Allday and Ozzard carried a small chest of Bolitho's clothing and personal effects and laid it in the Styx 's stern cabin. Captain John Neale watched Bolitho's reactions as he looked around and said, 'I hope you will be comfortable, sir.'
– Neale had not changed all that much. He was just a larger edition of the chubby midshipman whom Herrick had described. But he wore his rank and command well, and had used his early experience to good effect.
Bolitho replied, 'It brings back memories, Captain Neale. Some bad, but many good ones.'
He saw Neale shifting his feet, eager to be off.
'You carry on, Captain. Get your ship under way again and make as much progress as you can. Benboui s sailing master assures me there will be fog about.'
Neale grimaced. That could be dangerous in the narrows, sir. But if old Grubb says fog, then fog there will be!'
He left the cabin with a nod to Allday, who murmured admiringly, 'He's not spoiled, sir. Always liked him.'
Bolitho hid a smile. 'Spoiled? He's a King's officer, Allday, not a piece of salt pork!'
From the quarterdeck they heard Neale shouting lustily, 'Get_ under way, Mr Pickthorn! Hands to the braces, roundly, if you please! And I'll want the t'gan's'ls on her once we clear the anchorage!'
Feet pounded along the decks, and Bolitho felt the cabin dip as Styx responded willingly to the sudden press of canvas. He sat down; on the bench seat and surveyed the cabin slowly. He had commanded three frigates during his service. The last one, the thirty-six-gun Tempest, had been down in the Great South Sea. That was when they had first heard about the bloody revolution in France. The war had started soon afterwards, and had gone on ever since.
He wondered if Pascoe was exploring the ship, mulling over his uncle's promise to help him get an early transfer. It would be painful to lose him so quickly again. Anything else would be selfishness, Bolitho knew.
Allday murmured, `We're passing abeam of Benbow, sir:' He smiled. `She looks big from down here!'
Bolitho watched her as she slid away across the frigate's quarter. Black and buff, shining with spray and damp air. Her upper yards and loosely furled canvas did look hazy, so Grubb's prediction was coming true already. That would give Herrick something else to worry about.
Eventually, Browne came aft to report that Styx was standing well clear of the anchorage, and that Pascoe had arranged for the additional seamen to be quartered throughout the ship.
He said, almost as an afterthought, `The captain seems to think we can make good time around the point, but after that he believes the fog will come down.'
Bolitho nodded. 'Then we shall anchor. If the fog is bad for us, so too will it prevent others from moving.'
At this time of year fogs could be as common as icy gales. Each had its own special kind of danger, and both were respected by sailors.
But once the frigate had completed her passage around The Skaw and changed tack to steer south along Denmark 's opposite coastline, Neale was able to report that the fog was little more than a thick sea-mist. The densest part was clinging to the land, and in all probability was trapped in the anchorage they had left astern.
Herrick could cope with that all right. Pay Herrick a sincere compliment and he would be speechless. Put him before a lady and he would be tongue-tied. Gales, fog or the roaring horror of battle and he was like a rock.
They sighted very few craft, and only small vessels at that. Coasters and fishermen, staying near the land, and certainly wary of the lean-looking frigate as she thrust further south towards the narrow sound between Denmark and Sweden. The gateway to the Baltic. A shelter or a trap, according to what your intentions might be.
As soon as it was dark Neale asked permission to anchor. As Styx swung slowly to her cable, and the mist filtered through her spars and rigging to make her like a phantom ship, Bolitho walked the quarterdeck, watching the pale stars, the occasional gleam of a light from the land.
Styx showed only an anchor lantern, and the watch which moved about the forecastle and gangways were fully armed. Mr Pickthorn, her first lieutenant, had even spread boarding nets.
just to be on the safe side, as Neale had put it.
Pascoe emerged from the darkness and waited to see if it was convenient to speak.
Bolitho beckoned to him. `Here. Let's walk a while. Stand still for long and the blood feels like glacier water.'
