Alexander Kent - The Flag Captain

He said, “Thank you, Mr Keverne. I will be up directly. But now you may have Mr Tothill make a signal to the squadron to take stations as ordered.” He paused, sick of the delays and the constant uncertainties. “We attack tomorrow if the wind holds.”

Keverne showed his teeth. “Then there’s an end to the waiting, sir.”

Bolitho watched him leave and then returned to the windows. Aye, an end to it, he thought. And with any luck, a beginning too.

“Wake up, Captain!”

Bolitho opened his eyes and realised he must have fallen asleep across his desk. Allday was peering down at him, his face yellow in the glow of the single deckhead lantern. Both candles on the desk were guttered and dead, and his throat felt dry and smoky. Allday placed a pewter cup on the desk and poured some black coffee into it.

“It will be dawn soon now, Captain.”

“Thank you.”

Bolitho sipped the scalding coffee and waited for his mind to repel the last dragging claws of sleep. He had been on deck several times during the night, checking last details before daylight, studying the wind, estimating the squadron’s course and speed. He had finally fallen into deep sleep while going over Draffen’s notes, but in the sealed cabin he could feel no benefit from it.

He stood up, suddenly angry with himself. They were all committed to the coming day. Nothing could be gained by supposition at this early stage.

“A quick shave, Allday.” He downed the coffee. “And some more of that.”

He heard something clatter in the cabin below, and knew Broughton’s servant was about to call his master. He wondered if he had been sleeping, or just lying in his cot, fretting over the coming battle and its possible consequences.

Allday returned carrying another lantern and a jug of hot water.

“Wind’s holding steady from the nor’ west, Captain.”

He busied himself with the razor and towel as Bolitho threw his shirt on the bench and slumped back in his chair again.

“Mr Keverne called all hands an hour since.”

Bolitho relaxed slightly as the razor scraped over his chin. He had not even heard a sound as Euryalus ’s company of several hundred souls had come alive to the pipe’s bidding. While he had lain on the desk in an exhausted sleep they had been fed and had set about cleaning down decks in spite of the surrounding darkness. For, no matter what lay ahead, there was no sense in allowing them to brood about it. When they commenced to fight they would expect the ship around them to be as normal as possible. It was not only their way of life, but their home also. Like the faces at the mess tables, the ones which would soon be peering through open gun ports, everything was as familiar as the spread sails and the sluice of water against the hull.

While Allday completed the hasty shave with his usual dexterity, Bolitho let his mind drift back over the previous day’s frantic preparations. The whole complement of marines from all the ships had been divided into equal halves. Half had been transferred to Rattray’s Zeus at the head of the line. The remainder to Valorous astern. Almost all the squadron’s large pulling boats had been divided in the same way, and Bolitho could pity the two ships’ uneasy night with so many extra people to accommodate.

He stood up and wiped his face, peering as he did so through the stern windows. But outside the cabin it was still too dark to

see anything but a brief scattering of spray from around the rudder. The ships were heading almost due east, with the coast some five miles on the starboard beam. Broughton had been right to continue as before, with the wind comfortably across the quarter, instead of trying to complete the final manoeuvre for his approach towards the land. The vessels might have become scattered, whereas now, with a favourable wind and the usual discreet stern lanterns, they would be able to halve the time when the admiral made his signal.

In the thick glass he could see his own reflection, with Allday standing behind him like an additional shadow. His own shirt was still open and he saw the locket swinging slowly to the ship’s motion, the dark lock of hair hanging rebelliously above his eye. Involuntarily he reached up and touched the deep scar beneath the lock of hair gently with one finger. It was automatic, yet he always expected to feel heat there, or pain, like the actual memory of the time he had been cut down and left for dead.

Behind him Allday smiled and relaxed slightly. The familiar action, the apparent surprise Bolitho always seemed to show when he touched the scar, were always reassuring. He watched as Bolitho tied his neckcloth carelessly around his throat and then stepped forward with coat and sword.

“Ready, Captain?”

Bolitho paused with one hand in a sleeve and turned to study him, his grey eyes calm again.

“As I will ever be.” He smiled. “I hope God is merciful today.”

Allday grinned and extinguished the lanterns. “Amen to that, I say.”

Together they went out into the cool darkness.

“Deck there! Land ho!” The masthead lookout’s voice sounded very loud in the clear air. “Fine on the starboard bow!”

Bolitho paused in his pacing and peered through the black

lines of rigging. Beyond the gently spiralling bowsprit and flapping jib he could see the first flush of pink dawn spreading down from the horizon. A little to starboard there was what appeared to be a sharp sliver of cloud, but he knew it was the crest of some far-off mountain, tipping itself in colour from the hidden sun.

He tugged out his watch and held it close to his eyes. It was already getting lighter, and with luck Valorous would now be hove-to while she unloaded her cargo of marines into the boats, casting them adrift to make their own way ashore. Euryalus ’s Captain Giffard was in command of that landing party, and Bolitho could pity him. It was bad enough to lead some two hundred marines with their heavy boots and weapons across rough, unknown territory, but when the sun found them it would become torture. Marines were disciplined and drilled like soldiers, but there the similarity ended. They were used to their strange shipboard life. But because of it and its cramped lack of space and exercise they were no match for the hard slogging required in a forced march.

Keverne said, “I can see Tanais, sir.”

Bolitho nodded. The pink glow was etched along the seventy-four’s main yard like fairy fire in a Cornish wood, he thought. Her stern light already appeared fainter, and when he glanced up at the masthead pendant he saw the main topsail was shining with moisture and gaining colour with every slow minute.

There was a scrape of feet and Keverne whispered, “The admiral, sir.”

Broughton strode on to the quarterdeck and stared towards the distant mountain as Bolitho made his formal report.

“Cleared for action, sir. Chain slings rigged to the yards and nets spread.” Broughton could hardly not know of these things with all the noise they made. Screens torn down, guns released from their lashings; and the patter of many feet as the seamen prepared their ship and themselves to do battle. But it had to be said.

Broughton grunted. “Are we in sight of the squadron yet?” “ Tanais, sir. We will be able to signal the rest directly.” The admiral walked to the lee side and peered towards the land. It was not much more than a darker shadow, above which the crested mountain seemed suspended in space.

He said, “I’ll be pleased when we can put the squadron about. I hate being on a lee shore and unable to see where I am.”

He fell silent again, and Bolitho heard the regular clump of shoes back and forth along the starboard gangway, like someone hitting a tree with a hammer.