Alexander Kent - THE INSHORE SQUADRON

'Back to the squadron, eh?' Herrick watched as Ozzard poured two glasses of madeira. 'It will be different for you this time, sir.'

Bolitho nodded. 'It was good of your wife to assist in this matter.'

`Good?' Herrick grinned. 'She loves organizing poor sailormen! She is even bent on arranging my sister's wedding.' He became serious. `God, your lady is a beautiful one, sir. You will be so right for each other.'

Bolitho let his mind drift away. In just a few days his whole life had changed. Belinda Laidlaw had left her employment as the judge's wife's companion and had accepted Mrs Herrick's offer of accommodation with only the briefest hesitation.

She had said, 'Only if I am allowed to help you in return.'

Dulcie Herrick had laughed. `Bless you, my dear, you'll be worn out with my whims and fancies.'

But they had both been pleased at the arrangement.

Bolitho had managed to hold his one real fear at bay. That after he had been at sea for weeks, even months, she might regret her decision and go elsewhere. As Herrick had said, she was beautiful, and desirable.

As the fear re-entered his thoughts he said, 'I am grateful as well as proud, Thomas. I tried to write to her, but it took two attempts before I could find the words. Even so, they are empty against what I feel.' He looked at his friend. 'I talk like a lovesick midshipman. I cannot help it.'

Herrick downed his drink and said, 'It shows, sir. In your manner, on your face. It suits well.' He stood up. 'I will be ready to weigh as soon as the boat returns.'

He hesitated by the door. 'It will seem better somehow. Knowing they're both keeping company with each other while we're on that damned blockade.'

Bolitho sat for a long time sifting through his thoughts. There was a lot which Herrick did not know. For instance, that Damerum was back in overall command of the station, that he would decide where the Inshore Squadron might best be placed. No, better for Herrick to be left in peace for as long as possible. To have to look over his shoulder at a hostile authority when he should be watching the enemy was asking for an early grave.

Two hours later, as her great anchor broke from the ground, the Benbow staggered heavily downwind, her canvas thrashing in apparent confusion until under full rudder and close-reefed topsails she ploughed contemptuously through the first deep trough.

Bolitho stood at the side of the quarterdeck, oblivious to the wet wind and the bustling seamen at halliards and braces.

He took a telescope from the midshipman of the watch and moved it slowly across the walls of the Portsmouth forts and batteries. They looked like gleaming metal instead of stone, he thought, and already so far away. Beyond reach.

Something moved in the corner of the lens and he trained the glass carefully towards it.

It was too far to see her face, but she was wearing the same blue cloak as she had worn in the overturned coach. Her hair was free and streaming in the wind as she waved a kerchief high above her head.

Bolitho took a few paces further aft as part of a flanking battery wall moved inexorably across the side of his lens, attempting to shut her off like a door.

He hurried up the larboard poop ladder, and with the glass to his eye removed his hat to wave it slowly back and forth, even though it was unlikely she would see him.

Bolitho returned to the quarterdeck and handed the telescope to the midshipman.

When he moved to the nettings the angle from the shore had increased even more, and the small patch of blue with the streaming chestnut hair above was hidden from view.

He remembered her as he had last seen her, the feel of her supple body in his arms.

'Belinda.'

Lieutenant Speke turned towards him anxiously.

'Beg pardon, sir?'

Bolitho had not realized he had spoken her name aloud.

'Er, nothing, Mr Speke.'

Herrick had heard him, too, and turned away to hide a smile and to thank the good fortune which had given Bolitho such unexpected happiness.

Old Ben Grubb did not miss much either. He blew his nose noisily and remarked, 'Fair wind, all bein' well. An' 'tis only right an' proper in my book.'

Back on the spray-soaked ramparts Dulcie Herrick called, 'Better come down now, my dear. You'll catch your death of cold otherwise.'

She had desperately wanted to share Benbow's departure, to wave at the ship as she spread more canvas and heeled ponderously to the wind. But she knew from her own short experience how important this moment was. Too important to share with anyone.

The girl turned and looked down at her, her brown eyes misty as she said, 'Did you hear the sailors singing?'

'A shanty, yes. It always moves me. Especially now.'

The girl climbed down the stone steps and slipped her hand through her arm.

'There is so much I want to know about him. About his world.' She squeezed her companion's arm and added huskily, 'I was nearly such a fool, Dulcie. I could have lost him.'

The days which followed Benbow's return to the squadron were marked only by their emptiness, their dreary similarity. As they dragged into weeks, and Bolitho's weatherbeaten ships beat back and forth on their endless patrol, it seemed to many that they were the only living beings, that the rest of the world had forgotten them.