They paced back and forth, meeting and passing the men on watch or some of the ship's officers who were also trying to take some exercise in the keen air.
'Our people are settled in, sir.' Pascoe shot him a quick glance. 'I have Mr Midshipman Penels with me as messenger. I thought him a bit too young, but Mr Wolfe said he's got to start sometime.' He chuckled. 'He's right, I expect.'
'Tomorrow we will enter Copenhagen, Adam. There, I am to meet a British official of some standing.'
He looked towards the tiny lights on the shore. The news would be there already. An English man-of-war. One from the new squadron. What did it mean? Why had she come?
'There are a few questions I will want answering for my own content, too.'
Pascoe did not break into Bolitho's thoughts, even though he was speaking them aloud. He was thinking of Midshipman Penels and his friend Babbage. By some accident, or a petty officer's indifference, Babbage was aboard Styx also.
Bolitho asked suddenly, 'How are you getting along with my flag lieutenant? The Honourable Oliver Browne?'
Pascoe smiled, his teeth white in the darkness. 'With an "e", sir. Very well. He is a strange man. Far removed from most sea officers. All, in my own experience. He is always so calm and untroubled. I think that if the Frenchies were to storm aboard at this moment he would pause to finish his meal before joining the fight!'
Captain Neale came on deck and Pascoe excused himself and left.
Bolitho said, 'It seems very quiet, Captain.'
'I agree.' Neale peered through the sagging boarding nets. 'But I'm careful. Captain Herrick would spit me if I allowed his admiral to run aground, or worse!'
Bolitho bade him good night and went to his borrowed. quarters. He had not realized before just how well known Herrick's devotion had become.
'Take in the maincourse, Mr Pickthorn.' Captain Neale stood very still, his arms folded, as the frigate glided ahead under topsails, forecourse and jib.
The cold air, the icy droplets of moisture falling from the heavy weather canvas like rain were forgotten as the Styx moved slowly towards the last channel.
Two great fortresses, Helsingborg an the Swedish side of the Sound Channel and Kronborg on the Danish, were enough to awe even the most hardened man aboard.
Bolitho took a telescope and trained it on the Danish fortress. It would take an army, and months of siege, to breach it, he thought grimly.
It was almost noon, and the nearer the frigate had drawn to the narrows and the protective batteries on either side, they had sensed the excitement Styx 's appearance was causing. But if there was no sign of welcome, there was no hostility either.
He glanced along the upper decks. Neale had done well, and his ship looked as perfect as she could be. The marines, conspicuous in their bright uniforms, drawn up in squads on the poop deck. None in the tops, and no swivels had been mounted there either. Seamen moved about their duties, while others stood ready to spread more sail and flee or take in the remaining canvas and anchor.
Neale looked at Bolitho questioningly. 'May I begin the salute, sir?'
'If you please.'
Neale said sharply, 'Remove the tampions and open the ports.'
He was probably thinking that once he had fired a full salute to the fortress his guns would be empty. But to man his-broadsides with anything more than the men required for this ritual might appear like a threat of war.
'Run out, 'if you please.'
Squeaking and rumbling the Styx 's guns poked their black muzzles into the harsh light.
'Stand by to dip the colours!'
Bolitho bit his lip. Still no hint from the land. He looked across at the great artillery emplacements. The wind had dropped considerably. If the Danes opened fire, Styx would be hard put to come about and beat clear.
She would be hammered into submission in minutes under such conditions.
'Commence the salute, Mr Pickthorn.'
'Fire One!'
The bang echoed across the choppy water, to be followed gun for gun by a battery below the fortress. Then, the Danish flag, standing out like a flake of bright metal from a tall staff, dipped slowly in salute.
Ailday wiped his mouth with his wrist. 'Phew! That was a near thing!'
Bolitho saw Styx 's gunner marching from cannon to cannon, beating out the time with his fist, oblivious to everything but precision.
