Veitch breathed out noisily. 'We’ll do our best, sir. Let us hope that the French have none of their new guns along the coast. '
'That I doubt.' Bolitho pictured the great cannon smashing his little force into submission before they had even got to grips. 'They are being saved for something more important to Bonaparte. '
Veitch and Plowman left the cabin to gather their men and weapons, and he said, 'I would like to see my signals officer. Tomorrow we will head northwards under our new guise, but hold Buzzard well to windward. Javal may get a chance to catch that brig or any other spy, if he's in the right place. One more vessel under our flag would be welcome.'
He suddenly saw himself at Spithead, awaiting the boat which would carry him out to the frigate. To Gibraltar, to Lysander, and all those countless hours and miles sailed since. To here. A small cross on the chart. He shivered, despite the heavy air. It was almost symbolic. And this was when he needed Herrick most. His loyalty and devotion. He wondered what Farquhar thought about it. Really thought. Dilthe see this as his chance to add fame to his new status? Or did he see it only as an end to all his hopes?
They made light of risk. They always did beforehand. But he was asking much of every single man. Far too much. When battle was joined, causes and grand ideals counted for very little. It was the speed you could fire and reload. The strength you held to withstand the awful sights and sounds.
He shook himself from the lingering depression.
'Well, Captain Farquhar.' He saw him come out of his own thoughts. 'We will do this together, or if one of us falls, the other will carryon with it. Either way, it must be done. ' 'Yes.' Farquhar looked around the quiet cabin. 'I can see that now.'
Within hours of full daylight the brig's topsails appeared again, tipping the horizon, but taking care to stand off well to windward. Either her master had managed to send word ashore by boat during the night, or he was eager to learn more about Bolitho's ships.
Bolitho made certain that their attendant spy had plenty to hold his attention. Pascoe's signal party hoisted several meaningless flags, which were acknowledged with equal vigour by Nicator and Buzzard. Then, when Bolitho made a genuine signal, to call the other captains aboard for a discussion of their position, he played his other card. With sails aback, Osiris came round into the wind, displaying her broadside to the distant vessel, and her impressive new height above water.
When Javal arrived in his gig he exclaimed admiringly, 'I thought I was seeing things, sir. Or that St. Vincent had arrived in his flagship. From my gig she looks every inch a first-rate!'
Probyn was less enthusiastic. 'A novel idea, I agree. But we can't shoot with painted canvas!'
Once more in the great cabin Bolitho looked at his captains. Javal seemed strained after his long fight against the sea and wind, but otherwise unworried. Farquhar, tight- lipped and pale, but neither a hair nor a gilt button out of place. Probyn was as untidy and as brooding as ever. He looked heavy-eyed, and his cheeks were redder than one would expect from wind alone. Drinking more than usual. It was strange, but Bolitho found he had forgotten how Probyn had used to drink when they had been lieutenants together. More than once he had stood a watch or a duty for him, when the first lieutenant had drawled, 'see to it, Dick. Poor old George is in his cups again.'
He waited until each of them had a glass of Farquhar's claret in his hand, then said calmly, 'Tomorrow, gentlemen, we will make our play. I hope to pick up Mr. Veitch and his party tonight. What he tells me may alter our tactics, but cannot postpone an attack.'
Probyn kept his eyes on his lap. 'What if he doesn't come back?
'It will keep us in the dark.'
He thought of Veitch out there on Corfu. The villagers, if he was unlucky enough to stumble on them, might take them as Frenchmen. He was not sure if that was good or bad. Veitch had shown himself to be a quick-thinking and intelligent man. Bolitho would make certain his name went forward for early promotion if he survived another night on the island. He had toyed with the idea of telling him beforehand, but had decided against it. Such a promise could make an ambitious man too careful, an eager one too reckless.
'We have shown ourselves as preparing to attack. The enemy will still not know our full strength, but as they may now believe we have a three-decker supporting us, they must decide on their own plan of defence. Or attack.' Probyn slammed his empty glass on the table and looked meaningly at the cabin servant.
Then he asked Why not wait, sir? Watch and wait, until we get more support.' He looked from the comers of his eyes at Farquhar. 'If Lysander had been here, then I might have said otherwise.'
Bolitho watched Probyn emptying another glass of claret. 'We do not know enough to wait. At any day, the enemy might try to sail out of Corfu, and if their numbers are what I believe, we could not hope to contain them.' He saw Probyn was unconvinced, and added, 'Besides which, the French fleet may even now be steering in this direction to escort their precious supply ships elsewhere.' He tapped the chart with his glass. 'Caught on a lee shore, or worse, bottled up on the eastern side of the island, what chance would we have then?'
He kept his gaze on Probyn, willing him to accept, if not condone, the reasoning. For Captain George Probyn's part could be the most important of all. Tomorrow, hours not days now, and his Nicator might be the sole survivor.
He said quietiy, 'Osiris will force the southern channel at dawn. The supply ships will be anchored anywhere from fifteen to twenty miles up the coast, and once amongst them it will be a busy time for us all.' He saw Javal's hard face break into a smile. 'The French, I believe, see themselves in a strong position. They will know we are coming, and move what guns they have ashore to command our approach.'
Javal nodded. 'Aye, it makes sense. A three-decker would be seen as the real threat.'
Bolitho thought of Grubb and wished he was here. Osiris's sailing master seemed capable enough, but lacked Grubb's knowledge and philosophy on the weather's habits. He had been a mate in an Indiaman before joining a King's ship, and his early service had been spent weighing the value of a fast passage against goods lost by poor navigation.
If so much depended on what his ships could do tomorrow, the wind was almost equal in importance.*
He shut it behind him and said to Probyn, 'You will leave us at dusk. Steer to the north'rd. When the time is ready you will enter the top channel, I am hoping. unopposed. The defenders should think the real menace is from us in the south. If 'lady luck',' he hesitated, seeing Herrick's blue eyes crinkling to his favourite talisman 'blesses us, and the wind holds, we will hit the enemy hard, and where it will do our cause most good.'
