Cross of St George

15. No Din of War

RICHARD BOLITHO flattened the chart very carefully on his table and opened a pair of brass dividers. He could feel the others watching him, Avery standing by the stern windows, Yovell seated comfortably in a chair, paper and pens within easy reach as always.

Bolitho said, “Two days, and we’ve sighted nothing.” He studied the chart again, imagining his ships as they might appear to a cruising sea bird: five frigates sailing in line abreast, with Indomitable, the flagship, in the centre. The extended line of frigates, half of his entire force, could scan a great expanse of ocean in this formation. The sky was clear, with only a few streaks of pale cloud, the sea a darker blue in the cool sunlight.

He thought of the solitary patrolling frigate, Chivalrous, which had sent the brig Weazle to Halifax with the news that the Americans were on the move again. In his mind’s eye he could see Chivalrous’s captain, Isaac Lloyd, an experienced officer, twenty-eight years old. He would be trying to keep the enemy in view, but would have sense enough not to be trapped into engaging them.

Two days, so where were they? In the approaches to Halifax, or out further still towards St John ’s in Newfoundland? He had discussed various possibilities with Tyacke and York. When he had suggested the Bay of Fundy to the north-west of Nova Scotia, York had been adamant.

“Unlikely, sir. The bay has the world’s highest tides, twice a day for good measure. If I was the Yankee commander I wouldn’t want to get trapped in the middle of that!”

Bolitho had been warned of the situation in the Bay of Fundy. His Admiralty Instructions had already stated that the tides could rise and fall as much as fifty feet and more, with the added risk to smaller vessels of fierce tidal bores. No place to risk a frigate, even the large Americans. Or Indomitable.

He thought of Herrick, on his way now across the Atlantic to throw his findings in someone’s face at the Admiralty. Had he been glad to leave, after all? Or deep inside, was the old, tenacious Herrick still hating what amounted to a dismissal from the only life he knew?

It had obviously had a great effect on Tyacke. He had been more withdrawn than ever after Herrick had been taken out to the frigate which was to carry him back to England.

He tossed the dividers onto the chart. Perhaps this was all a waste of time, or worse, another ruse to draw them away from something more important.

He walked to the stern windows, and felt the ship lifting and leaning beneath him. That, too, he could see in his mind, Indomitable close-hauled on the larboard tack, the wind holding from the south-east as it had for most of the time since they had weighed anchor. Adam was openly fretting at having been left at Halifax, but Valkyriewas their second most powerful frigate: Keen might need her.

Adam had not hesitated in recommending his first lieutenant for promotion to the questionable command of Reaper. A challenge for any man, but Adam had said bluntly, “I’d have taken her myself, had I been free to do so.” Were things between him and Val so strained?

Avery said gently, “We could have missed them overnight, Sir Richard.”

“If they were looking for us, I think not.” Bolitho dismissed the thoughts, and recalled himself to the matter at hand. “Ask Mr York to let me see his notes again, will you?”

The cabin was tilting over once more, and the brass dividers clattered onto the deck. Yovell tried to lean down to recover them, but the angle was so extreme that he sank back in his chair and mopped his face with a bright red handkerchief. But lively or not, the Old Indom was riding it well. As York had remarked with his usual cheerful confidence, “Like a bald-headed barque she is, Sir Richard. Stiff in any wind and stiff when she’s not!”

Yovell said suddenly, “You could describe me as a civilian, could you not, Sir Richard? Despite the warlike surroundings, and our way of life, I am not truly bound to the niceties and traditions of sea officers?”

Bolitho smiled at him. He never changed. Not even in that wretched longboat, when his hands had been raw and bleeding from pulling on an oar with the others. With Catherine.

“I hope you remain so.”

Yovell frowned, then polished his small gold-rimmed spectacles, something he often did when he was pondering a problem.

“Mr Avery is your flag lieutenant-he stands between you and the captain and serves both.” He breathed on his spectacles again. “He is loyal to both. He would never speak behind the captain’s back, because you are friends. It would seem like a betrayal of trust, and the association which has grown between them.” He smiled gently. “Between all of us, if I may say so, Sir Richard.”

There was complete silence from the pantry. Ozzard would be there, listening.

“If it troubles you, then tell me. I felt something was amiss myself.” He turned towards the sea again. Yovell’s remark had touched him more than he cared to accept, reminding him uncomfortably of Herrick’s comments on the Happy Few. In truth, there were not many left now. Keverne, who had once commanded this ship; Charles Farquhar, once a midshipman like Bethune, who had been killed aboard his own command at Corfu. And dear Francis Inch, eager, horse-faced, married to such a pretty woman at Weymouth. Her name was Hannah… He recalled it with effort. And so many others. John Neale. Browne, with an “e,” and Avery’s predecessor, Stephen Jenour. So many. Too many. And all dead.

