They continued up the hillside until Allday found a sheltered clump of bushes which jutted from a great fallen slide of rock. He threw himself down and stared out at the great empty waste of water.
`We'll be safe here, Bryan. When the ship puts to sea we'll build a shelter like I had outside Falmouth. Don't worry about it.'
Ferguson was still standing, his eyes wide as he peered down at his friend. 'Onslow intends to take the ship!' His mouth quivered. `He told me. He knew I couldn't do anything. He said that I was as guilty as the rest of them!'
Allday tried to grin. `You're tired!' He tried again. `Look, how can Onslow seize a frigate? His grin faded into a look cf shocked horror as the true implication dawned on him. He jumped to his feet and seized Ferguson 's arm. `Do you mean Onslow planned all of this? The fresh water, the murder, and my escape? He did not wait for a reply. The expression on the others man's face was enough.
He gave a hollow groan. `My God, Bryan! What are we going to do?'
Ferguson said weakly, `I wanted to tell you. But there was no time! They'd have killed you anyway.'
Allday nodded heavily. `I know, Bryan. I know.' He stared at the ground. `I warned them about this.' He ran his fingers through his hair. 'Mutiny! I'll have no part of it!' He looked at Ferguson with sudden determination. `We must go back and warn them.'
`It'll be too late!' Ferguson clasped his hands together. `Anyway, I couldn't go! Don't you see? I'm one of them now!' Tears began to pour down his face. 'I couldn't take the lash, John! Please, I couldn't!'
Allday turned his back to hide his face from the other man. He stared out to sea, at the hard horizon line which seemed to represent the impossibility of distance. You poor little bugger, he thought. It must have cost a lot of pluck to knock down the sentry and open the cell. Over his shoulder he said calmly, `I know, Bryan. But give me time to think things out.'.
So it was all wasted after all. The determination to take life as it came, to accept danger and hardship in order that he should one day return home, had all come to nothing. It was curious that Ferguson, the one man aboard who had the most to lose, had been the one.to spring off the disaster of mutiny.
And disaster it would be, he told himself grimly. They never gave up a search for a mutineer. No matter how long it took. He remembered seeing some of them hanging in chains at Plymouth. Rotting, eyeless remnants left to the gulls as a warning to others.
Far out on,the flat, glittering water something moved to break the calm emptiness of the horizon. Allday dropped on one knee and shaded his eyes with both hands. He blinked to clear the moisture and then looked again. Months at sea as a masthead lookout had given him the sailor's instinct to interpret more than was merely visible to the naked eye. He turned his head very slightly. There was another one. Much smaller. Probably a mile beyond the first.
Ferguson seemed to realise something was happening. `What is it?'
Allday sat down on the rock at his side and stared at him thoughtfully. `There are two frigates out yonder, Bryan. Big ones, probably Frogs by the look of 'em.' He let the words sink in and then asked quietly, `Tell me about your wife back at Falmouth. Grace, isn't that her name?'
Ferguson nodded dumbly, still not understanding.
Allday reached out and took his hand firmly in his own. `She'll not want to remember you as a mutineer, Bryan?' He saw the quick shake of the head, the unheeded tears on his sunburned cheeks. Then he continued, `Nor will she want to remember you as the man who let his ship fall to the enemy Without lifting a finger to help her.' He stood up slowly and pulled Ferguson to his feet. `Take a look at those ships, Bryan, and then tell me what to do. You saved my life. I owe you that at least!'
Ferguson stared at the dancing reflections, too blinded with tears to see beyond Allday's quiet words. 'You want me to go back with you?' He spoke in a small voice, yet unable to stop himself. 'To go back?'
Allday nodded, still keeping his eyes on Ferguson 's agonised face. 'We have to, Bryan. You can see that, can't you?'
He touched Ferguson 's arm, and after a momentary hesitation began to walk down the side of the hill. He did not have to look back to know that Ferguson was following him.
Bolitho felt the hair stirring against the nape of his neck, and stood up to face the small vent hole. After a moment he said, 'Do you feel it? The wind is returning!'
