Alexander Kent - The Flag Captain

He asked shortly, “What else were you told to explain?”

“The Auriga ’s anchored in Veryan Bay. Some eight miles from ’ere. Do you know of it, sir?”

Bolitho smiled grimly. “I am a Cornishman, Taylor. Yes, I know it well.”

Taylor licked his lips. Maybe he had been expecting instant arrest. Now that Bolitho was listening to him he seemed unable to get the words out fast enough.

“If I’m not back afore sunset they’ll make sail, sir. We bin approached by an armed cutter more’n once an’ we’ve told ’em to stand off, that we’re anchored to carry out some repairs.”

Bolitho nodded. It was not unusual for smaller ships to take refuge in that particular bay. It was quiet and fairly well sheltered in anything but severe weather. Whoever had steered this mutiny to its present state certainly knew what he was doing.

Taylor continued, “There’s a little inn on the west side o’ th’ bay, sir.”

Bolitho said, “The Drake’s Head. A smugglers’ haunt, to all accounts.”

“Maybe, sir.” Taylor watched him uncertainly. “But if you’ll come there tonight an’ meet our delegates, we can settle matters there an’ then like.”

Bolitho turned away. How easy it all sounded. And what was the Auriga ’s captain supposed to think about it? Merely pack his chest and leave? The simple reasoning probably seemed sound enough between decks, but it would cut little cloth when it reached higher authority.

But the most important and urgent thing was to stop the ship being taken and given to the enemy. Bolitho had no doubt that her captain was all and more than Taylor had described. There were enough of such petty tyrants throughout the Service, and he had even assumed an earlier command himself because of the previous captain’s callousness.

Anyway, he could not hide his head and ignore it.

He said, “Very well.”

“Thank you, sir.” Taylor nodded vehemently. “You must come alone, but for a servant. They says they’ll kill the cap’n if there’s any sort o’ treachery.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry, sir, it was none o’ my wantin’. All I wished was to end me days in one piece, with a pot o’ prize money at th’ end o’ it to open a little inn maybe, or a chandler’s.”

Bolitho looked at him gravely. Instead, you’ll probably end on a yardarm, he thought.

Taylor said suddenly, “They’ll listen to you, sir. I just know it. With a new cap’n the ship’d be ready to live again.”

“I will promise nothing. Lord Howe’s pardon should certainly have applied to your ship, however…” He faced the other man steadily. “It could go hard with you, as I expect you know.”

“Aye, sir. But when you’ve lived with misery for so long it is a chance we must face up to.”

Bolitho walked to the door. “I will ride to the inn at dusk. If what you have told me is true, I will do what I can to bring the matter to a rightful conclusion.”

The relief on Taylor’s face faded as Bolitho added flatly, “If on the other hand this is some delaying tactic to give your people more time to dispose of the ship, be in no doubt of the consequences. It has been done before, and the culprits have always been run to ground.” He paused. “Eventually.”

The man knuckled his forehead and hurried out into the passage.

Ferguson watched him go with obvious distaste.

“Is it all well, sir?”

“At present, thank you.” He pulled his watch from his pocket. “Send someone to signal for my barge.” He saw the disappointment on Ferguson’s face and added, “I will be back ashore later today, but there are things to attend to.”

An hour later Bolitho climbed up through the Euryalus ’s gilded entry port and removed his hat to the pipes’ shrill greeting and the stamp and slap of muskets.

Keverne looked unusually preoccupied. When they reached the quarterdeck he said shortly, “The surgeon is worried about the admiral, sir. He is very low, and I am afraid for him.”

Bolitho glanced at Allday whose face had been screwed up with burning curiosity ever since the barge had reached the jetty.

“Keep the bargemen standing by. I may require them soon.”

Then he strode aft and down to the admiral’s quarters.

Lying quietly in his cot the admiral seemed even smaller and more fragile. His eyes were shut, and there was blood on his shirt-front as well as the handkerchief.

Bolitho glanced at the surgeon, a thin, wiry man with unusually large and hairy hands.

“Well, Mr Spargo?”

He shrugged. “I cannot be sure, sir. He ought to be on shore. I am only a ship’s surgeon.” He shrugged again. “But the effort of moving him now might be fatal.”

Bolitho nodded, his mind made up.

“Then leave him here and watch him well.” To Keverne he said, “Come up to my cabin.”

Keverne followed him in silence until they had reached the wide cabin which ran the whole breadth of the poop. Through the open stern windows was a perfect view of St Anthony Head, moving slightly as the ship swung ponderously on the current.

“I have to go ashore again, Mr Keverne.” He must be careful not to involve his first lieutenant, yet at the same time he had to be primed enough to know what to do if the scheme misfired.

Keverne’s face was a mask. “Sir?”

Bolitho unclipped his sword and laid it on the table.

“There is no news of Vice-Admiral Broughton yet. Nor is there any hint of unrest ashore. Captain Rook’s boats will be alongside after our people have had their meal, and you can carry on with loading stores all afternoon and into the dog watches if the sea remains calm.”

Keverne waited, knowing there was more to come.

“Sir Charles is very sick, as you have seen.” Bolitho wished Keverne would show some curiosity, like Herrick would have done when he had been his first lieutenant. “So you will be in command until my return.”

“When will that be, sir?”

“I am not sure. Later tonight perhaps!”

He had Keverne’s interest roused at last.

“Is there something I can do to help, sir?” He paused. “Will there be trouble?”

“Not if I can prevent it. I will leave written orders for you to act upon if I am delayed for more than the night. You will open

them and take whatever…” he held up his hand, “no, every nec essary step to see that they are carried out without delay.” His mind grappled with the picture of the chart within his brain. It would take Euryalus more than two hours to up anchor and reach Veryan Bay, where the sight of her terrible armament would soon quell even the stoutest heart into submission. But by then it might be far too late.

Why not put to sea now, without further delay? No one would blame him, probably quite the reverse. He frowned and dismissed the idea immediately. This was to be a new squadron. And with the war entering its most dangerous stage so far, it would be a bad beginning for the flagship to pound an anchored consort into a bloody shambles because he had not the nerve or the will to do otherwise.

Surprisingly, Keverne smiled, showing his even teeth.

“I have not been with you for eighteen months and learned nothing of your methods, sir.” The smile vanished. “And I hope I have your confidence!”

Bolitho smiled. “A captain can only go so far to share his thoughts, Mr Keverne. His responsibility he must hold to himself, as you will one day discover.” If it goes badly tonight you may be promoted earlier than you imagine, he thought bleakly.

Trute, the cabin servant, stepped gingerly through the door and asked, “Permission to lay th’ table for your lunch, sir?”

Keverne said, “I will go and attend to the hands, sir.” He watched distantly as Trute busied himself with plates and cutlery at the long table. “I’ll not be sorry to get to sea again.” He left the cabin without another word.