A Shot Rolling Ship Read Online Free Page A

even if it did consist of over fifty ships; the ocean was vast enough to hide an armada. Roscoe was a problem that he could do nothing about. If his Premier recovered it would mean trouble, if he expired his complaints about his captain would go with him to the grave. A quite different but related problem presented itself in the case of Davidge Gould, the man who commanded the sloop HMS Firefly , the second protective vessel tasked to escort the convoy to Gibraltar, a ship he had quite deliberately cut out of the chase and the subsequent action. He would have Gould aboard as soon as he joined, with his own ship’s papers, including Firefly ’s log which, no doubt, would have been kept scrupulously up to date; then and only then could he decide what to put in his own, facts about courses, times and positions that would make his actions appear in the best light.
    At some time in the future this book before him would end up at the Admiralty, and there was just a chance that some clerk, emerging from his habitual torpor, might cast an eye over it. So a little obfuscation would be necessary; not downright lies, for that would be too obvious, but just enough to ensure that should the two logs be read together, the facts would not, too obviously, jar. That was something of which he could be reasonably confident; the idea that such Admiralty clerks were eagle-eyed defenders of the nation’s needs was, Ralph Barclay knew, a myth. They were idle, claret-swilling placemen more interestedin their salaries, pensions and post prandial naps than in the misdemeanours or minor peculations of naval commanders. They would sit, these logs, along with the purser’s accounts and myriad other papers gathering dust, very likely never subjected to more than a cursory look, but, should someone in authority, in the future, wish him ill, and seek for something in his background with which to damn him…
    Another sharp tap stopped that train of thought, as Midshipman Farmiloe, tall, fair of hair and gangling, knocked and entered. ‘Mr Digby’s compliments, sir, the chase is hull up.’
    ‘Chase, Mr Farmiloe? I was not aware that we were engaged in one.’
    Farmiloe knew better than to respond. ‘Mr Digby wished me to add that it’s odd, sir, that they don’t seemed to have smoked we are in their wake.’
    Ralph Barclay sat forward, suddenly all attention. ‘Say again?’
    ‘Well, sir, if they have lookouts aloft…’
    ‘Which they must surely have.’
    ‘…they are not looking over their stern.’
    Ralph Barclay got to his feet, and called for his hat.
    ‘From which we can deduce, Mr Farmiloe, that their attention is on something more tempting.’
    ‘The convoy, sir.’
    ‘Precisely.’
    The atmosphere on deck, the air of tension, told the ship’s captain that everyone on watch down to the ship’scat had drawn the same conclusion. The midshipmen, normally content to remain snug in their verminous berth, were visible, as was the master, Mr Collins. Even the little surgeon Lutyens had come up and was now deep in conversation with Digby. That ceased as soon as his presence was noted, with everyone coming to attention and raising their hat. A glance aloft at the sail plan told Ralph Barclay that his previous instructions, to crack on, were being obeyed. A glance at the slate told him that HMS Brilliant was making eight knots on a steady wind that was coming in nicely over her starboard quarter, and a current that was aiding her passage. Taking a telescope from the rack he trained it on the ship in whose wake they lay, a barque as he had already been told, with a low freeboard and clean lines. Most obvious was the fact that she had reefed her mainsails – that she was not sailing at anything approaching her full speed.
    ‘Mr Digby, I hope we have a weather eye out for French warships. I would hate to make the same mistake as our friend yonder.’
    ‘We have that, sir, and since we are due west of Brest, I have given orders that one of