Herrick replied uneasily, 'Okes will never be back in time. And even if he is…'
Bolitho touched his lips. 'Quiet! Someone's coming!' He bent down and with a quick jerk thrust Neale's clothes out through the vent hole.
The door grated back and Pook peered in at them. He gestured with a heavy pistol. 'On deck! All of you!' His eyes were very bright, and his shirt was well stained with neat rum. Then he stared past Bolitho and shouted, 'Where's that brat gone, for Christ's sake?'
Bolitho said calmly, 'Out through the port. He swam ashore.'
Pook muttered, 'It'll do 'im no good! 'E can stay with the others to starve!'
Cursing and muttering to himself he drove the three officers on deck, where Onslow and some of his trusted men were assembled beside the wheel.
Bolitho whispered to Herrick, 'Don't provoke him. He looks too dangerous to trifle with!'
Onslow was certainly, showing signs of strain, and as Bolitho and the others reached the quarterdeck rail he snapped, 'Right then! You can get the ship under way!' He levelled his pistol at Herrick's stomach and added meaningly, 'I shall shoot him if you try and trick me!'
Bolitho glanced along the maindeck, feeling his spirits sinking. There were some twenty men staring up at him. All the ones who had been sent from the Cassius and some others he recognised as old and trusted men of the original Phalarope crew. As he had remarked to the unhappy Neale, it was just bad luck that all these men had stayed together aboard the frigate- while other, more reliable elements had been sent ashore, with the water casks. Normally it would not have mattered. He bit his lip and stared beyond the bowsprit where a small islet seemed to be swinging on its own momentum as the wind tugged at the anchored ship. Now it made the difference between life and death to all of them.
He nodded to Proby. 'Tops'ls and jib, Mr. Proby.' To Onslow he said, 'We will need more men to break out the anchor.'
Onslow showed his teeth. 'A good try, but not good enough. I will cut the cable!' He waved the pistol. 'I have enough men here for the sails!' He hardened his jaw. 'Try that sort of trick again and I will kill the lieutenant!' He cocked the pistol and pointed it again at Herrick. 'Carry on, sir!'
Bolitho felt the sun beating down on his face and tried to shut out the overwhelming sensation of defeat. There was nothing he could do. He had even put young Neale's life in danger now.
Quietly he said, 'Very well, Onslow. But I hope you live long enough to regret this.'
A man yelled from forward, 'Look! There are some men on the beach!'
Onslow swung round, his eyes glinting. 'By God, there's a boat shoving off!'
Bolitho turned to watch.as the Phalarope's jolly boat -idled clear of the sand and began to move across the water. There were only two men in it, and he guessed that the landing party must have broken into panic at the sight of the frigate preparing to sail without them. Several mutineers were already aloft, and a jibsail flapped impatiently in the rising breeze. He could see many more men further along the green ridge and the glint of metal on a drawn sword..
Onslow said slowly, 'Let the boat get near enough to rake with a nine-pounder!' He was grinning. 'And fetch up Mr. bloody Vibart! We'll give those bastards something to remember us by!' To Bolitho he said, 'It will be a hanging after all, and who better?'
It took four men to drag the first lieutenant from the cabin hatch. His clothes were in ribbons, and his face was scarred and battered almost beyond recognition. For several seconds he stared up at the running noose which was already being passed down from the mainyard to eager hands on deck. Then he turned and looked up towards the quarterdeck, seeing Bolitho and the others for the first time. One of his eyes was closed, but the other stared straight at Onslow with neither fear nor hope.
Onslow called, `Now, Mr. Vibart! Let us see you dance to our tune!' Some of the men laughed as he added, `You'll get a good view from up there.'
Bolitho said, `Leave him! You have me, Onslow, isn't that enough?'
But Vibart shouted, `Save your pleadings for yourself! I don't want your damn pity!'
Suddenly a voice shouted, `Look! In the jolly boat! It's Allday and Ferguson!'
