Inshore Squadron Read Online Free

good-looking boy, he thought, slim and very dark like Bolitho, with the restlessness of an untrained colt. Had his father been alive he would have been proud of him.
    Pascoe said, “I had better attend my division, sir. I’d not want anything to go badly today.” He bowed slightly to the woman. “If you’ll excuse me, ma’am.”
    Alone with his wife, Herrick said quietly, “I worry about that one sometimes. He is still a boy and yet has seen more action and fearful sights than most of the squadron.”
    She replied, “We were speaking of his uncle. He means a lot to him.”
    Herrick passed her chair and laid his hand on her shoulder. Oh dear God, I have to leave you soon. Aloud, he said, “It is mutual, my love. But it is war, and a King’s officer has his duty.”
    She seized his hand and held it to her cheek without looking at him.
    â€œOh, stuff, Thomas! You are talking with me now, not one of your sailors!”
    He bent over her, feeling awkward and protective at the same time. “You will take good care when we are away, Dulcie.”
    She nodded firmly. “I will attend to everything. I shall see that your sister is provided for until her marriage. We shall have a lot to talk about until you return.” She faltered. “When may that be?”
    Herrick’s head had been so much in a turmoil with his new command and his unexpected marriage that he had not thought much beyond sailing his ship from Plymouth to Spithead and assembling the little squadron together.
    â€œIt will be north, I believe. May take a few months.” He squeezed her hand gently. “Never fear, Dulcie, with our Dick’s flag at the masthead we’ll be in good hands.”
    A voice yelled overhead, “Secure the upper deck! Side party to muster!”
    Calls shrilled like lost spirits between the decks and feet thudded on the planking as marines bustled from their quarters to fall in at the entry port.
    There was a sharp rap at the door and Midshipman Aggett, his wind-reddened eyes fixed on a half-eaten cake on the table, reported breathlessly, “First lieutenant’s respects, sir, and the barge has just shoved off from the sallyport.”
    â€œVery well. I will come up.”
    Herrick waited for the youth to leave and said, “Now we will know, my dear.”
    He took his sword from its rack and clipped it to his belt.
    She stood up and walked across the cabin to adjust his neck-cloth and pat his white-lapelled coat into place.
    â€œDear Thomas. I’m so very proud of you.”
    Herrick was not a tall man, but as he left the cabin to meet his admiral he felt like a giant.
    Unaware of what was happening in his flagship, or indeed the whole squadron, Richard Bolitho sat very upright in the barge’s sternsheets and watched the anchored vessels growing larger with each stroke of the oars.
    He had recognized several of his old bargemen from the Lysander as he had stepped aboard, back at sea again probably without even a sight of their homes and families.
    Allday sat near him, his eyes everywhere as he watched the white-painted oars rising and falling like polished bones. A lieutenant no less was in charge of the boat, Benbow ’s most junior officer, and he seemed as much ill at ease under Allday’s scrutiny as he did in his admiral’s company.
    Bolitho was wrapped completely in his boat-cloak, with even his hat held firmly beneath it to prevent it from being whipped into the sea.
    He watched the leading two-decker, recalling what he knew of her as she took on form and substance through the blown spray.
    A third-rate, the strength in any sea fight, she was slightly larger than Lysander. She looked very splendid, he thought, and guessed that Herrick must be equally impressed. He saw the figurehead standing out as if to signal the barge with its raised sword. Vice-Admiral Sir John Benbow, who had died in 1702 after losing a leg by chain-shot.