Free Signal Close Action by Alexander Kent Page A

him. He knew little about Ozzard, other than he was capable and had served the previous commodore well. It was said he had been a lawyer's clerk and had volunteered for the Navy because of some crime he had committed against his employer. He was a very quiet man, and was moving now like a soft-footed poacher as he laid out a clean shirt for his commodore.
    Bolitho saw the way his hands moved, the shirt shaking as he unfastened the collar.
    He is terrified of me. Fearful that I will punish him merely to ease my own pain.
    The realisation helped to steady him, and he was suddenly ashamed.
    He said quietly, 'Thank you, Ozzard, I can manage now.'
    The man regarded him nervously. 'If you're sure, sir?' He backed away, as if still expecting Bolitho to turn on him. By the door he hesitated and then said, 'I've had some education, sir. If you like I could come back and read to you. It might help to pass the dme. And you wouldn't have to say anything.'
    Bolitho turned away from him, hiding his face. 'No, not just now, Ozzard. But I appreciate the thought.' He saw the man's reflection in the sloping windows as he moved silently from the cabin. 'More than I can tell you.'
    4
    The Captives
    Richard Bolitho stood by the quarterdeck rail and watched the sunset. It painted the sky in great rust-coloured patterns and gave a sharp edge to the western horizon. Lysander moved comfortably under forecourse and topsails, her broad hull tilting hardly at all to the west wind which had followed her for most of the day.
    He stared along the length of the ship, through stays and shrouds and beyond a greasy plume of smoke from the galley runnel. He could just make out the tiny outline of Harebell's sails as she moved ahead of her flagship, her yards holding the dying sun like uplifted crosses.
    The rest of his ships had disappeared to the south that afternoon, and under Farquhar's command would even now be making more sail to beat their way around and ahead of Lysander's point of attack. He pictured the chart in his mind, collecting the scraps of information which had formed into a loose strategy. He could almost see the line of the shore, the hills behind the bay, the depths of the sea and places where there was no depth at all. Against that he had another list of items he did not know. What the enemy were doing there, or if indeed they were there for any purpose which warranted risking his ships.
    The main topsail billowed and flapped noisily as the wind dropped and then gathered strength again. The master's mate of the watch relaxed and made some joke with the helmsmen, and at the lee side of the deck Lieutenant Fitz-Clarence readjusted his vigilant pose.
    Bolitho tried not to let his mind drift from what he had to do. But with the ship so quiet, and with no questions to answer or problems to solve, he was unable to stay aloof from his anxiety.
    Two days since he had returned on board, two further days since Javal's men had taken the schooner. She would be at Gibraltar by now, opposing winds or not, unless she had run foul of an enemy. She would be sold in a prize court, maybe taken into the King's service. Her few remaining crew members would either be sent to a prison hulk or offered an alternative fate, that of signing on aboard a British man o' war. After five years of conflict you heard a dozen languages and dialects in any king's ship.
    And Adam ? He walked slowly to the nettings and stared hard at the sea. The land was beyond even a lookout's vision, and the sky was already so dark that it was difficult to see the horizon's division, which moments ago had glowed like hot copper.
    Another lieutenant had appeared on deck and was murmuring with Fitz-Clarence, while from forward and deeper in the fat hull he heard the shrill of a call, the pad of bare feet as the next watch prepared to take over the ship until midnight.
    A freak breeze fanned the stench aft from the galley, and he realised just how empty his stomach was. But the thought of oatmeal