Flag Captain (7 page)

Taylor added, “They've gone for the others, sir, an' yer cox'n.” He dropped his eyes. “Gates 'as run.”

More voices, and three lieutenants, dishevelled and apprehensive, stepped into the cabin. Two were very young, the third, tall and tight-lipped, was obviously the first lieutenant, the one Taylor had described as
taken with abusing the people,
having them flogged at the slightest pretext. He thought of Keverne and was suddenly grateful.

The lieutenant said harshly, “I am Massie, sir, the senior.”

He glanced enquiringly at Brice but stiffened as Bolitho said, “You will place yourself under open arrest.” He added sharply, “For your own good at present.”

He looked at the other officers. “How is the wind?”

“Freshening, sir. From the sou' west.” The young lieutenant sounded dazed.

“Very well. Inform the master that we will be raising the anchor as soon as the boat returns. If we are to reach Falmouth before morning we must beat well clear of the bay.” He forced a smile. “I'd not wish to have the
Auriga
piled on Gull Rock for all to see!”

On deck it seemed cleaner, the air less threatening. An illusion again, but with good reason, Bolitho thought.

He found the frigate's sailing master listening to the lieutenant with silent disbelief.

Bolitho said calmly, “I will take the responsibility.” In a quieter tone he added, “Far better to take a small risk than to leave your people with too much time on their hands.” Inwardly he thought, also it is better to make sail in darkness than to confront the
Euryalus
's broadsides at first light.

When the boat came alongside again he saw Allday scrambling through the entry port, his head turning in all directions as if to take on the whole ship single-handed.

He found Bolitho and said thickly. “By the Lord, Captain, I never expected this!” The admiration was only overshadowed by his obvious concern.

Bolitho looked at him and grinned. “I am sorry to have placed you in danger.”

The big coxswain waited until some scurrying seamen had run past. “I was just about to leave the inn, Captain, and try my luck again on that damned horse. I might have been able to reach Falmouth in time to raise the alarm.”

Bolitho frowned. “What of your guards?”

Allday shrugged and then pulled up the leg of his trousers. Even in the gloom it was possible to see the small double-barrelled pistol protruding from his stocking.

“I reckon I could have laid those two beauties to rest without too much sweat!”

“You will never fail to amaze me, Allday.” Bolitho stared at him. “So you had a plan all of your own, eh?”

“Not
all
my own. Bryan Ferguson gave me the pistol before we left. He bought it off one of the Falmouth Packet officers.” He breathed out noisily. “I'd not be wanting to leave it
all
to you, Captain.” He peered around the quarterdeck. “Not amongst bloody hounds like these!”

Bolitho turned away, his mind dwelling on Allday's simple loyalty. He wanted to find the right words, something which might convey just how much it meant to him at this moment of time.

“Thank you, Allday. That was reckless but extremely far-sighted of you.”

Why could he never find the words when he needed them? And why was Allday grinning almost enough to split his face in two?

Allday said, “Strike me blind, Captain, you are a cool one, and there's no mistake. We might both be dead, an' instead here we are as safe as the Tower of London.” He rubbed his buttocks. “Also, we return to Falmouth as sailors should, and not on some bony, misbegotten animal.”

Bolitho gripped his thick forearm. “I am glad you are satisfied.”

A lieutenant crossed the deck and touched his hat. “Capstan manned and boat hoisted, sir.”

“Very good.” He felt suddenly light-headed. Perhaps he had not, after all, realised just how close he had been to disaster. Allday had understood and had been prepared in his own way. But suppose Brice had refused to submit, or Gates had held his grip on the other men? He dismissed it from his thoughts. That part was over, and he could thank God no one had been injured, let alone killed, in the uprising.

“Tell the master to lay a course to clear the foreland, if you please. We will run to the sou' east until we have the sea room to go about.”

The young officer stood quite still, his eyes filling his face in the darkness.

Bolitho added gently, “Your name is Laker, am I right?” He saw him nod. “Well, Mr Laker, just imagine that both of your seniors had been killed in action.” Another nod. “It is your quarterdeck for the moment, and it would be well for your people to see you taking control right away. Trust is like gold, it must be earned to be of any true value.”

The youngster said quietly, “Thank you, sir.” Then he walked away, and seconds later the capstan began to clank round to the accompaniment of a half-hearted shanty.

Bolitho walked slowly aft and stood near the wheel. He would be ready, in case the frigate drove too close inshore. But if the
Auriga
had any hope of regaining her place in affairs, she had to begin here and now, with her own hands in command.

It was as if Allday was reading his mind.

He said softly, “Reminds me of when we were in the old
Phalarope,
Captain.” He glanced up as the sails cracked and stirred in readiness for the next order. “It took a long, long time before we got
our
good name back!”

Bolitho nodded. “I remember.”

“Loose the heads'ls!”

Feet scampered across the tilting decks, and from forward came the steady clank of the capstan as the men trudged around it.

“Anchors aweigh there!”

The dark land mass swam slowly across the quarter as the frigate tore free of the ground and paid off into the gentle wind.

Bolitho thought momentarily of Brice down there in his cabin, feeling his ship come alive, with voices other than his own calling the commands.
How would I feel under such circumstances?
He shuddered and then pushed Brice from his mind.

If the same circumstances ever did arise, then, like Brice, he would deserve it, he thought firmly.

“Steady as you go!”

“Nor' west by west, sir!” The big wheel squeaked as the
Auriga
glided slowly towards the land.