There were people visible on the shore now, some running and waving, their mouths soundless in the telescope's lens.
The final gun crashed out, the smoke fanning ahead of the frigate's figurehead.
Captain Neale touched his hat to Bolitho and said, 'I think we are accepted, sir.'
Browne, who had been clasping his ears during the salute, said sourly, 'But by no means welcome, sir.'
'Guard-boat approaching, sir!'
'Take in the forecourse, Mr Pickthorn. Stand by to receive our visitors!'
Men swarmed out along the yard, fisting and cursing the big foresail as they struggled to furl it with extra smartness, watched by the distant crowds of onlookers.
The guard-boat was an interesting craft. Far longer than a ship's boat, it was propelled by the biggest oars Bolitho had seen outside of a chebeck. Two men to each oar, while just abaft of the deadly-looking prow was a solitary but heavy cannon. Under oars, this miniature gunboat could outmanoeuvre anything larger than a frigate and throw heavy balls through her poop with total safety. Even a frigate would be in trouble if she lost the wind.
Bolitho studied the figures in the ornate cockpit. Two Danish sea officers and two civilians, one, if not two, of the latter obviously English. They looked more suitably dressed for a stroll around Hyde Park than crossing open water in October.
'Man the side! Marines, fall in!'
Mr Charles Inskip, the important government official whom Bolitho had been instructed to assist in every possible way, sat stiff-backed in one of Captain Neale's chairs and examined the captured French despatches. He held them at arm's length, and Bolitho guessed his sight was not what it should be. His companion, Mr Alfred Green, apparently less important, stood beside the chair, peering and pouting at each newly turned sheet.
Bolitho heard the Danish sea officers talking and laughing beyond the bulkhead, and guessed they were being traditionally entertained by Neale and some of his lieutenants. Governments could create war from almost anything. Sailors, meeting on their home ground, rarely fell out.
Browne glanced meaningly at Bolitho as Inskip re-read the letter with the broken seal.
Bolitho noticed that when seamen rushed across the deck above, or some heavy block and tackle fell on the planking, Inskip did not even blink. He was obviously a much travelled man, well used to ships of every sort.
Inskip was about fifty, he decided. Neatly but not flamboyantly dressed in a green coat and breeches of similar colour. His head was almost bald, the remaining hair and unfashionable queue hanging down his collar like a rope's end.
He looked up sharply. 'This is bad news, Admiral.' His voice was incisive, a bit like Beauchamp's. 'I thank God you managed to intercept it.'
'Luck, Sir.'
A small smile, pushing the years from the man's features. 'Where would we be without it?'
His companion said, 'You would have had a warmer reception, Admiral, had the brig Echo got here ahead of you.'
Inskip frowned at the interruption. 'I have made some progress with the Danish government. They do not wish to join with the Tsar of Russia's proposed alliance, but pressure is mounting. Your arrival may be timely. I thank God you had the good sense to come in a small ship-of-war and not a threedecker or something. It is a powder-keg here, although the Danes, being Danes, are trying to ignore it. I would love to return in happier times.'
Bolitho asked, 'Will you wish me to come ashore, sir?'
'Yes. I shall send word to you. The guard-boat will lead you to the advised anchorage.' He glanced quickly at the door. 'There is a French frigate in Copenhagen, so you must warn your people to avoid any contact with her.'
Bolitho looked at Browne. An added complication, and they had not yet begun.
Inskip tapped the letter. 'Now I have read this I think I understand the purpose of her presence. I was sent by His Majesty's Government with the intention of preventing Danish involvement. The French may be here to provoke the opposite. Your small inshore squadron would not stem the flood if the worst happened before we could muster a fleet. Even then, the Russians and the Swedes are said to have sixty line-of-battle ships between them, and the Danes another thirty in commission.'
Bolitho warmed to this nondescript man. He knew everything, even the size of his own small squadron. The fact he had brought Inskip some information he did not already have made him feel humble rather than superior.
