Alexander Kent - The Flag Captain

He watched Broughton sipping his claret. Gaining time before committing himself to an answer. He could see the small lines of worry about Broughton’s eyes, the way his fingers tapped against the arm of his chair.

Throughout the ship and the squadron Broughton’s rank and exalted authority must seem like something akin to heaven. Even a lieutenant was so far above a common seaman as to be unreachable, so how could anyone really understand a man like Brough-ton? But now, to see him pondering and mulling over his own scanty suggestions gave him one of those rare and surprising

glimpses of what true authority could mean to the man behind it.

Broughton said, “This man Witrand. Do you see him as a key?”

“Partly, sir.” Bolitho was thankful for Broughton’s quick mind. Thelwall had been old and sickening for all of his time in Euryalus. Bolitho’s previous superior, a wavering, dilatory commodore, had all but cost him his ship and his life. Broughton at least was young and ready enough to see where a local move by the enemy might point to something far greater in the future.

He added, “My cox’n did discover from Witrand’s servant that he has done some work in the past arranging for quartering of troops, siting artillery and so forth. I believe he is a man of some authority.”

Broughton gave a faint smile. “Sir Hugo’s twin in the enemy camp, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In which case time might be shorter than I feared.”

Bolitho nodded. “We were told of ships gathering at Cartagena. It is only one hundred and twenty miles from Djafou, sir.”

The admiral stood up. “You are advising me to attack without waiting for the bombs?”

“I cannot see any choice, sir.”

“There is always a choice.” Broughton eyed him distantly. “In this case I can decide to return to Gibraltar. If so, then I must carry with me an excellent reason. But if I decide to mount an attack, then that attack must succeed.”

“I know, sir.”

Broughton walked to the quarter windows again. “The Navarra will accompany the squadron. To release her would be spreading the news of our presence and strength with better efficiency than if I wrote Bonaparte a personal invitation. To sink her and scatter her crew and passengers through the squadron might be equally unsettling at a time when we are about to do battle.” He

turned and looked at Bolitho searchingly. “How did you fight off the chebecks?”

“I pressed the passengers and crew into the King’s service, sir.”

Broughton pursed his lips. “Furneaux would never have done that, by God. He would have fought bravely, but his head would now be adorning some mosque, I have no doubt.”

He added brusquely, “I will call my captains on board for a conference in one hour. Make a signal accordingly. We will then set sail and use the rest of the day to form the squadron into some order. The wind is nothing to wonder at, but it remains steady from the north-west. It should suffice. You will make it your business to study Draffen’s plan and acquaint yourself with every available detail.”

Bolitho smiled gravely. “You have decided, sir.”

“ We may both regret it later.” Broughton did not smile. “Attacking harbours and defended pieces of land is always a chance affair. Show me a set plan of battle, an array of enemy ships, and I will tell you the mind of their commander. But this,” he shrugged disdainfully, “is like putting a ferret to the hole. You never know how the rabbit is going to run, or in which direction.”

Bolitho picked up his hat. “I placed Witrand in custody, sir. He is a clever man and would not hesitate to escape and use his knowledge if he saw a chance. He saved my life in the Navarra, but I’ll not underestimate his other qualities because of that.”

The admiral did not seem to be listening. He was toying with his watch fob and staring absently towards the windows. But as Bolitho walked to the door he said sharply, “If I should fall in battle…” He hesitated while Bolitho stood quite still watching him-“and I think it is not unknown for such things to happen- you will of course be in overall command until otherwise ordered. There are certain papers…” He seemed to become angry with himself, even impatient, and added, “You will continue to assist Sir Hugo.”

Bolitho said, “I am sure you are being pessimistic, sir.”

“Merely cautious. I do not believe in sentiment. The fact is I do not entirely trust Sir Hugo.” He held up his hand. “That is all I can say. All I intend to say.”

Bolitho stared at him. “But, sir, his credentials must surely be in order?”

Broughton replied angrily, “Naturally. His status with the government is more than clear. His motives trouble me, however, so be warned and remember where your loyalty lies.”

“I think I understand my duty, sir.”

The admiral studied him calmly. “Don’t use that offended tone with me, Captain. I thought my last flagship was loyal until the mutiny. I’ll have nothing taken for granted in the future. When you are looking into the cannon’s mouth duty is a prop for the weak. At such a time it is true loyalty which counts.” He turned away. The brief confidence was over.

The conference was held in Bolitho’s day cabin, and everyone present seemed well aware of its importance. It was obvious to Bolitho that the news of the impending attack on Djafou and the lack of support from the bomb vessels had already reached each of the men now facing him. It was the strange, inexplicable way of things in any group of ships. News flashed from one to another almost as soon as the senior officer had decided for himself what was to be done.

As he had struggled through the mass of notes and scribbled plans which Broughton had sent for his examination he had wondered too if the admiral was testing him. It was, after all, their first real action together where the squadron would be used as a combined force. The fact that Broughton had pointedly suggested he should hold the conference in his own quarters added to the growing conviction that he was now under his scrutiny no less than any other subordinate.

He had met Draffen only once since his return on board. He had been friendly but withdrawn, saying very little about the impending action. Maybe like Broughton he wanted to see the flag captain at work on his own ground, unaided by either of his superiors.

He was sitting now beside Broughton at the cabin table, his eyes moving occasionally from face to face as Bolitho outlined what they had to accept regardless of opposition.

The deck was swaying heavily, and Bolitho could hear the scrape of feet on the poop, the dull mutter of canvas and spars as the ship heeled to a slow larboard tack. Astern, he could see the Valorous, her topsails drawing well, and knew that the steady north-westerly was already freshening. He had to be brief. Each captain had to return to his ship as soon as possible to explain his own interpretation of the plan to his officers. And their bargemen would face a long hard pull from the flagship, without having to fight the growing weight of the wind.

He said, “As you have seen, gentlemen, the bay at Djafou is like a deep pocket. The eastern side is protected by this headland.” He tapped the chart with his dividers. “It is like a curved beak and affords good protection to ships at anchor inside the bay.” He watched their faces as they craned forward to see it better. Their expressions were as mixed as their characters.

Furneaux, looking down his nose disdainfully, as if he already knew all the answers. Falcon of the Tanais, his hooded eyes thoughtful but giving very little away, and Rattray, with his bulldog face set in a grim frown of fierce concentration. He most of all seemed to find it difficult to visualise a plan of battle when set down on paper. Once in action, he would trust to his unyielding stubbornness, facing what he could see with his own eyes until he was a victor or a corpse.