send her prize to the flagship. The fewer prying eyes to see her the better. And tell Commander Lapish, well done.”
Herrick rubbed his chin doubtfully. “No alarm roused, eh? Lapish must have taken full advantage of the foul weather yesterday, lucky young devil.”
“I expect so.” Bolitho kept his voice non-committal as he stooped over the chart once more.
There was no point in telling Herrick how he had lain awake worrying about his orders to Rapid. Even one man lost to no purpose was too many. He had felt this way ever since Styx had gone and Neale had died with so many of his company. He looked at Herrick’s homely face. No, there was no point in disturbing him also.
Instead he ran his finger along the great triangle on the chart. It stretched south-east from Belle Ile to the Ile d’Yeu, then seaward to a point some forty miles to the west. Then north once more to Belle Ile. His three frigates patrolled along the invisible thread nearest to the coast, while the ships of the line were made to endure the uncertainties of unsheltered waters where they could be directed to attack if the French attempted to break out.
Amongst and between Bolitho’s ships the little Rapid acted as messenger and spy. Lapish must have enjoyed his successful cutting-out raid, no matter how brief it had been. Action soon drove away the cobwebs, and his men would have the laugh on the companies of their heaviest consorts.
He said, “The French must be getting ready to move. We have to know what is happening closer inshore.” He looked up as Browne entered the cabin. “The captured fishing boat will be joining us directly. I want you to board her and make a full investigation.”
Herrick said, “I can send Mr Wolfe.”
Bolitho smiled. “I need something different from seamanship, Thomas. I think Mr Browne may see what others might miss.”
“Humph.” Herrick stared at the chart. “I wonder. Still, I suppose it may be worth a try.”
Browne said calmly, “May I suggest something, sir?”
“Of course.”
Browne walked to the cable. He had completely recovered from seasickness, and even the squall which had battered at the squadron throughout the night had left him untouched.
“I’ve heard that the fishermen have been gathering for weeks. It is customary so that they can work under the protection of the French guard-boats. If Rapid ’s commander is certain that nobody saw his men seize one of the boats, a picked prize crew could surely work inshore again and see what is happening?”
Herrick sighed deeply. “Well, naturally, man! It was what we intended! And I thought you had something new to offer!”
Browne gave a gentle smile. “With respect, sir, I meant that the boat could be sailed right amongst the others, for a time anyway.”
Herrick shook his head. “ Mad. Quite mad. They would be seen for what they were within an hour.”
Browne persisted. “If someone aboard spoke fluent French…”
Herrick looked despairingly at Bolitho. “And how many French scholars do we have aboard, sir?”
Browne coughed. “Me, sir, for one, and I have discovered that Mr Midshipman Stirling and Mr Midshipman Gaisford are passable.”
Herrick stared at him. “Well, I’ll be double damned!”
Bolitho said slowly, “Is there any alternative?”
Browne shrugged. “None, sir.”
Bolitho studied the chart, although in his mind he could see every sounding, shoal and distance.
It might work. The unlikely so often did. If it failed, Browne and his men would be taken. If they were wearing disguise when they were captured it would mean certain death. He thought of the little graves by the prison wall, the scars of musket balls where the victims had been shot down.
Browne was watching his uncertainty. He said, “I should like to try, sir. It would help in some way. For Captain Neale.”
From that other world beyond the cabin the marine sentry shouted, “Midshipman o’ th’ watch, sah!”
Midshipman Haines tiptoed nervously towards his betters and said in a whisper, “The first lieutenant’s respects, sir, and the French prize is in sight to the north-east’rd.”
Herrick glared at him. “Is that all, Mr Haines?”
“N-no, sir. Mr Wolfe said to tell you that there are three French soldiers on board.”
Unwittingly the boy had left the most vital part until the end.
Bolitho said, “Thank you, Mr Haines. My compliments to the first lieutenant, and ask him to keep me informed as she draws closer.”
It was all suddenly startlingly clear. He recalled the French soldiers aboard those other fishing boats on that terrible morning when Styx had foundered. Perhaps the local garrison always kept a few available for such duties. It was not unknown for fishermen and smugglers from either side to meet offshore and exchange news and contraband. Contre-Amiral Remond would not wish his squadron to be betrayed by some careless scrap of gossip.
Three enemy soldiers. In his mind’s eye he could already see Browne in one of the uniforms, and when he looked at the lieutenant he could tell he was thinking exactly that.
“Very well. Search the boat and report to me. After that…” His gaze fell on the chart. “I shall decide.”
Herrick asked, “You know the risks?”
Browne nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“And you still want to go?”
“Yes, sir.”
Herrick spread his hands. “As I thought, quite mad.”
Bolitho glanced from one to the other. Both so different, yet each so important to him.
He stood up. “I shall take a walk on deck, Thomas. I need to think.”
Herrick understood. “I shall see that you are not disturbed, sir.”
Later, as Bolitho paced back and forth on the quarterdeck, he tried to put himself in Remond’s place. He had met him for just that short while, and yet it made such a difference. Now the enemy had a face, a personality. Maybe it was better if the foe remained anonymous, he thought.
It was nearly dusk by the time the little fishing boat had man?uvred under Benbow’s lee and Browne had gone across to examine her.
While the ratlines and gangways were crammed with curious seamen, Bolitho stood aloof and watched the newcomer with no less interest. A dirty, hard-worked vessel with patched sails and a littered deck, she was not much bigger than Benbow’s barge. Her appearance was less than heroic and would turn the average naval boatswain grey with disgust.
Browne in his blue and white uniform made a stark contrast against the vessel’s squalor.
The jolly-boat returned with a young lieutenant whom Bolitho guessed to be the leader of the cutting-out party. As he climbed up Benbow’s tumblehome and touched his hat to the side party, Bolitho saw he was a mere youth, nineteen at the most.
Wolfe was about to take him aft to the captain’s quarters when Bolitho called impetuously, “Come here!”
Young and in awe of the flagship’s surroundings he might be, but the lieutenant had that certain panache as he hurried aft to the quarterdeck. The mark of a victor.
He touched his hat. “Lieutenant Peter Searle, sir, of the brig Rapid.”
“You took the prize, I believe, Mr Searle?”
The lieutenant turned and glanced across at the grubby fishing boat. He seemed to see her for the first time for what she really was.
He replied, “She was anchored apart from the others, sir. I put two men outboard, good swimmers, and sent them to cut the cable so that she could drift down on my own boat. There was half a gale blowing by that time and my boat was leaking badly.” He smiled as he remembered what it had been like, the lines of strain falling from his face. “I knew we had to take her right then or swim in search of Rapid! ”
“Was there a fight?”
“There were four soldiers aboard, sir, I’d been told nothing about them. They killed poor Miller and stunned Thompson before we could get to grips. It was quickly done.”
