Tide of War Read Online Free PDF

the great men of wealth slumped regardless at their desks and the clerks bent over theirs like melting candles dripping grease.
    Nathan came up by chaise from Sussex, starting fresh at dawn, parboiled by Croydon, and was set down at the Admiralty building in Whitehall as overdone as the lobster at the gate who rolled his poached eyes at Nathan’s pass as if he cared not whether he were the Angel of Death or one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse come to put the country out of its misery.
    â€œIf you will follow me, sir,” the hall porter instructed him, “his lordship awaits you in the boardroom.”
    His tone, though guarded, could not disguise a note of surprise, even outrage. Access to the boardroom was a privilege normally confined to the lords of the Admiralty and those worthies as enjoyed their complete confidence, the hallowed sanctuary where grand strategies were devised for the confusion of the King’s enemies, orsuch of his friends and relatives it was deemed advisable to confuse in these troubled times. It was not for the entertainment of mere commanders.
    Up the stairs to the first floor and across the landing to a door of polished oak, the porter contriving to knock, open and step back in what was almost a single action, leaving Nathan bewildered in a sudden blaze of light.
    â€œCommander Peake, my lord.”
    â€œAh, Peake, I trust I find you well?”
    â€œAnd I you, my lord.” The tall windows, directly opposite, were only partly draped against the glare and Nathan saw the room through a haze of sunshine and a galaxy of dust. It was dominated by a long table covered in green leather where two gentlemen were engaged in the study of a chart.
    â€œCome and join us,” said the First Lord of the Admiralty, as if Nathan had merely popped his head round the door on his way to lunch. “We were just looking at a map of the Caribbean.”
    John Pitt, Earl of Chatham, was in his late thirties, tall and slender with the bearing of a soldier, which was what he was, or had been, before his younger brother, William, the King’s chief minister, had plucked him from the obscurity of the 86th Foot, where he had achieved the rank of captain, and made him First Lord of the Admiralty and a member of the Privy Council. He had since added to these honours a full colonelcy in the 3rd Foot Guards, a promotion apparently deemed necessary by himself, or his brother, or both, to impress the half-dozen or so serving admirals who shared with him the onerous duties of commanding His Majesty’s fleets in war and who might otherwise have doubted his abilities.
    â€œI do not believe you have met Colonel Hollis.”
    An elderly gentleman, in the uniform of a colonel of marines but with more the look of a scholar about him than the military man. He peered above his spectacles with an expression that reminded Nathan of his classics master at Charterhouse during his brief period there before he joined the Navy.
    After making his bow Nathan glanced briefly around the room, which he knew only by repute. The wall directly opposite was filled with a number of rolled-up charts, rather like newspapers in a coffee house. Two bell ropes hung down from the ceiling, presumably to summon servants and rear-admirals and other such underlings as should be necessary to take one of them down and unroll it upon the table. And on the wall to his left was a curious device very like a clock with a powder blue face and a single hand linked, it was said, to a weathervane on the roof so that their lordships might at any time be informed as to the direction of the wind in case they wished to set sail and cruise down Whitehall to the amazement of the populace.
    â€œYour letter was fortuitous,” Chatham assured him with a beam that failed to put Nathan entirely at his ease. “I am mindful that the last time we met we discussed the possibility of your advancement to the rank of post captain.”
    Nathan