Alexander Kent - Cross of St George

Herrick said with no change of expression, “I will insist that a new captain be appointed to Reaper without delay.” He glanced at Bolitho, then at Keen. “That responsibility must be yours.”

Keen stood. “My flag captain has already suggested such an officer for promotion, sir. Lieutenant John Urquhart.” He paused. “I will support it, sir.”

Herrick said, “Can you manage without him?”

Keen looked at Adam, who made a gesture of agreement, and said, “We will, sir.”

Herrick beckoned to the clerk and the major of marines.

“Sign after my signature.” He straightened his back, and winced. “It is done.” Then he said shortly, “I wish to speak to Sir Richard Bolitho. Alone.”

It seemed an age before the others had filed out, and the room was silent.

Bolitho said, “You did that for me, Thomas.”

Herrick said, “I would relish a glass-a wet, as that rascal Allday calls it.” Then he looked up at him, searching for something, and finding it. “I have nothing to lose, Richard. My flag will never fly again after this last passage. Maybe we shall meet again, but I think not. The navy is a family-you have often said as much. Once released from it, you become ordinary, like a ship laid up.”

A horse clattered noisily across the yard by the gates, reminding Bolitho poignantly of Catherine and her Tamara. How would he tell her, describe to her all that Herrick had said, and had thrown away…

Herrick walked to the doors, his shoulder angled stiffly, his face clearly showing the pain of his wound. He said, “You have everything to lose, as would all those godforsaken souls who depend on you, and those like you.” He added bitterly, “Though I’ve yet to meet one!”

An invisible hand opened the doors, and Bolitho saw Avery waiting for him, his tawny eyes moving between them, trying to understand.

“We have had a messenger from the lookout, Sir Richard. The brig Weazle is entering harbour. She has signalled that the American vessels have left Boston with others from New York. They are steering north-east.”

Bolitho said quietly, “So they’re coming out. Pass the word to Captain Tyacke, George. I shall be aboard as soon as I can.” Avery hurried away, but stopped uncertainly and stared back at them.

Herrick said, “Listen! Cheering! How could they know already?”

They walked down the steps together, while the cheering rolled across the harbour like one great voice.

Bolitho said, “They always know, Thomas. The family, remember?”

Herrick looked back toward the barracks, his eyes suddenly, deeply fatigued.

“Take good care, Richard.” He touched his sleeve. “I shall raise a glass to you when that young puppy hauls anchor for England!”

At the jetty they found Allday standing at the tiller of the admiral’s barge with the crew grouped on the stairs, grinning hugely. Their places had been taken by officers, three of them captains, including Adam.

Herrick held out his hand to Tyacke. “Your work, I presume, sir?”

Tyacke did not smile. “All we could do at such short notice.”

Bolitho followed him down the stairs, recalling Tyacke’s words. They’ll crucify him. But Herrick would have his way. Perhaps the “damned little upstart” Bethune had used his influence. He would know the man he had served as a midshipman better than many, and perhaps had attempted to help by subtle means.

Allday had seen Herrick’s face and said awkwardly, “I don’t get too many chances to tell the officers what to do, an’ that’s no error!” Then he said, “Good luck, Mr Herrick.” Just for those seconds they were back on board Phalarope, young lieutenant and pressed man.

The barge pulled away, the stroke surprisingly smart and regular. As they wended between the anchored men-of-war the cheering escorted them, some of it from Reaper herself. And this time Herrick did look back, although it was doubtful if he could see anything.

Bolitho turned away, and saw that Keen was speaking quietly with Gilia St Clair. And suddenly, he was glad for them.

“Call a boat, James. Sailing orders.”

Tyacke was gazing impassively after the barge. “Aye, Sir Richard. But first…”

Bolitho smiled, but shared the unspoken sadness. “A wet. So be it.”

RICHARD BOLITHO flattened the chart very carefully on his table and opened a pair of brass dividers. He could feel the others watching him, Avery standing by the stern windows, Yovell seated comfortably in a chair, paper and pens within easy reach as always.

Bolitho said, “Two days, and we’ve sighted nothing.” He studied the chart again, imagining his ships as they might appear to a cruising sea bird: five frigates sailing in line abreast, with Indomitable, the flagship, in the centre. The extended line of frigates, half of his entire force, could scan a great expanse of ocean in this formation. The sky was clear, with only a few streaks of pale cloud, the sea a darker blue in the cool sunlight.

He thought of the solitary patrolling frigate, Chivalrous, which had sent the brig Weazle to Halifax with the news that the Americans were on the move again. In his mind’s eye he could see Chivalrous’s captain, Isaac Lloyd, an experienced officer, twenty-eight years old. He would be trying to keep the enemy in view, but would have sense enough not to be trapped into engaging them.

Two days, so where were they? In the approaches to Halifax, or out further still towards St John ’s in Newfoundland? He had discussed various possibilities with Tyacke and York. When he had suggested the Bay of Fundy to the north-west of Nova Scotia, York had been adamant.

“Unlikely, sir. The bay has the world’s highest tides, twice a day for good measure. If I was the Yankee commander I wouldn’t want to get trapped in the middle of that!”

Bolitho had been warned of the situation in the Bay of Fundy. His Admiralty Instructions had already stated that the tides could rise and fall as much as fifty feet and more, with the added risk to smaller vessels of fierce tidal bores. No place to risk a frigate, even the large Americans. Or Indomitable.

He thought of Herrick, on his way now across the Atlantic to throw his findings in someone’s face at the Admiralty. Had he been glad to leave, after all? Or deep inside, was the old, tenacious Herrick still hating what amounted to a dismissal from the only life he knew?

It had obviously had a great effect on Tyacke. He had been more withdrawn than ever after Herrick had been taken out to the frigate which was to carry him back to England.

He tossed the dividers onto the chart. Perhaps this was all a waste of time, or worse, another ruse to draw them away from something more important.

He walked to the stern windows, and felt the ship lifting and leaning beneath him. That, too, he could see in his mind, Indomitable close-hauled on the larboard tack, the wind holding from the south-east as it had for most of the time since they had weighed anchor. Adam was openly fretting at having been left at Halifax, but Valkyriewas their second most powerful frigate: Keen might need her.

Adam had not hesitated in recommending his first lieutenant for promotion to the questionable command of Reaper. A challenge for any man, but Adam had said bluntly, “I’d have taken her myself, had I been free to do so.” Were things between him and Val so strained?

Avery said gently, “We could have missed them overnight, Sir Richard.”

“If they were looking for us, I think not.” Bolitho dismissed the thoughts, and recalled himself to the matter at hand. “Ask Mr York to let me see his notes again, will you?”

The cabin was tilting over once more, and the brass dividers clattered onto the deck. Yovell tried to lean down to recover them, but the angle was so extreme that he sank back in his chair and mopped his face with a bright red handkerchief. But lively or not, the Old Indom was riding it well. As York had remarked with his usual cheerful confidence, “Like a bald-headed barque she is, Sir Richard. Stiff in any wind and stiff when she’s not!”