while the squadron formed into line astern, Bolitho discovered what had happened, He did not once interrupt or hurry Herrick. He wanted it in his own words and not in some carefully prepared oration for his benefit.
One fact stood out above all else. A French squadron had broken out of Brest and had vanished into the blue. It was known to be under the flag of Vice-Amiral Alfred Ropars, an experienced and daring officer. He had taken advantage of the terrible weather, but more than that, he had sent out two of his frigates under cover of darkness to attack and seize the only British patrol which was close enough inshore to see what was happening. Bolitho thought of Inskip's views on a captain's authority and value. The commander of the captured frigate would lose everything. His previous successes, his whole career would be sacrificed to wipe the slate clean.
But Bolitho knew how easily it could happen. Back and forth, up and down, in every sort of sea and wind, the weather-beaten ships of the blockading squadrons often became over-confident, too certain that the French would be sensible enough to stay in port rather than risk a fight.
Ropars must have timed it well. With the patrol captured, his own heavier ships were out and away before dawn.
The courier brig's information was scanty but for one thing. Ropars had sailed north. Not west to the Caribbean or south to the Mediterranean, but north.
Herrick said despairingly, 'With Admiral Damerum relieved by our smaller squadron, sir, and you away, as I thought, in Copenhagen, I was split in halves. The Admiralty thinks Ropars has sailed to assist an invasion and uprising in Ireland. Our fleet is so thinly spread, it might be a good moment to try.'
Bolitho nodded, his mind busy. 'Five years ago, when I was Sir Charles Thelwall's flag captain in Euryalus, I saw enough misery on that station. The French tried it then. They just might make another attempt, Thomas.'
Herrick shaded his eyes to squint up at the topgallant yards where some seamen were clinging on with hands and feet as the sails ballooned violently to the wind.'
He said, 'But I decided I could do no useful thing by running for Ireland, sir. We have too few ships.' He looked Bolitho straight in the eyes. 'In any case, sir, you are my flag officer.'
Bolitho smiled. With him in Copenhagen it must have been a hard decision for Herrick. If he had decided wrongly his head would be on the block with his admiral's, loyalty or not.
But he said warmly, `That was well said, Thomas. I'll see you with your own broad pendant before long, mark my words.'
Herrick grimaced. 'I'd not thank you for it, sir!'
He shifted his feet and said, 'The French admiral's strength is a squadron, no more. That we do know. And I'll wager every ship from the Channel Fleet is prowling the enemy's ports in case they try to reinforce this Ropars.'
Bolitho released his grip from the nettings. It did not take long to get used to the change of motion. From the wild plunges of a frigate to the slow, ponderous tilt of a ship of the line.
`Well, Thomas? I'm waiting.'
Herrick bit his lip, as if wishing he had remained silent.
'I heard what you did in the Baltic. I questioned the master of one of the merchantmen you set free. It was a fine piece of work, sir, with just the Styx to carry it out.'
Bolitho looked at the grey sea alongside, willing Herrick to get on with it, but equally afraid to break the thread of his ideas.
'I think it unlike the Frogs to send one frigate for that task, sir. They would know your squadron would prevent any attempt to escort the merchantmen to France.' He spread his hands. 'And for the life of me I can see no other reason for their actions!'
Bolitho stared at him. Time and distance, Thomas, is that it?'
Herrick nodded. `Aye, sir. I believe that the Frogs intended to draw our squadron to the west to assist the Channel Fleet and to cut Ropars retreat if his attack on Ireland failed.'
Bolitho gripped his arm. `And all the while Ropars is really sailing further north, around Scotland maybe, and then down the coast of Norway, is that what you believe?'
Herrick licked his lips. `Well, er, yes, sir. They'll come south.' He looked at the hazy outline of the Danish Coast. 'To here.'
'Where they hope to find the back door open for them, eh?' It was so simple it had to be wrong.
Bolitho said, 'Signal the squadron to steer west, Thomas, with Relentless and Lookout as far in the lead as possible without losing visual contact. When you are satisfied with them, come aft and bring the master with you. We'll study the charts and share our ideas.'
Herrick looked at him, less certain now.
'I may be quite wrong, sir. Is it worth the risk?'
'If we fight here, we will be on the lee shore. No, we shall meet them in open water, if at all. Cripple some and send the rest running. I have heard of Admiral Ropars, Thomas. This is just the sort of thing he would attempt.'
Herrick said ruefully, 'A bit like you then, sir?'
`Not too much, I hope. Otherwise he may be outguessing us already!'
Bolitho made his way aft to his quarters, past the rigid marine sentry, and then ducked automatically as if he was still aboard the frigate.
For a while he moved restlessly about the cabin, thinking of all that had happened in so short a time. The fragment of chance when Lookout had taken the French brig Echo. Their arrival in Copenhagen, the attack through the snowstorm, men dying, others cheering.
He heard cheering now, as if his thoughts had come to life, but when he peered through the stern windows he saw the frigate Styx dose-hauled under a full pyramid of canvas and
steering past the slower moving two-deckers. The squadron was cheering one of its own. A scarred victor, going home for repairs and perhaps a hero's welcome.
Allday entered the cabin and replaced the presentation sword on its rack below the other one.
He said, 'I was a mite worried back there, sir. Just for a while.'
Bolitho shrugged. 'Fate is a strange thing.'
Allday grinned, obviously relieved. `The folk in Falmouth would have been caught aback if you'd broken it, and that's no error, sir!'
Bolitho sat down, suddenly tired. 'Fetch me something to drink, if you please.' Then he smiled gravely. 'And let us both stop pretending, shall we?'
7. Prepare for Battle
It was a very cold morning, and when Bolitho went on deck for his customary walk he felt the chill in the air as he had off Gotland.
He looked at the sky, almost devoid of cloud but, like the sea, leaden grey, without welcome.
With the aid of a telescope he sought out the other ships, studying the early morning activity, sails being set or retrimmed to bring each vessel into a slow-moving line. Of the Lookout there was no sign as yet, although the masthead might already be able to see her.
The first lieutenant was pacing along the lee side, his ginger hair flapping beneath his hat to make the only bright colour on deck.
His was not to reason or criticize. Wolfe was the first lieutenant, with a command of his own before too long if he was fortunate. To run the Benbow like a perfectly tuned instrument and hand her to his captain in first degree readiness was his sole purpose for being here.
Bolitho dragged his thoughts from the daily routine and considered his own position. Two days they had been heading slowly west and then north. Two days with their Baltic patrol left unattended. Suppose he was wrong? Suppose he had been so eager to exploit the success of the squadron, even in the face of Inskip's doubts and warnings, that hehad missed the obvious?
The excitement at seeing Styx and her battle scars could not last forever. Soon now and he would have to decide. To continue, or to return to the inshore station. Failing to take his ships, or some of them, to Irish waters,