He turned from the light as Yovell said quietly, “Captain Tyacke received a letter in Halifax. It was in the bag delivered by the schooner Reynard.”

“Bad news?”

Yovell replaced his spectacles with care. “I am told that it had travelled far. As is often the way with the fleet’s mail.”

Bolitho stared at him. Of course. Tyacke never received letters. Like Avery, until he had been sent one by his lady in London. It was so typical of Avery to remain silent, even if he knew the cause of Tyacke’s withdrawal. He would understand. Just as he had understood Adam’s anguish at having been a prisoner of war.

“Is it all over the ship?”

“Only the flag lieutenant knows, sir.”

Bolitho touched his eyelid, and recalled the gown Catherine had been given when Larne finally found them. When she had returned it to Tyacke, she had expressed the wish that it might be worn by someone worthy of him…

He clenched his fist. Surely not the same woman? It could not be; why, after so long, and after the cruel way she had rejected him, and his disfigured face? But in his heart, he knew that it was.

He saw Catherine, as clearly as if he had looked at her locket. They had no secrets. He knew of her visits to London, and that she occasionally consulted Sillitoe for his advice on investing the money from Spain; he trusted her completely, as she trusted him. But what if… He thought of Tyacke’s silence and reticence, the reawakened pain that must be hidden. What if… Catherine needed to be loved, just as she needed to return love.

“If I spoke out of turn, Sir Richard…”

Bolitho said, “You did not. It is good to be reminded sometimes of things that truly matter, and those who are out of reach.”

Yovell was reassured, and glad that he had spoken out. As a civilian.

The other door opened and Ozzard padded into the cabin, a coffee pot in his hands.

“Is that the last of it, Ozzard?”

Ozzard glanced severely at the pot. “No, Sir Richard. Two weeks more, at most. After that…”

Avery returned to the cabin, and Bolitho saw him waiting while he took a cup from the tray, gauging the moment when the ship staggered through a confusion of broken crests. Ozzard had poured a cup for the flag lieutenant, almost grudgingly. What did he think about; what occupied his mind in all the months and years he had been at sea? A man who had obliterated his past, but, like Yovell, an educated one, who could read classical works, and had the handwriting of a scholar. It seemed as if he wanted no future, either.

Bolitho took the notes Avery had brought, and said, “One more day. We might fall in with a courier from Halifax. Rear Admiral Keen may have more news.”

Avery asked, “These American ships, sir-will they wish to challenge us?”

“Whatever they intend, George, I shall need every trick we can muster. Just as I will need all of my officers to be at their best, if fight we must.”

Avery glanced at Yovell, and lowered his voice. “You know about the captain’s letter, sir?”

“Yes. Now I do, and I appreciate and respect your feelings, and your reluctance to discuss it.” He paused. “However, James Tyacke is not only the captain of my flagship, he is the ship, no matter how he might dispute that!”

“Yes. I am sorry, Sir Richard. I thought-”

“Don’t be sorry. Loyalty comes in many guises.”

They looked at the door as the sentry called, “First lieutenant, sir! ”

Lieutenant John Daubeny stepped into the cabin, his slim figure angled in the entrance like that of a drunken sailor.

“The captain’s respects, Sir Richard. Taciturn has signalled. Sail in sight to the nor’-west.”

Avery remarked quietly, “She’ll have a hard beat to reach us, sir.”

“One of ours, you believe?”

Avery nodded. “Chivalrous. Must be her. She’d soon turn and run with the wind otherwise.”

Bolitho smiled unconsciously at his judgment. “I agree. My compliments to the captain, Mr Daubeny. Make a signal. General. To be repeated to all our ships. Close on Flag.”

He could see them, tiny dabs of colour as the flags broke from their yards, to be repeated to the next vessel even though she might barely be in sight. The chain of command, the overall responsibility. Daubeny waited, noting everything, to go in the next letter to his mother.

Bolitho glanced up at the skylight. Tyacke with his ship. A man alone, perhaps now more than ever.

“I shall come up at seven bells, Mr Daubeny.”

But the first lieutenant had gone, the signal already hoisted.

He touched the locket beneath his shirt.

Stay close, dear Kate. Don’t leave me.

They met with the 30-gun frigate Chivalrous in late afternoon, Indomitable and her consorts having made more sail to hasten the rendezvous. It would also ensure that Captain Isaac Lloyd could board the flagship with time to return to his own command before nightfall, or in case the wind freshened enough to prevent the use of a boat.

