The Flag Captain

by Alexander Kent

  Bolitho nodded. ‘Excellent, Mr. Tothill. That was quickly done.’ He glanced round and saw Keverne hurrying towards him. The signal probably meant nothing, but after drills and dragging uncertainty any sort of change was welcome. It had swept his other thoughts away like cobwebs.

  ‘Sir?’ Keverne eyed him intently.

  ‘Dismiss the hands from drills and prepare to set the t’gallants on her.’ He looked aloft, his eyes watering in the crisp breeze. ‘The royals too if the wind gets no worse.’

  As he hurried away Broughton reappeared on the quarterdeck, his face very calm.

  Bolitho said, ‘Sail to the nor’ west, sir.’ He saw the brightness in the admiral’s eyes and guessed how hard it was for him to appear so controlled.

  Broughton pursed his lips. ‘Signal the Auriga to intercept.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Bolitho beckoned to the signal midshipman and could almost feel Broughton’s impatience at his back. Only the previous day he had sent the other frigate, Coquette, on ahead at full speed to reach Gibraltar with his despatches, and to make sure there was no change in plans for his squadron. With Auriga to windward and the little sloop Restlesss sweeping downwind in the hopes of snatching a French or Spanish fisherman for information, it had left his resources very strained.

  The boy reported, ‘Auriga has acknowledged, sir.’

  Bolitho could picture the scene on the frigate’s deck as the distant flags had been studied, probably from some swaying yard far above the sea, by another midshipman like Tothill.

  He could well imagine Brice’s feelings at this moment too. A chance to further his position with the admiral and before the whole squadron would not be taken lightly. And heaven help any poor wretch who displeased him at such a time.

  He took the big glass and climbed up beside the midshipman in the weather shrouds, and trained it towards the horizon. The frigate leapt into view, her topsails already filling as she went about and dashed towards the newcomer. He could imagine the sounds of spray cascading over her bowsprit, the scream of blocks and rigging as more and more canvas thundered out from her yards to contain and hold the wind for her own power.

  It was easy to forget men like Brice at such times, he thought vaguely. Auriga was a beautiful little ship, a living, vital thing as she heeled to the wind and buried her lee gunports in foam.

  He returned to the deck and said, ‘Permission to give chase, sir?’

  For another small moment he shared a common understanding and excitement with Broughton. Saw his jaw tighten, the gleam in his eyes.

  ‘Yes.’ He stood aside as Bolitho raised his hand to Keveme. Then he added, ‘All ships will, however, retain their stations. See to it.’

  As the signal soared up the yards and broke to the wind Bolitho saw the other ships hoist their acknowledgements as one. Every captain must have been waiting for this. Praying for something to break the monotony and the uncertain watchfulness which had dogged them since Falmouth.

  Overhead the growing spread of canvas cracked and boomed, the great yards bending like bows until they looked as if they would tear free from the masts. The hull tilted still further, so that men hastening about the upper deck seemed to be leaning at strange and unreal angles, while more, and still more, canvas bellied out to the wind.

  On the lower gundeck the ports would be completely submerged, and Bolitho could hear the pumps already clanking as the hull took the strain and accepted it.

  But they were overhauling the nearest seventy-four, and through the straining criss-cross of rigging and shrouds he could see the officers on the Tanais’s quarterdeck peering astern at the flagship as she began to creep up on them.

  Broughton said testily, ‘Signal Tanais to make more sail, dammit!’

  As he walked away to the opposite side Bolitho heard Partridge mutter, ‘Her’ll ’ave the sticks out of ’er if she does, by God!’

  Bolitho snapped, ‘Mr. Tothill, get to the masthead and double quick! I need some good eyes up there today.’

  He made himself walk slowly back and forth on the weather side, hating the slow pace of the squadron as he tried to picture what the other ship was doing.

  ‘Deck there! Zeus is signalling, sir! Enemy in sight!’ His voice was shrill with excitement. ‘A frigate, steering due east!’

  Keverne rubbed his hands. ‘Running for Vigo, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  He looked unusually tense, and Bolitho guessed he was probably picturing what might have been with himself commanding Auriga instead of Brice.

  He replied, ‘There’s a good chance we can head her off, Mr. Keverne.’

  Brice had the wind almost under his coat-tails and was fairly flying across the path of his slow and ponderous consorts. The Frenchman could either try to outpace him or go about and lose valuable time trying to beat out to sea again. If he chose the latter course, one of the ships in the line might even get an opportunity…

  He jerked round as Broughton rapped, ‘God damn the Valorous!’ He threw his telescope to a seaman. ‘Now she’s falling back.’

  The signal soared aloft immediately to Euryalus’s yards. Make more sail. But even as the acknowledgement broke from the two-decker Bolitho saw her fore topgallant sail disintegrate like ashes as it tore itself to fragments in the wind.

  Bolitho said, ‘Shall I signal Zeus to chase independently, sir? She’s got a good lead.’ He knew the answer already, saw Broughton’s mouth tightening as he added, ‘The Frenchman might still slip away from Auriga.’

  ‘No.’ One word, with nothing to show disappointment or anger.

  Bolitho looked away. The Frenchman would be surprised that there was no change in the squadron’s line of advance. He was somewhere right ahead of the column, hidden by Zeus’s tall pyramid of sails, and moving very fast. But Auriga had crossed over now, and he could see her speeding downwind, every sail set and drawing its full as she tore towards the enemy. As she lifted and smashed down across the serried lines of whitecaps he could see the sunlight playing on her bared copper, and her sleek hull which shone in the glare like glass.

