Alexander Kent - The Flag Captain

“He’s bluffing!” But the man’s voice was less assured now. “There’s no ship within miles of us here!”

“There will be another mist at dawn.” He thrust his hands under the table knowing they were quivering with excitement or worse. “You will be unable to make sail before the forenoon. I know this bay well and it is too dangerous.” He hardened his tone. “Especially without the help of your officers.”

The petty officer muttered, “’E’s right, Tom.” He craned forward. “Why not do like ’e says? We got nowt to lose by listenin’.”

Bolitho studied the leader thoughtfully. His name was Tom. It was a beginning.

“Damn your eyes, the lot of you!” The man was flushed with sudden anger. “A batch of delegates, are you? More like a pack of old women!”

The anger calmed as suddenly as before, and Bolitho was reminded of Keverne.

He said harshly, “Right then, so be it.” He gestured to the old petty officer. “You will remain here with one lookout.” He glanced at Allday, his eyes hostile. “And you can keep this lackey as hostage. If we make the signal I want him dead. If there’s some

sort of attack we will kill the pair of them and hang them beside our own precious lord and bloody master, right?”

The petty officer flinched but nodded in agreement.

Bolitho looked at Allday’s grim features and forced a smile. “You wanted a rest and a tankard. You have both.” Then he rested his hand briefly on his shoulder. He could almost feel the man’s tension and anger beneath it. “It will be all right.” He tried to give value to his words. “We are not fighting the enemy.”

“We shall see!” The man named Tom opened the door and made a mock bow. “Now walk in front of me and mind your manners. I’ll not pipe my eye if I have to cut you down here and now!”

Bolitho strode into the darkness without answering. The night was still before them, but there was a lot to do before dawn if there was to be any hope of success. As he hurried down the steep track his mind returned to the punishment book. It was surprising that men driven and provoked by such inhumanity had bothered to try to seek justice by channels they only barely understood. It was more surprising still that the mutiny had not broken out months earlier. The realisation helped to encourage him, although he knew it was little enough to sustain anything.

“Boat ahoy!” The challenge seemed to come from nowhere.

A man in the bows cupped his hands and replied, “The delegates!”

Bolitho tensed on the thwart as the anchored frigate suddenly grew out of the darkness, the crossed yards and gently spiralling masts black against the stars. While the jolly boat manoeuvred alongside he noted the carefully spread boarding nets above the

ship’s gangway, the dark clusters of figures crowding around the entry port. He could feel his heart racing, and wondered if his own apprehension was matched by the waiting mutineers’.

A hand thrust at his shoulder. “Up you go.”

As he swung himself up through the port, a lantern was unshuttered, the yellow beam playing across his epaulettes while the press of seamen pushed closer to see him.

A man said, “’E came then.”

Then Taylor’s voice, brittle and urgent. “Stand aside, mates. There’s work to be done.”

Bolitho stood in silence as the head delegate whispered further instructions to the watch on deck. The ship seemed under control, with no sign of argument or drunkenness as might be expected. Two of the guns were run out, and he guessed they were loaded with grape, just in case some suspicious patrol boat came too close for safety.

A petty officer stood watch on the quarterdeck, but there was no officer in view. Nor were there any marines.

The man named Tom said sharply, “We’ll go aft and you can meet the cap’n.” It was impossible to see his expression. “But no tricks.”

Bolitho walked aft and ducked beneath the poop. In spite of serving in two ships-of-the-line in succession, he had never gotten used to their spacious headroom. Perhaps, even after all this time, he still yearned for the independence and dash of a frigate.

Two armed seamen watched his approach, and after a further hesitation shuffled their feet to attention.

“That’s right, lads, show some respect, eh?” The delegate was enjoying himself.

He threw open the cabin door and followed Bolitho inside. It was well lit by three swaying lanterns, but the stern windows were shuttered, and the air was moist, even humid. A seaman, armed with a musket, was leaning against the bulkhead, and seated

on the bench seat beneath the stern windows was the Auriga ’s captain.

He was fairly young, about twenty-six, Bolitho imagined, with the single epaulette on his right shoulder to indicate he held less than three years’ seniority as captain. He had sharp, finely defined features, but his eyes were set close together so that his nose seemed out of proportion. He stared at Bolitho for several seconds and then jumped to his feet.

The delegate said quickly, “This is Captain Bolitho.” He waited as the emotions changed on the other man’s face. “He is alone. No grand force of bullocks to save you, I’m afraid.”

Bolitho removed his hat and placed it on the table. “You are Captain Brice? Then I shall tell you at once that I am here without authority other than my own.”

Briefly he saw something like shock in the other man’s eyes before a shutter fell and he became composed again. Composed yet watchful, like a wary animal.

Brice replied, “My officers are under guard. The marines have not yet joined the ship. They were due to be sent direct from Plymouth.” He darted a look at the delegate. “Otherwise Mr Gates here would be singing a different tune, damn his eyes!”

The delegate said quietly, “Now, sir, none of that, please. I’d have you dancing at the gratings right now if I had my way! But there’ll be time enough for that later, eh?”

Bolitho said, “I should like to talk with Captain Brice alone.”

He waited, expecting an argument, but the delegate replied calmly, “Suit yourself. It’ll do no good, and you know it.” He left the cabin with the armed seaman, slamming the door and whistling indifferently as he went.

Brice opened his mouth to speak but Bolitho said shortly, “There is little time, so I will be as brief as I can. This is a very serious matter, and if your ship is handed to the enemy there is no saying what repercussions may result. I have nothing to

bargain with, and little to offer to ensure these men are brought back under command.”

The other man stared at him. “But, sir, are you not the flag captain? One show of force, a full-scale attack, and these scum would soon lose the heart for mutiny!”

Bolitho shook his head. “The new squadron has not been formed as yet. Every ship is elsewhere, or too far to be any use. My own is at Falmouth. She could be on the moon for all the help she can be to you.” He hardened his voice. “I have heard some of the grievances and I can find little if any sympathy for your personal position.”

If he had struck Brice the effect could not have been more startling. He jumped to his feet, his thin mouth working with anger.

“That is a damnable thing to say! I have worked this ship to the best of my ability, and I have a record of prizes to prove it. I have been plagued with the scum of the gutters, and officers either too young or too lazy to enforce anything like the standard I expect.”

Bolitho kept his face impassive. “Except for your senior, I understand?”

Before Brice could reply he rapped, “And kindly sit down! When you address me you will keep a civil tongue in your head!” He was shouting and the fact surprised him. It must be infectious, he thought. But his sudden display of anger seemed to have had the right effect.