Alexander Kent - THE INSHORE SQUADRON

Browne did not miss a thing. Perhaps Inskip had been right, and he should find a place in Whitehall or Parliament.

Herrick and Wolfe were training their glasses above the tightly packed hammock nettings, as were several unemployed officers.

A master's mate coughed a polite warning, and Herrick turned to greet his superior.

'You heard, sir? Well, I've got the sixth lieutenant in the mainmast cross-trees with his glass, and the other ships are in sight. Eight, we know of, though of what strength I cannot tell as yet.'

Browne called, `From Lookout, sir. Enemy in sight.'

Bolitho looked at him impassively. 'Acknowledge, then make a general signal. Prepare for battle.'

He ignored the sudden excitement, the busy squeal of

halliards, and said to Herrick, 'You were right, Thomas.' Herrick grinned. `Now I'm not so sure if I'm,glad about it.' Wolfe touched his hat and said fiercely, `Permission to clear

for action, sir?'

'Aye. Let's be about it.'

As the drums beat out their staccato call to quarters, seamen and marines poured up through hatches and companionways in a living tide. They had all been expecting it, and for the most part had been totally unaware of their captain's misgivings, their admiral's doubts.

Bolitho heard the screens being ripped down throughout the hull, every obstruction, chest or piece of furniture being carried below the water-line to leave the ship free to act to full advantage. The lower gundeck would be one long double battery from bow to stem, the thirty-two-pounders already manned, their breechings cast off even as the ship's boys ladled sand around the feet of their crews. On the upper gundeck the twenty-eight eighteen-pounders, each partly covered by gangways which ran along either side joining forecastle to quarterdeck, were equally busy.

Bolitho watched the quarterdeck gun crews, moving as if to an unspoken drill as they checked the tackles of their ninepounders, examined their equipment like surgeons, while the scarlet caterpillars of marines passed through them to poop or forecastle, to the fighting tops, or to the less popular tasks of guarding the hatchways to prevent any terrified man from running below.

It was a fact that such things were necessary. Men, driven out of their sanity by the thundering roar of artillery, the awful sights of close combat around them, would often try to seek refuge in the depths of the hull.

He heard Wolfe exclaim angrily, Dammee, Mr Speke, sir! The Indomitable has cut her time again! Beaten us to it!'

Browne said, 'From Relentless, sir.' He was squinting down at the midshipman's slate. 'Five sail o f the line, two frigates and one transport.'

Bolitho took a telescope from a master's mate and climbed into the shrouds, aware that the nearest gun crews were staring up at him as if expecting something more than a mere man inside the fine coat with its bright epaulettes.

He waited, steadying the glass against the vibrating ratlines, until Benbow lifted lazily on a long roller which passed diagonally beneath her keel before allowing her to slide into the next trough.

In those seconds Bolitho saw the enemy for the first time. Not just blotches of tanned sails against a dull sky, but as ships. He had no doubt that the French commander was watching him, too.

Six large vessels in two columns. The second one in the weather column wore the flag of a vice-admiral. If there had been any remaining doubt in Bolitho's mind it was gone now.

Beyond the two columns were the frigates, probably waiting well clear of their squadron until they knew Bolitho's strength, especially in fifth-rates like themselves..

He called, 'I estimate their course to be sou'-east, Captain Herrick.'

Herrick, equally formal with half the quarterdeck straining to hear him, replied, 'My view, too, sir.'

Bolitho waited for the next slow lift beneath Benbow's massive bilges and then searched for the transport. She was probably the rearmost ship in the lee column, he decided. In the best place to tack dear or seek protection from the frigates if so ordered. What would she be carrying? Surely not stores. More likely some of Napoleon's crack soldiers, men who barely knew the meaning of defeat. The Tsar of Russia would certainly need some of their professional instruction before he ventured into the spreading arena of war. Or maybe they were troops being sent to guard the captured British merchantmen. Well, Bolitho thought grimly, whatever is decided today, those ships will be safe from Ropars, and Styx 's action might make the Swedes or the Prussians less eager to support the Tsar's ambitions.

He climbed down to the deck and saw Midshipman Penels looking across at him like someone under sentence of death.

'Mr Penels, come here.'

The boy hurried to obey, bringing a few grins from the seamen as he caught his foot on a ring-bolt.

'It has been a bad day for you, it seems.' He watched the boy flinch under his gaze. Twelve years old, no father, sent off to sea to find his way as a King's officer. He would take it badly over his friend Babbage.

