Alexander Kent - The Flag Captain

Brice sank on to the seat and said heavily, “My first lieutenant is a good officer, sir. A firm man, but that…”

Bolitho finished it for him. “That is what you expect, eh?”

Beyond the bulkhead some voices were raised in argument and then died away just as quickly.

He added, “Your behaviour, were you now in port, would make you eligible for court-martial.” He saw the shot go home. The

sudden clenching of Brice’s fingers. “Surely after the affair at Spithead you should have taken some heed of their requirements? Good God, man, they deserve justice if nothing else.”

Brice regarded him angrily. “They got what they deserved.”

Bolitho recalled Taylor’s words. An unhappy ship. It was not difficult to imagine the hell this man must have made her.

“Then I cannot help you.”

Brice’s eyes gleamed with sudden malice. “They’ll never allow you to leave the ship now!”

“Perhaps not.” Bolitho stood up and walked to the opposite side. “But there will be a mist in the bay at dawn. When it clears your ship will be facing something more than words and threats. I have no doubt that your people will fight no matter what the odds, for by then it will be too late for second thoughts, too late for compromise.”

Brice said, “I hope I see them die!”

“I doubt that, Captain. In afterlife maybe. For you and I will be dangling high enough for the best view of all.”

“They wouldn’t dare! ” But Brice sounded less sure now.

“Would they not?” Bolitho leaned across the table until they were only two feet apart. “You have tormented them beyond all reason, have acted more like a demented fiend than a King’s officer.” He reached out and tore the epaulette from Brice’s shoulder and threw it on the table, his face stiff with anger. “How dare you talk of what they can or cannot do under such handling? Were you one of my officers I would have had you broken long before you could bring disgrace to the commission entrusted to you!” He stood back, his heart pumping against his ribs. “Make no mistake, Captain Brice, if your ship does escape to be given to the enemy, you were better dead anyway. The shame will otherwise grip you tighter than any damned halter, believe me!”

Brice stared round the cabin and then let his eyes rest on the

discarded epaulette. He seemed shocked, even stunned, by Bolitho’s attack.

Bolitho added in a calmer tone, “You cannot kill a man’s need to be free, don’t you understand that? Freedom is hard to win, harder still to hold, but these men of yours, confused and ignorant perhaps, they all understand what liberty means.” He had no idea if his words were having any effect. The voices on deck were getting louder again and he felt a growing sense of despair. He continued, “All seamen realise that once in the King’s service their lot is as good or as bad as their commanders will allow. But you cannot ask or expect them to fight or give of their best when their own treatment is unnecessarily wretched.”

Brice looked at his hands. They were trembling badly. He said thickly, “They mutinied. Against me, and my authority.”

“Your authority is nearly done.” Bolitho watched him gravely. “Because of you I have put my coxswain in jeopardy. But you have sacrificed far more than our lives, and I am only sad that you will not live long enough to see what you have done.”

The door banged open and the man Gates stepped into the cabin, his hands on his hips.

“All done, gentlemen?” He was smiling.

Bolitho faced him, aware of the dryness in his throat, the sudden silence in the airless cabin.

“Thank you, yes.” He did not look at Brice as he continued evenly, “Your captain has agreed to place himself under open arrest and await my orders. If you release the ship’s officers immediately…”

Gates stared at him. “What did you say?”

Bolitho tensed, expecting Brice to shout abuse or demand the immediate withdrawal of his promise. But he said nothing, and when he turned his head he saw that Brice was staring at the deck, as if in a state of collapse.

The master’s mate, Taylor, pushed through the other men and shouted wildly, “D’you see, lads? What did I tell you?” He stared at Bolitho, his eyes misty with relief. “God, Cap’n, you’ll never regret this!”

Gates interrupted hoarsely, “You fools! You blind, ignorant madmen!” Then he looked at Bolitho. “Tell ’em the rest!”

Bolitho met his stare. “The rest? There has been an unlawful disobedience of orders. Under the given circumstances I believe that justice will be reasonable. However,” he looked at the watching seamen by the door, “it will not be entirely overlooked.”

Gates said, “The rope never overlooks anyone, does it?”

Taylor was the first to break the sudden stillness. “What chance do we ’ave, Cap’n?” He squared his shoulders. “We’re not as blind as some think. We know what we done was wrong, but if there’s some ’ope for us, then…”

His voice trailed away into silence again.

Bolitho replied quietly, “I will speak with Sir Charles Thelwall. He is a humane and generous officer, that I will vouch for. He will no doubt think, as I do, that what has happened is bad. But what might have occurred, far worse.” He shrugged. “I can say no more than that.”

Gates glared around him. “Well, lads, are you still with me?”

Taylor looked at the others. “We’ll ’ave a parley. But I’m for takin’ Cap’n Bolitho’s word as it stands.” He rubbed his mouth. “I’ve worked all me life to get as far as I ’ave, an’ no doubt I’ll lose what I’ve gained. I’ll most likely taste the cat, but it won’t be the first time. Rather all that than live in misery. An’ I don’t fancy spendin’ the rest o’ me days in some Frog town or ’idin’ whenever I sees a uniform.” He turned to the door. “A parley, lads.”

Gates watched them file out and then said quietly, “If they agree to your empty promises, Captain Bolitho, then I’ll first take his confession down in writing.”

Bolitho shook his head. “You can give your evidence at the court-martial.”

“Me?” Gates laughed. “I’ll not be aboard when these fools are taken!” He twisted round to listen to the babble of voices. “I will be back.” Then he left the cabin.

Brice breathed out slowly. “That was a terrible risk. They might still not believe you.”

“We can only hope.” Bolitho sat down. “And I trust that you believe it also. That was no mere threat to deceive either them or you.”

He glanced at the door, trying not to show his uncertainty. “That man Gates seems to know a great deal.”

“He was my clerk.” Brice sounded lost in thought. “I caught him stealing spirits and had him flogged. By God, if I ever get my hands on him…” He did not continue.

The cabin lanterns swayed in unison and settled at a steeper angle. Bolitho cocked his head to listen. There was more breeze, so the mist might not come after all. Perverse as ever, the Cornish weather was always ready to make a man a liar.

The door banged open and Taylor entered the cabin. “We’ve decided, sir.” He ignored Brice. “We agree.”

Bolitho stood up and tried to hide his relief. “Thank you.” A boat thudded against the hull and he heard orders being shouted to the oarsmen.

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.