distress, his scathing comments about the Bolitho charm. Maybe he had been right? It was easy to picture Adam's face now in one of the portraits at the house in Falmouth.
'I wanted to meet you as soon as possible, for I have discovered in the past that circumstances often prevent us from taking our time over such matters.' There were several smiles. 'I am sorry that we are short of two in our numbers-' He hesitated as he realised what he had said. It was as if Herrick was right here, watching resenting the implication; blaming him for sending the two ships into port without waiting. He said, 'This is not a time for loosening our grip on the reins. There are many who saw Trafalgar as a victory which would end all danger at a single stroke. I have seen and heard it for myself, in the fleet and on the streets of London. I can assure you, gentlemen, it is a foolish and misinformed captain who believes this is a time for relaxation. We need every ship we can get, and the men who care enough to fight them when the time comes, as come it must. The French will exploit their gains on land and have proved that few troops can withstand them. And who knows what leaders they will put to sea once they have the ships again to use against us? The French navy was weakened by the very force which brought Napoleon to power. During the blood-letting of the Terror, loyal officers were beheaded in the same blind savagery as the so-called aristocrats! But new faces will appear, and when they do we must be ready.' He felt suddenly drained, and saw Adam watching him with concern.
He asked, 'Have you any questions?'
Captain John Crowfoot of the Glorious, a tall, stooping fig-ure with the solemn looks of a village clergyman, asked, 'Will the Danes offer their fleet to the enemy, Sir Richard?'
Bolitho smiled. He even sounded like one. 'I think not. But under extreme pressure they might yield. No Dane wants the French army on his soil. Napoleon's armies have a habit of staying put after they have invaded, no matter on what pretext.'
Bolitho saw Keen lean forward to look at the next captain to speak. It was Captain George Huxley who commanded Nicator, Keen's old ship. He was probably wondering what kind of man could be expected to hold the rotting seventy-four together.
Huxley was stocky and level-eyed, giving an immediate impression of unwavering self-confidence. A hard man, Bolitho thought.
Huxley insisted, 'We must have more frigates, Sir Richard. Without them we are blind and ignorant of affairs. A squadron, nay, a fleet could pass us in the night, to seaward or yonder along the Dutch coast, and we might never know.'
Bolitho saw one of them glance round as if he expected to see the Dutch coastline, even though it was more than thirty miles abeam.
He said, 'I share that sentiment, Captain Huxley. I have but two under my command. That of my nephew, and the Zest, whose captain I am yet to meet.'
He thought of Keen's remark: 'Captain Fordyce has the reputation of a martinet, sir. He is an admiral's son, as you will know, but his methods are hardly mine.' It was rare for Keen to speak out on the subject of a fellow captain. Their Lordships probably thought that Zest needed a firmer hand after Varian's example.
There were more questions on repairs and supplies, on patrol areas and shortages. Some of the questions were directed at Bolitho's proposed signals and fighting instructions, because of their brevity rather than their context.
Bolitho looked at them thoughtfully. They do not know me. Yet.
He replied, 'Too much time is lost, wasted by unnecessary exchanges in the midst of a sea-fight. And time, as you know from experience, is a luxury we may not always have.' He let each word sink in before he added, 'I had correspondence with Lord Nelson, but like most of you, I never had the good fortune to meet him.' He let his gaze rest on Adam. 'My nephew is the exception. He met him more than once-a privilege we can never share. Gone for ever he may be, but his example is still ours to be seized and used.' He had all their attention, and he saw Adam touch his cheek surreptitiously with the back of his hand.
'Nelson once said that in his opinion no captain could do very wrong if he laid his ship alongside that of an enemy.' He saw Crowfoot of the Glorious nod vigorously, and knew that by the door Jenour was staring at him as if afraid he might miss something.
Bolitho ended simply, 'In answer to some of your questions-I don't think Our Nel's words can ever be improved on.'
It was another two hours before they all departed, feeling better for the plentiful supply of wine, and each man preparing his own version of the meeting for his wardroom and company.
As Ozzard remarked ruefully, 'They certainly made a hole in the cheese Lady Catherine sent aboard! '
Bolitho found some time to speak with the youngest captain in his squadron, Mistral's Commander Philip Merrye, whom Allday later described contemptuously, ''Nother one of those twelve-year-old cap'ns! '
Then under a gentler north-westerly than they had known, the five sail of the line took station on their flagship and brought in another reef for the coming night. Each captain and lieutenant was very aware of the man whose flag floated from Black Prince's foremast, and the need not to lose contact with him in the gathering darkness.
Keen had been going to ask Bolitho to sup with him, but when the brig's commander had produced a letter for him he had decided otherwise.
It was to be a private moment, shared by nobody but the ship around him, and with Catherine. This was a man none of his captains would recognise, as he bent over his table and carefully opened her letter. He knew he would read it many times; and he found he was touching the locket beneath his shirt as he straightened the
letter under a deckhead lantern.
Darling Richard, dearest of men, so short a while since we were parted and yet already a lifetime. Bolitho stared around the cabin and spoke her name aloud. 'Soon, my love, soon…' And in the sea's murmur, he thought he heard her laugh.
17. 'You Hold Their Hearts…'
IF THE officers and men of Bolitho's North Sea squadron had expected a quick relief from the dragging boredom of blockade duty they were soon to be disappointed. Weeks overlapped into months. Spring drove away the icy winds and constant damp of winter, and still they endured the endless and seemingly pointless patrols. Northward from the Frisian Islands, with the Dutch coast sometimes in view, often as far as the Skagerrak where Poland had fought his last battle.
Better than most Bolitho knew he was driving them hard, more so than they had probably ever endured before. Sail and gun drills, in line ahead or abreast to a minimum of signals. Then he had divided his squadron into two divisions with the clergyman-like Crowfoot's Glorious as senior ship of the other line. Bolitho had now been reinforced by the two remaining seventy-fours, Valkyrie and Tenacious, and a small but welcome addition of the schooner Radiant, the latter commanded by an elderly lieutenant who had once been with the revenue service.
Small Radiant might be, but she was fast enough to dart close inshore and make off again before an enemy patrol vessel could be roused enough to weigh anchor and come out to discourage her impudence.
Allday was shaving Bolitho one morning and for the first time since they had come aboard, the stern windows were open, and there was real warmth in the air. Bolitho stared up at the deckhead while the razor rasped expertly under his chin.
The blade stilled as he said, 'I suppose they hate my insides for all the drills I am forcing on them?'
Allday waited, then continued with his razor. 'Better this way, Sir Richard. It's fair enough in small craft, but in big ships like this 'un it's wrong to draw officers and sailors too close together.'
Bolitho looked at him curiously. More wisdom. 'How so?'
''Tween decks they needs someone to hate. Keeps them on edge, like a cutlass to a grindstone! '
Bolitho smiled and let his mind drift again. Cornwall would be fresh again after the drab weather. Bright yellow gorse, sheets of bluebells along the little paths to the headland. What would Catherine be doing? He had received several letters in the courier brig; once he had three altogether, as often happened with the King's ships constantly at sea. Catherine always made her letters interesting. She had dispensed with Somervell's property in London, and after paying off what sounded like a mountain of debts she had purchased a small house near the Thames. It was as if she had felt his sudden anxiety all the miles across the North Sea and had explained, 'When you must be in
