THE INSHORE SQUADRON

9. Waiting

Captain Thomas Herrick leaned moodily on his elbow and leafed through the purser's daily report. His mind and body ached from worry and work, and neither was helped by the Benbow's uncomfortable motion. She would roll steeply into a trough, the movement ending each time with a long-drawn-out shudder which ran through every deck and timber.

She was, like the other ships of the line, anchored under the protection of Skaw Point. After the slow crawl from the position on the chart where they had fought Ropars' squadron, and another day at anchor, they were still working. Mending or replacing sails, paying seams, hammering and sawing, splicing and blacking-down rigging. It was just as if they were in the security of a dockyard instead of being out here in the bleak North Sea.

There was a tap at the door, and Herrick steeled himself for the moment he had been dreading.

'Enter!'

Loveys, the surgeon, closed the door behind him and took a proffered chair. He appeared exactly as before, deathly white, and yet tireless.

Loveys said, 'You look worn out, Captain.'

Herrick thrust all the affairs of the squadron and his ship aside like dead leaves. Even though he had been forced to attend to his daily work without respite, he had not once forgotten his friend in the stern cabin.

Men to be promoted to fill the gaps of dead or crippled comrades. Midshipman Aggett appointed as acting lieutenant in place of young Courtenay. With his lower jaw shot away and his mind completely unhinged, it was a miracle Courtenay had survived this long. The watch and quarter bills had had to be rearranged to share out the experienced hands. The purser had been complaining about rations, about. the total loss of some salt beef casks which had been shattered by a stray cannon-ball. The grim business of sea burials, of answering questions and maintaining contact with the other captains, all had taken a brutal toll of his resources.

'Never'mind that.' He calmed his tone with an effort. `How is he today?'

Loveys looked at his strong fingers… `The wound is very inflamed, sir. I have repeatedly changed the dressings, and am now using a dry stupe on it.' He shook his head. 'I'm not certain, sir. I cannot smell gangrene as yet, but the wound is a bad one.' Loveys made a gesture like scissors with his fingers. 'The enemy ball was flattened on impact with flesh acid bone, but that is normal enough. The button was split like a claw and, I fear there may be fragments left in the wound, even pieces of cloth which could encourage rotting.'

'Is he bearing up well?'

Loveys gave a rare smile. 'You will know that better than I, sir.' The smile vanished. 'He needs proper care ashore. Each jerk of his cot is agony, each movement could be the one to start gangrene. I give him an opiate at night but I cannot weaken him further.' He looked Herrick in the eyes. 'I may have to probe again, or worse, take off the leg. That can kill even the strongest, or a man given power by the lust for battle.'

Herrick nodded. 'Thank you.' It was as he had expected, although he had searched for hope, for his 'Lady Luck'.

Loveys made to leave. 'I suggest you send Mr Pascoe to his normal duties, sir.' He silenced Herrick's unspoken protest by adding, 'Our admiral might die, but young Mr Pascoe will have to fight again. He is wearing down his very soul by staying aft with him.'

'Very well. Ask Mr Wolfe to attend to it for me.'

Alone once more, Herrick tried to decide what he should do. With Styx away from the squadron he could not spare Relentless to carry Bolitho to England. Relentless had amazed everyone. By harrying the heavy transport, which Captain Peel had confirmed to be packed with French soldiers, she had drawn off Ropars' frigates from the real fight. That, plus Benbow's unexpected challenge, had turned the tables. In spite of all that, Relentless had been barely marked.

Herrick had thought of detaching Lookout from the squadron. After Loveys' discouraging report there seemed no alternative.

He would get no thanks from Bolitho. He had always put duty before personal involvement, no matter what hurt it had caused him. But in this case…

Herrick started as someone tapped at the door and Lyb, who had taken over from Aggett as senior midshipman, peered in at him.

`Mr Byrd's respects, sir, and Lookout has just reported a sail to the west'rd.'

Herrick stood up, uncertain and reluctant. 'Tell the fourth lieutenant I will be on deck shortly, and inform the squadron. Is Relentless in sight?'

Lyb frowned at the unexpected question. He was a pleasantlooking youth of sixteen with hair the same colour as Wolfe's. He must have had to take some cruel comments on that, Herrick thought.

'Aye, sir. She is still to the nor'-west of us.'

'My compliments to Mr Byrd. Tell him to repeat the signal to Relentless. Just in case.'

Lyb stared. 'In case, sir?'

'Dammit, Mr Lyb, do I have to repeat every word?'

He gripped the chairback and steadied himself. Just in case.

It had been unthinkable to voice his caution aloud. It gave some

hint of the strain which held him like a vice. He called, 'Mr Lyb! '

The youth came back, trying not to look frightened. 'Sir?'

'I had no cause to abuse you just then. Now please carry my message to the fourth lieutenant.'