Penels sniffed. 'He was a good friend to me, sir. Now I don't know what I'll say when next we meet.'

Bolitho thought of Wolfe's casual acceptance of it. Penels' mother turning to another man. God knows, it happened enough to the wives of sailors. But Penels was only dressed as an officer. He was still a boy. A child.

Bolitho said quietly, 'Mr Pascoe did what he could. Perhaps after this Babbage will need your help more rather than less. I suspect it has always been the other way round in the past?'

Penels stared at him, speechless. That his admiral should care must seem incredible. That he was also right in his assumption about Babbage even more astounding.

He stammered, `I – I shall try, sir.'

Wolfe tapped one great foot impatiently, and as Penels hurried back to his station on the starboard side he barked, `Assist the flag lieutenant, Mr Penels. Though, God damn me, I'd feel safer with a Frenchie than with you, sir!' He glanced at Lieutenant Speke and winked.

Old Ben Grubb blew his nose noisily and remarked, 'Wind's steady, sir. Westerly with barely a shift either way.' He peered at the half-hour-glass by the binnacle and added, `Not long now, I'd say.'

Bolitho looked at Herrick and shrugged. Not long for what? he wondered. Early darkness, victory or death? The sailing master seemed to enjoy tossing in these strange observations. He had one massive fist in the pocket of his shabby watch-coat, and Bolitho guessed he was holding his tin whistle, ready to play them into hell itself if need be.

Herrick was less charitable. 'Grubb's getting old, sir. Should be ashore somewhere with a good woman to take care of him.

Bolitho smiled. `Heavens, Thomas! Since you took to marriage you cannot help replanning others' lives!'

Allday, lounging by the mainmast trunk, relaxed slightly. He always gauged his own chances by watching Bolitho at such moments. He looked over the weather gangway and studied the other ships. The enemy. Both squadrons were moving towards each other like a great arrowhead, the steady wind parting their courses like a shaft. But the French had the wind's advantage, and there were more of them. He turned to watch the men near him. The old hands checking their gear. Flintlocks and powderhorns, sponges and rammers, screws and prickers, even though they had already done it several times. And when they had finished they would begin again. They had seen it all before. The slow, deadly approach, the huddle of sails and masts changing to individual vessels and formations. It took nerve to stand and wait for the final, inevitable embrace.

The youngsters saw it through different eyes. Excitement touched with the ice of fear. The need to be doing something at last instead of the endless backbreaking work and drills.

Slightly separated from the individual gun crews and the men who would work the ship throughout a battle, the petty officers went through their lists and examined their own parts of the whole. Here and there along the divisions of guns were small patches of blue and white, the lieutenants, warrant officers and midshipmen, and below on the other gundeck the pattern was repeated in the eerie darkness behind sealed gunports.

Lieutenant Marston of the marines was up forward talking with the crews of the two big carronades, and Allday recalled the Styx 's marine officer sitting with his head in his hands, struck blind by flying splinters.

Major Clinton was right aft with Sergeant Rombilow, pointing up at the swivel gun in the mizzen top with his black stick. Allday considered that all marines were probably a little mad. Clinton was no exception, and always carried his walking-stick when the ship went to quarters, while his orderly nursed his sword like a bearer.

Allday saw Pascoe walking slowly behind each of his forward guns. If the ships continued on their same tack, his guns would engage the enemy first. How like Bolitho he looked. He thought suddenly of Babbage, of the sickening spectacle of him writhing and screaming under the lash. Even the boatswain's mate who head been using the cat-o'-nine-tails had looked shocked by the outburst.

Next to Bolitho, Allday would do anything for Pascoe. They had lived, fought and suffered together, and if Babbage was to be the cause of Pascoe's worried expression, then All day found good reason for hating him.

The ship was about to sail into battle. Allday cared very little for the rights and wrongs of it, the 'cause' which was drawing the whole world into a war. You fought for those you cared about, for the ship around you, and for little else.

The rich and powerful could drink their port and gamble away their fortunes, Allday thought, but this was his world while it lasted. And if Pascoe had his mind even partly occupied by some fool's problems he would be in more danger than the rest of them.

Bolitho watched his coxswain and said quietly to Herrick, `See him, Thomas? I can almost read his mind from here.'

Herrick followed Allday's glance and answered, 'Aye, sir. He's a good hand, though he'd blast your eyes rather than agree with you!'

