Alexander Kent - For My Country’s Freedom

It would soon be a time for parting. Days or weeks: after the freedom they had longed for and shared since Bolitho’s return to England, it would be all the harder to accept.

He heard Avery say, "I was so glad to learn of Commodore Keen’s promotion. Well earned, from what I have heard and read of him."

Bolitho looked up at him sharply, but it was only an innocent comment. He wondered what Zenoria would be thinking about it, Adam too. Thank God he would be sailing soon despite his shortage of men and officers.

Of one company. How many times had he heard it thus described. He recalled the big frigate Valkyrie, aboard which he had been rendered completely helpless by tiny splinters in his uninjured eye. Command of her had gone to Adam’s contemporary Captain Peter Dawes, the son of an admiral, whose frigate Laertes had been so badly battered by Baratte’s crossfire that it was unlikely she would ever fight again.

Many people would be surprised that such a prestigious command had not been given to Adam. No doubt some of them in the room beyond were also thinking as much. But Dawes had proved his worth; he would give Valkyrie fair and proper leadership, unlike the brutal punishments which had been a regular occurrence under Captain Trevenen, who had vanished overboard without trace. Murder, an accident, or had he committed suicide to save himself from a charge of cowardice when Herrick had seized command?

He considered it, and knew that Adam would not wish to

leave his beloved Anemone, even though there would hardly be a familiar face left now in her whole company.

He heard Avery breathe in as footsteps clicked across the marble floor like distant slate-hammers.

A white-faced clerk said, "If you would please come this way, Sir Richard." He glanced nervously at Avery. "I have been told nothing about…"

"Then you will have no objection if my flag-lieutenant remains with me."

Avery almost felt sorry for the clerk. Almost.

The big room was full of distinguished people, senior officers, the Lords of Admiralty, and civilians who looked more like lawyers at the Old Bailey than the planners of strategy.

Bolitho sat down and heard Avery move into a chair at his elbow. There was no sunlight through the great windows, nor were there any glittering chandeliers to dazzle his injured eye. One or two of the officers nodded to him, pleased to see him safe and apparently in excellent health. Others would welcome him for different reasons. It was common enough for a clash of personalities to cause an uproar in this powerful place. Clerks, a secretary or two and somebody’s flag-lieutenant hovered beside a pillar, attempting to remain unnoticed.

Avery whispered, "My uncle is here, Sir Richard…"

At that moment Sir Graham Bethune rose to his feet and rested one palm on his table. Even that looked elegant, but Bolitho wondered if he was as confident as he appeared.

"Sir Richard Bolitho is no stranger to most of you, and his name is known to many more…" He gave a gentle smile. "Not least to Napoleon!" There was laughter and Bethune’s eyes responded as he glanced at Bolitho.

A heavily-built admiral, whom Bolitho recognised as the Controller, said bluntly, "We are here to discuss future tactics, if-and for my own part it is a very doubtful if- the Americans show

intentions of war against our King." He glared furiously at two post-captains who were whispering together, enjoying the fact that there was no longer a King to govern them. "The United States would be insane to declare war on such a powerful navy!"

The word insane brought more gleeful whispers from the two captains.

Bethune said smoothly, "Sir Paul Sillitoe is come amongst us to explain more clearly what we are about."

Sillitoe stood up lightly, his hooded eyes scanning the gathering like a man who has something better to do.

"The situation is simple enough. Between Napoleon’s land blockade and his very real threats against those of his neighbours who might dare to allow our ships to enter their ports for the purposes of trade, and our own sea blockade, we have divided the peoples of Europe into friends and foes."

Bolitho watched him, thinking of him with Catherine when he had escorted her to Whitechapel. A man who could be an enemy, but one who was obviously so secure in his position as adviser to the Prince Regent that he spoke almost with disdain.

"It has also divided the United States into opposing parties. The War Party-let us call it-is in favour of Napoleon; the other party wants only peace. The War Party hate us and covet Canada, and also wish to continue to make money from the conflict. The United States government insists that British deserters should be safe under the American flag, and is doing all it can to weaken our fleet by encouraging many, many seamen to take advantage of their offer, dollars for shillings, a bribe they can well afford." His eyes flashed. "Yes?"

All heads turned towards a small, dark-clad clerk at the end table. "With respect, Sir Paul, I cannot keep up with you!"

Sillitoe almost smiled. "Something I have thought characteristic of this edifice on many occasions!"

There was laughter and hand-clapping. In a lull Bethune leaned over and whispered, "Convince them."

Bolitho stood up as the noise died away. He felt out of place here, the scene of so many disappointments. After he had been so ill with fever in the Great South Sea, war had broken out, and he could recall himself pleading for another ship, a frigate, three of which he had already commanded by that time. And the admiral’s cold response. Were a frigate captain, Bolitho. Where plots had been made against him to force him back to Belinda’s side, and where he had broken with Herrick in that very corridor outside.

He heard himself speaking, his voice carrying without effort.

"We need more frigates. It is always the way, but this time the need is all the more urgent. I am certain that the Americans will force a war. Napoleon cannot hold out much longer unless he receives their support to stretch our resources still further. Likewise, the Americans will have left it too late if they drag their feet."

The Controller held up a quill pen. "I must protest, Sir Richard. Nobody would dispute your gallantry and many successes at sea, but planning is the key to victory, not necessarily the broadside!"

A voice called, "Hear-hear!"

Encouraged, the Controller said, "We have many fine ships of the line on the stocks or completing every week of the year." He paused and raised his eyebrows. "Frigates before the line of battle, is that what you advocate? For if so…"

Bolitho answered quietly, "The Americans laid down 74s but quickly saw the folly of it. All were converted to big frigates, and carry 44 guns, but are said to be pierced for ten additional heavy guns." There was not a sound now. He continued, "We crossed swords last year with one of their largest, the U.S.S. Unity. I can vouch for her fire power," his voice was suddenly hard and bitter, "as can many of our brave fellows!"

A voice called, "What about the line-of-battle, Sir Richard?"

Bolitho knew it was Sillitoe, conducting the scene like a puppet-master.

He said, flatly, "It is finished. The day of the leviathans sailing slowly to a costly and terrible embrace is over. We’ll not see another Trafalgar, I am certain of it."

He looked around at their intent faces. To some the truth of what he had said would seem like blasphemy. To those who had faced close-action it was something no one dared to admit.

Bolitho said, "Think of it. The ship’s company of one first-rate could crew four fast and powerful frigates. Ships which can move from area to area with haste and without waiting for some far-off flagship to guess what is happening. I have been offered a command which reaches from Halifax and the 49th parallel south to the Leeward Islands and Jamaica. In any week of any year there are ships, convoys with rich cargoes, making their way back to this country. Without ready protection and the ability to hit back in their defence, we will stand no chance."