Alexander Kent: With All Despatch

Before he withdrew, Allday also noticed that Bolitho was wearing his old seagoing coat, with its tarnished buttons, displaying no epaulettes on the shoulders. A coat stitched and repaired so many times that, when his sister Nancy had held it up with dismay and tried to persuade him to get rid of it, Allday had realised just how close he had become to the family.

Nancy had been helping to pack two chests for Bolitho's journey to London to plead for an appointment. During the long illness which they had shared in their various ways Allday had stood firm, knowing it was his strength which Bolitho depended on. But the mention of the coat, such a simple thing, had broken his defences, taken him by surprise like boarders in the night.

"No, Miss Nancy!Leave it be!" Then in a defeated voice, his eyes downcast, he had explained, "It was what the Captain's Lady wore in the boat, afore she-" He had been unable to go on.

Get rid of that coat? It would have to fall apart first.

The door closed and Bolitho glanced around at their various expressions.

On the short passage to this anchorage he had spoken to Paice as much as he could without interfering with his duties of shiphandling. A tall, powerful figure, but one who rarely raised his voice when passing commands. He did not seem to need it. The combined wardroom and cabin had no headroom at all, and only directly beneath the skylight was it possible to stand upright. But Paice had to stoop even there.

He was an excellent seaman, with a master's eye for wind and current. He seemed to feel the moods of his sturdy command even before the helmsmen who stood on either side of the long tiller bar. But he was slow to answer questions; not resentful, more defensive. As if he searched for any possible criticism, not of himself but of his Telemachus.

It was a perfect evening after all. Pink clouds as dusk moved across the headland which sheltered the anchorage, with the first lamps already glittering like fireflies from the homes of Queenborough.

The three cutters might look as alike as peas in a pod to any watching landsmen, but Bolitho had already marked their small differences, no more apparent than right here with their commanders. Lieutenant Charles Queely of the Wakeful was in his mid-twenties, a dark-haired man with a hooked nose and deepset eyes, ever-alert like a falcon. The face of a scholar, a clergyman perhaps; only his speech and dress marked him as a sea-officer. He hailed from the Isle of Man, and came of generations of deep-water sailormen. Lieutenant Hector Vatass of the Snapdragon was a direct contrast. Fair-haired, with a homely face and blue eyes which would deceive no one. An English sailor from almost any century. He was twenty-five, and had served originally in a frigate until she was paid off.

Bolitho said, "Please light up your pipes if you wish; I am sure that Telemachus has a good store of tobacco!" They smiled politely but nobody moved. It was too soon for confidences.

Bolitho said, " Snapdragon will be entering the dockyard in a few days."

He saw Vatass start with surprise. "Er-yes, sir."

"Make the most of it. It seems likely that overhauls will soon be a thing of the past, and I need-no, I want this flotilla to be ready for anything."

Vatass prompted carefully, "Will it be war, sir?"

Before Bolitho could answer, Queely snapped disdainfully, "Never! The Frogs have their King and Queen in jail, but they'll let them out soon enough when their bloody-minded National Convention realise they need them!"

Bolitho said, "I disagree. I believe there will be war, and very soon. Ready or not, it is not unknown for a country to provoke a conflict if only to cover its own failings." His tone hardened. "And England is even less prepared!"

Paice folded his arms. "But where do we come into this, sir? We carry out patrols, stop and search some homebound vessels, and occasionally find deserters amongst their people. We also offer support to the revenue vessels when asked-"

Queely showed his teeth in a grin. "Which ain't too often!"

Paice glanced at the sealed skylight. "It's a mite hot, sir. Could I-"

Bolitho smiled. "I think not. I need to speak without others lending their attention."

He saw Paice's immediate, defensive frown and added bluntly, "We can trust nobody. Even the most loyal seaman would be hard put to resist a few pieces of gold for what he might see as harmless information."

Vatass said vaguely, "But what do we know, sir?"

Bolitho looked at each face in turn. "Smuggling is rife here, and on the Isle of Thanet in particular. From the Nore to the Downs the trade is barely checked, and there are insufficient revenue vessels to hunt them down." He placed his hand flat on the table and added, "From what I have seen and heard already, I am certain that smuggling is condoned, even aided, by some in authority. The lieutenant who was stripped and beaten when I found him on the London Road did not obey the letter of his orders. He should have applied for permission from the town before he raided houses and recaptured deserters, men who, bad or not, are desperately needed in the fleet." He saw his words, sinking in. "Why did he not ask? Why instead did the young lieutenant choose to ignore his orders?" His hand rose and fell with a slap. "He knew that the very authority he looked to would probably warn or offer refuge to the deserters. I have no doubt that there are many such prime seamen earning their keep in the Trade as we sit right here."

Queely cleared his throat. "With respect, sir, we have tried in the past to seek out smugglers. Perhaps, and I mean no offence for I know you to be a gallant officer, being away for so long in the Indies and the Great South Sea, you have-" He hesitated as Bolitho's eyes settled on his.

Bolitho smiled grimly. "Lost touch? Is that what you meant?"

Paice said in his gruff voice, "I hate the scum too, sir. But we are so few against so many, and now that you have spoken out, I'll say my piece if I may."

Bolitho nodded. Their guard was down. He had spoken to them like companions, not as a senior officer to his subordinates. Low in rank maybe, but they were all captains, and had the right to be heard.

Paice said bluntly, "It's as Charles Queely says." He gave what might have been a cautious smile. "You being a Cornishman, sir, will know a lot about the Trade and those who live by it. But with respect, it's nothing compared to this coast. And as you said, sir, it seems that there are more who commit these crimes outside the jails than in them!" The others nodded in agreement.

Vatass said, "The revenue officers are often outnumbered, and outgunned by the smugglers. Many of their captains are loath to work close inshore for fear of being wrecked and overrun, and ashore their riding-officers risk their lives when there is a big haul being unloaded. They strike terror into anyone who raises a hand against them. Informers are butchered like pigs. Even revenue men are not safe any more."

Bolitho asked, "What information do we receive?"

Paice said, "The coastguard help, so too the revenue officers if they get enough time."

Bolitho stood up and banged his head sharply on a beam. He looked at Paice and gave a rueful smile. "You are right. Quite different from a fifth-rate!" This time they all laughed.

It was a small beginning. He said, "It takes too long. They hold all the advantages. Send for dragoons, and the beach will have been emptied by the time a courier is able to raise the alarm.

Queely murmured angrily, " If the poor devil gets through without having his throat slit!"

Paice said, "And the buggers watch us at anchor, sir. Out there at this moment there'll be one of them, a fast horse nearby. We'd need fifty cutters and even then-"