The air reverberated to the sudden boom of gunfire, and Wolfe said, The Frenchies are putting a few shots at the Relentless, I shouldn't wonder, sir.'

Herrick looked at Bolitho. 'I'll withdraw her and Lookout to our lee, sir. They've taken enough risks for the moment.'

Bolitho watched him speaking with the flag lieutenant as the signal was bent on to the halliards. Herrick had come a long, long way since he had been appointed as flag captain in the Lysander. The hesitations were few, and when he decided on something it was with the authority of confidence.

Browne called, `They have acknowledged, sir.'

Herrick asked, 'What d'you think the French will do, sir?'

'Leaving the frigates out of it for the present, I would say that Ropars will put his full weight against us. If I were Ropars I would form a single line, otherwise the first engagement will be our four to his three. In line of battle the odds will be five to four against us.'

Herrick faced him, his eyes hopeful. 'But you don't intend that, do you, sir?'

`No.' He clapped him on the shoulder. 'We will break the enemy's line in two places.'

Wolfe said, 'The Frenchies are forming into line, sir.' He grinned with admiration. 'And the transport seems to be standing well astern of the main column.'

Bolitho barely heard him. 'We will attack in two subdivisions. Benbow and Indomitable, while the second one, Nicator and Odin, will tack in succession. Tell Browne's men to have the signal ready.

He moved away and trained a telescope on the French line. It was still in disarray, but he noticed immediately that the flagship was remaining in second place in the line. To watch Bolitho's tactics before he himself acted. Or perhaps to allow one of his captains to take the first brunt of battle.

He walked aft again past the helmsmen and looked at Grubb's chart which was fixed on a little table below the poop. To save Grubb the extra effort of carrying his great bulk to the chart room, Bolitho thought.

To all appearances the two squadrons were in a landless ocean, and yet some fifty miles to the north-east was Norway, and further away to the south-east the coast of Denmark, with the Skagerrak cradled between them.

Bolitho wondered briefly what Inskip was doing, and if it had really been the Crown Prince he had met.

He shut them all from his mind.

'We will alter course, Captain Herrick. The squadron will steer nor'-east by east.'

He walked past the bustling afterguard and watched the Relentless shortening sail to steer a parallel course with the squadron, Lookout following astern like her cub.

The French ships did not alter course or change a single sail.

Herrick studied his own canvas as the yards steadied again, and remarked, 'That'll get him guessing, sir.'

Bolitho watched the leading French ship. About the same size as Benbow, she was already running out her guns. It must seem worse to some of the French sailors, he thought. They had been too long in harbour to withstand the strain of this slow approach. Their officers were keeping them busy, they would be firing a few sighting-shots soon to give them heart for a fight.

Grubb said dourly, 'Two miles, sir. We'll be up to them in 'alf an hour.' He tapped the sand-glass with a thick finger.

There was a dull bang, and seconds later a thin waterspout shot skywards well dear of the larboard bow. A few of the seamen jeered, and some of the older hands looked aft, impatient now that the game had begun.

'Load and run out, if you please. Tell your gun crews we will be engaging on both sides today, but the starboard ports will remain closed until we are amongst the enemy.'

Bolitho moved to the opposite side of the quarterdeck, hemmed in by gun crews and marines, officers and messengers, and yet completely alone.

The French squadron was more powerful, but he had seen worse odds. What his own ships lacked in men and guns they made up in experience. The two lines were drawing toward some point on this grey water, as if being warped by invisible hawsers.

Bolitho dropped his hand and rested it on the well-worn sword at his hip.

Almost to himself he said, `We will put ourselves against the French flagship. They are all far from home. If Ropars' flag falls, the rest will soon scatter.'

The leading French ship, a seventy-four, vanished moment arily behind a billowing barrier of smoke.

Grubb said to his master's mate, `Note it in the log, Mr Daws.

The enemy 'as opened fire.'

8. Outwitted

Bolitho watched the fall of the French broadside from the leading ship. She had fired at extreme range, and he guessed her captain was using the broadside as an exercise. It was more than likely that his gun crews had had little opportunity of aiming at a real enemy before.

British sailors could curse and swear all they wished, but when it came to a fight it was sea-time which counted as much as the weight of armament.

He could not recall seeing the complete contents of a broadside fall before in open water. It was like a violent upsurge from something beneath the surface, hurling spray and smoke in a long, jagged barrier. Even when the last ball had fallen the sea still writhed, the surface painted with great daubs of hissing salt.

Herrick remarked, 'Waste of good powder and shot.'