Inskip stood up, waving Ozzard and a loaded tray aside as he said, 'Not just now, thank you. Clear heads are needed.' He smiled. 'So I suggest you order your captain to approach the anchorage. You have roused plenty of curiosity and speculation. To see you actually step ashore should add to the gossip, eh?' He picked up his hat and added, 'I am sorry you missed meeting with a fellow English traveller.'
Bolitho allowed Allday to buckle on his glittering presentation sword for this formal occasion, but saw the distaste in his eyes. 'Oh, who was that?'
'Rupert Seton. I understand he is the brother of your late wife?'
Bolitho stared at Allday, his mind suddenly frozen. He could see Seton as a young midshipman during the ill-fated attempt to retake Toulon for the French Royalists. A slightly built youth with a stutter. With a sister so beautiful that she was rarely absent from Bolitho's memory.
'He told me about the tragedy, of course.' Inskip was unaware of the havoc he had caused. 'A fine, intelligent young man he is, too. He has a good post with the Honourable East India Company. Where I should be if I had any sense. There are more kicks than guineas working for Mr Pitt's administration.'
Bolitho asked quietly, `You met him here, you say?'
`Yes. Taking passage for England. I told him to make haste, otherwise he'd still have been here. But the war could spread any day, and I'd not wish one of John Company's people to become interned!'
Bolitho said, 'Escort these gentlemen to Captain Neale, Mr Browne. My compliments to the captain, and tell him we are finished our business and ready to proceed.' He looked impassively at the two officials. 'I'm certain you'll wish to get ashore ahead of me?'
Inskip shook his hand warmly. 'We will meet again.' He dropped his voice. 'I am sorry if I have roused some painful memories. I meant it for the best.'
As the door closed behind Browne and the others Allday exclaimed brokenly, 'Oh, God damn it, sir! After all this time, it's not right, not fair!' He controlled his outburst and added, 'Shall I fetch Mr Pascoe, sir?'
Bolitho sat down and unbuckled the sword. 'No. But I would take it kindly if you would stay.' He looked up, his eyes pleading. 'Will it never end? I've acted foolishly, done things to shame my friends, hoping perhaps to find peace again!'
Allday crossed to the table and almost tore a goblet from Ozzard's hand.
'Here, drink this, sir, and damnation to the war, and all who fan its fires!'
Bolitho swallowed the brandy, almost choking on its fire.
He could see her framed in the church door, her hand on her brother's arm, just as Herrick's own bride had been led up to the altar.
Almost to himself he said, `Maybe it is as well we did not meet. Perhaps he blames me for Cheney's death. She was alone when she needed me. I was at sea. Sailors should never marry, Allday. It is a cruelty to those they leave behind.'
Allday jerked his head at Ozzard, who backed from the cabin as if mesmerized.
'To some, mebbe, sir. But not the special ones.'
Bolitho stood up and replaced the sword at his hip. 'And she was special.' He looked at Allday and gave a brief nod. 'Thank you. I am ready now.'
Allday watched him square his shoulders, then duck automatically beneath the deckhead beams as he strode towards the quarterdeck.
That was a bad one, Allday thought. Worse than for a long while. It was always there, hiding like a wild animal, ready to break cover and destroy.
He followed Bolitho into the keen air, watched with the same fascination as he shook hands with the two Danish officers before seeing them over the side into their boat. A smile to Neale, another handshake with the Danish water pilot who was to assist the master with the last part of the journey.
Pascoe passed him with a handful of seamen to prepare the frigate's boats for swaying out when required.
Again, Allday saw their quick exchange, like brothers, no words spoken or needed.
But for once Allday would have gladly done without the privilege of knowing and sharing this close relationship. He knew Bolitho too well to be deceived by his outward calm. It was not an easy secret to hold.
