Alexander Kent - The Flag Captain

But Broughton halted Keverne in his stride. “Belay that order!” He looked at Bolitho, his eyes cold in the strange light. “And if Keverne cannot cope with the problem, what then? More delay, with us getting caught in a squall in the middle of it. You go.” He flinched as overhead the shrouds and rigging began to hum and whine like badly tuned instruments. “Decide what must be

done, and be sharp about it. I do not want to lose her, but rather than waste hours or even days struggling back to the squadron with a lame duck for company, I’ll scuttle her, here and now.” He sensed Bolitho’s unspoken question and added, “We can take the crew and passengers aboard if need be.”

Bolitho nodded. “Very well, sir.”

He saw Keverne watching him, his face trying hard to hide his disappointment. Denied the chance to hold command of the Auriga, he was now losing yet one more opportunity to better his position. If the Navarra could be saved, but was unfit to accompany the flagship, the prize officer who sailed her back to Gibraltar might well find himself appointed as captain.

Bolitho had obtained his own first real chance of command by the same method, and could feel for Keverne’s distress and possible resentment.

He thrust it from his mind as he signalled to the jolly boat. If the wind mounted any further there might be no prize at all within the hour.

Allday had appeared at his side and helped him into his coat as he murmured, “You’ll be wanting me of course, Captain.”

Bolitho glanced at him. Saw the sudden anxiety, like the time he had gone to the bomb vessel without him.

He smiled. “As you say, Allday. Of course. ”

Getting into the boat was as dangerous as it was uncomfortable. One moment it was driving hard against the ship’s side, the next plummeting into a trough, the oarsmen fighting and cursing to stop its timbers from being stove in.

Bolitho jumped outwards and down, knowing that if he misjudged it he was likely to be sucked bodily beneath his ship’s great bilge, or be ground into the side by the careering jolly boat.

Breathlessly he crouched in the sternsheets, blinded by spray, and knocked almost senseless by his jump, which had been more like a fall.

Allday grinned into the flying spray as the oarsmen turned the boat away from the ship and started to fight back downwind.

“Nasty blow, Captain!”

Bolitho said, “These squalls can go in minutes. Or they can drive a ship to despair.” It was amazing how Allday had regained his usual good spirits now he was with him again, he thought.

When he peered astern he saw the Euryalus plunging heavily, her close-reefed topsails just giving steerage way as she edged carefully clear of the other vessel. In the steel-grey light she looked huge and formidable, and he was thankful to see Keverne had already ordered the lower gunports to be closed. The ship was rolling badly, and open ports would invite unnecessary work for the pumps, as well as adding to the discomfort of the men who had to live there.

Even in the poor light it was easy to see the Spanish ship’s savage scars. The poop and lower hull beneath it had been smashed into gaping holes in several places, the blackened timbers protruding like broken teeth as testimony of that one, reduced broadside.

Midshipman Ashton shouted, “Mr Meheux has rigged some swivel guns, sir. But the crew appear too dazed to try and retake the ship.”

Allday growled, “There’ll be nothing to retake in a moment!”

After three attempts the boat managed to get under the Navarra ’s lee and eventually hooked on to her main chains. Bolitho took his dignity in his hands and jumped wildly for the entry port ladder, feeling his hat whisked from his head and his body soaked to the waist as a lazy breaker swirled up and along the hull as if to drag him away.

Hands reached down to haul him unceremoniously to the deck where Meheux and the master’s mate were waiting to meet him, their faces showing their surprise at his sudden and undignified arrival.

Allday clambered after him, and Bolitho saw that somehow he had managed to retrieve his hat from the sea, although it was unlikely it would ever be the same again.

He took it from the coxswain’s hands, examining it critically as he gave his breathing time to return to normal, his eyes giving the swaying deck a brief glance as the extent of the damage became more apparent.

The severed mizzen mast, the tangle of fallen rigging and charred canvas, while on the deck nearby lay several gaping corpses, their blood paling in the blown spray and seeping away like life itself.

He said, “Well, Mr Meheux, I would be obliged if you will give me your observations and conclusions.” He turned as a block fell from somewhere overhead and crashed amongst a pile of shattered planks, which had once been some of the ship’s boats. “But be brief.”

The Euryalus ’s second lieutenant glanced around the disordered deck and said, “She is badly holed, sir. There are several rents close to the waterline also. If this gets any worse she will take in more than the pumps can manage.” He paused as if to allow Bolitho to hear the measured clank of pumps. “The real problem is the great mass of people below, sir. Quite apart from her ship’s company, this ship is carrying about one hundred passengers. Women, even children, are jammed down there. If they get out of hand there will be too great a panic to control.” He gestured to the shattered boat tier. “And there’s no hope for them there either, sir.”

Bolitho rubbed his chin. All those passengers. So why did her captain risk their lives by trying to fight a three-decker? It did not make sense. Nor did it match a Spaniard’s normal attitude when it came to self-preservation.

“You have thirty seamen in your party, Mr Meheux.” He tried not to think of those terrified people battened down below. “Send

some to put extra members of the Navarra ’s crew on the pumps. By working in relays we can keep it in check. Then the rudder. Have you done anything there?”

“My petty officer, McEwen, is attending to the lines, sir.” Meheux shook his head, obviously thinking it all a waste of time. “But the tiller head is damaged too, and will come adrift in anything like a heavy sea.”

Midshipman Ashton had climbed in through the entry port and was shaking himself like a half-drowned terrier.

Bolitho took a hasty glance at the sky. The fading light made the scudding clouds appear faster and lower. Either way they were in for a bad night, he thought grimly.

He saw Meheux watching him worriedly, no doubt wondering how he was going to cope with an impossible task. He slapped the lieutenant on the shoulder and said with a confidence he certainly did not feel, “Come, Mr Meheux, your face is like a thunderstorm to a bowl of fresh milk! Now get our people to work, and I will let Mr Ashton show me the passengers.”

He followed Ashton beneath the poop where a corpse in a gold-laced coat lay where it had fallen from a fire-scorched ladder. It must be the captain, he thought. The man’s face had been almost blown away, yet there was hardly a speck of blood on the immaculate coat.

Two pigtailed seamen were standing by the wheel gingerly moving the spokes in response to a muffled voice from below a companion ladder as the petty officer bawled his instructions. They saw Bolitho and one of them grinned with obvious relief. “ We leavin’ ’er, zur? ’Er’ll never steer proper with this ’un.”

Perhaps seeing his own captain again after seemingly being abandoned on this shattered, listing vessel had momentarily made him forget his normal respect when addressing his officers. But Bolitho only saw the man’s homely face split into a grin. A man he had hardly noticed before amidst the Euryalus ’s eight hundred