Inshore Squadron Page 23

  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.

  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 . . .

&nb
sp; 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.

  During daylight hours the masthead lookouts reported sighting more ships of Hyde Parker’s fleet as it gathered together for the first perilous thrust through the Sound Channel.

  There was a tap at the door and Bolitho heard feet moving beyond it, like players waiting to emerge on stage.

  Browne peered in and said, “All present, sir.” As an afterthought he added, “Wind’s as before, sir, and Mr Grubb says there’s little chance of a change.”

  “Let them enter.” Bolitho walked to the door to greet and shake hands with each of his young captains.

  Veitch of the Lookout and Keverne of the Indomitable. The latter had changed not at all in spite of his authority. He still had the gipsy good looks which Bolitho remembered when he had been first lieutenant in his own Euryalus. Inch and, of course, Neale of the Styx, followed closely by Captain Peel of the Relentless.

  The last one to enter with Herrick was Captain Valentine Keen of the Nicator. They had shared so much together before the war, in the East Indies and later in the Great South Sea where Bolitho had all but died of fever.

  Bolitho shook his hand warmly. “How is everything with you?”

  Keen knew that Bolitho’s question had a double edge. Nicator’s previous captain had been a coward and a liar, and it was said he had died from a ball fired by one of his own company. Nicator had been an unhappy ship then, but under Keen’s command had prospered with surprising swiftness.

  “Aye, sir. I am ready.” He gave a smile. “You can depend on it.”

  Herrick clapped him on the shoulder. “Enough said, young Val! Let’s get this meeting completed in time for a glass, eh?”

  Bolitho stood behind his table, his feet taking the gentle roll and plunge of the deck.

  “I have received the final instructions, gentlemen.” He saw them watching him, eager, anxious, some trying to hide their feelings completely.

  “More intelligence has been received about the armed galleys which Captain Neale and I observed when we made our little venture into the Baltic.” He saw a few smiles. “The Danes have many more than first believed, and have been keeping them to the south of Copenhagen. They present an obvious threat to any slower vessels sailing in single-line. It has been agreed that Vice-Admiral Nelson will lead the main assault on the defences and moored men-of-war, and all else which the Danes have prepared for us.”

  Even Hyde Parker must have been embarrassed by agreeing to his junior accepting the hardest part of the battle. Bolitho saw Neale nudge Inch with his elbow and guessed they were thinking along the same tack.

  “It is now definite that the Danish batteries will open fire as soon as we attempt to enter the Baltic. The Swedish commander has made no comment, but we must assume they may follow that example. When I was in Copenhagen I heard talk of the Danes removing buoys and steering-marks from the channel.”

  They were no longer smiling. Without definite knowledge of the channel it would mean a more cautious approach. Just two ships running aground could turn an orderly advance into a shambles long before they reached their objectives.

  “So,” Bolitho paused and glanced down at the neatly written instructions, “this squadron will enter the channel under cover of darkness to bypass the harbour defences and attack the galleys before they can get amongst our main fleet.”

  He had to speak carefully to conceal his dismay.

  “Soundings will be taken by the boats of the squadron, each to be under the charge of an experienced lieutenant or warrant officer. Close contact will be maintained at all times, but with a minimum of signals. It seems certain that we will not complete the passage without detection, and some casualties and damage must be expected. For this and other reasons we will keep to the Swedish side of the channel and make it as hard as possible for the Danish gunners, understood?”

  Most of them nodded, but Peel stood up abruptly to ask, “If the main fleet is held by the Danish defences, sir, what will become of us?”

  Bolitho said, “Ask me when it happens.”

  He liked the appearance of Captain Rowley Peel. At twenty-six he had earned a fine reputation as a frigate captain, although he looked more like a young farmer than a sea officer. It was hardly surprising, Bolitho thought, as Peel came from a long line of landowners and would be as much at home with his beasts and crops as on a quarterdeck.

  Peel grinned. “Aye, sir. With Nelson at one end and you at t’other, I think we shall live!”

  Bolitho leaned on his hands and looked at each face in turn.