Lloyd was only twenty-eight but had the face of an older, more seasoned officer, with dark, steady eyes and pointed features that gave him the demeanour of a watchful fox. He used the chart in Bolitho’s cabin, his finger jabbing at the various positions which York had already estimated.

“Six of them all told. I could scarce believe my eyes, Sir Richard. Probably all frigates, including a couple of large ones.” He jabbed the chart again. “I signalled Weazle to make all haste to Halifax, but I fully expected the Yankees to try and put a stop to it.” He gave a short, barking laugh: a fox indeed, Bolitho thought. “It was as if we did not exist. They continued to the nor’-east, cool as you please. I decided to harry the rearmost one, so I set me royals and t’gallants and chased them. That changed things. A few signals were exchanged, and then the rearmost frigate opened fire with her chasers. I had to admit, Sir Richard, it was damn’ good shootin’.”

Bolitho sensed Tyacke beside him, listening, perhaps considering how he might have reacted in Lloyd’s shoes. Yovell was writing busily and did not raise his head. Avery was holding some of York ’s notes, although he was not reading, and his face was set in a frown.

Lloyd said, “It got a bit too warm, and I reduced sail. Not before that damn Yankee had brought down a spar and punched my forecourse full of holes. I thought that maybe he’d been ordered to fall back and engage Chivalrous. I would have accepted that, I think. But I says to meself, no, he don’t intend to fight, not now, anyways.”

Bolitho said, “Why?”

“Well, Sir Richard, he had all the time he needed, and he could see I had no other ship to support me. I knew he would have put his boats in the water, had he meant to show his mettle.” He grinned. “He may have carried more guns than my ship, but with all those boats stowed on deck we could have cut down half his men with their splinters in the first broadside!”

Tyacke roused himself from his silent contemplation and said abruptly, “Boats? How many?”

Lloyd shrugged, and glanced through the smeared windows as if to reassure himself that his ship was still riding under the Indomitable ’s lee.

“Double the usual amount, I’d say. My first lieutenant insisted that the next ship in the American’s line was likewise equipped.”

Avery said, “Moving to a new base?”

Tyacke said bluntly, “There is no other base, unless they take one of ours.” When Lloyd would have said something, Tyacke held up one hand. “I was thinking. Remembering, while you were speaking just now. When it was decided that the slave-trade was not quite respectable, unbefitting civilized powers, Their Lordships thought fit to send frigates to stamp it out. Faster, better-armed, trained companies, and yet…” He turned and looked directly at Bolitho. “They could never catch them. The slavers used small vessels, cruel, stinking hulls where men and women lived and died in their own filth, or were pitched to the sharks if a King’s ship happened to stumble on them.”

Bolitho remained silent, feeling it, sharing it. Tyacke was reliving his time in Larne. The slavers had come to fear him: the devil with half a face.

Tyacke continued in the same unemotional tone, “All along that damnable coast, where the rivers came out to the Atlantic, the Congo, the Niger and the Gaboon, the slavers would lie close inshore, where no man-of-war of any consequence would dare to venture. Which was why they evaded capture and their just deserts for so long.” He glanced at the young captain, who did not avoid his eyes. “I think you fell in with something you were not supposed to see.” He moved to the chart and laid his hand on it. “For once, I think our Mr York was wrong. Mistaken. They didn’t give chase, Captain Lloyd, because they could not. They dared not.” He looked at Bolitho. “Those boats, sir. So many of them. Not for picking up slaves like those cruel scum used to do, but to put an invading army ashore.”

Bolitho felt the shock and the truth of his words like a cup of icy water in his face.

“They’re carrying soldiers, as they did on the lakes, except that these are larger vessels, with something bigger in prospect at the end of it!”

He thought of the army captain who had survived the first attack on York, and of the reports which had filtered through with information of a second attack three months later. Perhaps Lake Erie had already fallen to the Americans? If so, the British army would be cut off, even from retreat. The young captain had described the Americans at York as being well-trained regulars.

Bolitho said, “If these ships entered the Bay of Fundy but turned north, and not towards Nova Scotia, they could disembark soldiers who could force their way inland, knowing that supplies and reinforcements would be waiting for them once they reached the St Lawrence. It would seal off all the frontier districts of Upper Canada, like ferrets in a sack!”

He gripped Lloyd’s hand warmly in farewell. “You did not fight the American, Captain Lloyd, but the news you have carried to me may yet bring us a victory. I shall ensure that you receive proper recognition. Our Nel would have put it better. He always insisted that the Fighting Instructions were not a substitute for a captain’s initiative.”