Several men ran to the side, and one even started to cheer. Onslow rasped, `Stand by that gun! We don't need them here!'
Bolitho watched narrowly as another big seaman, the one called Pochin, pushed past the wheel and growled, ` 'Old on! It's Allday! 'E's a good mate, an' always 'as bin.' He looked down at the maindeck. `What d'you say, lads?'
There was a rumble of agreement from some of the watching men, and Pochin added, `Call the boat alongside.'
Bolitho could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as the boat bumped against the hull, and in sudden silence Allday and Ferguson climbed up through the entry port.
Pochinn leaned over the rail and shouted, `Welcome back, John! We'll sail together after all!'
But Allday stayed where he was below the starboard gangway, the sunlight bright across his upturned face. Then he said, `I'll not sail with him!' He pointed straight at Onslow. `He killed Evans and put the blame on me! I would have ended on a gallows but for Bryan here!'
Onslow replied calmly, `But now you're free. I never intended you to die.' There was sweat on his forehead, and the knuckles around the pistol were white. `You can stay with us, and welcome.'
Allday ignored him and turned to the men on deck. `There are two French frigates out yonder, lads! Will you let the Phalarope fall to them because of the word of that murdering swine?' His voice grew louder. `You, Pochin? Are you such a fool that you cannot see your own death?' He seized another seaman by the arm. `And you, Ted! Can you live with this for the rest of your life?'
A babble of voices broke out, and even the man from aloft swarmed down to join the others in noisy argument.
Bolitho shot a glance at Herrick. It was now or never. He had seen two armed seamen walk aft- to see what was happening. They had to be the sentries guarding the rest of the prisoners.
But it was Vibart who acted first. Broken and bleeding, his head sunk dejectly in his shoulders, he was momentarily forgotten by the men around him.
With a sudden roar he lashed out and knocked his guards sprawling.
Bolitho yelled, 'Neale! Now, for God's sake!'
As he shouted he threw himself bodily sideways into Onslow, and together they rolled kicking and fighting across the deck.
Pook screamed with fury and had his feet kicked from under him by Herrick, who scooped up his pistol, cocked it and fired in a matter of seconds. The force of the shot lifted Pook from his knees and smashed him back against a carronade, his jaw and half his face blown to bloody fragments.
Somehow Onsiow managed to fight himself free, and with one great bound cleared the rail to land amidst the other seamen. The sudden pistol shot had left the men standing like statues, but as Onslow hit the deck he snatched up a cutlass and yelled, `To me, lads! Kill the bastards!'
Bolitho seized Onslow's pistol and fired point-blank at a man by the wheel, and then gasped, `Go aft, Mr. Proby! Get weapons!'
There was a ragged volley from the forecastle, and the stunned mutineers reeled back across the maindeck as another handful of seamen surged up from below led by Belsey, the master's mate, his injured arm strapped across his body, but wielding a boarding axe with his good hand.
Herrick shouted, `The boats are coming, sir!' He hurled his empty pistol at another shadowy figure and grabbed a cutlass from Proby. `My God, the boats are coming at last!'
Bolitho snapped, `Follow me!' Swinging the unfamiliar cutlass like a scythe he dashed down the ladder, hitting out with all his strength as a man charged across the deck with a long pike. He felt the hot blood spurt across his face as the massive blade sliced through the man's bulging neck artery as if it had been thread.
Faces loomed up, ugly and distorted, but faded into screams as he slashed his way across the deck to where Vibart was fighting with his bare hands against three mutineers. As he drove his cutlass into the nearest man's shoulder, he saw the sun gleam on a knife, and heard Vibart's great bellow of agony. Then he was down, and as the released men from the. cable tier charged into the fray, some of the remaining mutineers dropped their weapons and held up their hands. Bolitho slipped in some blood and felt someone lifting him to his feet. It was Allday.
He managed to gasp, `Thank you, Allday!'
But Allday was staring past him, to the far side, where encircled by levelled weapons and abandoned by his fellow conspirators, Onslow stood with his back against a gun, his cutlass still held in front of him.
