Bolitho 23 - Sword Of Honour by Alexander Kent

Author:Alexander Kent
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-05-26T17:34:58+00:00

Face to Face

Richard Bolitho awoke from the dream, and for a few lingering moments was confused by the sounds and movements around him. He lay on his back in the cot and stared up into the darkness and waited for the old familiarity to return. He had once believed that he could never forget the feel of a frigate.

Instinct and experience told him that Halcyon was changing tack yet again; the thud of bare feet on the damp planking, the crack of unruly canvas and the squeal of blocks spoke for themselves.

He propped himself on one elbow and swallowed hard. Halcyon’s officers had invited him to their wardroom for a last meal before landfall. That had been strange, too. After a big cut-down two-decker like Indomitable, and the other ships which had flown his flag in recent years, it had all seemed so small, so intimate: Captain Robert Christie, a guest in his own ship to conform with the time-honoured custom, Avery and himself. Halcyon’s three lieutenants, sailing master, surgeon and captain of marines had completed the gathering. And the wardroom itself had been packed tight. One midshipman had also been invited, the youngest in the ship; he had proposed the loyal toast, but otherwise remained awed and silent throughout the meal and lively conversation.

It was hard not to make comparisons. This mixture of youthful exuberance and excitement; the way it had once been for him, when he had taken command of his first frigate, Phalarope. He winced and rubbed his eyes. All of thirty years ago. How was that possible? The headache would go when he went on deck. Too much wine… the rare chance to relax and speak with just a handful of officers who were typical of all those under his command…. He peered over the side of the cot and saw that the door into the main cabin was unfastened, swinging this way and that while the hands on deck brought Halcyon back under control and laid on a new tack.

There was an early greyness from the stern windows; in no time, it would be bright and hot once again.

Captain Christie knew his ship well. They had logged six hundred miles in less than four days, in spite of contrary winds one minute and the chance of lying becalmed the next. But that was the Mediterranean, no better place for a frigate captain to work his ship and her company until they became one.

He thought of Tyacke, recalling their last words together before he had transferred to Halcyon. Tyacke had been opposed to the idea of his visit to Algiers from the first mention of it.

Christie, on the other hand, had confined his comments to the matters of navigation and a final landfall. He, better than most, would be aware of the possible danger to his ship if their reception was hostile, and if injury or death befell his admiral his chances of further advancement would be ruined. A thinking man, and an intelligent one.

Avery had suggested that he might go ashore and make the first contact with the Dey or his advisers.

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