Free Inshore Squadron by Alexander Kent Page A

in the anchorage they had left astern.
    Herrick could cope with that all right. Pay Herrick a sincere compliment and he would be speechless. Put him before a lady and he would be tongue-tied. Gales, fog or the roaring horror of battle and he was like a rock.
    They sighted very few craft, and only small vessels at that. Coasters and fishermen, staying near the land, and certainly wary of the lean-looking frigate as she thrust further south towards the narrow sound between Denmark and Sweden. The gateway to the Baltic. A shelter or a trap, according to what your intentions might be.
    As soon as it was dark Neale asked permission to anchor. As Styx swung slowly to her cable, and the mist filtered through her spars and rigging to make her like a phantom ship, Bolitho walked the quarterdeck, watching the pale stars, the occasional gleam of a light from the land.
    Styx showed only an anchor lantern, and the watch which moved about the forecastle and gangways were fully armed. Mr Pickthorn, her first lieutenant, had even spread boarding nets.
    Just to be on the safe side, as Neale had put it.
    Pascoe emerged from the darkness and waited to see if it was convenient to speak
    Bolitho beckoned to him. “Here. Let’s walk a while. Stand still for long and the blood feels like glacier water.”
    They paced back and forth, meeting and passing the men on watch or some of the ship’s officers who were also trying to take some exercise in the keen air.
    â€œOur people are settled in, sir.” Pascoe shot him a quick glance. “I have Mr Midshipman Penels with me as messenger. I thought him a bit too young, but Mr Wolfe said he’s got to start sometime.” He chuckled. “He’s right, I expect.”
    â€œTomorrow we will enter Copenhagen, Adam. There, I am to meet a British official of some standing.”
    He looked towards the tiny lights on the shore. The news would be there already. An English man-of-war. One from the new squadron. What did it mean? Why had she come?
    â€œThere are a few questions I will want answering for my own content, too.”
    Pascoe did not break into Bolitho’s thoughts, even though he was speaking them aloud. He was thinking of Midshipman Penels and his friend Babbage. By some accident, or a petty officer’s indifference, Babbage was aboard Styx also.
    Bolitho asked suddenly, “How are you getting along with my flag lieutenant? The Honourable Oliver Browne?”
    Pascoe smiled, his teeth white in the darkness. “With an ‘e,’ sir. Very well. He is a strange man. Far removed from most sea officers. All, in my own experience. He is always so calm and untroubled. I think that if the Frenchies were to storm aboard at this moment he would pause to finish his meal before joining the fight!”
    Captain Neale came on deck and Pascoe excused himself and left.
    Bolitho said, “It seems very quiet, Captain.”
    â€œI agree.” Neale peered through the sagging boarding nets. “But I’m careful. Captain Herrick would spit me if I allowed his admiral to run aground, or worse!”
    Bolitho bade him good night and went to his borrowed quarters. He had not realised before just how well known Herrick’s devotion had become.
    â€œTake in the maincourse, Mr Pickthorn.” Captain Neale stood very still, his arms folded, as the frigate glided ahead under top-sails, forecourse and jib.
    The cold air, the icy droplets of moisture falling from the heavy weather canvas like rain were forgotten as the Styx moved slowly towards the last channel.
    Two great fortresses, Helsingborg on the Swedish side of the Sound Channel and Kronborg on the Danish, were enough to awe even the most hardened man aboard.
    Bolitho took a telescope and trained it on the Danish fortress. It would take an army, and months of siege, to breach it, he thought grimly.
    It was almost noon, and the nearer the frigate had drawn to the narrows and the protective batteries