Lyb backed away, mystified. At the sudden outburst, which was quite unlike the captain, but more so at the apology, which was unlike any captain.

Herrick picked up his hat and made his way aft. Every day he had tried to act out his part, to pretend for Bolitho's sake that all was as before. Even when he had found Bolitho drowsing, or barely aware of what was happening, he had made his report, his comments about the ship and the weather. It was his own way of offering something which might break through the barrier of anguish, might also help to remind Bolitho of the world they shared.

He found Allday sitting in a chair and Ozzard collecting some soiled dressings from the sleeping cabin.

He waved Allday down as he made to rise. 'Easy, man. These are bad times for us all. How does he seem?'

Allday saw nothing unusual in being asked the question by a captain. Herrick was different. A true friend.

Allday spread his big hands. 'He's so weak, sir. I gave him some soup but he couldn't keep it down. I've tried brandy, an' I asked Ozzard to read to him, him being an educated man, so to speak.'

Herrick nodded, touched by Allday's simplicity.

'I'll make my report.'

He entered the small sleeping compartment and walked hesitantly to the swinging cot. It was always the same. The horrifying dread of gangrene, of what it could do to a man.

He said, 'Good morning, sir. Lookout has just sighted a sail to the west'rd. Likely a Dane, or some other lucky neutral. I have ordered Relentless to be ready to run down and intercept.'

Herrick watched Bolitho's strained face. He was sweating badly and the lock of black hair which usually hid the terrible scar on his temple was plastered aside. Herrick looked at the scar. That must also have been a close thing. But Bolitho had been a youthful lieutenant when it had happened, younger than Pascoe or even the wretched Lieutenant Courtenay.

With a start he realized that Bolitho had opened his eyes. They were like the only things alive in the man.

'A sail, you say?'

Very carefully Herrick answered, 'Aye. Probably nothing important.'

'Must get word to the admiral, Thomas.' The words were hurting him to utter. 'Tell him about Ropars and the big transport. As soon as we sight a scouting frigate from the fleet you must…'

Herrick bent over the cot, feeling his friend's despair, his suffering.

'I will attend to all that. Have no fear.'

Bolitho tried to smile at him. 'I am in hell, Thomas. At times

I am afire. Sometimes I can feel nothing at all.'

Herrick wiped Bolitho's face and neck with a flannel. 'Rest

now.'

Bolitho gripped his wrist. 'Rest? D'you see yourself? You look worse than I do!' He coughed, and then groaned as the movement awakened the pain.

Then he asked; 'How is the ship? How many did we lose?'

Herrick said, 'Thirty killed, sir, and about four to follow them, I fear. Throughout the squadron we have lost a hundred dead and seriously wounded.'

'Too many, Thomas.' He was speaking very quietly. 'Where is Adam?'

'I put him to work, sir. He has a lot on his mind.' Herrick was amazed that Bolitho could manage a smile. 'Trust you to think of that.'

'Actually, it was the surgeon.'

'That man.' Bolitho tried to move his arm. 'He is like the Reaper. Waiting.'

`A better surgeon than some, sir.' Herrick stood up. 'I must go and attend to this newcomer. I shall return soon.'

Impetuously he reached down and touched Bolitho's shoulder. But he had drowsed off into semi-consciousness again. Very gently Herrick pulled down the blanket and after some hesitation laid his hand on Loveys' carefully prepared stupe. He withdrew it swiftly and left the cabin. Even through the dressing Bolitho's thigh had felt like fire. As if his body was being consumed from within.

Allday saw his face. 'Shall I go to him, sir?'

'Let him sleep.' Herrick studied him sadly. 'He spoke to me quite well, but…' He did not finish and went straight out to the quarterdeck.

In the dull light of the forenoon he saw that most of the lieutenants who were discussing the strange sail were careful to avoid his eye as he appeared.

He heard Wolfe saying, 'I understand how you must feel, Mr Pascoe. But duty is duty, an' I'm short-handed enough without you staying away from your division.'

Wolfe-'touched his hat to Herrick and said, 'All done, sir. It's better from me. He can loathe my guts as much as he wants, provided he does his work.'

Midshipman Lyb called, 'Lookout's signalling, sir. The other vessel is…' He craned. over a fellow midshipman's arm to study the list of numbers. 'She's Marguerite, brig, sir.'

Wolfe released a great sigh. 'News, mebbee?'

Then he glared at Lyb and roared, 'Pork and molasses, sir! Acknowledge Lookout's signal, i f you please!'

Herrick turned away. It was better to be like Wolfe. Uninvolved, and therefore unreachable. Even as he thought -it he knew it was a lie.

The ship's company went to their midday meal, and by the time they had turned to for work again the lively little brig Marguerite was already standing into the wind while she lowered a boat alongside.

