give us a small advance knowledge which we may use against the enemy. At the conference tomorrow they would all answer the same. A few lives to save the many is any captain’s rule.” His mouth softened and he added, “Ask for volunteers and you would get more lieutenants than you could shake a stick at. But none of them would know that beach or the path to the semaphore. It is a terrible risk, but only Mr Browne knows where to go.” He looked sadly at the flaglieutenant. “If it gives us another advantage and a chance to reduce casualties, then it is a risk we must offer.”
Browne nodded vaguely. “That’s what I said, sir.”
“I know, Oliver.” Bolitho ran his fingers along the glittering sword on its rack. “But have you weighed up the danger against the chances of success?”
“He’s asleep, sir.” Herrick looked at him for several seconds. “Anyway, it’s the only decision. It’s all we have.”
Bolitho looked at the sleeping lieutenant, his legs out-thrust like a man resting by the roadside. Herrick was right of course.
He said, “You do not spare your words, Thomas, when you know something should or must be done.”
Herrick picked up his hat and smiled grimly. “I had a very good teacher, sir.” He glanced at Browne. “Lady Luck may be fair to him again.”
As the door closed behind him Bolitho said quietly, “He’ll need more than luck this time, old friend.”
As one captain after another arrived on board Benbow at the arranged time, the stern cabin took on an air of cheerful informality. The captains, senior and junior alike, were among their own kind, and no longer required the screen of authority to conceal their private anxieties or hopes.
At the entry port the marine guard and side party received each one, and each would pause with hat removed while the calls trilled and muskets slapped to the present to pay respect to the gold epaulettes and the men who wore them.
In the cabin, Allday and Tuck, assisted by Ozzard, arranged chairs, poured wine and made their temporary guests as comfortable as possible. To Allday some of the arrivals were old friends. Francis Inch of the Odin, with his long horse-face and genial bobbing enthusiasm. Valentine Keen of the Nicator, fair and elegant, who had served Bolitho previously as both midshipman and junior lieutenant. He had a special greeting for Allday, and the others watched as he grasped the burly coxswain’s fist and shook it warmly. Some understood this rare relationship, others remained mystified. Keen could never forget how he had been hurled to the deck in battle, a great splinter driven into his groin like some terrible missile. The ship’s surgeon had been too drunk to help him, and it had been Allday who had held him down and had personally cut out the wood splinter and saved his life.
Duncan of the Sparrowhawk, even redder in the face as he shouted into Captain Veriker’s deaf ear, and the latest appointment to the squadron, George Lockhart of the frigate Ganymede. Some arrived in their own boats, others from the furthest extremes of the patrol areas were collected and brought to the flagship by the ubiquitous Rapid which now lay hove to nearby, ready to return the various lords and masters to their rightful commands.
But whether they flaunted the two epaulettes of captain in a lofty seventy-four, or the single adornment of a junior commander like Lapish, to their companies each was a king in his own right, and when out of contact with higher authority could act with almost absolute power, right or wrong.
Herrick stood like a rock amongst them, knowing everything about some, enough about the others.
Only Captain Daniel Emes of the Phalarope stood apart from the rest, his face stiff and devoid of expression as he gripped a full goblet in one hand while his other tapped out a slow tattoo on his sword-hilt.
It had taken most of the morning watch and half of the forenoon to gather them together, and during that time the courier brig had sent over her despatches and then made off in search of the next squadron to the south.
Only Herrick amongst those present knew what the weighted bag had contained, and he was keeping it to himself. He knew what Bolitho intended. There was no point in discussing it further.
The door opened and Bolitho entered, followed by his flaglieutenant. Browne had always been regarded as a necessary shadow by most of the others, but his recent escapades as an escaped prisoner of war, the partner in a daring probe amongst the enemy’s shipping, had raised him to a far different light.
Bolitho shook hands with each of his captains. Inch so obviously glad to be with him again, and Keen who had shared so much in the past, not least the death of the girl Bolitho had once loved.
