fast becoming a reality, Bolitho was not here to share in the rewards he deserved.

  Farquhar eyed him coldly. ‘I have written my despatch for the admiral. Harebell will be making sail as soon as she has taken on water.’

  Herrick faced him, his eyes filling with astonishment. ‘But you will not release the sloop without sending her first to Malta?’

  ‘You are wrong.’

  ‘But – but –’

  Farquhar snapped, ‘When you were flag captain you had your opportunity to put your ideals into operation. It is too late now for misgivings. So do not blame me, Captain Herrick. If anyone failed the commodore, it was you!’

  Herrick stared at the deck and at the bulkhead, seeing neither. It was true what Farquhar had said. All of it.

  Farquhar added quietly, ‘The squadron will remain here until we receive new orders. I have persuaded Mr. Manning that further “repairs” are vital to our survival.’

  Herrick heard the words but their meaning did not reach him for several long seconds.

  He exclaimed, ‘But, you mustn’t ignore all that the commodore has discovered. The prizes we’ve taken, the information we’ve gathered. It all points to Corfu.’ He heard his voice pleading, but no longer cared. ‘You can’t just stay here and do nothing!’

  Farquhar shrugged. ‘Rumours. I cannot afford to squander the squadron to the points of the compass. When the first supporting ships arrive I intend –’

  Herrick stared at him, disgusted. ‘You will be ready to meet them. To visit Nelson in person, is that it?’

  Farquhar frowned. ‘Do not press me too far! I only came to you because I intend to give you back Lysander.’

  Herrick looked around the beautiful cabin. Far more suited to a flagship than Lysander could ever be.

  Farquhar added, ‘Harebell brought other, less rousing news. My father, Sir Edward, died two days after I left England.’

  Herrick could only stare at him, his mind clearing and sharpening the pain. Farquhar had everything now. There was no remorse on his face, no sense of loss.

  He had the title at last, and all the land and property which went with it. And when Nelson came to the Mediterranean he would appoint a new commodore for this squadron. Sir Charles Farquhar.

  He asked huskily, ‘Have you told Captain Probyn yet?’

  ‘All in good time.’ Farquhar was far away, his eyes reaching beyond Sicily and beyond again. ‘Probyn behaves as if stupidity was a virtue. You should know that.’ He walked to the stern windows. ‘I have ordered my servant to bring my things across before dusk. You may transfer back to Lysander as soon as you receive my written appointment. That pleases you, surely?’

  ‘I’ve small room for pleasure at present, Sir Charles.’

  He watched for some reaction, but Farquhar had already accepted and grown into the title within hours of hearing the news. He looked away in case Farquhar should see his sudden anxiety.

  ‘I have a favour to ask. And I don’t find it an easy task.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I believe that the commodore was right.’

  ‘Perhaps. We shall see, one day.’

  Herrick persisted, ‘You could detach a ship. If you are remaining here under Sicilian protection, one ship less would aid the deception.’

  ‘Continue.’ Farquhar watched him calmly. ‘And where would this one ship be heading, might I ask?’

  ‘You know that, too, Sir Charles. Corfu. To discover what the French are doing there.’

  ‘I see.’

  Farquhar walked a few paces to the table and looked with distaste at Herrick’s chart and the mass of scribbled calculations.

  ‘Please.’ Herrick watched him desperately. ‘I’ve never asked you for anything before.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m asking now.’

  ‘Very well. Your orders would be such that you would act on your own initiative.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Farquhar’s eyebrows lifted. ‘You thank me? It is your own ruin you are demanding. Corfu is of no consequence. The big fight will be outside Toulon, or on the shores of Egypt.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘When I was a midshipman in the Phalarope, and you her first lieutenant, eventually, I used to listen to the men talking about you. How you would always speak up for them.’ He turned away. ‘I hope there will be someone to speak up for you when the time comes. But I doubt it.’

