Inshore Squadron by Alexander Kent Read Free Book Online Page B

midshipman, unusually neat and tidy, was standing in the pitching barge, and beside him Allday was at the tiller, his rightful place. He must have impressed upon somebody that the rear-admiral would prefer his coxswain to a ship’s lieutenant. If Allday got his way, the next time there would be no midshipman either, he thought. Browne, too, was in the boat, somehow managing to appear elegant.
    â€œAttention in the boat!”
    The calls shrilled, and Bolitho jumped the last few feet into the sternsheets as the barge rose sluggishly against Benbow ’s rounded flank.
    â€œBear off forrard! Give way all!”
    Once clear of the two-decker’s lee, the barge dipped and staggered through the waves like a dolphin. When Bolitho glanced at the midshipman he saw that his face was already ashen. His name was Graham, and he was seventeen, one of the senior “young gentlemen.” His chances of promotion to lieutenant might be marred if he was sick in the barge carrying his admiral to meet another.
    â€œSit down, Mr Graham.” He saw the youth staring at him, startled at being addressed by one so senior. “It will be a lively pull yet.”
    â€œTh-thank you, sir.” He sank down gratefully. “I shall be all right, sir.”
    Across his shoulders Allday grinned broadly at the stroke oarsman. Only Bolitho would bother about a mere midshipman. The funny part was that Allday knew the luckless Graham had been eating some pie he had brought from England. It had doubtless been going mouldy when he had stepped aboard. After days at sea in a damp, cheerless midshipman’s berth, it must be as near poison as made no difference.
    Bolitho’s arrival aboard Damerum’s flagship was no less noisy than his departure from his own.
    He got a hasty impression of glittering bayonets and red coats, of stiff-faced lieutenants, and then the admiral himself, thrusting forward to meet him.
    â€œCome aft, Bolitho. God’s teeth, this chill is enough to pierce your marrow!”
    The Tantalus was a good deal larger than the Benbow, and Damerum’s quarters more lavish than Bolitho had ever seen in a King’s ship. Apart from the movement, and the muffled shipboard noises, it could have been part of a rich chamber. If the ship ever had to clear for action in a hurry, the fine drapes and expensive French furniture would suffer badly.
    Damerum gestured towards a chair while a servant took Bolitho’s hat and boat-cloak.
    â€œSit you down, sir, and let’s have a good look at you, eh?”
    Bolitho sat. Sir Samuel Damerum, Knight of the Bath, Admiral of the Red, was, at a guess, in his early fifties. He had a brisk, lively way of moving and speaking, but his greying hair, and an obvious thickening about his middle which even an immaculately tailored waistcoat could not conceal, made him seem older.
    He said, “So you’re Richard Bolitho.” His gaze fell briefly on the gold medal which Bolitho wore around his neck for this formal visit. “The Nile medal, no less.” He shook his head. “Some people have all the luck.” In the same quick manner he changed tack again. “How’s the squadron?” He did not wait but added, “You took longer to reach me than I’d hoped, but can’t be helped, what?”
    Bolitho said, “I’m sorry about that, sir. Bad weather, raw lands-men. The usual.”
    Damerum rubbed his hands, and as if by sorcery a servant appeared.
    â€œBrandy, man. And not that muck we keep for captains!” He chuckled. “God, what a war, Bolitho. On and on. No damn end to it.”
    Bolitho waited, not yet at ease with this erratic man. He spoke a lot, but so far had said nothing.
    Bolitho said, “My flag captain is sending some stores across for you, sir.”
    â€œStores?” The admiral’s eyes were on the brandy and the two glasses which his servant had carried to a table. “Oh, yes. Mr Fortnum, my grocer