Allday said, `He is mine, sir!'
Bolitho was about to answer when he heard Vibart calling his name. In three strides he reached the man's side and knelt on the stained planking where Ellice and Belsey were holding Vibart's shoulders clear of the deck. There was a thin ribbon of blood running from the corner of Vibart's mouth, and as he lay staring up at Bolitho's grave features he looked suddenly old and. frail.
Bolitho said quietly, `Rest easy, Mr. Vibart. We'll soon have you comfortable.'
Vibart coughed, and the blood dribbled down his chin in a growing flood. `Not this time. They've done for me this time!' He made as if to move his hand, but the effort was too much. From behind his shoulders the surgeon gave a quick shake of his head.
Bolitho said, `It was a brave thing you did.'
There was a clash of steel across the deck, and Bolitho turned to see Allday and Onslow circling each other with bared cutlasses. The other men stood watching in silence. This was no court martial. This was the justice of the lower deck.
Bolitho looked again at Vibart. `Is there anything I can do for you?'
The dying man grimaced as a fresh agony ran through his body. `Nothing. Not from you. Not from anybody!' He coughed again, but this time the torrent did not stop.
As the returning boats ground alongside and the gangways became alive with breathless men, Vibart died.
Bolitho stood up slowly and stared at the dead man. It was somehow typical and right that Vibart had remained unflinching and unshaken to the end.
He saw Captain Rennie and Midshipman Farquhar stepping over some wounded seamen, their faces drawn and ashen by what they saw. He clasped his hands behind him to hide his emotion from them.
`Put these men under guard, Mr. Farquhar. Then carry on at once with loading the fresh water. We sail as soon as it is Completed.' He walked slowly across to the opposite side, and as the men parted to let him through he saw Onslow staring up at him, his eyes already glazed in death.
All at once Bolitho felt sick and unclean, as if the mutiny had left him with another, deeper scar.
He said harshly, 'I hope we can match the French as well as we can fight each other!' Then he turned and strode aft.
He said harshly, 'I hope we can match the French as well as we can fight each other!' Then he turned and strode aft.
16. A SPECIAL SORT OF MAN
Midshipman Maynard tapped on the door of Bolitho's cabin and reported breathlessly, `Mr. Herrick's respects, sir, and we have just sighted two sail on the starboard bow.' He darted a quick glance at the other officers who were standing beside Bolitho's desk. `It's the flagship, and the frigate Volcano.'
Bolitho nodded, his face thoughtful. `Thank you. My compliments to Mr. Herrick. Tell him to tack the ship to intercept.' He paused. `And have the prisoners ready to be sent across to Cassius.'
He listened to Maynard's feet scurrying up the cabin ladder and then turned back to the other officers. `Well, gentlemen, at last we have found the flagship.'
It had been two days since the Phalarope had crept away from the small islets. Two long days in which to think back on mutiny and murder. Bolitho had broken his normal practice of appearing regularly on the quarterdeck, and had spent long, brooding hours in his cabin, reliving each moment, torturing himself with regrets and recriminations.
He looked down at the chart and said slowly, `From what Allday described, I would say that the French are out in force. The two frigates were probably feelers from de Grasse's main fleet. If so, they have changed their plans.' He tapped the chart with one finger. `De Grasse would never waste frigates at a time like this. It looks to me as if he intends to avoid all the main channels and will use the Dominica Passage. That way he might well bypass our patrols.' He stopped thinking aloud, and with sudden briskness rolled up the chart and laid it to one side.
He said, `I shall go over to the Cassius and speak to the admiral.' He glanced at the neat pile of reports on the desk. `There is much that Sir Robert will wish to know.' How trite it sounded, he thought bitterly. Like items in the ship's log, bald of feeling or humanity. How could he describe the atmosphere on the maindeck when he had spoken a prayer before the shrouded corpses had slid over the side?
Lieutenant Vibart's body, alongside those of the dead mutineers. The rest of the crew had gathered round in silence.
