"Punctual at least, Bolitho!" He eased himself painfully in his chair. "You had better sit down. This may take some time, and I am not in the habit of repeating myself!"
Bolitho found a chair, conscious the whole time of Pelham-Martin's heavy bulk seated against the opposite side, his pink hands gripped together across his waistcoast as if to hold himself motionless in his enemy's presence. The other occupant was a flag lieutenant, an exprcssionless young man who stared straight at an open log book, his pen poised like a sword above an empty page.
Cavendish said, "I have read the reports, and I have considered what can be done. What must be done."
Bolitho glanced at the pen. It was still motionless.
"I have spoken with your Commodore and heard all that has happened, both before and after the loss of the Ithuriel." He leaned back and eyed Bolitho stonily. "Altogether it is as melancholy as it is dangerous, but before I make my final decision I would like to hear if you have anything to add to your, er, assessment of the situation."
Bolitho knew that Pelham-Martin was staring at him, but looked straight at Cavendish. "Nothing, sir."
The flag lieutenant studied him for the first time. Then Cavendish asked calmly, "No excuses? No blame to be laid elsewhere?"
Bolitho pressed his spine against the chair, holding back the sudden flood of anger and resentment. "I acted as I thought fit, sir. It was my responsibility and I chose what I
thought…" he lifted his chin slightly, 11… what I think
was the only course open to me."
The pen scratched busily across the paper.
The admiral nodded slowly. "If you had stayed to fight you would have forfeited your ship, and maybe six hundred men. You say you were prepared so to do?" He crossed his fingers and watched Bolitho's face for several seconds. "Yet you were not prepared to risk the lives of others already lost to us through fault or negligence, eh?"
Bolitho replied, "I was not, sir." He listened to the busy pen and felt his body relax for the first time. He was condemning himself, but could do nothing to prevent it. Not unless he was prepared to slander Pelham-Martin, or to denounce an action he still believed to be right.
Cavendish sighed. "Then that is all there is to be said on the matter." His head twisted sharply as he stared at Pelham-Martin. "Do you wish to make any comment?"
"Captain Bolitho was detached from my supervision, sir." The commodore was speaking quickly, and against the harsh light thrown through the stem windows his round face was shining with sweat. "But I am sure, that is I feel under the circumstances he acted as he thought fit."
Cavendish glanced at his flag lieutenant. It was just a brief moment, but Bolitho thought he saw a flicker of contempt in those cold eyes.
Then he said, "I have already told your Commodore what I intend, but as you are directly concerned I will give you the bones of my conclusions." He turned over some papers on the desk and added curtly, "Four ships avoided my squadron off Lorient, as you are no doubt well aware. Now more have escaped through your own patrols. You think maybe there is no connection?" He tapped the papers with his small wizened hands. "I have had every frigate alerted, questioned every available source, yet there is not one single sign of these ships!" He slapped his hands hard on the desk. "Not one sign."
Bolitho watched him evenly. It was hard to see where this was leading. Did Cavendish intend to place the whole 'blame on Pelham-Martin, and thereby on him?
The vice-admiral snapped, "Tell me, Bolitho, during the past few days since this misfortune, have you at any time wondered at the French admiral's brutality?"
Bolitho replied, "He could have fought my ship, sir. We would have given a good account of ourselves, but the end would have been inevitable. It was four to one against, and my people are still new to warfare for the most part."
Cavendish's grey head bobbed impatiently. "Well, don't sit there muttering, get on with what you're thinking, dammit!"
"He could not have expected defeat, sir." Bolitho took a quick breath. "Therefore he must have feared damage
to spars and sails." He looked squarely into the other man's eyes. "I believe he must have intended to make a long voyage and not just a quick attack on our ships.
Cavendish glared at him. "Thank you. The only useful piece of news to come out of all this is that you discovered the name of the French admiral. Lequiller is no clumsy peasant left over from the Revolution. He has an excellent record in battle. He commanded a frigate in the West Indies and fought us time and time again." His eyes fastened on Bolitho. "He helped to form and train the American privateers whom you at least will know were more than effective against us there."
Bolitho felt dazed. There was still no mention of recriminations, and it was obvious from Pelham-Martin's expression that he had already suffered under Cavendish's tongue.
Cavendish was saying, "Once it was sufficient to see a flag to know your enemy. But this is a new form of war, and we must live by new methods. Now we must learn to know the man beneath that flag, to study his background and his motives, if we are to survive, let alone win a victory which will last. Admiral de Villaret Joyeuse commands the French fleet at Brest. Even now he is mustering ships and men for a final thrust to overthrow both our fleet and our country. He is a dedicated and intelligent man, and if he has entrusted this Lequiller with a special task, then it must be of some value, and Lequiller worthy of it!"
Bolitho thought suddenly of the signal gun, of the men dying before his eyes like felons on a gibbet.
Cavendish eyed him dispassionately. "Maybe Lequiller is using new methods, too." He shrugged with sudden impatience. "But I am more concerned with his intentions. I believe that by now he will have joined with the other ships and is heading westward across the Atlantic. That would be the only explanation for my patrols failing to sight him."
Bolitho said, "The Caribbean, sir?"
"I think that is the most probable destination." The vice-admiral turned towards Pelham-Martin. "And what is your opinion, if any?"
Pelham-Martin came out of his thoughts with a jerk. "Maybe he intends to attack the islands taken from the French by Sir John Jarvis, sir?" He dropped his eyes under Cavendish's fierce stare.
"He'd need a force three times the size to make that possible!" Cavendish leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "During the American Revolution Lequiller was often sighted in the southern Carribbean. He would have made good use of his time there to make friends and to store his intelligence for some later time."
Bolitho said slowly, "Most of the islands there are either Spanish or Dutch, sir. They are of course our allies, but it takes little to change sides with the war going as it is."
Cavendish opened his eyes and watched him bleakly. "True. There is little likelihood of the Dutch staying on our side if their own homeland is finally overrun by the common enemy." He shrugged. "And as for the Spanish, well they are of little help to our cause as it is. They are still brooding over Gibraltar perhaps, or dreaming of past glories."
"Then, sir, I would suggest that Lequiller has another motive." Bolitho tried to picture the sprawled line of islands which ran from east to west above the great mass of the southern Americas. It was almost as if he was thinking aloud. "To remain our ally Spain needs to stay rich. Much of her wealth comes from the Americas. One such convoy of gold and silver plate is enough to sustain her for a whole year, maybe longer."