Signal Close Action (26 page)

'I am Richard Bolitho, Commodore of this British squadron.' He walked to the windows, adding, 'I have been hearing about your refusal to heave-to.'

The American retorted hotly, 'Heave-to be damned! I've a hard enough living to earn without being fired on by a bloody Englishman!'

Bolitho sat down and looked at him. A sturdy man with a neat .brown beard, the
Santa
Paula's
master was about his own age.

'And your name?'

'Cap'n John Thurgood.' He glared at him. 'Of New Bedford.'

'Well, Captain Thurgood.' He smiled. 'Of New Bedford. The shortage of seamen is a constant worry for a King's officer in time of war.'

Thurgood sat down, ignoring Probyn completely.

'That will have to remain your problem, Commodore. I am not at war, and my hands are not for King George.' He relaxed slightly. 'My government will make the strongest protest and take all the action needed once I have laid my complaint.'

Bolifho nodded. "That is your privilege, Captain. But you know as well as I that some of your crew will be no more American than Westminster Abbey.' He held up one hand. 'And I know what you will say to that. No matter. You are obviously a shrewd man, and I see no value in our arguing.' He stood up. 'I shall have yo
u returned to your fine barquen
tine, Captain, and I will send you a gift of some excellent cheese which I brought from England. I hope it will ease if not remove the hurt we have done you.'

Thurgood was on his feet. 'You mean I can go ?' He stared from Bolitho to Probyn's fuming face with amazement. 'Well, I'll be . . .'

Bolitho added evenly, 'Your cargo, Captain ? May I enquire what it is ?'

Thurgood replied, 'Cheap red wine. A full hold of the stuff. In my home port they'd use it for paint!' He chuckled, his eyes vanishing into crow's feet. 'By God, you sure know how to scatter a man's anger!'

Probyn exclaimed,
‘I
must protest!'

Bolitho said calmly, 'Please leave us, Captain Probyn. And tell your midshipman to go away. I am not in danger of my life.' He smiled at the American. 'Am I ?'

Thurgood grinned after the retreating Probyn. 'By God, I'm glad you came, Commodore. I think he'd have liked me kicking at his mainyard.'

'He was a prisoner in the last war.'

Thurgood shrugged. 'So was I.'

Bolitho picked up his hat. 'There is one thing, Captain. You sailed from Marseilles, no doubt.' He shook his head. 'It is not a trap. But it is unlikely you would have taken on a cargo like yours elsewhere, And you are bound for ?'

Thurgood watched him with amusement. 'Corfu. Then I'm off and away, back home to New Bedford. I've a wife and three boys there.'

'I envy you.' Bolitho did not see the look of warmth on the other man's face. 'I have a Spanish prize in company. We took her a while back.' He looked Thurgood in the eye. 'Now, if you were to exchange some of your seamen for, say, double the number of Spaniards." He watched the man's mind working busily. 'Well, I'd have thought you could drop them off when you return westward after you have delivered your cargo? I am certain the Spanish authorities would be very glad to reward you.'

Thurgood sounded doubtful. 'I ain't sure.'

Bolitho smiled. 'And they would not have to be paid. Nor would you have to share your profit with a larger crew than you need for the homeward voyage.'

Thurgood thrust out his hand. 'If ever you need employment, Commodore, and I mean
ever,
just come asking for me.' He shook his hand warmly. 'I've got a few bully-boys you can have. Trained seamen, but I will not miss them.'

Bolitho smiled. 'I dare say they will settle down.'

On deck it was oppressively hot, and the wind was rising and falling in gusts, making the ships lurch and stagger in a sickening motion.

Bolitho beckoned to Probyn. 'Make a signal to
Lysander.
I want the prize,
Segura,
to close with us. After that, send a good officer across to the
Santa
Paula
with Captain Thurgood. He will explain what is needed.'

Probyn looked as if he wou
ld burst. 'If you say so, sir.’

Bolitho smiled at the American. 'When they are ready, I will hail for my coxswain to bring a good ripe cheese across to you. It might make even cheap wine palatable.'

Thurgood watched a boat being lowered from the quarter davits.

'I'll be off then, Commodore.' He studied him curiously. 'Bolitho, eh? We had a privateersman of that name in the war.'

'My brother.' Bolitho looked away. 'But he is dead now.'

Thurgood held out his hand. 'Good luck with whatever you intend. I shall tell my wife and sons about this meeting.' He grinned. 'An' the cheese.'

A lieutenant strode across the quarterdeck and touched his hat.

'Jolly boat's at the chains, sir.'

Thurgood made to leave but hung back, his face set in a frown.

'I want no part of this, or any other war. I've had a belly-full.' He dropped one eyelid in a wink. 'But if I was in charge of a force as weak as yours I'd be thinking very seriously of hauling off.'

Bolitho tried to conceal his excitement. His anxiety. 'You would?'

Thurgood grinned. 'I'm told there's a fleet at Toulon, and
three
hundred
transports for good measure.'

'Thank you, Captain.' Bolitho walked with him to the rail. 'And a safe voyage to you also.'

He waited until Thurgood was in the boat and then said, 'Send for my barge.'

A fleet and three hundred transports. It was an armada.

Probyn's voice cut into his racing thoughts. 'I must lodge the strongest protest! I was humiliated in front of that Yankee!'