Tyacke said roughly, “I’ll see you over the side, Captain Lloyd.”

As the door closed, Avery said, “Is it possible, sir?”

Bolitho half-smiled. “Do you really mean, is it likely? I think it is too important to ignore, or to wait for a miracle.” He listened to the trill of calls as the fox-like captain went down to his gig.

Tyacke returned, and waited in silence while Bolitho instructed his secretary to send a brief despatch to Halifax. “We shall alter course before nightfall, James, and steer due north. Make the necessary signals.” He saw the concern in the clear eyes that watched him, from the burned remains of the face. “I know the risks, James. We all do. It was there for all of us to see, but only you recognized it. Your loneliest command was not wasted. Nor will it be.” He wondered if Tyacke had been going over it all again. The letter, the girl he might scarcely remember, or not wish to remember. One day he might share it; at the same time, Bolitho knew that he would not.

“D’ you think your man Aherne is with them?”

“I am not certain, but I think it possible that he may have fallen out of favour with his superiors, like John Paul Jones.” Like my own brother.

Tyacke was about to leave, but turned when Bolitho said with sudden bitterness, “Neither side can win this war, just as neither can afford to lose it. So let us play our part as best we can… And then, in God’s mercy, let us go home!”

They stood crowded together around York ’s chart-table, their shadows joining in a slow dance while the lanterns swung above them.

More like conspirators than King’s men, Bolitho thought. It was pitch black outside the hull, early dark as he had known it would be, the ship unusually noisy as she rolled in a steep swell. There was no land closer than seventy miles, Nova Scotia ’s Cape Sable to the north-east, but after the great depths to which they had become accustomed they sensed its presence. Felt it.

Bolitho glanced at their faces in the swaying light. Tyacke, his profile very calm, the burns hidden in shadow. It was possible to see him as the woman had once done: the unscarred side of his face was strongly boned and handsome. On his other side the master was measuring his bearings with some dividers, his expression one of doubt.

Avery was crammed into the small space too, with Daubeny the first lieutenant bobbing his head beneath the heavy beams as he tried to see over their shoulders.

York said, “In broad daylight it’s bad enough, sir. The entrance to the bay, allowing for shallows and sandbars, is about 25 miles, less, mebbee. We’d not be able to hold our formation, and if they are ready and waiting…” He did not go on.

Tyacke was still grappling with his original idea. “They can’t go in and attack anything in the dark, Isaac. They’d need to take soundings for most of the bay. The boats could be separated, swamped even, if the worst happened.”

York persisted, “The whole of that coastline is used by small vessels, fishermen mostly. A lot of the folk who made their homes in New Brunswick after the American rebellion were loyalists. They’ve no love for the Yankees, but…” He glanced at Bolitho. “Against trained soldiers, what could they do?”

Bolitho said, “And if they have already carried out a landing, those ships might be waiting for us to appear like ducks in a waterfowler’s sights. But it takes time-it always does. Lowering boats, packing men and weapons into them, more than likely in the dark, and with some of the soldiers half sick from the passage… Marines, now, that would be different.” He rubbed his chin, aware of its roughness: one of Allday’s shaves then, if there was time. He said, “Our captains know how to perform. We have exercised working together, although not with Mr York’s unwelcoming bay in mind!” He saw them smile, as he had known they would. It was like being driven, or perhaps led. Hearing somebody else speak, somehow finding the faith and confidence to inspire others. “And we must admit, the plan, if that is what they have in mind, is a brilliant one. Seasoned soldiers could march and fight their way northwards and meet with their other regiments on the St Lawrence. What is that, three hundred miles? I can remember as a boy when the 46th Regiment of Foot marched all the way from Devon to Scotland. And doubtless back again.”

York asked uneasily, “Was there more trouble up north then, sir?”

Bolitho smiled. “No, it was the King’s birthday. It was his wish!”

York grinned. “Oh, well, that’s different, sir!”

Bolitho picked up the dividers from the chart. “The enemy know the risks as well as we do. We shall remain in company as best we can. Each captain will have his best lookouts aloft, but they cannot work miracles. By dawn we shall be in position, here.” The points of the dividers came down like a harpoon. “We may become scattered overnight, but we must take that chance.”

Tyacke studied him in silence. You will take it, his expression said. Bolitho said, “If I were the enemy commander I would send in my landing parties, and perhaps release one of my smaller ships as close inshore as possible to offer covering fire if need be. That would even the odds.” He put down the dividers very carefully. “A little.”