Herrick said heavily, 'Man the side, Mr Wolfe. The brig's commanding officer is coming across, it seems.'

Further aft in his cot, Bolitho strained his body on to one side as he listened to the familiar sounds from the quarterdeck. Preparing to receive the other vessel's captain. Allday had told him the brig's name, and Bolitho had sent him on deck to discover what was happening.

The pain seemed to pounce on his thigh like a savage beast. Sweating and sobbing, Bolitho pulled himself further and further up the side of the cot. In his reeling mind it was suddenly vital that he should see the water again, the other ships, and cling on to what he saw like a life-line.

It was like that day on the gangway. One second standing there, the next feeling his face grinding against the planking, with no memory in-between.

Outside the screen door the startled marine sentry yelled, 'Sir! Sir!'

Allday came running, thrusting the sentry aside as he rushed into the cabin and then stared aghast at Bolitho's sprawled figure on the deck.

The black and white chequered canvas beneath him was stained with discoloured blood, and it was spreading even as Allday shouted, 'Fetch the surgeon!'

He gathered Bolitho in his arms and held him firmly.

When Herrick and Loveys entered, followed by the brig's astonished commander, neither Allday nor Bolitho had moved.

Loveys knelt on the deck and said tersely, `It's broken the wound.' He looked at Herrick. 'Please send someone for my instruments.' He was thinking aloud.

Herrick stared at him as Ozzard ran to fetch Loveys' assistants. `Not his leg?'

When the surgeon remained silent he said, 'You'll not take off his leg?'

Allday exclaimed brokenly. ''Twas my fault. He sent me away. I should have known!'

Loveys eyed him sharply. 'Known what?'

Allday jerked his head towards the stern windows. 'He

wanted to get to the sea. It's his life, don't you understand?' Men were crowding into the cabin, with orders being passed

as rapidly as any musketry drill.'

Loveys cut away the dressing, and the lieutenant who commanded the brig recoiled saying, 'My God, he must have been in agony!'

Loveys shot him a chilling glance. 'Be off with you, sir, if you've nothing but' slops to offer!'

In a gentler tone Loveys said to Allday, 'Go, too. Trust me.' Allday reluctantly released hold of Bolitho's limp body as

the surgeon's men grouped around him like ghouls.

In the adjoining cabin Herrick said quietly, 'Now, what do you have to tell me, Lieutenant?'

Still wilting from the surgeon's anger, the lieutenant answered, I brought a despatch for your flag officer, sir. The French squadron did not go to Ireland. It is almost certain it may try to enter the Baltic. Commodore Rice of the Downs Squadron is coming to give you support.'

Herrick tried not to listen to the movements beyond the closed door.

Then he answered simply, `We met with Vice-Admiral Ropars three days ago. That man you just saw, who may well die before another hour is out, dispersed the enemy and destroyed one of his seventy-fours.' In the silent cabin his words were like pistol shots.

The lieutenant said shakily, 'That was bravely done, sir. Do you have orders for me?'

Herrick looked at the door. 'Presently.'

Lieutenant the Honourable Oliver Browne watched Herrick's stocky shadow sweeping back and forth beyond the cabin lanterns.

The ship's motion had got a good deal worse during the day, and Browne could not even imagine the surgeon's difficulties in such conditions. Now, it was early dark, and it was obvious that Herrick was driving himself to a complete collapse unless he rested from his work. Browne knew why Herrick was keeping himself busy when others could have done some of the tasks needing attention, but he did not know how.

The masthead lookouts had reported a signal from Relentless as she prowled along her patrol line to the north-west of the anchored ships. Commodore Rice's Downs Squadron had been sighted, but even as the signal had been read and repeated to the other captains, dusk, aided by a fast-moving rain-squall, had blotted out everything from view.

Herrick said, 'I shall inform Commodore Rice of our situation. We can fight, but some hull damage needs more careful attention. I will ask permission to leave the area and return to port.'

Browne nodded. The Benbow had certainly taken the worst of the battering, with more than a third of the squadron's total casualties. Two more men had been buried that day, surprisingly, neither had been expected to die at all.

Herrick threw his papers on the table and said desperately, `What is that damned butcher doing?'

`His best, sir.' It sounded so trite, so far short of what he had meant that Browne expected Herrick to fly at him.

Instead Herrick said, `I have never cared more for any man, d'you know that? We have seen action together from here to the Great South Sea. I could tell you things which would make you shake with fear and with pride.'

Herrick was looking at Browne as he spoke but his blue eyes were far-away, reliving moments which Browne knew full well he could never share.

Herrick said, `Storms, raging gales which threatened to tear the sticks out of the ship, but we saw them through, we managed, d'you understand me?'

'I – I think so, sir.'

'I was the one who had to take him the message about his young wife. They said it came better from me, but how can terrible news like that ever be better?'