Even the sloop and lively frigates found little to report. Nothing moved in or from the Baltic, and only by keeping their people busy or otherwise engaged in contests amongst themselves could the captains cling to a disciplined routine.

Bolitho released one ship at a time for a brief call to a home port. As each vessel left the little squadron the remaining ones began to count the days for her return and their own chance of parole.

Relentless, being the larger of the two frigates, was employed around the Skaw and down into the Kattegat. Whenever she made contact with the flagship, which was rare, it was through the Styx or the sloop Lookout, and Bolitho often wondered how his nephew was getting on, and if he was still brooding over the duel and the cause of it.

The last ship to return from her short reprieve in an English harbour was Captain Inch's sixty-four, Odin. As Bolitho stood on the quarterdeck and watched the two-decker running down towards the squadron he felt in his bones that she was to be the last, and it was with no surprise that he heard Oughton, the new lieutenant, call, 'Signal from Odin, sir! Captain requests to come aboard!'

Herrick moved to Bolitho's side. 'I wonder what news he has for us, sir?'

Bolitho saw some of the off duty hands on the weather gangway, so hardened now to the bitter weather that most were bare-armed, some even without shoes. They would also be wondering. The blockade was to be withdrawn. The. war was over. The French had invaded.

He said, 'Whatever the news, Thomas, Inch is eager to tell it. Much more canvas and he'll dismast his ship!'

They both smiled. Inch had never been renowned for his ship-handling. But his courage and his dogged loyalty made up for that and much more.

Odin was already standing into the wind, her sails banging and puffing in torment as Inch took the way off his ship. _

Wolfe said, 'Boat's in the water, sir.' He glared at a boatswain's mate. 'Man the side!'

Herrick muttered, 'It had better be something useful. Here we are, in March now, and no nearer a solution than when we left Spithead last September.' He ran his gaze over his command and added, 'But we've made our mark, none the less.'

Inch clambered through the entry port, his hat awry, his long horse-face bobbing to the side party and saluting marines.

He saw Bolitho and Herrick and almost ran towards them.

Bolitho smiled. 'Easy, you'll have the people thinking we are on the retreat!'

Inch allowed himself to be led aft to the cabin before he burst out with, 'We are mustering a great fleet, sir. Admiral Sir Hyde Parker is to command. He will break through the Sound and attack Copenhagen!'

Bolitho nodded slowly. It was much as Beauchamp had hinted. With the respite given to the Navy's scattered resources by the Baltic ice, it would soon be time to act. Before Tsar Paul could combine the strength of Sweden, Prussia and his own forces for an all-out attack, it would be necessary to intimidate the most vulnerable power, and Denmark was the obvious choice.

Bolitho felt no satisfaction in his heart. He remembered the green spires, the pleasant people, the elegant buildings of the city.

Herrick asked, 'Who is Hyde Parker's second-in-command?' Inch looked perplexed. `That is something I did not understand. It is Vice-Admiral Nelson.'

Herrick banged his palms together. 'Typical! Nelson, the man who beat the Frenchies at the Nile, somebody who Jack would follow into the teeth of hell itself if need be, is expected to serve under Hyde Parker!'

Bolitho said nothing, but he knew what Herrick meant. It was like condemning Nelson for being a victor, a hero in his country's eyes. Hyde Parker was twenty years older than Nelson and very rich, and that was about all Bolitho knew of him. Except that he had a wife young enough to be his daughter, who was known throughout the fleet somewhat irreverently as Batter-Pudding.

Inch dragged a long envelope' from inside his coat and handed it to Bolitho.

'Orders, sir.' He swallowed hard, his eyes trying to pierce the sealed cover. `Our part.'

Herrick took the cue. 'Come to my cabin, Francis. We will drink a glass and you can tell me the latest scandal.'

Bolitho sat down slowly and slit open the envelope.

It was neatly and precisely laid down, and he could almost hear Beauchamp's dry tones as he read through the list of ships, some famous, many of which he had seen several times throughout his service. Their captains, too. As boys, as lieutenants, then as experienced commanders. It was a formidable fleet, but if the enemy was allowed to combine its forces, Hyde Parker's ships of the line, including Bolitho's, would be outnumbered by more than three to one.

He recalled what he had seen and learned in Copenhagen, the talk of block-ships and moored batteries, of the galleys and gun-brigs, bomb vessels, and knew this was to be no skirmish, no show of force to deter a would-be attacker. This was in deadly earnest, and the Danes would react with equal determination.

He called for Ozzard but Allday entered the cabin instead.

