seventeen, one of the senior 'young gentlemen'. His chances of promotion to lieutenant might be marred if he was sick in the barge carrying his admiral to meet another.
'Sit down, Mr Graham.' He saw the youth staring at him, startled at being addressed by one so senior. 'It will be a lively pull yet.' r
'Th-thank you, sir.' He sank down gratefully. 'I shall be all right, sir.'
Across his shoulders Allday grinned broadly at the stroke oarsman. Only Bolitho would bother about a mere midshipman. The funny part was, that Allday knew the luckless Graham had been eating some pie he had brought from England. It had doubtless been going mouldy when he had. stepped aboard. After days at sea in a damp, cheerless midshipman's berth, it must be as near poison as made no difference.
Bolitho's arrival aboard Damerum's flagship was no less noisy than his departure from his own.
He got a hasty impression of glittering bayonets and red coats, of stiff-faced lieutenants, and then the admiral himself, thrusting forward to meet him.
'Come aft, Bolitho. God's teeth, this chill is enough to pierce your marrow!'
The Tantalus was a good deal larger than the Benbow, and Damerum's quarters more lavish than Bolitho had ever seen in a King's ship. Apart from the movement, and the muffled shipboard noises, it could have been part of a rich chamber. If the ship ever had to clear for action in a hurry, the fine drapes and expensive French furniture would suffer badly.
Damerum gestured towards a chair while a servant took Bolitho's hat and boat-cloak.
'Sit you down, sir, and let's have a good look at you, eh?'
Bolitho sat. Sir Samuel Damerum, Knight of the Bath, Admiral of the Red, was, at a guess, in his early fifties. He had a brisk, lively way of moving and speaking, but his greying hair, and an obvious thickening about his middle which even an immaculately tailored waistcoat could not conceal, made him seem older.
He said, `So you're Richard Bolitho.' His gaze fell briefly on the gold medal which Bolitho wore around his neck for this formal visit. 'The Nile medal, no less.' He shook his head. 'Some people have all the luck.' In the same quick manner he changed tack again. 'How's the squadron?' He did not wait but added, 'You took longer to reach me than I'd hoped, but can't be helped, what?'
Bolitho said, 'I'm sorry about that, sir. Bad weather, raw landsmen. The usual.'
Damerum rubbed his hands, and as if by sorcery a servant appeared.
'Brandy, man. And not that muck we keep for captains!' He chuckled. 'God, what a war, Bolitho. On and on. No damn end to it.'
Bolitho waited, not yet at ease with this erratic man. He spoke a lot, but so far had said nothing.
Bolitho said, 'My flag captain is sending some stores across for you, sir.'
'Stores?' The admiral's eyes were on the brandy and the two glasses which his servant had carried to a table. 'Oh, yes. Mr Fortnum, my grocer in London, does his best to keep me supplied, y'know. Not easy these days.'
Bolitho did not know who Mr Fortnum was, but felt he should have done.
The brandy was mellow and warming. Much of it and Bolitho knew he would be asleep if he was not careful. 'Well, Bolitho, you will know that you are to assume the duties of the inshore squadron. The Danish affair seems to have cooled down for the present, but my information is that the Tsar of Russia is eager to join with the French against us. You know about the pact he has been trying to make with Sweden?' Again he did not wait for an answer but hurried on. 'Well, he is still set on that idea. In addition, he has the backing of Prussia. Together they may force the Danes against us also. It is never easy to live in peace next to a raging lion!'
Bolitho pictured his small squadron trying to stem the advance of the combined Baltic fleets. Beauchamp had said that his task would not be an easy one.
'Will we enter the Baltic, sir?'
Damerum signalled to his servant for the glasses to be refilled.
'Yes and no. A great show of strength would be wrongly interpreted. Tsar Paul would use it to fan the flames. We'd be at war in a week, But a smaller force, yours, can go with peaceful intent. My ships are known to all the spies who flit past my frigates. It will soon be common knowledge that a new squadron is here. Smaller, and so a lessening of tension and suspicion all round.' He smiled, showing very even teeth. 'Besides which, Bolitho, if there was real trouble we are helpless until next year. March at the earliest. We could not get to grips with the Tsar's ships while they are in harbour, so we must wait for the winter ice to melt. Until then,' he fixed Bolitho with a calm stare, `you will keep an eye on things at close quarters.' He chuckled. `At very close quarters to begin with. You are instructed to enter Copenhagen and meet with a British official there.'