He saw Emes standing on his own and walked over to him. “That was a well executed operation, Captain Emes. You saved my flag-lieutenant, but now it seems I am to lose him again.”
There was a ripple of laughter which helped to soften their dislike for Emes.
Only Herrick remained grim-faced.
They seated themselves again and Bolitho outlined as briefly as he could the French movements, the arrival of Remond’s flying squadron, as it was now known, and the need of an early attack to forestall any attempt to convoy the invasion craft into more heavily protected waters.
There was need for additional warnings about this treacherous coast and the dangers from unpredictable winds. The conditions, like the war, were impartial, as the loss of Styx and the French Ceres had recently driven home.
Each captain present was experienced and under no illusions about an attack in daylight, and in many ways there was an air of expectancy rather than doubt, as if, like Bolitho, they wanted to get it over and done with.
Like players in a village drama, others came and went to the captains’ conference. Old Ben Grubb, the sailing- master, forthright and unimpressed by the presence of so many captains and his own rear-admiral, rumbled through the state of tides and currents, the hazards of wrecks, which would be carefully noted and copied by the industrious Yovell.
Wolfe, the first lieutenant, who in peaceful times had once served in these same waters for a while in the merchant service, had some local knowledge to add.
Bolitho said, “When we mount our attack there will be no second chance.” He looked around their faces, seeing each one weighing up his own separate part of the whole. “The chain of semaphore stations is as great an enemy as any French squadron, and to break it, for even a short while, demands the highest in courage and resolve. Fortunately for us, we have such a man who will lead a raid on the station which adjoins the prison we shared so recently.”
Bolitho could sense the instant change in the cabin as all eyes moved to Browne.
He continued, “The raid will be carried out tomorrow night under cover of darkness and making full use of the tide and the fact there will be no moon.” He glanced at Lapish’s intent face. “Mr Browne has requested that your first lieutenant, Mr Searle, again be appointed to work with him. I suggest a maximum of six hand-picked men, with at least two who are experts in fuses and placing explosives.”
Lapish nodded. “I have such hands, sir. One was a miner and well used to placing charges.”
“Good. I will leave that to you, Commander Lapish. You will stand inshore tomorrow night, land the raiding party and then withdraw. Rapid will rejoin the squadron and report by prearranged night signal.” He had gone over and over it again in his mind so that it was almost like repeating someone else’s words. “Commodore Herrick will take station off Belle Ile, with Nicator and Indomitable in company, and Sparrowhawk for close observation inshore.” He looked directly at Inch. “I shall shift my flag directly to your ship, and with Phalarope’s carronades for good measure, we shall make the first attack on the invasion craft at their moorings.”
Inch bobbed and beamed, as if he had just been offered a knighthood. “A great day, sir!”
“Perhaps.” Bolitho looked around the cabin. “Ganymede will be my scouting vessel, and Rapid will link our two forces together.” He let the murmur of voices die and then said, “The squadron will attack at dawn the day after tomorrow. That is all, gentlemen, except to say that God be with you.”
The captains rose to their feet and gathered round Browne to slap him on the back and congratulate him for his bravery, even though each one of them probably knew he was saying goodbye to a man already as good as dead. If Browne was thinking the same, he certainly did not show it. He seemed to have matured over the past weeks, so that in some ways he appeared senior to the captains around him.
Herrick whispered fiercely, “You did not tell them about the new orders, sir!”
“Recall? Discontinue the plan of attack?” Bolitho watched Browne sadly. “They would still support me, and by knowing of their lordships’ change of heart they would be considered accomplices at any court of enquiry later on. Yovell will have written it all down for anyone who cares to read it.”
Herrick persisted, “That piece in the orders, sir, about using your discretion…”
Bolitho nodded. “I know. Whatever happens I must accept the responsibility.” He smiled suddenly. “Nothing
