Alexander Kent: COLOURS ALOFT!

"From Supreme, sir!" Sheaffe's voice was sharp. "She's the Orontes! "

Keen said, "One of the convict ships. But they sailed two days before us." He eyed Bolitho questioningly. "Strange?"

"From Supreme, sir. Ship requires assistance."

"Make to Supreme." Keen had seen Bolitho nod. "Heave-to and await the flag." He waited for the signal to break out. Now a general signal. "Make more sail."

Stayt closed his glass with a snap. "The squadron has all acknowledged, sir."

Bolitho watched the hands dashing up the shrouds and out along the yards to set more sail. The other ships were doing likewise. There was no obvious danger but the squadron would keep in formation. Bolitho had known traps in the past, his own and the enemy's. He was taking no chances.

The deck staggered and spray lifted above the taffrail as Argonaute responded to the extra pressure of canvas.

"We'll be up to them by noon, sir." Keen watched the set of each sail and then shouted, "Another pull on the weather fore-brace, Mr Chaytor! Your division is in confusion today!" He lowered his speaking-trumpet and turned aside. There was little wrong with the lieutenant's division, but it did no harm to drive them a bit more. He saw Bolitho smile and knew that he had seen through his guard.

Luke Fallowfield, the sailing-master, watched the hardening sails and put another man on the big double-wheel. He had been master in flagships before but had never known one like Bolitho's. Most admirals stayed away in their great cabins, but not this one. Fallowfield was short, but massively built like a huge cask. He had no neck and his head sat directly on his shoulders like a great red pumpkin. He was a shabby, shambling mass of a man, who usually cast the smell of rum in his wake, but his knowledge of navigation and ship-handling was unsurpassed.

Bolitho was getting to know their faces, the way they responded to their superiors and subordinates. It kept him in touch. Without this small contact he knew he would be forced into his shielded quarters. In his heart he admitted he did not want to be left alone with his thoughts.

The Orontes grew and lifted from the grey water with each turn of the glass. Lying-to nearby, the Supreme remained an onlooker, her hull rolling and pitching in the troughs.

As soon as Argonaute was within signalling distance Keen observed, "Lost their rudder, damn them!"

Stayt said, "The other ship was an ex-Indiaman and in good condition." His lip curled. "This one is a hulk. I'm glad for their sakes the Bay is being kind."

Bolitho took a glass and watched the slow exchange of signals. Stayt was right about the ship's appearance. More like a slaver than a government transport.

He said, "If we take her in tow, Val," he saw Keen's dismay, "and assist her back to port, we will reduce our strength and slow our passage. We cannot abandon her."

Old Fallowfield mumbled, "Squall gettin' near, zur." He stared blankly at the officers. "No doubt in my mind."

"That settles it." Bolitho folded his arms. "Send a boat across and discover what has happened to her consort, the Philomela." He watched Big Harry Rooke, the boatswain, beckoning a boat's crew towards the tier. It was bad luck, but they had no choice.

"We will escort her to Gibraltar."

Keen protested, "We'll take days longer with her in tow, sir."

He was eager to get there. More so to become involved against the enemy. He did not alter.

The first lieutenant clambered down into the waiting boat and was soon speeding across the water towards the drifting vessel.

What a way for the convicts to begin what was already a terrible voyage, Bolitho thought. He tried to shut it from his mind and concentrate on what he must do. If he left the squadron and went on ahead in Barracouta or Rapid to discover what was required of him, there might be an unexpected attack during his absence. A barely trained squadron without its admiral would certainly attract the French if they learned of it.

He made up his mind. "Signal Barracouta to close on the flag. Captain to repair on board." He could already see Lapish's youthful face, grateful to be released from his ponderous companions, to be free of authority.

"Then signal Helicon to prepare to tow." Inch was by far the most experienced captain, but he would not thank him for it. Not even loyal Inch.

It took the remainder of the day to pass the massive hawser to the rudderless transport, and some hundred sailors from Inch's command to do it. By the time they had formed up once more in some sort of order Barracouta was already hull down on the horizon and soon out of sight altogether. Lapish would carry despatches from Bolitho to the Governor and commander-in-chief. At least everyone would know they would eventually arrive under the Rock.

Darkness closed in and when Bolitho went aft to the great cabin he saw that the table was carefully laid, the sides and deck-head glittering to the swinging lanterns and new candles.

The exercise with the Orontes and the passing of the tow had given Bolitho an appetite. It had helped to pass the time, to see his squadron doing something other than running out guns or shortening sail.

Ozzard watched him and was satisfied. It was good to see Bolitho in a warmer mood. He would dine with the captain and the new flag-lieutenant. Ozzard was reserving his opinion on the latter. There was something false about Lieutenant Stayt, he decided. Like the lawyer he had once worked for.

Ozzard said, "The cox'n's waiting, Sir Richard."

Bolitho smiled. "Good."

Allday was right aft by the big sloping windows. He faced Bolitho and touched his forehead. Even that he did with massive dignity, Bolitho thought. There was neither subservience nor indifference there.

"How is it coming along?" Bolitho sat on the new chair and stretched his legs. "When do I meet, er, your son?"

Allday replied, "Tomorrow forenoon if it suits, Sir Richard."

Even the title rested easily with Allday. He seemed prouder of it than its recipient.

Allday continued, "He's a fine lad, sir." He sounded anxious. "I was wonderin'-"

Now to the truth of the matter. Bolitho said encouragingly, "Come on, old friend. There are no admirals or coxswains down here."

Allday watched him worriedly. "I knows that, sir. I've always known it. You treated me like one of the family in Falmouth. I don't reckon anyone would forget that!'

He tried again. "I get a bit o' pain from time to time, sir."

"Yes." Bolitho poured two glasses of claret. "I fear there is no rum within reach."

The memory brought a slow grin to Allday's bronzed features. Remembering. The rum which had brought him back to life, if only because his reeling mind had recorded that Bolitho was drinking some out of despair. Bolitho never drank rum. In some strange way it had dragged Allday across the margin of survival and death.

"I wants to do my duty for you, sir. Like always. But somehow-"

Bolitho said gently, "You think I might need a second cox'n, is that it?"

Allday stared at him. Awe, astonishment, gratitude, it was all there.

"God bless you, sir." Allday nodded. "It would help the lad, an' I could keep an eye on him like."

Keen entered and stopped by the screen door. "I beg your pardon, sir." It seemed quite natural to find the big coxswain having a quiet drink with his admiral. Keen had cause to know and respect Allday. When he had been a midshipman under Bolitho's command he had been cut down by a great splinter which had driven into his groin like a bloody lance. The frigate's surgeon had been a drunkard and Allday had carried the barely conscious midshipman below and cut the splinter away himself. It had saved his life. No, he would never forget, especially as the respect had become mutual.

Bolitho smiled. "All done. With your permission, I'd like to take, er-" He glanced at Allday. "What name does he use?"