Being ashore in a beautiful city like Copenhagen was a strange experience for Bolitho. He would have liked to explore its squares, dominated by high green spires and impressive buildings which looked as if they had been there forever. And there were inviting little lanes which he saw from the window of a carriage sent by Inskip to collect him from the harbour.
Inskip, like the Danish authorities, wanted to know where a visiting British admiral was at all times of the day, and Bolitho wondered what the coachman would do if he suggested a different route.
As he had prepared to leave the ship for hiss first visit to Inskip's headquarters he had seen Neale and his officers studying the harbour, not least the French frigate which was anchored as far away as was prudently possible. The anchorage was crowded with Danish men-of-war, but in spite of their impressive size and numbers, the attention on the waterfront or the many small craft which plied back and forth was fixed on the two frigates. Separated by a stretch of water and a wary guardboat, they represented the war and all that went with it. The war, which if Russia had any say would engulf the Danes also.
The French frigate was called Ajax, a powerful vessel of thirty-eight guns. As aboard Neale's.command, the seamen went about their daily tasks, apparently blind to their enemies and their intentions.
The carriage wheels rumbled noisily over the cobbles, and Bolitho saw many people pausing in the cold air to watch him pass. They were a nice looking race, he thought. Perhaps that was how a country became without constant wars and strife.
Browne, who had been watching the passing panorama with – rapt attention, said, 'We have arrived, sir.'
The carriage clattered beneath a low archway and into a neat private square. The buildings around it looked in some way official, and Bolitho saw two footmen hurrying down some steps to greet him.
It felt colder, and Neale's sailing master had warned of snow. Fog, then snow, it was like listening to Grubb.
Inskip was waiting by a blazing fire. He was wearing a wig, but it made him look older than the opposite effect,_ which was suprising.
He said, 'Good of you to be so prompt. I have been making further inquiries about the Frenchman. They say she is here to carry out storm repairs. Denmark has no wish to provoke France by refusing the Ajax permission. My guess is that she was waiting for the letter, or some other relevant instructions concerning Malta. Your sudden arrival will have put the cat amongst the pigeons!' His eyes twinkled.
Bolitho said, 'When Ajax leaves, Captain Neale will be eager to bring her to battle.'
Inskip shook his head firmly. ` Ajax arrived first, and in peace. She will be allowed a day's grace before you may follow.'
Browne coughed discreetly. 'It is an unwritten law, sir.'
'I see.', Bolitho looked at the fire. 'Then there is nothing for me to do but wait, kick my heels, while the Frenchman calls the tune? Another courier may come here any day, any time. Could you not send a fast messenger overland to make contact with my squadron? With another frigate to seaward I could soon put a stop to the French captain's plan of action.'
Inskip smiled. 'You are indeed a man of action. But I am afraid the Danes would probably take even less kindly to that misuse of their, er, hospitality, and seize your ship for good measure!'
Bolitho remembered Browne's remark on board the Benbow. I see you as a fighting sailor, not as a diplomat. In his inability to sit still and wait for some unknown factor to play its part, he had more than proved Browne to be right.
'They could try!'
'Make no mistake, they could and would. I have heard through my own sources that there are plans to blockade the harbour and remove all buoys and leading 'marks if need be. The Danes have assembled a considerable fleet, as you have seen. Believe me, they can give good account of themselves.' He pounded one fist into his palm. 'If only the French had not given up Malta or, more to the point, our own Navy had for once been less successful.'
Browne said quietly, 'I suggest they would have found other fuel for their fires, sir. Appeasement buys a little time, but not very much.'
Inskip raised his eyebrows. 'Your aide is shrewd, Bolitho. A pity he wears the King's coat. I could find a place for him in' Whitehall!'
Bolitho sighed. 'What do you suggest, sir?'