Bolitho stayed by the weather rail watching the town in the brittle morning sunlight. The
Euryalus
was swinging almost bows on towards the approaching frigate, her topgallant yards gold in the pale glare, the fierce-eyed figurehead bright against the spray-dappled hull.

He looked around the busy activity on the frigate's main deck, the first time he had seen her in daylight. Brice must have been mean as well as a tyrant. The paintwork was faded and flaking, and the seamen were dressed mostly in ragged scraps of clothing and appeared for the most part half starved. Several of them, without shirts as they worked about the deck, had backs so scarred that they looked as if they had been mauled by some crazed beast.

Forward, the anchor party stood watching the outspreading arms of the bay, the town of Falmouth beyond, still in the morning shadow. A guardboat idled above her own reflection, a blue flag at the masthead to indicate where the incoming frigate was to drop anchor. Both the young lieutenants and the ship's master were concentrating on the last two cables, and Bolitho said quietly, “You had better pass the word to your gunner to prepare a salute, Mr Laker. With all else on your mind it would be a shame to forget that a rear-admiral demands a salute of thirteen guns.”

The lieutenant looked startled and then gave a shy grin. “I had not forgotten, sir, although I was not expecting you to test me.” He pointed across the nettings. “But as you well know, sir, it will require
fifteen
guns.” He was still smiling as he hurried back to join the master by the wheel.

Bolitho walked to the nettings and climbed up on to a bollard. It could not be. The lieutenant had to be deceived by a trick of the light, or the fact that
Euryalus
was swinging her bows towards them.

He jumped back to the deck and saw Allday watching him. There was no error. The flag which now lifted in the sunlight flew from the three-decker's foremast.

Allday said quietly, “So he's arrived, Captain?”

While the
Auriga
moved slowly towards the anchorage, the salute banging out at regular five-second intervals, Bolitho made himself walk back and forth along the weather side of the quarterdeck. Glasses would be trained on the frigate, he must be seen to be both safe and in control. It seemed to take an age for those last moments to drag by. Moments in which he wondered what had happened to Rear-Admiral Thelwall, and what Broughton would think of his actions. When he looked again he saw the
Euryalus
swinging across the bowsprit as the frigate went about, and with canvas cracking and slapping against the yards turned easily into the wind. The anchor had barely dropped into the water when Bolitho heard another sound, growing in the clear air like a roll of great drums. As he swung round and ran to the side he saw, with something like sick horror, the three rows of gun ports along the
Euryalus
's side opening together, and as if guided by a single hand, the whole triple array of black muzzles running out into the sunlight.

The lieutenant murmured, “My God!”

Taylor ran aft, pointing dazedly. “Boats comin', sir!”

There were nearly a dozen of them. Cutters and launches, all crammed with marines, their coats shining like blood as they sat motionless between the busy oars.

Some of the seamen seemed unable to drag their eyes from the
Euryalus
's massive armament, as if they expected every gun to open fire. A few remained staring at the quarterdeck, watching Bolitho, perhaps hoping to read their own fate on his face.

The leading boat rounded the frigate's quarter, shielded from the flagship's guns, and headed towards the entry port. Captain Rook was in the sternsheets, and as he drew alongside he looked up and shouted, “Are you safe, sir?”

Allday muttered, “Bloody fool!” But Bolitho did not hear.

He looked down at Rook's red face and replied, “Of course.” He hoped the seamen nearby would hear him. They would need all their trust in the next few moments.

Rook clambered up to the deck and touched his hat.

“We were worried, sir, very worried indeed.” He saw the two lieutenants watching him and shouted, “Hand your swords to the lieutenant of marines immediately!”

Bolitho snapped, “By whose order?”

“I beg pardon, sir,” Rook looked uncomfortable. “By order of Vice-Admiral Sir Lucius Broughton.” He turned as more boats grappled alongside and the gangway suddenly came alive with grimfaced marines, their muskets and fixed bayonets trained on the crowded main deck.

Bolitho crossed over to the lieutenants. “Rest assured, I will see that you are not abused.” He looked at Rook. “I am making
you
responsible.”

The one-armed officer wiped his forehead worriedly. “As you say, sir.”

Bolitho walked back to the quarterdeck rail and looked along the crowded mass of silent seamen.

“I gave you my word. Keep your peace and obey orders. I shall go across and meet the admiral without delay.”

He saw Taylor make as if to come aft and then stop when a marine jerked a bayonet in his direction.

Bolitho called, “I have not forgotten, Taylor.”

Then he turned and made his way to the port. A boat was coming from the
Euryalus.
No doubt for him, and an explanation.

He glanced back at the silent, watching men. They were dreading what would happen next. No, they were terrified, he could almost smell their fear, and wanted to reassure them.

He thought suddenly of Brice who had caused it all, and of the clerk Gates who had used the captain's cruelty for his own ends. Now Gates was free somewhere, and Brice might just as easily escape without dishonour. He tightened his jaw and waited impatiently for the boat to get alongside.

We shall see, he thought coldly.

Bolitho raised his hat to the quarterdeck and asked quietly, “Well, Mr Keverne? I think I need an explanation, and quickly.”

Keverne replied just as quietly, “I could not help it sir. Vice-Admiral Broughton arrived during the last dog watch yesterday. He came overland by way of Truro.” He shrugged helplessly, his face worried. “I had to tell him of your sealed orders, and he required me to open them.”

Bolitho paused by the poop and looked down at the larboard battery of twelve-pounders, still run out and pointing at the
Auriga.
Most of their crews, however, were looking aft at him, their expressions torn between surprise and anxiety. As well they might, he thought bitterly.