Bolitho stared at him. 'Surely you, as senior officer, would be a better choice, sir?'
'Your concern does you credit. But we have to tread warily. Too junior an officer and the Danes will feel slighted. Too senior and they will see this for something sinister, a threat perhaps.' He wagged a finger. 'No, a young rear-admiral would be about right. The Admiralty believes so, and I have confirmed my support.'
'Well, thank you, sir.' He did not know what to say. It was all happening so quickly. A squadron, a new station, and almost at once he was off again on something quite different. He had a feeling he was going to find Browne very useful after all.
Damerum added suddenly, 'In any doubts at all, send a fast vessel to find me. Half of my ships are returning to England for overhaul, the remainder are to reinforce the Dutch blockade. It is all in the written instructions which even now my flag lieutenant is handing to yours. They are lucky men. They handle the destiny of a fleet, but take no part in the skill of responsibility for it, damn them!'
Water dashed against the stern windows like pellets. It had begun to rain or worse.
Bolitho stood up. 'I shall find my fresh instructions interesting reading, Sir Samuel.' He held out his hand. 'And thank you for the trust you have placed in me.'
As he said it he realized the true meaning for the first time. It was like having a line severed. The instructions were for him to interpret as he saw fit. There was nobody nearby to run to for guidance or advice. Right or wrong, it was his decision.
'I'll not see you over the side, if you don't mind, Bolitho. I've letters to write to catch the courier brig for England.' As they walked to the screen door, beyond which Browne was conversing with a very weary looking lieutenant, he said, 'So good luck in Copenhagen. It's a fair city, I'm told.'
After a perilous descent down the flagship's side, Bolitho and Browne wedged themselves in the sternsheets and wrapped their boat-cloaks around their bodies.
Through chattering teeth Browne asked, 'All well, sir? I should have been with you, but the admiral's aide was waiting to head me off. I did not even get offered a glass, sir!' He sounded quietly outraged.
Bolitho said, 'We are going to Copenhagen, Mr Browne.' He saw the lieutenant's eye light up. 'Does that suit?' 'Indeed it does, sir!'
It was good to be back aboard Benbow. New she might be, and as yet untried, but already she had 'a personality, a warmth which had been lacking aboard the ship he had just visited. Perhaps it was Herrick's influence at work. You never knew for certain with ships, Bolitho thought.
Herrick joined him in the cabin and waited patiently while Bolitho rid himself of his dripping cloak and hat.
'Copenhagen, Thomas. We will lay a course for The Skaw at once, and I shall inform the squadron what is to happen.' He grinned at Herrick's grave expression. 'When I know myself, that is!'
It was a hundred miles at least to The Skaw, the northernmost point of Denmark. It would give him ample time to study his instructions, and perhaps even to read that which had been left out.
Bolitho lay back in a chair while Allday finished shaving him. It was early morning and barely light beyond the salt-streaked windows, but Bolitho had been awake for an hour, preparing himself for a testing day and going over his instructions to see if he had missed anything.
Bolitho was surprised he was so relaxed. He was able to drowse while the razor slid smoothly up his throat, to listen to the sluice of water overhead and the attendant march of bare feet as the decks were washed down.
He thought he heard the boatswain's thick voice, too. Swale, Big Tom as he was called, had a strange sounding tone, almost a lisp, caused by the loss of most of his front teeth. In battle or brawl, Bolitho did not know. Herrick had said he was a good boatswain, and at this moment he was probably examining the poop and quarterdeck again. It was always a strain for the first weeks at sea for a newly built ship. Timber, not always as well seasoned as it should be after years of war and shortages, could do strange things with the hull rolling about in all directions.
Benbow certainly sailed well, he thought. Several times the other two-deckers had been forced to spread more canvas to keep up with her. A fine ship. She alone must have taken-the best part of a forest to build.