  He became impatient and banged sharply on the door. ‘Sentry! Pass the word for the first lieutenant!’

  Then he looked at Herrick again. ‘Return to your precious Lysander now. Before I change my mind. I’ll send you your orders at once.’

  Herrick nodded. ‘And if you get the chance, sir . . .’

  ‘Yes. I’ll try to discover what happened to the commodore, although –’ He did not finish it.

  Outhwaite appeared in the door. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Captain Herrick is returning to his own ship.’

  The frogface was expressionless. ‘By whose order, sir?’

  Farquhar smiled tightly. ‘Mine.’

  As Herrick made to leave he added, ‘One thing. I’ll need a good signals officer. I will keep your sixth lieutenant.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Herrick sighed. At least Pascoe would be spared. Although he suspected that Farquhar’s was no mere gesture of confidence. More one to advertise his humanity in saving Pascoe from a wasted death.

  He strode out beneath the poop and into the sunlight. The news of his leaving was already making itself shown. Glum faces, curious stares followed him as he strode towards the entry port. Perhaps they would miss him after all.

  Outhwaite hurried along with him. ‘I’ll have all your gear and chests sent across, sir. Your cox’n is already in the barge.’ He held out his hand. ‘I doubt we’ll meet again, sir. But I’d not have missed it.’

  Herrick studied him, suddenly very calm. ‘Nor I. It taught me a great deal. Which was intended.’

  ‘It did, sir?’ Outhwaite was surprised.

  ‘Yes. About people. Mostly about myself.’

  He touched his hat abruptly and walked to the open port.

  Outhwaite waited until the boat had thrust away from the side and then snapped, ‘Turn the hands to, Mr. Guthrie. We’ll have no slackness.’

  He thought of Herrick’s face in those last few moments. He had half-expected to see humility but had found only pity. For him perhaps. When he glanced across the wide quarter-deck he was strangely troubled. It no longer seemed like the same place.

  *

  Herrick stood motionless by the open stern windows looking down into the swirling water below the counter. He could see the stars reflected there, and by leaning slightly over the sill he
could also see the solitary lantern by his head and the line of bright windows from the wardroom below his feet. The ship was unusually quiet, as if holding her breath. There had only been one break in the stillness, and that had been when he had returned aboard, some two hours ago.

  An unknown voice had begun it, and then, as if at a signal, and despite Gilchrist’s anger, the ship had burst alive with cheering. The noise had drowned out the calls and the marine drummers completely, and even old Grubb had removed his hat and had waved it in the air, his ruined face scarlet with his, ‘’Uzza, lads! The cap’n’s come back!’

  He walked away from the windows and glanced momentarily at the empty sword-rack on the bulkhead. Bolitho had been unwilling to take the sword with him. Ozzard had told him that. Perhaps he had foreseen something. A warning.

  He sighed. Farquhar had kept his word, and the wording of Lysander’s orders made it perfectly clear where the blame would lie if Herrick acted wrongly. Herrick told himself that Farquhar was correct. That he would have done the same. But the doubt was there.

  There was an uncertain tap on the door. It was Pascoe, his hat under his arm. Even in the light of a solitary lantern Herrick could see the strain on his face, the brightness in his eyes.

  ‘Yes?’

  Pascoe said, ‘Mr. Manning is come aboard, sir. He has a lady with him. They came to say goodbye to Captain Farquhar, as they are leaving for Gibraltar in Harebell as soon as a wind returns.’

  Herrick nodded. There was no wind at all. And it added to the sense of brooding despair.

  He said quietly, ‘Tell Ozzard to bring more lanterns. Then show the visitors aft. I’ll explain about Captain Farquhar.’

  He thought of his orders again. Signed Acting-Commodore.

  Pascoe said, ‘I’d like to stay in Lysander, sir.’

  ‘I know.’ He faced him. ‘But you must transfer to Osiris at first light tomorrow. It is probably for the best. I’d like to think you at least were here if . . .’

