the son; straight-backed, angry. Afraid…
Bolitho explained through Farquhar, whose French was excellent, that 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.
Despite his great girth and his red, cunning face, the cousin was obviously the thinking member of the crew.
He suggested, warily at first, that if Bolitho provided. another boat, and perhaps a little money or food, he would be prepared to tell him what he wanted to know.
Javal snapped, 'I’ll have the varmint seized up and flogged, sir! I’ll give him boat!'
'That way we will learn nothing useful.' Bolitho walked to the windows and watched some low banks of pale cloud. A change in the weather perhaps. 'Tell him, Captain Farquhar, that he can have the boat and some food. You can signal for a boat to be sent from the Segura.' To Javal he added, 'Those fishermen will be unable to confide what they have seen to their authorities. The fact they disobeyed a port-order by putting to sea and return with a strange boat is proof enough of treachery. '
Javal swallowed hard. 'Then you intend to release them, sir?'
'We may come I this way again, Captain.' Javal's astonishment settled it. 'You cannot choose your friends in war.'
And so, while the fisherman and his son were taken to examine the Spanish longboat, the fat cousin described what he had seen everyday in Toulon.
The Santa Paula 's master had given Bolitho a fair description, but if anything it was a conservative estimate. A well- found fleet, consisting of ships of the line a'plenty, and one of which, according to the fisherman, was of one hundred and twenty guns or more. She, it appeared, wore the flag of Vice Admiral de Brueys, and another that of Rear Admiral Villeneuve. Bolitho had heard of them both many times, and respected them. Preparations went on daily to provision and service this great assembly of ships, and the local victualling officers were making a special effort to purchase every available kind of food. Which had been the main reason for the fishermen putting to sea. Even their meagre catch would have brought ready money from the navy.
Farquhar asked the man one careful question. Bolitho watched his reaction, his gestures above his head and towards the sea.
Farquhar explained softly, 'The fleet is not yet ready to sail. It is said to be waiting for the right time. The leader of the expedition, too.' His eyebrows lifted very slightly. 'It could be so.'
Bolitho nodded, He did not speak much French, but knew enough to recognise the name Bonaparte.
Farquhar said, 'He insists that one portion is ready to weigh, sir. Several storeships, and some kind of escort.' He glanced meaningly at the man's red features. 'He is too much of a coward to lie, I think. He says that the ships will not sail because of our presence. Their cargo is probably very valuable.'
And their destination.' Bolitho made his decision. 'send them off in their boat. Then signal the squadron to close on Lysander. We will stand further to the south'rd.'
'Will they risk it, sir?'
'I would.' Bolitho looked at Javal. 'I will report your first lieutenant's part in all this. He did well. As did you.'
Risk, luck, coincidence, all had shared in this first real piece of vital intelligence. With his three seventy-fours staying well out to sea, and only Buzzards lookouts watching for the enemy's dash from port, Bolitho was in the best position to act as the situation dictated.
And when Harebell reached the admiral, it would be just a matter of time before a fleet, and not a mere squadron, came to complete what they had begun.
On the day that he watched the fishermen put over the side to begin their long haul back to the coast, Bolitho ordered his ships to their new position, some twenty miles south-west of Toulon. He wrote his orders and had them passed to each captain. He discussed the final details with Farquhar and Grubb, and when dusk finally descended he went to his cabin and enjoyed a filling meal of boiled pork from the cask, and the last of his cheese which he had carried from England.
As he sat at his table drinking a cup of coffee and listening to the creak and rattle of ship's gear, he thought of Falmouth and the empty house there. He thought, too, of the American captain, and the wife who was waiting for him in New Bedford. What a homecoming it would be. He could almost see it in his mind. How long would it be, he wondered, before he saw Falmouth again? He had been in Lysander for two months, and already it felt ten times as long. Perhaps now that luck was with them again time would pass more swiftly.
With that thought uppermost in his mind he went to his cot, and within minutes was in a deep, dreamless sleep.
It seemed as if his head had been on the pillow but a short while when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He awoke, staring into Allday's anxious face which shone yellow in a lantern above the cot.
'What is it?'
His senses returned and he struggled over the side of the cot. He had no further need to ask, and he cursed himself for sleeping so deeply. The night was alive with noise and violent motion, so that he almost fell as he groped his way to his chest.
Allday said, 'It's come on to blow, sir! Getting worse by the minute!'
Bolitho dragged on his breeches, staggering as the deck plunged and threw him against Allday.
'In. the name of heaven, why wasn't I told of this?' Allday said nothing, but turned as Ozzard appeared blinking in the door, another lantern above his head.' 'Get the commodore's things, man!'
But Bolitho snapped, 'Just a coat. I must go on deck!' Even before he reached the quarterdeck he knew it was
