Alexander Kent - The Flag Captain

Outside the cabin Herrick asked, “Is he always like that?”

“Usually.” Bolitho paused by the quarterdeck ladder. “Is Adam doing well? I mean, could you…”

Herrick grinned. “He is ready to sit his exam for lieutenant, if that is what you mean.” He watched Bolitho and then added, “Shall I send him across to you?”

“Thank you. I am short of officers.” He smiled, unable to hide his eagerness. “I would appreciate it.”

Herrick touched his arm. “I have taught him all I know.”

“Then he will be ready.”

Herrick’s grin was huge. “I had a good teacher, remember?”

Almost before Herrick’s boat had cast off from the chains the Euryalus ’s yards were alive with flags. Coquette went about with the ease of a thoroughbred, as if a string had been severed to free her from the other ships, and as the seamen poured up from the

gangways Bolitho felt as if he was being given a new strength. Partridge muttered, “Cap’n seems ’appy ’bout somethin’!” Keverne nodded. “So it would appear.” Then he snatched his

speaking trumpet and hurried towards the rail.

Allday opened the cabin door and announced, “Mr Midshipman Pascoe, Captain!” In spite of the attempted formality his face was breaking into a great grin of pleasure.

It was late evening, and but for a brief encounter when the boy had clambered hurriedly from the boat, he had not been able to speak with him. It had been a strange meeting. He had seen Pascoe’s face changing from excitement to caution, a sort of reserved shyness, as he had removed his hat and said, “Coming aboard to join, sir.”

Bolitho had been equally formal, aware of Keverne and the others nearby watching the unexpected reunion.

He had said awkwardly, “Mr Keverne will give you your duties. You are to take the position of acting sixth lieutenant. I am sure Mr Keverne will be able to equip you with the necessary clothing and anything else you might need…” He had broken off as a battered midshipman’s chest had been hauled unceremoniously from the boat alongside. It was then that he had fully realised the importance of that moment in time.

Pascoe had said quietly, “I thought you might wish me to transfer to your ship, sir.” He’d paused. “I hoped. So I was ready…”

Now, as Allday closed the door to leave them together for the first time, he felt the warmth flooding through him, yet was aware of the change which had grown between them.

“Here, Adam, sit down by me.” He gestured to the table which Trute had laid with unusual care. “The food is not too exciting,

but doubtless no worse than you’ve been accustomed to.”

He fumbled with a decanter, aware the whole time of the boy’s eyes watching him. How he had changed. He was taller and looked more confident, more sure of himself. And yet, there was the same dark restlessness, like that of a young colt, which he had remembered since their parting two years ago.

The boy took the glass and said simply, “I have been waiting for this moment.” Then he smiled, and Bolitho was again reminded of those other faces in the portraits at Falmouth. “When Captain Herrick told me you were wounded…”

Bolitho raised his glass. “Let us forget about that. How have you been?” He ushered him to the table, vaguely conscious as always of the deck’s steady vibration and the regular rolls of the hull as the ship plunged in pursuit of Coquette in accordance with Broughton’s orders.

He pulled a steaming dish of beef towards him. It was recently from the cask and was probably already going bad. But in the warm lantern light, and served as it was on the best cabin pewter, it looked almost luxurious. He hesitated, suddenly confused by his inability to use the knife. The realisation both angered and embarrassed him. This was to have been a perfect moment, spared of duties on deck, and for once almost free of pain.

Pascoe reached across the table and took the knife from his hand. For a moment their eyes met and then he said softly, “Let me, Uncle!” He smiled again. “Captain Herrick has trained me to do all manner of things.”

Bolitho watched him as he bent over the plate, the hair, as black as his own, falling rebelliously over his eyes as he sawed busily through the tough meat.

“Thank you, Adam.” He smiled to himself. Seventeen. It was so easy to remember what it had been like as a young midshipman. And Adam was actually enjoying himself. There was neither pity nor deception in his voice as he chatted excitedly about the Impulsive ’s part in the mutiny, of Herrick and all the dozens of

things which had changed him from a young boy to a confident replica of his father, and himself.

Bolitho had difficulty in eating the meat even after it had been cut into small pieces for him. But Adam had no such qualms and helped himself again and again from the platter.

Bolitho asked, “How can you keep stuffing yourself and be as thin as a stick?”

Adam eyed him gravely. “A midshipman’s lot is a hard one.”

They both laughed and Bolitho said, “Well, maybe your days in the gunroom are numbered. Once an examination can be arranged, I see no reason why you should not sit for lieutenant.”

The boy dropped his eyes. “I will try not to betray that trust.”

Bolitho watched him for several seconds. This boy could never betray anyone. He was the one who had been wronged. Again he had the pressing feeling that he wanted to do something about it and without more delay. The wound in his shoulder was a warning. The next time might be final.

He said clumsily, “There is a lawyer in Falmouth named Quince.” He hesitated, trying to make his voice sound matter-of-fact. “When we return home I would like you to come with me and see him.”

Pascoe pushed the plate away and wiped his mouth. “Why, Uncle?”

Why? How could so great a question be crammed into one tiny word?

He stood up and walked along the swaying deck towards the windows. Below he could see the frothing wake gleaming like snow in the light of a stern lantern and imagined he could see Valorous following at a discreet distance through the darkness. In the thick glass he saw Pascoe’s reflection as he sat at the table, his chin in his hands. Like a child for these moments of privacy and value which might soon pass.

He said, “I want to be sure that you have the house and property when I am dead, Adam.” He heard the boy gasp and

cursed himself for the crudity of his words. “I know that with luck I will be bothering you for years to come.” He turned and smiled at him. “However, I want to be certain about this thing!”

Pascoe made to rise but Bolitho crossed to the table and laid one hand on his shoulder.

“It would have been yours one day had life been kinder. I intend to see that right is not ignored by others.” He hurried on, unable to stop himself “You do not bear our family name, but you are as much a part of it and of me as would otherwise be possible.” He squeezed his shoulder, seeing the boy wipe his eyes with his hand. “Now away with you to your watch. I’ll not have my officers saying behind my back that I show favour to some upstart nephew!”

Pascoe stood up very slowly and then said quietly, “Captain Herrick was right about you.” He walked from the table, his face hidden until he turned again by the door. “He said you were the finest man he ever met. He also said…” But he could not finish it and almost ran from the cabin.

Bolitho walked to the stern windows and stared unseeingly at the leaping spray. He felt at peace for the first time since… he could not remember when that had been. Perhaps at last he would be able to help the boy. To right some of the wrong which had been done to him. At least he had been spared meeting with Draffen. To hear his hints about Hugh’s implication with slavery would turn the knife in his heart yet again and might damage him to an extent beyond repair.