Bolitho #16 - A Tradition of Victory by Alexander Kent

Author:Alexander Kent [Kent, Alexander]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-09-20T10:49:29+00:00

Barely making a ripple above her own black and buff reflection, Benbow moved slowly past other anchored vessels, all of which were dwarfed by the towering natural fortress of Gibraltar.

It was morning, with the Rock and surrounding landscape partly hidden in mist, a foretaste of the heat to come.

Bolitho stood apart from the other officers and left Herrick free to manœuvre his command the last cable or so to the anchorage. With all canvas but topsails and jib clewed up, Benbow would make a fine sight as she altered course very slightly away from her convoy, the largest vessel of which was already making signals to the shore.

It had taken nearly nine days to reach Gibraltar, and Grubb had described it as a fair and speedy passage. To Bolitho it had been the longest he could recall, and even the daily sight of Belinda on the Indiaman’s poop had failed to calm his sense of urgency and need.

From the beginning, when Herrick had made a signal to the Duchess of Cornwall, their daily rendezvous, separated by the sea and one other ship, had been without any sort of arrangement. It was as if she knew he would be there, as if she had to see him to ensure it was not a dream but a twist of fate which had brought them together. Bolitho had watched her through a telescope, oblivious to the glances of his officers and other watchkeepers.

She always waved, her long hair held down by a large straw hat which in turn was tied beneath her chin by a ribbon.

Now the waiting was almost over and Bolitho felt strangely nervous.

Herrick’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Hands wear ship!”

Wolfe’s long legs emerged from the mizzen-mast’s shadow.

“Man the braces, there! Tops’l sheets!”

Bolitho shaded his eyes and looked towards an anchored man-of-war. She had already been identified by the signals midshipman.

She was the Dorsetshire, eighty, flagship of Vice-Admiral Sir John Studdart. He could see the admiral’s flag drooping almost life-lessly from the Dorsetshire’s foremast, and wondered what the officer of the watch would make of his own flag at Benbow’s mizzen instead of Herrick’s broad-pendant.

“Tops’l clew lines! Wake up, that man!” Grubb called, “Ready, sir!”

“Helm a-lee!”

With tired dignity Benbow turned very slowly into the breeze, the way going off her as the remaining sails flapped in confusion before they were fisted to the yards by the waiting topmen.

“Let go!”

Spray flew above the forecastle as the big anchor splashed down into the clear water and more feet stampeded to the boat tier in readiness for lowering the barge alongside with a minimum delay.

Glasses would have been trained on the Benbow’s performance from the moment she had begun her final approach, her fifteen-gun salute to the vice-admiral’s flag booming and reverberating around the bay like a bombardment. Gun for gun the flagship had replied, the smoke drifting upwards on the warm air to min-gle with haze which encircled the Rock like cloud.

“Away, barge crew!” That was Allday, his face showing nothing of

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.