Inshore Squadron Read Online Free Page A

But not before he had lived to see the execution of his captains who had deserted him in battle. It was a fine figurehead, much as the dead admiral must have been. Grave-eyed, with flowing hair, and wearing a shining breast-plate of the period. It had been carved by old Izod Lambe of Plymouth, who although said to be nearly blind was still one of the finest in his trade.
    How many times he had wanted to go across from Falmouth to see Herrick in the final stages of getting his ship ready for sea. But Herrick might have taken it as lack of trust in his ability. Bolitho more than once had been made to accept that a ship was no longer his direct concern. Like his flag, he was above it. He felt a shiver lance up his spine as he studied the other members of his squadron. Four ships of the line, two frigates and a sloop of war. In all nearly three thousand officers, seamen and marines, and everything which that implied.
    The squadron might be new, but many of the faces would be friends. He thought of Keverne and Inch, Neale and Keen, and of the sloop’s new commander, Matthew Veitch. He had been Herrick’s first lieutenant. Admiral Sir George Beauchamp had kept his word, now it was up to him to do his part.
    With men he knew and trusted, who had shared and done so much together.
    He smiled in spite of his excitement as he thought of his new flag lieutenant when he had tried to tell him his feelings.
    The lieutenant had said, “You make it sound exclusive, sir. As the bard would have it. We happy few. ”
    Perhaps he had been truer than he had understood.
    The barge turned, swaying over a trough, as the lieutenant headed towards the flagship’s glistening side.
    There they all were. Red coats and cross-belts, the blue and white of the officers, the mass of seamen beyond. Above them all, towering as if to control and embrace them, the three great masts and yards, the mass of shrouds, stays and rigging which were incomprehensible to any landsman but represented the speed and agility of any ship. Benbow, by any standard, was something to be reckoned with.
    The oars rose as one while the bowman hooked on to the main chains.
    Bolitho handed his cloak to Allday and jammed his hat firmly athwartships across his head.
    Everything had gone very quiet, and apart from the surge of the tide between the ship and the swaying barge it seemed almost peaceful.
    Allday was standing, too, and had removed his hat while he watched and waited to lend a hand should Bolitho miss his footing.
    Then Bolitho stepped out and upwards and hauled himself swiftly towards the entry port.
    He was aware of the sudden bark of orders, the slap and stamp of marines presenting arms simultaneously with the fifers breaking into Heart of Oak.
    Faces, blurred and vague, loomed to meet him as he stepped on to the deck, and as the calls shrilled and died in salute, Bolitho removed his hat to the quarterdeck and to the ship’s captain as he strode to greet him.
    Herrick removed his hat and swallowed hard. “Welcome aboard, sir.”
    They both stared up as some halliards were jerked taut by the signal party.
    There it was, a symbol and a statement, Bolitho’s own flag streaming from the mizzen like a banner.
    The nearest onlookers would have watched for some extra sign as the youthful-looking rear-admiral replaced his hat and shook hands with their captain.
    But that was all they saw, for what Bolitho and Herrick shared at that moment was invisible but to each other.

2 F LAGSHIP
    B Y DAWN the following day the wind had backed considerably, and once again the Solent was alive with angry wavecrests. Aboard the flagship, and all the rest of Bolitho’s small squadron, the motion was uncomfortable as each vessel tugged at her anchor as if determined to drive aground.
    When the first dull light gave colour to the glistening ships, Bolitho sat in his stern cabin re-reading his carefully worded instructions and trying at the same time to detach his