14. The Toast Is Victory!
BOLITHO stood with arms folded and watched his flag-lieutenant swallow a second glass of brandy.
Herrick grinned and said, “I think he needed that, sir.”
Browne placed the glass on the table and waited as Ozzard moved in like a dancer to refill it. Then he looked at his hands as if he was surprised they were not visibly shaking and said, “There were some moments when I thought I had misjudged my abilities, sir.”
“You did well.”
Bolitho recalled his feelings when he had received the signal from Phalarope. The fishing boat had sunk, but all except three of the prize crew were safe.
He walked to the chart and spread his hands around the vital triangle. Remond’s squadron had left harbour, knowing that sooner or later their presence would be discovered. The French were obviously expecting to move their fleet of invasion craft before the weather worsened and place them across the Channel from England. Added to the ever-present rumour of intended attack, their arrival would give plenty of weight to the enemy’s bargaining power.
Browne said wearily, “Mr Searle of Rapid did all the hard work, sir. But for him…”
“I shall see that his part is mentioned in my despatches.” Bolitho smiled. “But you were the real surprise.” He grinned wryly at Herrick. “To some more than others.”
Herrick shrugged. “Well, sir, now that we know the enemy is out of port, what shall we do? Attack or blockade?”
Bolitho paced across the cabin and back again. The ship felt calmer and steadier, and although it was now late evening he could see a bronze sunset reflecting against the salt-caked windows. Soon, soon, the words seemed to hammer at his brain.
“Captains’ conference tomorrow forenoon, Thomas. I can’t wait any longer.”
He frowned as voices murmured in the outer cabin, and then Yovell poked his head around the screen door. It was impossible to avoid interruptions in a flagship.
His clerk said apologetically, “Sorry to trouble you, sir. Officer o’ the watch sends his respects and reports the sighting of a courier brig. Indomitable has just hoisted the signal.”
Bolitho looked at the chart. The brig would not be able to communicate before daylight tomorrow. It was as if more decisions were being made for him.
“Thank you, Yovell.” He turned to Herrick. “The French squadron will stay in readiness at its anchorage, that’s my opinion. Once the invasion craft begin to move from Lorient and their other local harbours, Remond will be kept informed of our intentions by semaphore. There will be no need for him to deploy the main part of his force until he knows what I attempt.”
Herrick said bitterly, “The defender always has the edge over any attacker.”
Bolitho watched him thoughtfully. Herrick would follow him to the death if so ordered. But it was obvious he was against the plan of attack. The French admiral had all the advantage of swift communications right along the vital stretch of coast. Once the British squadron chose to attack, Remond would summon aid from Lorient, Brest and anywhere else nearby while he closed with Benbow and her consorts.
In his heart Bolitho was equally certain that the unexpected arrival of a courier brig meant fresh orders. To cancel the attack before it had begun. To save face rather than endure the humiliation of a defeat while secret negotiations were being conducted.
Without realizing it he said aloud, “They don’t have to fight wars! It might knock some sense into their heads if they did!”
Herrick had obviously been thinking about the brig’s arrival.
“A cancellation, a recall even, would save a lot of bother, sir.” He hurried on stubbornly, “I understand what is right and honourable, sir. I suspect their lordships only know what is expedient.”
Bolitho looked past him at the stern windows. The glow of sunset had vanished.
“We’ll have the conference as planned. Then,” he looked calmly at Herrick, “I intend to shift my flag to Odin.” He saw Herrick jerk upright in his chair, his expression one of total disbelief. “Easy, Thomas. Think before you protest. Odin is the smallest liner in the squadron, a little sixty-four. Remember, it was Nelson who shifted his command flag from the St George to the Elephant at Copenhagen because she was smaller and drew less water for inshore tactics. I intend to follow our Nel’s example for this attack.”
Herrick had struggled to his feet, while Browne sat limply in his chair, his eyes heavy with fatigue and too much brandy, as he watched them both.
Herrick exploded, “That’s got nothing to do with it! With respect, sir, I know you of old, and I can see right through this plan as if it were full of holes! You want my broad-pendant above Benbow when we clear for action, so that in any defeat I shall be absolved! Just as you signalled Phalarope to stand inshore this morning to allow for any trouble over the fishing boat.”
“Well, Thomas, it turned out to be necessary.”
Herrick would not yield. “But that was not the reason, sir! You did it to give Emes another chance!”
Bolitho eyed him impassively. “Odin is the more suitable ship, and there’s an end to it. Now sit down and finish your drink, man. Besides which, I need the squadron to be split in two. It is our only chance of dividing the enemy.” He waited, hating what he was doing to Herrick, knowing there was no other way.
Browne muttered thickly, “The prison.”
They both looked at him, and Bolitho asked, “What about it?”
Browne made to rise but sank down again. “You remember, sir. Our walk from the prison. The French had a semaphore station on that church.”
Herrick said angrily, “Do you wish to go and pray there?”
Browne did not seem to hear him. “We decided it was the last semaphore station on the southern side of the Loire.” He made to slap his hand on the table but missed. “Destroy it and the link in the chain is broken.”
Bolitho said quietly, “I know. It is what I intended we should try to do. But that was then, not now.” He watched him fondly. “Why not turn in, Oliver? You must be exhausted.”
Browne shook his head violently. “S’not what I meant, sir. Admiral Remond will depend on information. He’ll know full well we’d never attempt a night attack. Any ship of the line would be aground before she’s moved more than a mile in those waters.”
Bolitho said, “If you’re suggesting what I think you are, then put it right out of your mind.”
Browne got to his feet and dragged the chart across the table. “But think of it, sir! A break in the chain. No signals for twenty miles or more! It would give you the time you must have!” The strength left his legs and he slumped down again.
Herrick exclaimed, “I must be getting old or something.”
“There is a small beach, Thomas.” Bolitho spoke quietly as he relived the moment. The little commandant and his watchful guards. The wind dying as they had felt their way down the path to the shore. The only suitable place for Ceres’ captain to send his boat to collect them. “From it to the semaphore station is hardly any distance, once you are there. It would be folly.”
Browne said, “I could find the place. I’m not likely to forget it.”
“But even if you could…” Herrick scanned the chart and then looked at Bolitho.
“Am I becoming too involved again, Thomas, is that it?” Bolitho watched him despairingly. “Neale could have found the place, so too could I. But Oliver is my flag-lieutenant, and I’ve allowed him to risk his life enough already without this madcap scheme!”
Herrick replied harshly, “John Neale’s dead, sir, and for once you can’t go yourself. The cutting-out of the fishing boat was your idea, and it proved to be well worthwhile, although I suspect you were more worried than you showed for the safety of your flaglieutenant. I know I was.” He waited, judging the moment like an experienced gun-captain gauging the exact fall of shot. “A marine and two good seamen died this morning because of that encounter. I knew them, sir, but did you?”
Bolitho shook his head. “No. Are you saying I did not care because of it?”
Herrick watched him gravely. “I am telling you you must not care, sir. The three men died, but they helped to