Inskip replied instantly, 'Wait. I will see the Danish minister tomorrow and try to discover his feelings. I may need you with me, so I suggest you remain ashore in this house tonight. It will save time and be less conspicuous. If the French captain decides to sail, he will probably meet up with your squadron after he has rounded Skaw Point. If he steers west into the Baltic he may intend to make contact with the Swedes, or even the Russian fleet if the ice is not too dangerous.'
A bewigged footman glided through a pair of ornate doors. 'I beg your pardon, sir, but there are two, er, persons below
demanding to be brought to the rear-admiral's presence.' Inskip asked mildly, `Who are they?'
In the same lordly tone the footman replied, 'Seafaring fellows, I believe, sir. One says he is a coxswain, the other is some sort of servant.'
Bolitho grinned. Allday and Ozzard.
'I am glad you did not attempt to send my coxswain away. The outcome might have been worse than facing the Frenchman!'
Inskip instructed the footman to show Allday and his companion to a room with a fire.
Then he said, `Well, at least it brought a smile to your face, Bolitho. That's more like it, eh?'…
Bolitho turned to Browne. `Return to the ship and explain matters to Captain Neale. Tell him to keep note of any craft which go alongside the Ajax or unusual preparations.'
It was unlikely that Neale would need telling.
When Bolitho was alone with Inskip he asked, 'Just suppose the Tsar discovers the fate of Malta before you can gain a firm declaration of neutrality from the Danes, what then?'
Inskip eyed him gravely. `The Tsar may be able to revive his idea for an Armed Neutrality of the North. He has made threats before that he would seize all British ships in his ports. It would be an act of war, and Denmark would find herself in the forefront of the battle.'
Bolitho nodded. `Thank you for explaining it to me without frills. These are facts I can recognize. I have no doubt Bonaparte will have ensured that several messages were despatched to the Tsar. That we have been lucky enough to capture one will not be known yet.'
Inskip regarded him thoughtfully. 'I suppose you may be right. But that is your concern, not mine, thank heaven.'
Three hours later Browne returned from the ship. The Ajax was still at anchor and doing nothing to excite suspicion. Her captain had been seen to go ashore, probably to pay his respects to the port admiral before leaving. Equally, he might have gone to seek information about Bolitho.
That night, as Bolitho tried to accustom himself to the vastness and stillness of a large bed, he considered what Inskip had said. So much could depend on the weather as far as the Russian ships were concerned. He listened to the wind moaning around the roof-tops, and played with the idea of leaving the house without telling anyone. He would find one of the noisy taverns he had seen, lose himself in the crowd, just for a precious hour or so.
He must have fallen asleep, for the next thing he knew was that Inskip, looking like a goblin in a long sleeping cap, was shaking his arm, while lanterns and candles bobbed into the room from what appeared to be a crowded passageway.
`What is it?'
He saw Allday, grim-faced and watchful, as if expecting a surprise attack, and Ozzard dragging the chest across the floor like a wrecker with a prize.
Inskip snapped, 'I have just had word. The Frenchman has weighed, though God knows how well he will do. It is snowing like the devil!'
Bolitho was on his feet, groping for a shirt, as Inskip added soberly, 'A schooner brought worse news. Several' British ships have been taken by the Russians. Now, whatever the Danes want, they will be forced into a war.'
Browne pushed through the footmen and servants. Surpris=ingly,
he was fully dressed.
Bolitho shouted, `Fetch a carriage!'
Browne replied calmly, `I heard the news, sir. I've already got one. It's waiting below.'
Inskip stood between Bolitho and the frantic Ozzard.
`You know the rules. You must not sail until a day has passed.'
Bolitho looked at him gravely. `Where will the British merchantmen be held, sir?'
Inskip was taken off guard. `The island of Gotland, I'm told.'
Bolitho sat on the bed and jammed his feet into his shoes.
`I'm going. after them, sir, not back to my squadron. And as for the rules, well, I've often found them to be like orders.' He touched Inskip's arm impetuously. 'They have to be moulded to the requirements of the moment!'
