Bolitho 14 - A Tradition of Victory by Alexander Kent

Author:Alexander Kent
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-06-19T13:01:12+00:00

It could not be happening.

A voice echoed across the water. "We're coming alongside!"

Browne watched the frigate's yards swinging again, the way

her deck lifted to the pressure of canvas as she was steered further and further into the wind.

There would not be much time.

Corporal Coote picked up a fallen musket and looked at the

marine who had lost his leg.

"You won't need this any more, mate." He turned away from

the dead marine, his eyes blank. "Be ready, lads!"

Phalarope towered above them, and faces bobbed on the gangways to reappear on the chains or at the gunports, anywhere a

man could be hauled to safety.

The next moments were like the climax of the same nightmare. Startled cries, the splintering of wood and the clatter of

falling spars as the frigate drove unerringly against the listing boat.

Browne felt Searle thrust him towards some waiting seamen, and to his astonishment saw that he was half laughing, half

sobbing as he shouted, "I'm last off. Only command I've ever

had, y'see?"

Then Browne felt himself being dragged over hard and

unyielding objects before being laid face upwards on the deck.

A shadow covered his eyes and he saw Pascoe looking down

at him.

Browne managed to gasp, "How did you manage to get here?"

Pascoe smiled sadly. "My uncle arranged it, Oliver."

Browne let his head fall back to the deck and closed his eyes.

"Madness."

"Didn't you know?" Pascoe beckoned to some seamen. "It

runs in the family."

226

A TRADI T ION OF V ICTORY

14 the toast is V ictory!

BOLITHO stood with arms folded and watched his flag-lieutenant

swallow a second glass of brandy.

Herrick grinned and said, "I think he needed that, sir."

Browne placed the glass on the table and waited as Ozzard

moved in like a dancer to refill it. Then he looked at his hands

as if he was surprised they were not visibly shaking and said,

"There were some moments when I thought I had misjudged my

abilities, sir."

"You did well."

Bolitho recalled his feelings when he had received the signal

from Phalarope. The fishing boat had sunk, but all except three

of the prize crew were safe.

He walked to the chart and spread his hands around the vital

triangle. Remond's squadron had left harbour, knowing that sooner

or later their presence would be discovered. The French were

obviously expecting to move their fleet of invasion craft before

the weather worsened and place them across the Channel from

England. Added to the ever-present rumour of intended attack,

their arrival would give plenty of weight to the enemy's bargaining power.

Browne said wearily, "Mr Searle of Rapid did all the hard

work, sir. But for him . . ."

"I shall see that his part is mentioned in my despatches."

Bolitho smiled. "But you were the real surprise." He grinned wryly

at Herrick. "To some more than others."

Herrick shrugged. "Well, sir, now that we know the enemy is

out of port, what shall we do? Attack or blockade?"

Bolitho paced across the cabin and back again. The ship

felt calmer and steadier, and although it was now late evening

he could see a bronze sunset reflecting against the salt-caked

A TRADI T ION OF V ICTORY

227

windows. Soon, soon, the words seemed to hammer at his brain.

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