Probyn snatched his hat from Ozzard and lurched blindly from the cabin.
When Herrick returned he found Bolitho as before, staring at Probyn' s empty chair with an expression of disgust.
He said, 'That was an ugly side of me, Thomas. But by God, I meant every word of it!'
17. Storm Clouds
It was nearer to two weeks before Bolitho could hoist his signal to up anchor and leave their sheltering islet. Even then, the ships were plagued by fierce gusts of gale force, and. it soon became apparent that Buzzard's damage was worse than Javal had realised. His men worked through every watch on the pumps without a break, and with the limited resources he had aboard, he used all spare timber and canvas for the most severe hull damage.
After the savagery of battle, the elation at seeing Lysander thrusting her bows through smoke and falling spray, this renewed effort by the weather to delay their every move was all the more disheartening.
As the ships became scattered, and worked back and forth on varying tacks to gain headway into equally determined south-westerly winds, Bolitho was thankful they had not sighted an enemy squadron across their path. His. crews were worn out by constant work, and with each ship left underhanded because of dead and wounded, he knew that any sort of a victory would fall to the opposing side.
Perle, the captured French corvette, had made off with his despatches, and he knew that Herrick was still worrying about Lieutenant Fitz-Clarence' s ability to make the right landfall and pass his information to the admiral at Gibraltar.
Perhaps he should have directed Perle to sail directly to Gibraltar. But if his news was to reach all available sources of communication, he knew that Fitz-Clarence must first call at Syracuse.
He was pacing his cabin, his chin on his chest, his body angled to the ship's tilt, when he heard the cry, 'Deck there! Sail to the nor'-west!'
For once he was unable to restrain himself, and without waiting for a message from the quarterdeck, he hurried from the cabin to join Herrick and the other officers at the rail.
Herrick touched his hat. 'You heard then, sir?'
'Aye, Thomas.'
Bolitho ran his eyes quickly along the upper gun deck. Due to the weather and the necessary delays while repairs were carried out, it was a month since they had watched the French supply vessels sinking and burning under their bombardment. Since Farquhar had died with so many of his men. And Nicator had gone aground.
The men who were by the bulwarks and gangways, or standing in the shrouds in the hopes of sighting the new- comer, looked tougher, he thought. Herrick had done well. It was not easy for common seamen to understand what was happening beyond their own ship. Some captains did not bother to tell them, but Herrick, as always, had tried to explain whenever he could the reasons and the rewards.
Had Farquhar remained in Lysander, he would have benefited from Herrick's example. These men, Bolitho knew, would have given that bit extra as the ship had drifted towards the sandbars, her master dead, and the helm shot away.
He looked up sharply as a lookout yelled, ' 'Tis the Harebell, sir!'
Herrick grinned, his face shedding some of the strain as he said, 'Good old Inch! I was beginning to wonder what had happened to him!'
They watched the sloop's sails growing out of the horizon, the steep angle of her masts as she crammed on more canvas to run down on the squadron.
Bolitho saw the changing shadows on the sloop's topsails, and found himself pleading that the wind would not choose this moment to desert them. The thought of being becalmed, with Inch and his news too far away to contact, was almost unbearable. And the wind had acted in that fashion several times since they had sailed from the Greek islands. Strong to gale force, and then breathing away to nothing, the sodden decks and sails steaming in fierce sunlight, the ships motion- less, like men beaten senseless in a brawl.
Herrick asked softly, 'What d'you think, sir? Good or bad news?'
Bolitho bit his lip. Inch had been away a long while. As his little squadron had sifted information and news of the enemy's whereabouts and strength, almost anything might have happened.
He replied, 'My guess is that a blockade will not be built up around the French ports. Once de Brueys knows his supply fleet and siege artillery are destroyed at Corfu', he may think differently about invasion. Our people have worked hard, Thomas. I hope their efforts will have given the fleet time.'
The air was heavy with greasy smoke from the galley before Harebell had tacked close enough to lower a boat. Bolitho noticed that most of the off-watch seamen remained on deck, instead of going for their midday meal. To see Inch come aboard, to try and learn something of what was happening.
In the great cabin, Bolitho made Inch take a glass of wine, to give him a moment to regain his breath.
It was strange, he thought, that after all the battles and the pain, it often fell to men like Inch to carry really important news. You would hardly notice him in a street. Gangling, with his long horseface and excited manner, he did not seem the stuff of heroes as their public liked to imagine. But Bolitho knew differently, and would not have traded him for a dozen others.
Inch explained, 'I delivered the despatches, and,' he shot Herrick a quick glance, 'and my passenger, sir. Then I was caught up in tremendous activity.' He frowned to gather his thoughts. 'Rear-Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson in his flagship Vanguard passed through GibraltarStrait at the beginning of May and headed for Toulon. '
Herrick breathed out deeply. 'Thank, the Lord for that. '
Inch stared at him. 'No, sir, I beg to differ. There was a great storm, and Nelson's ships were scattered, his own completely dismasted and almost run ashore. He had to make for shelter to effect repairs. To St. Peter's at Sardinia.'
