Bolitho recalled his visit to Damerum's flagship. He had thought it strange then that Damerum had not taken the initiative himself. He was a senior flag officer and well respected. Most such men would have expected it, demanded it in many cases.
Browne added quietly, 'But you are left with little room for manoeuvre now, sir. I would merely suggest, from my own experience with Admiral Sir George Beauchamp, that you tread warily. A victor is one thing, but a scapegoat is often more easily discovered.'
Herrick came back rubbing his hands. He looked cold.
` Styx has acknowledged our signal, sir. May I suggest you take some extra hands with you?' He grinned ruefully. 'I know there's no point in me protesting any more, so I took the liberty of telling Mr Wolfe to detail thirty seamen and a couple of junior officers. One lieutenant, and I thought a midshipman for messages and so forth.'
Bolitho nodded. 'That was thoughtful, Thomas. I think Captain Neale will appreciate it, too.'
Herrick sighed. 'Captain Neale.' He shook his head. 'I still think of him as that greasy cherub we pushed through the venthole!'
Bolitho steadied his thoughts again. They were too often racing ahead like halliards gone mad and fouling their blocks.
What Browne had said made sense.
'Well, Yovell, write what I shall tell you.'
Herrick was about to leave again and asked, 'Which
lieutenant, sir?'
Mr Pascoe.' He smiled. 'But I expect you already thought of that, too!'
4. The Ajax
Allday and Ozzard carried a small chest of Bolitho's clothing and personal effects and laid it in the Styx 's stern cabin. Captain John Neale watched Bolitho's reactions as he looked around and said, 'I hope you will be comfortable, sir.'
– Neale had not changed all that much. He was just a larger edition of the chubby midshipman whom Herrick had described. But he wore his rank and command well, and had used his early experience to good effect.
Bolitho replied, 'It brings back memories, Captain Neale. Some bad, but many good ones.'
He saw Neale shifting his feet, eager to be off.
'You carry on, Captain. Get your ship under way again and make as much progress as you can. Benboui s sailing master assures me there will be fog about.'
Neale grimaced. That could be dangerous in the narrows, sir. But if old Grubb says fog, then fog there will be!'
He left the cabin with a nod to Allday, who murmured admiringly, 'He's not spoiled, sir. Always liked him.'
Bolitho hid a smile. 'Spoiled? He's a King's officer, Allday, not a piece of salt pork!'
From the quarterdeck they heard Neale shouting lustily, 'Get_ under way, Mr Pickthorn! Hands to the braces, roundly, if you please! And I'll want the t'gan's'ls on her once we clear the anchorage!'
Feet pounded along the decks, and Bolitho felt the cabin dip as Styx responded willingly to the sudden press of canvas. He sat down; on the bench seat and surveyed the cabin slowly. He had commanded three frigates during his service. The last one, the thirty-six-gun Tempest, had been down in the Great South Sea. That was when they had first heard about the bloody revolution in France. The war had started soon afterwards, and had gone on ever since.
He wondered if Pascoe was exploring the ship, mulling over his uncle's promise to help him get an early transfer. It would be painful to lose him so quickly again. Anything else would be selfishness, Bolitho knew.
Allday murmured, `We're passing abeam of Benbow, sir:' He smiled. `She looks big from down here!'
Bolitho watched her as she slid away across the frigate's quarter. Black and buff, shining with spray and damp air. Her upper yards and loosely furled canvas did look hazy, so Grubb's prediction was coming true already. That would give Herrick something else to worry about.
Eventually, Browne came aft to report that Styx was standing well clear of the anchorage, and that Pascoe had arranged for the additional seamen to be quartered throughout the ship.
He said, almost as an afterthought, `The captain seems to think we can make good time around the point, but after that he believes the fog will come down.'
Bolitho nodded. 'Then we shall anchor. If the fog is bad for us, so too will it prevent others from moving.'
At this time of year fogs could be as common as icy gales. Each had its own special kind of danger, and both were respected by sailors.
But once the frigate had completed her passage around The Skaw and changed tack to steer south along Denmark 's opposite coastline, Neale was able to report that the fog was little more than a thick sea-mist. The densest part was clinging to the land, and in all probability was trapped in the anchorage they had left astern.
Herrick could cope with that all right. Pay Herrick a sincere compliment and he would be speechless. Put him before a lady and he would be tongue-tied. Gales, fog or the roaring horror of battle and he was like a rock.
They sighted very few craft, and only small vessels at that. Coasters and fishermen, staying near the land, and certainly wary of the lean-looking frigate as she thrust further south towards the narrow sound between Denmark and Sweden. The gateway to the Baltic. A shelter or a trap, according to what your intentions might be.
As soon as it was dark Neale asked permission to anchor. As Styx swung slowly to her cable, and the mist filtered through her spars and rigging to make her like a phantom ship, Bolitho walked the quarterdeck, watching the pale stars, the occasional gleam of a light from the land.
Styx showed only an anchor lantern, and the watch which moved about the forecastle and gangways were fully armed. Mr Pickthorn, her first lieutenant, had even spread boarding nets.
just to be on the safe side, as Neale had put it.
Pascoe emerged from the darkness and waited to see if it was convenient to speak.
Bolitho beckoned to him. `Here. Let's walk a while. Stand still for long and the blood feels like glacier water.'
They paced back and forth, meeting and passing the men on watch or some of the ship's officers who were also trying to take some exercise in the keen air.
'Our people are settled in, sir.' Pascoe shot him a quick glance. 'I have Mr Midshipman Penels with me as messenger. I thought him a bit too young, but Mr Wolfe said he's got to start sometime.' He chuckled. 'He's right, I expect.'
'Tomorrow we will enter Copenhagen, Adam. There, I am to meet a British official of some standing.'
He looked towards the tiny lights on the shore. The news would be there already. An English man-of-war. One from the new squadron. What did it mean? Why had she come?
'There are a few questions I will want answering for my own content, too.'
Pascoe did not break into Bolitho's thoughts, even though he was speaking them aloud. He was thinking of Midshipman Penels and his friend Babbage. By some accident, or a petty officer's indifference, Babbage was aboard Styx also.
Bolitho asked suddenly, 'How are you getting along with my flag lieutenant? The Honourable Oliver Browne?'
Pascoe smiled, his teeth white in the darkness. 'With an 'e', sir. Very well. He is a strange man. Far removed from most sea officers. All, in my own experience. He is always so calm and untroubled. I think that if the Frenchies were to storm aboard at this moment he would pause to finish his meal before joining the fight!'
Captain Neale came on deck and Pascoe excused himself and left.
Bolitho said, 'It seems very quiet, Captain.'
'I agree.' Neale peered through the sagging boarding nets. 'But I'm careful. Captain Herrick would spit me if I allowed his admiral to run aground, or worse!'
Bolitho bade him good night and went to his borrowed. quarters. He had not realized before just how well known Herrick's devotion had become.