Herrick sat on the edge of the cabin table and leaned towards the lieutenant as if to emphasize his words.

'Down on the orlop, one of our people shouted out to him and called him Dick.' He gave a sad smile. 'In his frigate Phalarope they used to call him that. Equality Dick. He cares, you see.'

Herrick stared past Browne's head as the cabin door swung

open, the other shipboard noises intruding like strangers. Allday stood there, filling the entrance, his face like stone. Herrick leapt to his feet. 'What is it, man?'

Browne strode across the cabin and gripped Allday's arm.

'For God's sake!'

Allday said in a small voice, 'I would relish a glass of something strong, sir.' He made a great effort. 'The surgeon says he'll live, sir.'

He sounded stunned, as if he was only half aware of what was happening to him. The three of them stood together, swaying in time with Benbow's deep roll, each wanting to speak but only Allday with the words.

Then Herrick said, 'Go on.'

He backed across the cabin as if by taking his eyes off Allday he would destroy everything. He groped for a bottle and some glasses.

Allday took the brandy and swallowed it without apparently noticing.

Herrick said gently, 'I thought the surgeon told you to leave?'

'You know better than that, sir.' Allday held out the glass to be refilled. 'Hours they were. All that blood. Even old Loveys…' He shook himself. 'Meaning no disrespect, sir, but ' he was taken aback by it.'

Herrick listened, fascinated, reliving it through Allday's hesitant words.

Allday continued, 'The surgeon said that if he hadn't fallen from the cot he would have lost the leg. The wound burst, and Mr Loveys found another splinter of metal and some more cloth with his forceps.'

Herrick sat down heavily. 'Thank God.' He had thought until now that Bolitho had lived but had lost his leg.

Allday looked round the cabin, his face still stricken. 'I – I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't have burst in here without so much as a by-your-leave.'

Herrick handed him the bottle. 'Go to your quarters and drink what is left. I think you've done enough.'

Allday nodded slowly and walked towards the door. Then he turned and murmured, 'He opened his eyes, sir.' Allday rubbed his chin to confirm it. 'And d'you know the first thing he said to me?'

Herrick did not speak, unable to watch the tears on Allday's stubbled cheeks.

' "You've not shaved, you ruffian!" That's what he said, sir!'

Browne closed the door quietly. Allday had left it swinging to the ship's motion. He was in a world all of his own.

Browne sat down and looked at the deck. 'Now I understand, sir.'

When Herrick said nothing he realized the captain had fallen asleep in his chair.

Very carefully Browne left the cabin and made his way to the companion ladder. He almost collided with the surgeon who was holding to the ladder while he waited for the ship to sway upright again. Browne noticed that Loveys' hands were like red gloves.

He said, `Come to the wardroom and I will open a bottle, you more than deserve it.'

Loveys regarded him suspiciously. 'I'm not a wizard, you know. Rear-Admiral Bolitho may have a relapse, and at best he will probably endure pain and a limp for the rest of his life.' He smiled unexpectedly, and for once the strain showed itself to its full extent. 'Mind you, Mr Browne, I'm quite pleased myself.'

Herrick left his chair and groped his way from the cabin. His exhaustion had been a useful excuse. Had he continued to speak with Browne he knew that he, like Allday, would have been unable to hide his emotion.

He stepped on to the quarterdeck, his eyes distinguishing the darker shapes in the gloom, the guns, the nettings finely etched against the evening sky.

The master's mate of the watch was by the poop ladder, while one of the midshipmen was writing something on his slate as he held it against the compass light.

All around the ship groaned and clattered as she swung heavily to her cable, her decks shining with rain, the sea air like ice.

Herrick saw the officer of the watch on the far side of the deck and called, 'Mr Pascoe!'

Pascoe hurried towards him, his shoes making little sound

on the wet planking.

He hesitated, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness as he said,

'You want me, sir?'

'It's over, Adam. He's going to live, and with two legs.' He turned away, adding, 'I shall be in my cabin if needed.' 'Aye, aye, sir!'

Pascoe waited until he had disappeared and then clapped his hands together.

The midshipman gasped, 'Sir? Is something wrong?'

Pascoe had to share it, to tell somebody. 'Not any more! – I've never felt better!'

He strode away, leaving the midshipman as mystified as before. He cared about the admiral, of course, but in a midshipman's life there were so many things to worry about. These calculations, for instance. Old Grubb, the master, wanted them before morning. He would take no excuses from anyone.

The slate shook as the youth relived that terrible and splendid moment. The rear-admiral waving his hat and defying the enemy's blazing guns. Men cheering and dying.

And he, Mr Midshipman Edward Graham of the County of Hampshire, had survived.

Unknown to the thirteen-year-old midshipman, Richard Bolitho was thinking very much the same.