As they bundled into the carriage and the wheels moved soundlessly over a thickening carpet of snow, Browne said, `I'll lay odds that the Frenchman knows about the British ships, too, sir. He'll cut them out without anyone raising a finger to stop him.'
Bolitho settled back against the seat and composed his thoughts. `Except us, Mr Browne. Except the Styx.'
5. Trust
Bolitho gripped the quarterdeck rail and peered along the frigate's upper deck, his eyes slitted against the snow and bitter air.
It was a weird, unnatural scene, with the rigging and guns glistening in snow, while seamen slithered and blundered from one task to another like cripples.
He tried to plan clearly, to compress his thoughts on what might lie ahead. But from the moment they had weighed anchor and the first excitement of slipping out of harbour in a snow squall, the weather had defied even the power of thought.
They had been at sea for twelve hours, and by rights it should be daylight.' But as they had fought their way south-east, battered and harried by a strong wind from the coast of Sweden, their movements had become jerky, their actions taking longer and longer with each change of watch.
And all the while the blizzard had swept down through shrouds and running rigging, until time and distance had shrunk to the width and length of their ship.
It was all Bolitho could do to prevent his teeth from chattering uncontrollably, and despite his thick boat-cloak he was chilled to the marrow. He had watched the wretched lookouts being relieved from the masthead after less than an hour's duty, and even then they had barely been able to clamber down to safety.
And suppose it was all wasted? The thought grew stronger with each reeling mile, and Bolitho supposed every man aboard was cursing his name as the day dragged on. Or suppose the Frenchman had gone elsewhere? He might even now be running under Herrick's guns, or heading somewhere else entirely.
Captain Neale staggered across the quarterdeck, his chubby features glowing with cold.
He said, 'May I suggest you go below, sir? The people know you are aboard. They'll also know you're with them whatever happens.'
Bolitho shuddered and watched the spray surging over the beakhead to freeze like jewels on the nettings. Neale had ordered the lee gunports to be opened. Water trapped long enough to freeze in the scuppers had been known to build up so rapidly" it could capsize a vessel far larger than a frigate.
He asked, `Where are we now?'
`The master assures me that the island of Bornholm is on the lee bow, some five miles distant.' Neale wiped his streaming face with his fingers. 'I have to take his word, sir, for we could be anywhere, as far as I am concerned!'
Neale turned as his first lieutenant hurried towards him, and Bolitho called, 'Don't worry about me, Captain Neale. If nothing else, this wind is keeping my head clear!'
He thought of the swift departure from Copenhagen, and wondered if anyone had seen them weigh. He doubted it. But when daylight arrived there would be a few awkward questions for Mr Inskip to answer.
Browne had been as blunt as he had dared. 'I think you are wrong to chase the Frenchman, sir. You are sending Styx, that is enough. Captain Neale knows the risks, and you might be able to save his name if things go wrong. But if you are with him, who will save you?'
Sometime later, as Styx had tacked violently clear of the Swedish mainland, Bolitho had heard Pascoe speaking to the flag lieutenant in an angry whisper.
'You don't understand! The admiral has been in far worse situations! He's always managed to fight out of a trap!'
Browne had replied sadly, 'He was a captain then. Responsibility is an axe. It can cut either way.' There had been the sound of his hand on Pascoe's shoulder. `But I admire you for your loyalty, believe me.'
Pascoe was up forward at this moment, working with some hands to clear the foretopmast blocks. If they froze, or the cordage, already swollen with snow, followed suit, the Styx.would be helpless. Like a phantom she would sail on, deeper and deeper into the Baltic.
Allday crossed the deck, his shoes slipping on the slush.
'Ozzard's got some soup, sir.' He glared at the white-crusted sails and added, 'I'd rather be becalmed than in this!'
Bolitho watched the next party of seamen clambering down from aloft. It was to be hoped they would find something hot below, too. Knowing Neale, he decided he would manage something for his men.