Broughton snapped, “I have asked you down here to explain further to Sir Hugo the necessity of keeping the Restless in company and within signalling distance! He breathed out hard. “Well?”
Bolitho thrust his hands behind him. In the presence of the admiral and Draffen, both of whom were impeccably dressed as before, he felt suddenly unkempt and dirty. He could feel the tension between the two men, and guessed they had been arguing before his arrival.
Draffen interrupted evenly, “I must find my agent, Captain. The sloop is fast and small enough for the purpose.” He shrugged. “I can say no fairer than that, now can I?”
Bolitho tensed. They were both drawing on him, each using his opinion to make him an ally. Never before had Broughton asked for his opinion on matters of strategy. And although Draffen had displayed an easy confidence after their first meeting, he had given away little of his intentions.
Bolitho said, “May I ask, Sir Hugo, what manner of ship we are expecting to meet?”
Draffen shifted in his chair. “Oh, something small. Probably an Arab trader or suchlike.” He sounded vague. Or evasive.
Bolitho persisted. “And if we miss meeting her, what then?”
The admiral swung away from the window, his tone sharp. “I am expected to keep this squadron beating back and forth for another week!” He glared at Draffen. “A week of avoiding open battle, of countless alterations of course!
“I know all that, Sir Lucius.” Draffen remained unmoved. “But this business demands great tact and caution.” His tone hardened. “As well as the efficient running of your ships.”
Bolitho stepped forward, “I can understand your concern, Sir Hugo.” He was very conscious of being in between these two powerful and unyielding men. Outside of the Navy he had had little contact with such people, and blamed himself for failing to understand them, to appreciate their worlds, each so different from his own.
“In this small squadron we have some three thousand officers and men to provision every day we are at sea. And that does not include the two bombs. Fresh water will become a real problem in this climate. And unless we can foresee some contact with a new source of supply it will be necessary to withdraw to Gibraltar before we have completed our mission.”
Draffen nodded. “I am sorry, Captain. You make good sense. A landsman tends to see ships as ships and not as people, mouths to be fed like luckier souls ashore.”
Broughton stared at him. “But that is exactly what I have just been telling you!”
“It was not what you told me, Sir Lucius, but the way you told it!”
He stood up and eyed each of them in turn. “However, I must ask you to signal the Restless to close with the flagship. Your master assures me this wind will hold for a while.” He looked at Bolitho. “That is also your opinion, I believe?”
Bolitho nodded. “It seems likely, sir. But you cannot be certain.”
“It will have to suffice. I will transfer to the sloop and go with her to sweep closer inshore. If I cannot make contact with my agent before dusk I will rejoin the squadron.”
Broughton rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “In which case we will carry on to Djafou as arranged?”
Draffen hesitated and then said, “It would seem so.”
The admiral gave a thin smile. “So be it.” He snapped his fingers at Calvert who had been hovering on the far side of the cabin. “Make a signal to Restless to close the flagship immediately.” He moved briskly up and down across the black and white squared deck covering. “You will then make a further signal to Valorous.”
Bolitho darted a glance at the flag-lieutenant as he wrote hurriedly in his book. It was to be hoped he was getting it all down correctly.
“Er, Valorous will take over command of the squadron and continue on present course. Euryalus will head down and make contact with Restless.” He shot Draffen a brief smile. “That will save time and allow you some extra hours for your, er, search.”
He swung round towards Calvert again. “Well, what in hell’s name are you gaping at? Go and attend to those signals at once!”
As the door closed behind Calvert’s back he added, “Young fool! He may be a fine jack-a-dandy in St James’s, but he is as much use as a blind seamstress to me!”
Draffen stood up and walked towards the adjoining cabin which stood opposite the larger one used by the admiral.
“I will change out of these clothes before I leave.” He eyed Broughton calmly. “I would not wish to be placed in Calvert’s category by the sloop’s commander.”
Broughton waited until he had gone and then said vehemently, “My God, my patience is wearing thin.”
“I will go and attend to the new course, sir.”
“Yes.” Broughton watched him distantly. “I shall be glad when we are at Djafou. I am heartily sick of interference.”
Bolitho hurried back to the quarterdeck, feeling the heat striking his shoulders like embers from a fire.
As he glanced quickly aloft at the masthead pendant and then at the compass he said sharply, “Call all hands, Mr Keverne. We
will wear ship directly. Then you may get the t’gallants on her.”
He heard the squeal of pipes, the immediate rush of feet as the seamen poured up into the sunlight, pausing only to peer aft to see the cause for the sudden excitement.
Astern, the Valorous was already making more sail, her acknowledgement to Broughton’s signal vanishing from her yard as her forecourse billowed free and then filled to the wind. The signal would please her captain, Bolitho thought. Furneaux had never really appreciated his station astern of the line. This sudden order would show the others exactly where he stood in Broughton’s eyes.
He forgot them as Midshipman Tothill called, “Restless has acknowledged, sir.” He glanced despairingly at Calvert’s back, who was peering at the signal book as if it was in Arabic.
Bolitho smiled. “Very well. Mr Partridge, we will see how she likes the feel of the wind again.”
He looked at the men below the gangways and mustered at the foot of each mast. “Carry on, Mr Keverne.”
“Hands aloft! Loose t’gallants!”
Keverne waited until the rush of barebacked seamen had reached the upper yards, their bodies black against the sky, like monkeys.
“Man the braces!”
He glanced round as Partridge dropped his hand and the helmsmen threw themselves on their spokes and began to heave the wheel over.
“Let go and haul!” Keverne’s voice was metallic and unreal through his trumpet. “Heave, you idle lot of old women!”
Creaking and groaning the great yards began to swing round, the hull plunging deeply in the swell as it swayed ponderously out of the line. Overhead the sails flapped about in momentary confusion, whilst above the noise Bolitho could hear the captains of the tops urging their men on with threats and curses. The top-
gallant sails were already whipping out from their yards, hardening into firm, tanned rectangles as the canvas took the strain, tugging at blocks and rigging alike and trying always to pluck an unwary topman from his perch and hurl him to the deck far below.
“Steer sou’ east by south.”
Bolitho braced his legs, feeling the deck vibrate through his shoes as the sails pushed the ship forward and down across the lip of another deep trough. Spray burst jubilantly above the figurehead and pattered across the men working busily at the headsail sheets. He watched the topmen racing each other to the deck, their bare feet thudding on the planking as once more they awaited orders.
Standing almost before the wind, the ship was already gathering way, the deck swaying easily from side to side instead of fixed at one set angle when close hauled.
Bolitho looked aloft, thinking of how she would appear to the Restless. The sloop was being made to beat into the teeth of the wind, and Broughton’s change of heart would save her and everyone else a good deal of time. Bolitho knew that Broughton’s reasons were probably different, that he really wished to get rid of Draffen, if only for a short while.