Alexander Kent - The Flag Captain

Bolitho looked away. It was settled. Perhaps there had never been any doubt.

“Go and make your signal. But inform the admiral that I will endeavour to get sail on this ship within the hour.” Ashton looked stunned. Maybe he had expected Bolitho to order them from the ship. The jolly boat could still make the crossing, at least with some of them.

Grindle panted past, his grey hair standing on end like dead grass.

Bolitho called, “How many so far?”

He scratched his head. “’Bout twenty kids. Fifty or so women!” He grinned, showing a line of uneven teeth. “Sailors’ dream, annit, sir?”

Grindle’s humour seemed to steady Bolitho. He knew he had been about to call back the midshipman before he could signal his ship. To make a last-minute compromise. One which Broughton might overrule with every justification and so recall him to the Euryalus.

He dismissed it instantly. Imagining Meheux trying to manage all on his own while he hid behind his proper role was unthinkable.

Ashton returned almost immediately. He was white faced and visibly alarmed.

“Signal from Euryalus, sir. If you are sure you can save the prize will you confirm it now?” He swallowed hard as something crashed across the upper deck, followed by shouts and wild curses from the seamen.

“Then confirm it, Mr Ashton.”

The midshipman added, “In which case you are ordered to

proceed independently to the squadron rendezvous. The flagship is making sail.”

Bolitho tried to hide his feelings. No doubt Broughton was more afraid of losing control of his squadron than anything. It was, after all, his first responsibility. If he allowed himself to be caught in a bad storm it might take him days to find his ships, to learn if Draffen had discovered anything useful.

He weighed his own reactions against their true value. Keverne could manage well enough, he had already proved that. Whereas here… He broke out of his thoughts and clapped Ashton on the shoulder. “Now be off with you.” As Ashton ran back along the passageway he called after him, “Walk. It does no harm to appear calm, no matter what your feelings may be!”

The midshipman glanced back at him and then forced a smile, before continuing on his way. Walking.

Allday called above the noise, “Can you come on deck, Captain?” He peered at some male passengers who were being herded in the opposite direction by two armed seamen. “Blow me, Captain, ’tis like the gates of hell opening!”

Grindle asked, “What’ll I do, sir?”

“Keep the passengers quiet until I can send the petty officer to relieve you. Then try and find some charts, and together we’ll decide what to do next.”

He followed Allday up the ladder and then said, “Get that corpse cleared away. It is no sight for children at first light.”

Allday watched him and gave a grim smile. Earlier it seemed they must abandon. Now he was speaking of first light. Things might get better after all.

On deck the wind and sea greeted Bolitho like forces gone mad. The light had almost disappeared, except for slivers of grey sky left darting between the clouds. Just enough for him to see the men reeling about the scarred decks, the bare space where the broken mizzen had lain trapped in its attendant rigging.

He rapped out his orders and then said to Meheux, “You have made a fine start.”

He turned to watch as Meheux raised one arm to point across the rail. The Euryalus was a mere shadow already, with the paler patches growing above her as her topsails filled to the wind and she began to go about. For a moment longer he saw her side glistening in spray, the checkered lines of her sealed ports, and pictured Keverne at his place on the quarterdeck, perhaps already imagining this to be yet another chance for him.

“We will have to stand before the wind, Mr Meheux. Any attempt to tack and we would lose the rudder and worse.”

The master’s mate came stumbling out of the darkness, a chart clutched against his chest.

“She was ’eadin’ for Port Mahon, sir. Most o’ the passengers are traders an’ their families, as far as I can make out.”

Bolitho frowned. The Navarra was much further south than need be when they had intercepted her. Another mystery, yet still no answers.

He said, “We will try and set the tops’ls, Mr Meheux. Put two good men on the wheel. Mr Ashton can translate your requirements to the Spanish hands.”

Bolitho looked round for the Euryalus, but she had completely vanished. He said, “I would rather have the Navarra ’s men aloft for the present, where we can keep our eyes on them.”

Meheux grimaced. “They’ll be unhappy to go up in this wind, sir.”

“If they refuse, tell ’em there’s only one other place they can go.” He gestured between his straddled feet. “About a thousand fathoms straight down hereabouts!”

Another seaman sought him out and shouted, “There’s some fifty wounded in the fo’c’sle, sir! Blood all over the place! ’Tis a fearful sight!”

Bolitho watched the shadowy figures climbing gingerly up the

ratlines, urged on by Meheux with angry gestures and his own idea of Spanish.

“Go below and tell McEwen to discover if we have a doctor amongst the passengers. If so, have him brought on deck.”

Meheux was calling again. “There’s a good few severed lines on the main topmast, sir! It could carry away as soon as we get sail on her!”

Bolitho shivered, aware for the first time that he was soaked to the skin.

“Man the braces, Mr Meheux. Put some of the passengers on them too. I want every damned ounce of muscle you can find!” To Grindle he yelled, “Ready on the helm there!” His voice was almost drowned by the wailing wind, the leaping curtains of spray against the weather side, like spirits trying to drag her over and down.

He looked for a speaking trumpet, but could see nothing but the faces of the helmsmen glowing in the compass light like wax masks.

Was he doing the correct thing? The squall might blow itself out in minutes, in which case he would be better to lie-to under a close-reefed main topsail. But if it did not pass as quickly as it had come upon them, he must drive ahead of it. It was their only chance. Even then, the rudder might carry away, or the pumps might be unable to contain the steady intake of water. And until daylight it was impossible to learn the extent of the damage, or their true plight.

Meheux bellowed, “Ready, sir!”

Bolitho recalled Broughton’s comment. So be it. How long ago that seemed now. But he knew it could be little more than three hours since their flag had shown itself above the Navarra ’s deck.

From forward he heard the jib cracking wildly, the impatient rattle of blocks, and imagined the men on the yards, strung out like limpets on driftwood, and just as helpless.

“Loose fore tops’l!” He saw Meheux swing away to relay his order. “Put the helm up, Mr Grindle!” He waved his arm urgently. “ Easy there! Take the strain on those new rudder lines!”

Ahead, through the darkness he heard the sudden clamour of billowing canvas, the muffled cries from far above the heeling deck.

“Lee braces!” He slipped on the unfamiliar deck as he strained his eyes forward. “Loose the main tops’l!”

Grindle yelled excitedly, “She’s answerin’, sir!”

Reeling and fighting back against the thrust of rudder and braced topsails the Navarra was sliding drunkenly in a steep beam sea, her masts leaning over further and still further to the unwavering pressure.

“Hard over, Mr Grindle!” Bolitho ran back to the rail to watch as the main topsail showed faintly in the darkness, holding the ship over.