Not just a silence of respect or sadness, but something much deeper. It was like an air of shanle, a combined feeling of guilt.
He stared at the watching officers beside him. Okes and Rennie. Farquhar and Proby.
Bolitho continued in the same curt tone, `You all showed great resource and courage. I have made a full report and I trust it will receive proper attention.' He did not add that without such a report from the ship's captain the story of the brief, savage mutiny would overshadow all else with the admiral and his superiors. As it was it might still be insufficient to save the ship's name from further harm.
He looked hard at Okes. `You will take over as first lieutenant of course, and Mr. Herrick will assume your duties forthwith.' He switched his gaze to Farquhar. `I do not have to add to what I have put in my report about you. You are appointed acting lieutenant immediately. I have no doubt whatever that it will be confirmed with equal speed.'
Farquhar said, `Thank you, sir.' He looked round as if expecting to see an immediate change in his surroundings. `I am very grateful.'
Okes said nervously, `I still can't believe that Mr. Vibart is dead.'
Bolitho eyed him impassively. `Death is the only thing which is inevitable, Mr. Okes. Yet it is the one thing we can never take for granted!'
There was a tap at the door and Stockdale peered in. `Flagship is signalling, Captain. For you to report on board as soon as possible.'
`Very well, Stockdale. Call away my boat's crew.' He added to the others, `Remember this, gentlemen. The Phalarope was nearly lost by mutiny.' He allowed his tongue to linger on the word. `What we have to decide now is. whether we have gained anything by a reprieve.' He saw their quick exchange of glances and continued, `The ship is either cleansed of evil or smeared by shame. The choice is ours. Yours and mine!' He looked around their grave faces. `That is all. You may go.'
Stockdale reappeared as the officers filed out, and busied himself getting Bolitho's hat and sword. He said, `Allday is waiting to see you, Captain.' He sounded disapproving.
`Yes, I sent for him.' He listened to the squeal of blocks as the gig was hoisted out, and remembered Stockdale's stricken face as he had returned with the rest of the shore party. He had stared round the stained deck at the corpses and then at his captain. He had said brokenly, `I should never have left you, Captain! Not for an instant!' It was as if he believed he had failed Bolitho. He seemed to think that if he had stayed aboard the mutiny could never have happened.
Bolitho said quietly, 'Send him in. He is a good seaman, Stockdale. I wronged him, not the other way about!'
Stockdale shook his head, but shambled away to fetch the man who had broken the mutiny.
And what a risk he had taken, Bolitho thought. He had walked back towards the searching marines, knowing full well that they were unaware of his innocence, and that any man might shoot him down without waiting for an explanation. Allday had found Okess and Farquhar, and together it seemed they had decided it best for Allday to try to reach the ship unsupported by anyone but Ferguson. It was a right decision, and a brave one. If Onslow had seen a boatload of men approaching the ship the balance would have tipped in his favour.
There was a tap at the door and Allday stepped into the cabin. Dressed in white trousers and checked shirt, his long hair tied back with a length of codline, he looked every inch the landsman's idea of a sailor. On his cheek and neck there were two diagnonal scars where Brock had struck with his cane.
Bolitho faced him for several seconds. Then he said, 'I called you here to thank you properly for what you did, Allday. I wish I could say something which would help clean away the wrong which was done you.' He shrugged. 'But I know of no such reward.'
Allday relaxed slightly. 'I understand, sir. As it was, it all turned out for the best.' He grinned self-consciously. 'I was a bit scared, I can tell you, sir.' His eyes hardened. 'But when I saw Onslow, that was enough! I'm glad I was able to kill him!'
Bolitho studied Allday with new interest. He had a cleancut, intelligent face, and but for his total lack of education might have gone far and done well by himself.
'Onslow should be a lesson to all of us, Allday.' Bolitho walked to the stern windows, his mind going back over the thought which had nagged him most since the mutiny. 'He was doomed by his life and circumstances. It is up to us not to make any' more Onslows through cruelty or. lack of understanding.' He swung round. 'No, Allday, I faied with Onslow. He was just a man like the rest of us. He never stood a real chance from the day he was born!'
