A Tradition of Victory Read Free Page B

the gold-edged collar. Only one good thing had happened, and he had almost forgotten it.
    “I shall shift my flag to Styx, Thomas. The sooner I contact my other ships off Belle Ile the better, I think.” He dragged a long envelope from inside his coat and handed it to the astonished Herrick. “From their lordships, Thomas. To take effect as from noon tomorrow.” He nodded to Allday who tipped a great scarlet broad-pendant on to the deck like a carpet. “You, Captain Thomas Herrick of His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Benbow at Plymouth will take upon yourself and assume the appointment of Acting-Commodore of this squadron with all direct responsibilities thereof.” He thrust the envelope into Herrick’s hard palm and wrung the other one warmly. “My God, Thomas, I feel a mite better to see you so miserable!”
    Herrick swallowed hard. “Me, sir? Commodore? ”
    Allday was grinning. “Well done, sir!”
    Herrick was still staring, his eyes on the red pendant at his feet.
    “With my own flag-captain? Who, I mean what …”
    Bolitho signalled for some more wine. His heart still ached as painfully as before and his sense of failure no less evident, but the sight of his friend’s confusion had helped considerably. This was their world. That other existence of marriage plans and security, talk of peace and future stability were alien here.
    “I am certain all will be explained in your despatches from London, Thomas.” He watched Herrick’s mind grappling with it and then accepting it as a reality. The Navy taught you that if nothing else. Or you went under. “Think how proud Dulcie will be!”
    Herrick nodded slowly. “I suppose so.” He shook his head.
    “All the same. Commodore.” He looked steadily at Bolitho, his eyes very blue. “I hope it’ll not steer us too far apart, sir.”
    Bolitho was moved and turned away to hide his emotion.
    How typical of Herrick to think of that first. Not of his right and just promotion, long overdue, but of what it might mean to each of them. Personally.

    Allday sauntered to the two swords on the cabin bulkhead, suddenly engrossed in their appearance and condition. The bril-liant presentation sword from the people of Falmouth as recognition of Bolitho’s achievements in the Mediterranean and at the Nile. The other sword, without shine or lustre, outdated but finely balanced, seemed shabby by comparison. But neither the presentation blade, with all its gold and silver, nor a hundred like it, could equal the value of the older one. The Bolitho sword which appeared in several of those family portraits at Falmouth, and which Allday had seen in the press of many a battle, was beyond price.
    For once even Allday was unable to accept the sudden orders for sea with his usual philosophy. He had not stepped on shore this time for more than a dog watch, and now they were off again.
    He had already been fuming at the unfairness and stupidity which had prevented Bolitho from receiving a proper reward after Copenhagen. Sir Richard Bolitho. It would have just the right ring to it, he thought.
    But no, those buggers at the Admiralty had deliberately avoided doing what was proper. He clenched his big fists as he looked at the swords. It was buzzing through the fleet that Nelson had received much the same treatment, so that was some consolation. Nelson had raised all their hearts when he had pretended not to see his superior officer’s signal to break off the action. It was so like the man, what made the Jacks love him and the admirals who never went to sea loathe his very name.
    Allday sighed and thought of the girl he had helped to rescue from the wrecked carriage just a few months ago. To think that Bolitho might still lose her because of a few stupid written orders was beyond his understanding.
    “A toast to our new commodore.” Bolitho glanced at the goblets. The first lieutenant had come aft, his head bowed beneath the deckhead, while Grubb, the master, feet well apart to