Tyacke said, “If we’re wrong, sir…”

“If I am wrong, then we will return to Halifax. At least they will be prepared there for any sudden attack.” He thought of Keen when he had spoken of St Clair’s daughter: he might become a vice-admiral sooner than his highest hopes, if the enemy had outwitted this makeshift plan.

He saw Avery bending over the table to scribble some notes in his little book, and for a second their eyes met. Did Avery know that his admiral was barely able to see the markings on the chart without covering his damaged eye? He felt the sudden despair lift from his spirit, like a dawn mist rising from the water. Of course they knew, but it had become a bond, a strength, which they willingly shared with him. Again he seemed to hear Herrick’s words. We Happy Few. Dear God, don’t let me fail them now.

Then he said quietly, “Thank you, gentlemen. Please carry on with your duties. Captain Tyacke?”

Tyacke was touching his scars; perhaps he no longer noticed that he was doing it.

“I would like to have the people fed before the morning watch, sir. Then, if you agree, we will clear for action.” He might have been smiling, but his face was in shadow again. “No drums, no din of war.”

Bolitho said lightly, “No Portsmouth Lass, either?” The same thought returned. Like conspirators. Or assassins.

Tyacke twisted round. “Mr Daubeny, do not strain your ears any further! I want all officers and senior warrant officers in the wardroom as soon as is convenient.” He added, almost as an afterthought, “We had better assemble our young gentlemen as well on this occasion. They may learn something from it.”

York left with Daubeny, probably to confer with his master’s mates. It would keep them busy, and a lack of sleep was nothing new to sailors.

Avery had also departed, understanding better than most that Tyacke wished to be alone with Bolitho. Not as the officer, but as a friend. Bolitho had almost guessed what his flag captain was going to say, but it still came as a shock.

“If we meet with the enemy, and now that I have weighed the odds for and against, I think we shall, I would ask a favour.”

“What is it, James?”

“If I should fall.” He shook his head. “Please, hear me. I have written two letters. I would rest easy and with a free mind to fight this ship if I knew…” He was silent for a moment. “One is for your lady, sir, and the other for somebody I once knew… thought I knew… some fifteen years back, when I was a young luff like Mr Know-it-all Blythe.”

Bolitho touched his arm, with great affection. It was the closest to the man he had ever been.

He said, “We shall both take care tomorrow, James. I am depending on you.”

Tyacke studied the well-used chart. “Tomorrow, then.”

Later, as he made his way aft to his quarters, Bolitho heard the buzz of voices from the wardroom, rarely so crowded even in harbour. Two of the messmen were crouching down, listening at the door as closely as they dared. There was laughter too, as there must have been before greater events in history: Quiberon Bay, the Saintes, or the Nile.

Allday was with Ozzard in the pantry, as he had known he would be. He followed Bolitho past the sentry and into the dimly lit cabin, with the sea like black glass beyond the windows. Apart from the ship’s own noises, it was already quiet. Tyacke would be speaking to his officers, just as he would eventually go around the messdecks and show himself to the men who depended on him. Not to tell them why it was so, but how it must be done. But the ship already knew. Like Sparrow and Phalarope, and Hyperion most of all.

Allday asked, “Will Mr Avery be coming aft, Sir Richard?”

Bolitho waved him to a chair. “Rest easy, old friend. He’ll find a minute to pen a letter for you.”

Allday grinned, the concern and the pain falling away. “I’d take it kindly, Sir Richard. I’ve never been much for book-learnin’ an’ the like.”

Bolitho heard Ozzard’s quiet step. “Just as well for the rest of us, I daresay. So let us drink to those we care about, while we can. But we’ll wait for the flag lieutenant.” He looked away. Avery had probably already written a letter of his own, to the unknown woman in London. Perhaps it was only a dream, a lost hope. But it was an anchor, one which was needed by them all.

He walked to the gun barometer and tapped it automatically, recalling Tyacke’s acceptance of what must be done, his confidence in his ship. And of his words. “If I should fall…” The same words, the same voice which had spoken for all of them.

Avery entered the cabin even as the sentry shouted his arrival.

Bolitho said, “Did it go well, George?”

Avery looked at Ozzard and his tray of glasses.

“Something I heard my father say, a long time ago. That the gods never concern themselves with the protection of the innocent, only with the punishment of the guilty.” He took a glass from the unsmiling Ozzard. “I never thought I would hear it again under these circumstances.”

Bolitho waited while Allday lurched to his feet to join them. Tomorrow, then.

Thinking of Herrick, perhaps. Of all of them.

He raised his glass. “We Happy Few!”

They would like that.