'We are to attack, Allday.' It was strange how simple it was to speak with him. `Would you ask Captain Herrick to come aft again, please?'

Allday nodded grimly. 'Aye, sir.' He glanced at the two swords on their rack. 'And I thought we might get away with it this time, sir. I reckon we've done our share.'

Bolitho smiled. 'There are no shares.'

He loosely outlined the content of the despatch to Herrick and Inch without emotion. Their part in the attack was not yet clear. Admiral Damerum was to command the supporting squadron to protect supply vessels, prevent interference from any French ships which might try and slip through the blockade to join with the battle. It did not seem that his role was to be of much importance.

Herrick said at length, `We'll just have to make the best of it.'

Inch was more definite. `Pity our Nel is not in the van, with our own rear-admiral in support!'

Herrick nodded glumly. 'I'll drink to that sentiment, Francis!'

Bolitho lowered his face to hide a smile. Inch's supreme confidence in what he could do was unnerving.

He said, 'The fleet will rendezvous outside the Sound towards the end of the month.'

He tried not to think of her face, what she would have to endure when the news broke in England. The end of the month, he had said. It was barely two weeks away.

'After that, it will be up to Sir Hyde Parker.'

He pictured the narrow Sound Channel with the great battery of Elsinore. beyond. If the Swedish guns opened fire, too, the 'squadrons would be cut to pieces from both directions at once.

Inch said, 'I should like to return to my ship, sir.' He looked suddenly troubled. 'I have some letters for the squadron.'

As the two captains left the cabin Bolitho heard Herrick ask, 'How is your wife?'

'Hannah is well, thank you. We are expecting our first child.' The rest was cut off by the closing door.

Bolitho stood up and paced restlessly about the cabin. Once, none of them had cared very much beyond the day, or the one to follow. Now, Herrick and Inch had wives. He stopped by the stern windows, feeling the shudder of the tiller-head beneath his cabin as Herrick brought the ship around to make a lee for Odin's gig.

This was what the flag, his flag at the mizzen truck really meant. Not just another fight, a bewildering duty which required only obedience and courage, it was people. Men like Herrick and Inch with wives who had their own sort of battle to fight each time a man-of-war weighed anchor. Ordinary men with hopes and problems who had no choice but to trust their commander.

He remembered with sudden clarity her words as they had held each other in that last embrace.

'Come back safely to me, Richard. I ask for nothing more.'

Now, he had that kind of responsibility, too.

He watched Odin's misty shape lengthening as she changed tack, shivering through the thick glass panes, her sails like wings against the dull clouds. R

An hour later, with the squadron once more sailing in a tight line, Herrick came to him again. Bolitho was still at the window, his hands on the sill as he took the weight off his aching leg.

Bolitho saw Herrick's reflection in the salt-spattered glass and said, 'We will call all the captains aboard when we know what is expected of us. I should like to see them before we give battle.' He thought of Browne. We happy few. 'Make a signal to Lookout to recall Relentless from her patrol.'

Herrick nodded. 'I'll do it now. The light is getting poor.' He watched Bolitho's uncertainty. 'Will you tell him, sir?'

Bolitho did not have to ask whom he meant. 'It is his right, Thomas. None of it was Adam's doing.'

Herrick eyed him sadly. 'Or yours, sir.'

'Perhaps.' He turned and faced him. 'Now be off and make that signal. Then we will have supper together, eh?'

Alone again, Bolitho sat at his table and listened to the ship's voices. Rigging and spars, timbers and tackle, all murmuring their own private conspiracy.

Then he dragged some paper from a drawer and lifted a pen from its stand which had been made by Tregoye, the carpenter. A fellow Cornishman, he said little, but had left the stand as a present, knowing Bolitho would understand in some way.

He thought for a few moments, remembering how she had held him, and also the moments of peace, her hands folded in her lap like a child.

Then, without hesitation, he began to write.

My dearest Belinda…

If the courier brig found _them in time before the battle she would eventually read it. By then it would all be over, but at least she would know what he was thinking at this moment, as with Benbow in the lead the little squadron sailed towards the shadows of evening.

Bolitho listened to the muffled squeal of calls and knew it marked the arrival of another of his captains for the brief conference. And it had to be short, for with so many ships in the vicinity, backed up by patrolling frigates and brigs, supply vessels and the rest, they were not free to anchor.

The last week had been busy but less tense. Once committed to a plan of battle, no matter how hazy it must appear to an ordinary seaman or marine, the people went to work with a will. Shifting stores, powder and shot to retrim the hulls which had for the most part been living too long off their own fat.