Allday stared at him with surprise. 'There was nothing you could have done for him, if you'll excuse me saying so.' He spread his hands. 'He was a bad one, and I've seen a few in my time!'
Maynard peered in the door. 'Closing the flagship now, sir. Ready to lower the gig.'
'Very good.' Bolitho looked at Allday. 'Is there anything I can do for you?'
Allday shifted uncomfortably. 'There is one thing, sir.' Then he lifted his chin, his eyes suddenly clear and determined. 'It's about Ferguson, your clerk, sir. Are you sending him over with the other mutineers?'
Bolitho spread his arms to allow Stockdale to buckle on his sword. 'That was the intention, Allday.' He frowned. 'I know he came back with you, and did much to repair the damage he had done by his complicity with Onslow. But,' he shrugged, 'there are several charges against him. He aided the mutineers with confidential information, without which any sort of uprising might have been impossible. He attacked a sentry and released a prisoner, the guilt or innocence of whom had not been decided.' He picked up his hat and stared at it. 'Do you think he should warrant complete pardon?'
Allday said quietly, 'Remember what you said about Onslow, sir? Ferguson 's no real sailor, and never will be.' He smiled sadly: 'I've looked after him since we were pressed together. If you do this to him I shall feel I've let him down.
I shall feel as you do now over Onslow!'
Bolitho nodded. 'I will have to think about it.' He walked to the ladder, ducking below the beams. Then he said, 'Thank you, Allday. You put a forceful argument.'
He ran up into the sunlight and looked quickly across at the Cassius. She looked big and reliable against the blue water, and he could see the other frigate hove to beyond her.
Herrick touched his hat. 'Gig ready, sir.' He glanced ques tioningly at the silent group of manacled men by the entry port. 'Shall I send 'em over while you're with the admiral?'
'If you please, Mr. Herrick.' Bolitho caught sight of Allday's tall figure beside the cabin hatch and added sharply, 'But have Ferguson kept aboard. I will deal with him myself.'
Herrick looked mystified. ' Ferguson, sir?'
Bolitho eyed him coldly. 'He is my clerk, Mr. Herrick! Have you forgotten so soon that you chose him for me?' He gave a brief smile and saw the relief flooding across the other man's face.
'Aye, aye, sir!' Herrick strode to the rail. 'Man the side there! Stand by for the captain!'
The pipes trilled and Bolitho vanished down into the boat.
Herrick looked round as old Proby mumbled, `How old is he? Twenty-five or six?' He gave a deep sigh. `I'm twice his age and more beside, and there others like me aboard the Phalarope.' He watched the little gig skimming through the whitecaps towards the swaying ship of the line. `Yet he's like a father to all of us!' He shook his head. `Have you seen the way the crew look at him now, Mr. Herrick? Like children caught out doing wrong. They know how he feels what has happened, how their shame is more'n doubled for him!'
Herrick stared at him. It was rare for the master to say so much all at once. `I never realised that you admired him, too!'
Proby pouted his pendulous lower lip. 'I'm too old for admiration, Mr. Herrick. It's deeper'n that. Our captain is a special sort of man.' He frowned and then added, 'I'd die for him, and willingly. I can't say more'n that!' He turned with sudden anger. `Blast me, Mr. Herrick! How can you let' me go on like that?' He shuffled noisily across the quarterdeck like an untidy spider.
Herrick crossed to the rail, his mind still dwelling on Proby's words. Below, watched by armed marines, the remnants of Onslow's conspirators stood awaiting passage to the Cassius. Herrick did not share Bolitho's shame on their behalf. He would willingly have hanged each one of them singlehanded, if only to lift the despair from Bolitho's shoulders.
He remembered his own exultation when Okes and Rennie had boarded the frigate and he had realised that the mutiny's sudden fire had been quenched. It was then that he had seen through Bolitho's careful mask and had penetrated to the man within. Yes, Proby was right. He was a very special sort of man.
