Alexander Kent - The Flag Captain

The air in the cabin was stiff with tension, so that shipboard noises seemed suddenly loud and unreal.

Broughton continued calmly, “The master’s mate,” he glanced at a paper before him, “one John Taylor, at present under guard for conspiracy, is thereby the senior culprit available to this court.”

“May I speak, sir?” Bolitho’s voice made every head turn towards him. For just those few seconds he saw the others as individuals, the differing expressions mirrored in their eyes. Sympathy, understanding, from one even amusement.

He shut them out of his thoughts as he continued quietly, “Taylor was one of many, sir. He came to me because he trusted me.”

Broughton turned to study him, his eyes distant. “Two of his companions have already laid evidence against him as the ringleader, next to Gates.” For an instant his gaze softened with something like compassion. “They could be getting even with Taylor for deposing their leader. They might equally be just and loyal seamen.” His mouth hardened. “That is no longer my concern. This squadron is, and I intend to see it fulfils whatever duty laid upon it without interference.” He let his gaze lock with Bolitho’s. “From anyone.”

Then he rapped the table with his knuckles. “Bring in the prisoner.”

Bolitho sat quite still as Taylor entered between two marines with Captain Giffard marching stiffly at his back. He looked pale

but composed, and as he saw Bolitho his face lit up with sudden recognition.

Broughton eyed him coolly. “John Taylor, you are charged with mutinous conspiracy and seizure of His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Auriga. You were accused with one other, not yet in custody, of this same act, and are called here to receive sentence.” He tapped his fingertips together and added quietly, “Your treachery, at a time when England is fighting for her very life, singles you out as a man without either pride or conscience. You, a master’s mate, trained and trusted by your superiors, have betrayed the very Service which has given you your means to live.”

Taylor seemed stunned. He replied in a small voice, “Not true, sir.” He shook his head. “Not true.”

“However,” Broughton leaned back in his chair and looked at the deckhead beams, “in view of your past record, and all that my flag captain has done and said on your behalf…” He broke off as Taylor took half a step forward, his eyes shining with sudden hope. As a marine pulled him back again Broughton added, “I have decided not to impose the maximum penalty, as your case, in my personal view, demands.”

Taylor turned his head dazedly and peered at Bolitho. In the same small voice he whispered, “Thankee, sir. God bless you.”

Broughton sounded irritated. “Instead, the punishment awarded will be that of two dozen lashes and disrating.”

Taylor nodded, his eyes swimming with emotion. “Thankee, sir!”

Broughton’s voice was like a knife. “Two dozen lashes from each ship assembled here at Falmouth.” He nodded. “Remove the prisoner.”

Taylor said nothing as the marines wheeled him round and marched him out.

Bolitho stared at the closed doors, the empty space where Taylor had stood, and felt as if the cabin was closing in on him. As if he and not Taylor had received the sentence.

Broughton rose and said briefly, “Return to your ships, gentlemen, and read my new standing orders which Mr Calvert will make available. Punishment will be carried out at eight bells tomorrow forenoon. Normal procedure.”

As they filed out past Calvert, Bolitho said quietly, “Why, sir? In the name of God, why? ”

Broughton looked past him, his eyes bleak, “Because I say so.”

Bolitho picked up his hat, his mind dulled by the sudden savagery of Broughton’s justice.

“Any more orders for the present, sir?” He did not know how he was managing to keep his tone formal and devoid of feeling.

“Yes. Pass the word to Captain Brice to resume command of Auriga. ” He regarded Bolitho for several seconds. “Mine is the responsibility. So too is the privilege.”

Bolitho met his gaze and replied, “If Taylor had been given a court-martial, sir…” He stopped, realising how he had stepped into the trap.

Broughton smiled gently. “A proper court-martial would have hanged him, and well you know it. The sentence would have been carried out too late to make an example and time and indulgence would have been wasted. As it is now, Taylor’s punishment will act as a warning, if not a deterrent to this squadron where we need it most. And he may live to make capital from his one moment of personal insurrection, and will have you to thank for it.”

As Bolitho turned to leave he added, “There will be a conference here immediately the punishment is completed. Make a signal for all captains to repair on board,” he took out his watch, “but I can leave that for you to arrange, I think. I have been invited to join a local magistrate for dinner. A man called Roxby, know him?”

“My brother-in-law, sir.” His voice was like stone.

“Really?” Broughton walked towards his sleeping cabin. “You people seem to be everywhere.” The door slammed behind him.

Bolitho reached the quarterdeck without seeing a foot of the journey. The shadows were more angled and the sun already dipping towards the headland. A few seamen lounged on the gangways, and from forward came the plaintive notes of a violin. The officer of the watch crossed to the opposite side to allow Bolitho his usual seclusion, and beside the boat tier two midshipmen were shrilling with laughter as they chased each other towards the main shrouds.

Bolitho leaned his hands on the bulwark and stared unblink-ingly at the orange sun. He did not feel like pacing this evening, and wherever he turned he seemed to see Taylor’s face, the pathetic gratitude at receiving two dozen lashes, changing to horror at the final sentence. He would be down below now, hearing the midshipmen laughing and the fiddler’s sad lament. Maybe it was for him. If so, Broughton’s cruel example had already misfired, he thought bitterly.

He shifted his gaze to the Auriga as she swung gently at her cable. Some would say that Taylor’s punishment was a worthwhile sacrifice of one man against so many. But for Bolitho’s action every man aboard might have been flogged or worse, or the ship could indeed have been lost to the enemy.

But there were others who would say that whatever the outcome, the course of naval justice would never be found by flogging scapegoats. And Bolitho knew Taylor was one of these, and was ashamed because of it.

Bolitho was staring emptily through the great stern windows of his cabin when Allday entered and said, “All ready, Captain.”

Without waiting for a reply he took down the old sword from its rack on the panelled bulkhead and turned it over in his hands, pausing to rub the tarnished hilt across the sleeve of his jacket.

Then he said quietly, “You did your best, Captain. There’s no value in blaming yourself.”

Bolitho held up his arms to allow the big coxswain to buckle the sword around his waist and then let them fall to his sides. Through the thick glass windows he could see the distant town swinging gently as wind and tide took the Euryalus under control. He was again aware of the silence which had fallen over the whole ship since Keverne had come down to report that the lower decks were cleared and that it was close on eight bells.

He picked up his hat and glanced briefly around the cabin. It should have been a good day for quitting the land. A fair breeze had sprung up from the south-west overnight and the air was clean and crisp.

He sighed and walked from the cabin, past the table and its untouched breakfast, through the door with the rigid sentry and towards the bright rectangle of sunlight and the open quarterdeck beyond.