Alexander Kent - The Flag Captain

“Very well.”

Bolitho nodded to the officer of the watch and then crossed to the weather side of the quarterdeck, filling his lungs with the cool evening air.

The squadron had weighed in the remorseless heat of a noon sun, but with an encouraging north-westerly breeze had soon formed into a tight column, each ship taking her prescribed station and keeping their interchange of signals to a minimum.

Many telescopes must have followed them from the Spanish coast, and there would be plenty of speculation as to their destination. It was unlikely that the enemy would give much weight to so small a force, but there was no sense in taking chances. Once clear of the land each captain would know that almost any ship he might meet would be an enemy. Even neutrals, and there were precious few of those, must be treated with suspicion and as possible informers of the squadron’s course and whereabouts.

But now it was evening, and in the Mediterranean it was a

time which Bolitho always found full of fresh fascination. While the four ships-of-the-line rolled and plunged easily in a deep swell, with a steady and unwavering wind sweeping down across the larboard quarter, he could see the shadows lengthening on the gangways, the sea beyond the bows already vague in deeper purple. Yet astern the sky was salmon pink, the dying sunlight trailing down from the horizon and making the Valorous ’s topsails shine like giant sea shells.

If this wind and sea held, it would be possible for all of them to keep good station during the night, which should please Broughton, he thought.

Keverne crossed the deck and said, “The visibility will not endure much longer, sir.”

Bolitho glanced towards the master’s rotund shape by the helmsmen. “We will alter course two points directly, Mr Partridge.” He sought out Midshipman Tothill by the lee shrouds and added, “You will bend on the signal for the squadron. Tack in succession. Steer east by south.”

He did not have to bother further with the midshipman. Tothill and his signal party had already proved themselves more than capable. He would make a good officer, Bolitho thought vaguely.

He said to Keverne, “Each ship will show a stern light, in case we get scattered. It may help the Coquette if she comes searching for us.”

The frigate in question was sweeping some fifteen miles astern of the column, a wise precaution to ensure they were not already being shadowed by some curious enemy patrol.

The little sloop Restless was only just visible to windward of the Zeus, and Bolitho imagined that her young and newly appointed commander would be considering the sudden importance of his role. The sloop was the only vessel present and fast enough should a suspicious sail need investigating.

It was always the same. Never enough frigates, and now that

the Auriga was denied them they must be even more sparing in long-range operations.

Tothill called, “Signal bent on, sir.”

“Good.” Bolitho nodded to Keverne. “Carry on. I must inform the admiral.”

He found Broughton and Draffen sitting at opposite ends of the long table in the admiral’s dining cabin, and sensed the complete silence stretching between then.

“Well?” Broughton leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping slowly against an untouched glass of claret.

“Ready to alter course, Sir Lucius.” He saw Draffen watching him, his eyes gleaming in the light from the overhead lanterns and the pink glow through the windows.

“Very good.” Broughton tugged out his watch. “No sign of pursuit?”

“None, sir.”

Broughton grunted. “Carry on then, if you please. I may come up later.”

Draffen rose to his feet and steadied himself against the table as Euryalus tilted her massive bilge into another lazy trough.

“I would like to join you if I may, Captain.” He nodded equably to Broughton. “Never get weary of watching ships under command, y’know.”

Broughton snapped, “Er, just a moment!” But when Bolitho turned back from the door he shook his head. “Nothing. Attend to your duties.”

On the quarterdeck Draffen remarked calmly, “Sharing the admiral’s quarters is not the easiest way of travelling.”

Bolitho smiled. “You can have my own quarters with pleasure, sir. I spend more time in my chartroom than I do in a cot.”

The other man shook his head, his eyes already seeking out the various parties of seamen mustered at their stations in readiness for the next order from aft.

“Sir Lucius and I come from different poles, Bolitho. But it would be well to forget social differences for the present at least.”

Bolitho forgot Draffen and the tensions in the great cabin and turned towards Keverne.

“Make the signal.” And as the flags darted up the halliards and broke impatiently to the wind he added sharply, “Be ready, Mr Partridge.”

“ Zeus has acknowledged, sir!”

The leading ship was in fact already swinging importantly on her new course, her topsails and driver flapping for a few more moments until brought under control. Tanais followed, one curved side glowing in the dying sunlight as she laboured too readily in response to canvas and rudder.

Keverne raised his speaking trumpet, his lithe figure poised against the rail as if to test the agility of the great ship beneath him.

“Braces there!” He pointed into the purple shadows below the mainmast trunk. “Mr Collins, take that man’s name! He’s stumbling about like a whore at a wedding!”

Unknown voices mumbled out of the gloom, while from aft the wheel creaked obediently, Partridge’s white hair changing to yellow as he squinted at the lighted compass bowl.

“Heave! Lively with it!”

The men leaned back, angling their bodies to take the strain of the ship’s massive yards, while the marines clumped noisily and in perfect time on the mizzen brace. The hull tilted still further, the sails shivering and booming to the change of pressure.

Bolitho leaned over the rail, searching along the length of his command, his ears interpreting the varying groans from shrouds and rigging, the action automatic yet ever watchful.

“Lay her on the larboard tack, Mr Partridge.” He looked aloft, watching as Broughton’s flag and the masthead pendant licked out lazily and then pointed almost directly across the starboard bow.

“East by south, sir!” Partridge rolled to the other side of the compass as Bolitho came aft to stare down at the swaying card.

“Steady as you go.” He felt the ship responding, saw the huge, dark rectangles of canvas stiffening to the wind as she settled obediently on her new tack.

The light was going fast now. As it always did hereabouts. One minute a bright and seemingly everlasting sunset, and then nothing but the cream of spray beneath the counter, an occasional whitecap as the wind explored the edge of a deep trough in the sea’s face.

He heard Keverne bark, “The weather forebrace! In God’s name take in that slack, man! Mr Weigall, your people must do better than this!”

Voices echoed above the thrumming din of rigging and canvas, and he imagined the third lieutenant cursing Keverne’s uncanny eyesight, or shrewd guesswork, as the case may be.

Draffen had been watching in silence, and as the hands mustered once again at their various divisions he murmured, “I hope I will be aboard when you get a chance to show her real paces under sail.” He sounded as if he was enjoying himself.

Bolitho smiled. “There’ll be no such opportunity at night, sir. We may well have to reef tops’ls as it is. There is always a risk of collision when moving in close company.”

Keverne came aft again and touched his hat. “Permission to dismiss the watch below, sir.”