  Pascoe asked, ‘Are you going to Corfu just to show that you believe he is right, sir?’

  ‘Yes. It is all I can do now.’

  He crossed to his side and added, ‘Take care, Adam. A lot may depend on you now.’

  Pascoe’s eyes were wide. ‘You speak as if he were already dead?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Not any more.’ Herrick looked around the quiet cabin. ‘But I am certain of one thing. People in England who do not understand as we do will try to smear his name. It is a common custom with our country’s heroes, and hero your uncle is, and never forget it!’ His voice was loud but he could not bottle his thoughts any longer. ‘I met his father once, did you know that? Your grandfather. A fine man, from a proud tradition. You’ll have a lot to live up to, and many will try to splinter your defences with envy and hate. So just you remember this day, Adam, and treasure it.’

  He swung away. ‘Now bring those damned visitors aft.’

  He heard Pascoe’s footsteps retreating, and felt the pounding of his own heart matching them.

  Light flooded around him as Ozzard hung fresh lanterns, and with a start he realised that Manning was in the cabin door, a lady in a dark boat cloak and hood at his side.

  Manning said stiffly, ‘I regret the intrusion, Captain. It now seems I have wasted time and effort and will have to take a boat to the Osiris.’

  Herrick tried to smile. But his face felt numb. ‘I am sorry, Mr. Manning.’ It was typical of Farquhar of course. ‘I expect you would have been told of the new arrangements in the morning.’

  Manning searched his face and replied dryly, ‘Indeed, I would like to think so.’

  To the lady, who had remained silent, he said, ‘We will go over to Osiris right away. I have some matters to discuss with Captain Farquhar before you leave.’

  Herrick said, ‘There’ll be no wind before dawn. You can rest assured of that.’

  ‘I see.’ Manning seemed irritated. ‘This is my sister, by the way, Mrs. Boswell.’

  She threw back the hood of her cloak and gave a quick smile.

  Manning continued, ‘Better be off then.’

  She said, ‘I am sailing in the Harebell, Captain Herrick, but my brother is remaining in Sicily for the present.’ She looked sadly at Manning. ‘Though how the poor dear will manage, I cannot imagine.’

  He glared at her and then snapped, ‘Are you coming, Dulcie?’

  ‘No.’ She walked further into the cabin, her boat cloak swishing behind her. ‘I will have enough of cramped quarters and boats before I reach England again. And I have seen enough of Captain Farquhar anyway.’ She gave Herrick a smile. ‘I should like to remain here until you have finished your business, John. If the captain has no objections?’

  Herrick shook his head. ‘No, Ma’am. My pleasure.’

  She was a very pleasant looking woman, with the fresh cheeks and bright eyes of someone raised in the country. He wondered what she was doing out here. Perhaps her husband was like Manning, a man who served the King without wearing his coat.

  Manning tutted and grunted and then said, ‘Oh, very well. I’ll be back in an hour.’

  The silence closed in again, and Herrick felt as if he was too large to be in the cabin.

  She watched him thoughtfully and then loosened her cloak before sitting easily in one of the chairs.

  ‘So you are Captain Herrick. I have been hearing about you. One of your men told me you are sailing soon. I hope you have a safe voyage.’

  Herrick looked at her, wanting to be left alone. Needing her to stay.

  ‘Aye, Ma’am. There’s plenty of talk in ships.’ He changed the subject. ‘I gather you are bound for England?’

  ‘Yes. We live in –’ She dropped her eyes. ‘That is, my husband died two years ago. So I am returning to Canterbury. I have been dreading it in many ways. I came out to live with John. He has never married, poor lamb. But he insists that the war is getting closer each day.’ She sighed. ‘So home I must go.’

  Herrick sat down opposite her. ‘But, Ma’am, I come from Kent, too. My home is in Rochester.’ He smiled awkwardly. ‘Though I fear not as fine as yours will be.’