Bolitho swung on him, his eyes blazing. 'Humiliated, were you ? And how do you imagine I felt to see a ship of the line firing on an unarmed vessel ? To know that one of my captains was prepared to risk unnecessary killing, a war if necessary, just to get what he wants for himself?' He kept his voice low. 'And all because you knew that I would take any blame, was that it?'

"That was unjust, sir!' Some of the bluster had gone.

'I dare say.' Bolitho regarded him evenly. 'But do not take me for a fool. That I
do
find humiliating.'

He strode to the entry port, seeing his barge curtsying across the blue water towards him.

'You'll get your men, Captain. You would have probably been given them anyway, had you used common sense instead of a broadside.' He nodded towards some seamen at the boat tackles. 'Look at them, Captain. Would you fight for anyone who kept you in worse comfort than a dog ?' He did not wait for an answer. 'Care for them. Or they'll not fight for
you.'

He leaned over the rail and cupped his hands. 'Take your bundle to the barquentine, Allday! Then return for me!'

Allday waved one arm and steered the barge clear of the side.

An hour later Bolitho was back aboard his own ship, with Farquhar barely able to hide his curiosity.

Bolitho said, 'Make a signal to
Harebell
to close with us immediately. I cannot wait for Javal. Commander Inch can carry my despatches to the admiral.'

He waited while Farquhar shouted for Luce, and the barge was hoisted, dripping, on to the boat tier.

Farquhar came back and asked, 'May I enquire the nature of your plan, sir?' He pointed to the
Segura
which had almost reached the other ships. 'And what is
she
doing ?'

'I am sending some of the Spanish seamen to Captain Thurgood in exchange for the barquentine's, er, non-Americans.'

Farquhar pouted. 'It will leave
us
short-handed, sir.'

'But it has provided us with
information.'
He could hide his relief no longer. 'The French have a great fleet here.
Harebell
must sail with all speed, before dusk if possible.'

Farquhar nodded. 'Captain Probyn will be happy about his good fortune.'

'Perhaps.' Bolitho recalled the captain's face. He had made an enemy there. Maybe he had always been one. All those years.

He said, 'Tomorrow, if nothing is changed, we will have a conference.'

He unbuckled his sword and handed it to Allday. He discovered that he was suddenly ravenously hungry. For the first time in many days.

As he made to walk aft he turned and looked at Farquhar again. 'If you were a French general, and did not wish your transports to be involved in a battle before your main objective. And if that objective was North Africa, and beyond that to India perhaps.' He watched Farquhar's eyes. 'Where would you go to prepare for the final assault ?'

Farquhar rested both hands on the main bitts and frowned. 'To avoid a battle?' He looked up. 'Sicily might be too dangerous. A point on the coast of Africa which was far enough away from
my
objective to avoid suspicion would equally be too far for men and horses to travel and be fit to fight at the end of it.' He nodded slowly. 'I think I would choose an island already under my country's control.' He paused. 'Does that sound sensible, sir?'

Bolitho smiled. 'Do you know of such an island ?' Farquhar looked surprised. 'Yes, sir. Corfu.' 'Exactly.' He walked past the helmsmen and nodded to Grubb.

Farquhar crossed to the master's side and said, 'The commodore believes that the French may be gathering at Corfu.'

Grubb watched him warily. 'Aye, sir. But if you'll pardon the liberty, I thought it was
y
our
suggestion!'

Farquhar stared at him and then at the poop. 'The devil, you say!' He smiled tightly. 'That was cleverly done!'

10
Committed

For
a further two frustrating weeks Bolitho's ships tacked back and forth, keeping to the south-west of Toulon's approaches, an area which would give them maximum advantage should the enemy emerge. With
Harebell
making all possible speed to Gibraltar, the work of inshore patrol fell to Captain Javal's frigate. While the seventy-fours and their prize wallowed unhap
pily under reduced canvas, Javal’
s topsails were usually to be seen sneaking around a distant headland, or standing hove-to in direct view of the enemy.

But even Javal's taunting manoeuvres had no effect. The French stayed where they were, and did nothing.

And then, on a hot, sultry evening, as
Buzzard
fetched off the land for the fortieth time, Javal took it upon himself to lower a cutter in the charge of his first lieutenant, Mr. Mears. It was more to ease the boredom than anything, for the French had showed no sign of sending out a frigate or corvette to chase the prowling
Buzz
ard
away.

On that particular night a French fisherman reacted in much the same way. Ignoring the instructions of the port admiral and garrison commander, he put to sea in his small boat, with his son and cousin for crew.

The first that Bolitho learned of these coincidences was when
Bu
zzard's
cutter, complete with Captain Javal and three French fishermen, arrived alongside on the following morning.

The fisherman was elderly but defiant. He showed little concern for his life, and probably considered that as the English had rammed and sunk his little boat he had nothing left to live for.

Bolitho listened to Javal's report before having the three Frenchmen brought to his cabin. It was strangely moving. The old, grey-bearded fisherman,
his cousin, as red as a lobster
with a belly like a puncheon of rum, and the son, straight-backed, angry. Afraid.

Bolitho explained through Farquhar, whose French was excellent, die he wanted information about Toulon. Not unnaturally, the fisherman told him to rot in hell. The son shouted
'Death
to
the
English!'
before being cuffed into a flood of tears by Sergeant Gritton.

The cousin, on the other hand, was more than practical. He explained that the boat had been all they owned. All they had to feed their families and eke out a poor living in a town where the military enjoyed the best of everything. It was very likely true.