  “Now to the order of battle. Relentless, being the larger of the frigates, will lead, with Lookout in close support.”

  He turned to Neale, seeing his crestfallen expression as he added, “You will follow astern of the squadron to repeat signals from the fleet or pass information to it.”

  You would think he had just ordered Neale’s court martial rather than saving him from the first crushing broadsides.

  For a moment all their faces seemed to fade and he felt alone in the cabin.

  Relentless’s part was vital and the choice left no alternative.

  When Damerum had put his suggestions to Hyde Parker he must have found it hard to conceal his elation. He would have discovered about Pascoe’s appointment to the frigate and would have known how precarious that position would soon become.

  A few questions came and went, answered by either Herrick or Browne.

  Ozzard appeared with a tray of goblets and each man was soon drinking the loyal toast.

  Then Bolitho said quietly, “Most of us have known each other for a long time. In war that is a fortunate thing. During the fight ahead, our knowledge of each other will be as important as gunnery and seamanship, and to me, most of all, it will be a great encouragement to know I am among friends.”

  Herrick raised his goblet. “To us!”

  Then they began to take their leave, each probably devising the best way to explain what was expected to his own ship’s company.

  Herrick and Browne left the cabin to see the captains into their waiting boats, but Peel hung back, his face embarrassed.

  “What is it, Captain Peel?”

  “Well, sir, it’s not for me to say, of course. But it’s fairly common knowledge through the squadron about your clash with Admiral Damerum. I can understand why this dangerous course must be followed, and for my part I am proud to be in the van when we attack. If Sir Hyde Parker needs all his gun-brigs and bomb vessels for the assault on Copenhagen harbour, then it is obvious that we must play our part and scatter the galleys.”

  Bolitho nodded. “That is a fair summing up, Captain Peel.”

  Peel said stubbornly, “But there is nothing to state that your nephew must be in my ship when it happens, sir! After all that’s gone before, it would be the least I could do to replace him.”

  Bolitho faced him gravely. “Thank you. That could not have been easy for you.”

  Peel swallowed hard. “He came aboard with me anyway, sir, to speak with the flag captain. I should like to consult your sailing master on some recent charts.” He raised an eyebrow. “Shall I send Mr Pascoe aft, sir?”

  “Yes. And I am grateful for your concern.”

  It
seemed an age before Pascoe came to the cabin. He looked very pale, as if he was in fever.

  Bolitho said, “Sit down, Adam.”

  Pascoe asked quietly, “You are surely not removing me from Relentless, sir?”

  “No. I understand you better than you realize. My one regret is that I have left it so late to say so much. That scum Roche cleared my head if nothing else.”

  Pascoe said, “I heard all about it. The risk you took. He might have killed you.”

  “Or you, Adam, have you thought of that?”

  Bolitho walked to the stern windows and stared out at the shifting grey line of the sea, rocking back and forth as if to tip the ships over the edge into oblivion.

  “I will not hide my feelings from you, Adam. You mean a great deal to me, more than I can say. I had hoped you might one day take on my family name, as you so rightly deserve.”

  He saw Pascoe’s reflection in the glass as he moved to protest.

  “No, hear me. You have had to bear the shame of your father’s actions for too long.” He could feel his heart pounding in time with the ache in his wound. “I’ll prolong it no more, even at the risk of losing your friendship. Your father, my brother, killed a man in a senseless duel. That man was Admiral Damerum’s brother, so you see the hate has never washed away.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “You don’t. You think of your father as a traitor who died in ignominy.” He swung round, ignoring the sudden pain as he added sharply, “The master’s mate, Mr Selby, who lost his life to save yours aboard the Hyperion. He was Hugh, your father!”

  If he had struck Pascoe he could not have made him recoil more.

  Before he could speak Bolitho continued remorselessly, “I thought it could be buried, forgotten. Hugh did not even know of your existence, but when he did, I can assure you he was a proud man. I made him promise to keep the secret from you. To do otherwise would have cost him his life, and you something even more dear. As it happened, he died bravely, and for no better cause.”

  He realised Pascoe was on his feet, his body swaying against the roll of the hull as if he had lost his self-control.