  She watched him, her skin very pale under the lamplight. ‘That young officer who brought us to the cabin.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘I couldn’t help hearing what you said to him.’

  Herrick flushed. ‘Ma’am, I do apologise.’ He recalled his anger. Bring these damned visitors aft. ‘Had I realised.’

  ‘No, Captain. Before that. You were deeply upset, as I believe that good-looking boy was, too.’

  Herrick nodded slowly. ‘He is the commodore’s nephew. A fine young man.’

  She said quietly, ‘I’ve heard about your commodore. I was very distressed. I understand he was greatly liked.’

  ‘Aye, Ma’am. None better. None braver.’

  ‘There’s no hope?’

  ‘Not much. Your brother would have heard something by now.’

  ‘Tell me about yourself, Captain. Do you have a family in England?’

  And that was how it all began. Herrick speaking his thoughts and memories aloud, while she sat quietly listening.

  When someone cried a challenge and a boat surged alongside, Herrick could hardly believe an hour had passed so fast. He stood up anxiously.

  ‘If I have bored you, Ma’am . . .’

  She patted his sleeve and smiled at him. ‘I should like to call upon your sister, if I may, Captain. It will help to keep us both cheerful until –’ She fastened her cloak. ‘Until you return to Kent again.’ She looked up at his face, her gaze level. ‘I hope you’ll not forget us.’

  Herrick grasped her hand. It was small and firm and made him feel all the clumsier.

  ‘I’ll not forget your kindness to me, Ma’am.’ He heard Manning’s voice drawing closer. ‘I’d like to think we might meet again, but –’

  ‘No buts, Captain.’ She moved back from him. ‘I can now understand why your commodore is sadly missed. With friends such as you, he must have been
a man indeed.’

  Herrick followed her on to the quarter-deck where her brother was speaking with Major Leroux.

  Pascoe called, ‘Boat’s ready, sir!’

  Herrick said roughly, ‘Go with this lady in the boat, Mr. Pascoe. My compliments to Commander Inch. Tell him to take good care of his passenger.’

  She touched his arm. ‘Inch? Another friend?’

  ‘Aye.’ Herrick guided her around the projecting humps of gun trucks and ring-bolts. ‘You’ll be in good hands.’

  She moved her elbow gently in his grip. ‘No better than now, I think.’

  *

  The nightmare was rising to another great climax. Leaping patterns of dark red, like solid flame, interspersed with cruder shapes, sometimes human, other times obscure and all the more frightening.

  Bolitho wanted to get to his feet, to cry out, to escape the surging movement and encirclement. Once, against the molten banks of fire he saw a woman, deathly white, her arms beckoning him, her mouth calling silent words. When he had tried to reach her he realised that both his legs had gone, and a ship’s surgeon was laughing at his rising terror.

  All at once it was gone. Silence, and a darkness too unreal to accept, so that Bolitho felt himself drawing in his muscles and limbs to resist another terrible nightmare.

  It was then that he realised he could feel his legs, his arms and the sweat which ran across his neck and thighs. Slowly, fearfully, like a man climbing back from the dead, he tried to assemble his thoughts, to separate reality from that which he had been enduring since . . . he struggled on to his elbows, staring at the darkness. Since when?

  As his senses returned he noticed a sluggish movement beneath him, the shudder and tilt of a vessel under way. Blocks and rigging creaked, and he felt a new sensation, that of dread. He remembered the return of the fever, the signs he had known were there but had refused to recognise. Allday’s face above him, lined and anxious, hands carrying him, the enfolding darkness.

  He groped up to his eyes and winced as his fingers touched them. He had gone completely blind.

  A great slackness came over his limbs, so that he fell back on the bunk exhausted. Better to have died. To have sunk deeper into the haunting nightmares of fever until it had ended completely. He thought of the naked woman. Catherine Pareja. Trying to sustain him as she had done before when he had all but lost his life.