Above his head he could hear the muffled bark of orders, the sounds of men hurrying to their stations for the last change of tack before entering English Harbour. He had been wondering what might be waiting for them here, orders, or a new appraisal of American intentions, ...
. .” THE CURVING flight of stone steps to the top of the ramparts seemed endless. As Bolitho dashed breathlessly towards the open ledge where smoke still drifted across the stars he was aware of a rising chorus of shouts and cries, the occasional bang of muskets, and above...
The sun was strong, the air warmer than for a long time, and after the restricted confines of a frigate, even one as large as Indomitable, Bolitho was very conscious of the land, and the peculiar feeling that he did not belong here. The house was the headquarters of the general officer commanding...
THE LONG stretch of water named The Hamoaze which separated Plymouth Dockyard from the neighbouring county of Cornwall shone like burnished pewter in the forenoon sunlight. The last day of August, and yet there was already a chill in the air, a hint of misty rain across the Devon countryside. &nb...
They had been away for nearly three months, a short time to any experienced sea officer, but Bolitho had not expected to see Spithead again, or anywhere else for that matter. The tossing waves with curling crests of dirty yellow were almost beautiful, and the clinging damp...
‘There she is, Dick! The Hotspur! I’ll not want to leave this beauty when the time comes!’ Excitement, or sheer pleasure: Bolitho had not seen him like this before. Perhaps strain and uncertainty, which he had always been able to conceal, were at last giving way. Bolitho felt it, too. The Hotspur...