Midshipman Neale crossed to his side and trained his glass on the flagship. Herrick glanced down at the small midshipman and remembered his frantic struggles as they thrust his greased body through the vent hole. Neale's sudden appearance had made quite a sensation when he had flung open the doors of the cable tier. As Ellice, the surgeon, had said later, `There we all was, Mr. 'Errick, thinkin' of death or worse, an' suddenly the doors come flyin' open like the gates of 'eaven itself!' The surgeon's crimson face had crinkled into a grin. `When I saw this little naked cherub with the sun behind 'im I thought I was already dead without knowin' it 'ad 'appened!'
Herrick smiled to himself. Neale seemed to have grown in stature since that dreadful day. He said, `In a few years you'll be getting promoted like Mr. Farquhar if you go on like this,' Neale considered the suggestion and then replied, `I never doubted it, sir.' He flushed and added quickly, `Well, not often!'
Sir Robert Napier walked stiffly to a small gilt chair and sat down. For several seconds he stared at Bolitho's tense features and then said dryly, `You are a very erratic and unpredictable young man, Bolitho.' He tapped his fingertips together. `But there is one thing to be said in your favour. You are never dull!'
Bolitho did not trust himself to smile. It was still far too early to know exactly how his ideas had been received. With fretting impatience he had waited in an adjoining cabin while the admiral read his reports, and after what seemed like an hour he was ushered into the great man's presence. There were two other captains already present. Cope of the Cassius, and a thickset, unsmiling man Bolitho recognised as Fox of the frigate Volcano.
The admiral said, 'It seems to me that you are getting unnecessarily excited about the French frigates which one of your men sighted.' He waved one hand across his big coloured chart. `Look for yourself, Bolitho. The Leeward and Windward Islands are like a broken chain running from north to south. If the French fleet is out in force, and I say if, Sir George Rodney's frigates will have reported the fact, and both sides will have engaged already. That being so, what further can I do in the matter?' He leaned back, his eyes fixed on Bolitho's face.
Bolitho glanced quickly at the other officers. Cope, being Sir Robert's flag captain, would naturally stay non-committal until he knew his- master's intentions. Fox was the man to convince. He was said to be a hard man, and as he was somewhat old for his rank, inclined to be over-cautious.
Bolitho took his own chart and laid it carefully across the admiral's. He started quietly. `The whole plan to contain and engage the French fleet is based on one main theme, sir. We know that de Grasse has his strongest force at Martinique to the south. To meet with his Spanish ally and to reach Jamaica, his first necessity is to avoid any damaging action with us.'
The admiral said irritably, 'I know that, dammit!'
Bolitho continued, `I believe that the two frigates were part of a scouting force, ahead of the main fleet.' He ran his finger along the chart. 'I le could sail north from Martinique, and if necessary deploy his ships amongst the scattered islands en route. Then, at his most suitable moment he could swing west to Jamaica as planned.' He looked at Fox who met his eyes without expression. He added urgently, `Sir George Rodney is depending on a quick engagment, sir. But suppose de Grasse avoids that first contact, or, even worse, he makes a feint attack on our ships and then heads north?' He waited, watching the admiral's pale eyes moving across the chart.
Sir Robert said grudgingly, 'It could happen, I suppose. De Grasse could skirt any hostile land and then keep close inshore of more friendly territory, Guadeloupe for instance.' He puckered his lower lip. 'He would thereby avoid a running battle in open water, like the Martinique Passage.' He nodded, his face suddenly grave. `Yours is a dangerous supposition, Bolitho.'
Captain Cope said uneasily, 'If the French can get ahead of Rodney we're done for!'
Bolitho asked, `Could I suggest something, sir?' He tried to gauge the extent of his own forcefulness. 'If I am wrong, there can be no real harm in my idea.'
The admiral shrugged. 'I cannot find it in my heart to dampen such rare enthusiasm, Bolitho.' He wagged one finger. `But I do not promise to abide by it!'