  Zeus edged slightly out of line and Bolitho held his breath as he watched the French frigate away momentarily into view. About five miles away. It did not seem possible that they had converged on her so quickly.

  Auriga would be about three miles distant, and she had already overreached the other frigate. Bolitho tried to clear his mind, to think what he would do in the enemy’s place. Go about, or try to continue towards the land hidden below that mocking horizon? There was certainly no chance of beating the Auriga on her present course. Yet, if he made a dash for it he was almost sure to run into the arms of a British patrol along the Portuguese coast. Vigo was the last safe refuge, unless he was prepared to turn and fight.

  Broughton said, ‘Make a general signal. Shorten sail and re-form correct stations.’ He eyed Bolitho bleakly. ‘Auriga can handle the Frog now.’

  As the signal was passed and repeated up and down the line Bolitho could almost sense the frustration around him. Four powerful ships, yet because of Broughton’s inflexible rules as impotent as merchantmen.

  A dull bang echoed across the water and Bolitho saw a puff of brown smoke drifting towards the French ship. Brice had fired a ranging shot, although it was not possible to see where it fell.

  Every glass came up as Keverne said hoarsely, ‘The Frog’s wearing ship! By God, look at him!’

  The French captain had mistimed it badly. Bolitho could almost pity him as he put his ship round in an effort to cross the Auriga’s bows. He could see her bared bilge, the sun dancing on her straining sails as the yards swung still further until she was heeling right over in her own spray. A solid thunder of gunfire echoed and re-echoed across the tossing water, and Bolitho imagined Brice’s first broadside smashing into the exposed bilge as he used his advantage of wind and position to follow her round.

  Somebody in the Euryalus’s foretop raised a cheer, but otherwise there was complete silence as seamen and mari
nes watched the frigates overlapping, clawing closer and closer to each other, the smoke already whipped free in the wind.

  Another ripple of flashes, this time from the Frenchman, but the Auriga’s masts and yards remained intact, whereas the enemy’s canvas was pitted with holes, her main topsail tearing itself to ribbons after the first barrage.

  Keverne whispered, ‘A good prize, I’m thinking. We can do with another frigate anyway.’

  It was hard to distinguish what was happening now. The two ships could only be half a cable apart, and getting nearer each minute. More cannon fire, and then the enemy’s mizzen topgallant pitched down into the rolling smoke, the ripped canvas and rigging following it into the bedlam below.

  Broughton said, ‘She’ll strike soon.’

  ‘The wind’s droppin’, sir.’ Partridge kept his voice hushed, as if fearful of breaking the concentration.

  Broughton replied. ‘It does not matter now.’ He was smiling.

  A new silence had fallen, and across the last three miles which separated the Zeus from the two frigates they could see that the gunfire had ceased and both ships lay locked together. It was over.

  Broughton said softly, ‘Well, well, Bolitho. What do you have to say about that?’

  Some marines on the forecastle removed their shakos and began to cheer, the cry taken up aboard the Tanais directly ahead.

  Bolitho brushed past the admiral and snatched a telescope from its rack as the cheering began to falter and die almost as soon as it was begun. He felt his skin chill as he watched the flag fluttering down from the Auriga’s peak like a wounded bird, to be replaced instantly by another. ‘The same flag which still lifted jauntily above the tattered sails of her adversary. The tricolour of France.

  Keverne gasped, ‘By God, those bastards have struck to the Frogs! They never even tried to fight ’em!’ He sounded stunned with disbelief.

  The Auriga was already drifting clear of the Frenchman, and there was fresh activity on her deck and yards as she swung slowly downwind and away from the helpless squadron. Through the glass Bolitho could see her marines, their red coats making a patch of colour as they were disarmed and herded below by a French boarding party. Not that a boarding party was necessary, he thought bitterly. The whole of the ship’s company, which seconds before had been fighting so well, had surrendered. Gone over to the enemy. He replaced the glass, unable to hold it because his hand was shaking with both anger and despair.

  Without effort he could see the delegates gathered in the little inn at Veryan Bay. Allday and his hidden pistol. The man called Gates. And John Taylor, crucified and maimed because he had tried to help.

  Partridge said in a small voice, ‘No chance of catchin’ ’em now. They’ll be in Vigo afore dusk.’ He looked away, his shoulders slumped. ‘To see it ’appen like that!’

  Broughton was still staring at the two frigates, which were already pulling away and spreading more sail.

  ‘You may signal Restless to take station to windward.’ He sounded remote, like a stranger. ‘Then make a general signal to resume original course.’ He looked at Bolitho. ‘So there’s an end to your talk of loyalty.’ His tone was like a whip.

  Bolitho shook his head. ‘You told me you must understand a captain as much as the ship he commands. I believe you, sir.’ He moved his gaze towards the distant Auriga. She seemed to have grown smaller under the alien flag. ‘Just as I believe that while men like Brice are permitted their authority, such things as we have witnessed today may continue.’

  Broughton stepped back, as if Bolitho had uttered some terrible obscenity. Then he said, ‘Captain Brice may have fallen in battle.’ He walked aft. ‘For his sake, I trust that is the case.’ Then he vanished into the gloom below the poop.

  Lieutenant Meheux said loudly, ‘Well, there was nothing we could do to stop it. Now, if I could have got my battery to bear we could have given them a lesson in manners.’

  Several unemployed officers joined in the discussion, and Allday, who had been standing below the poop in case he was needed, glared at them with disgust.

  He saw Bolitho pacing slowly back and forth on the weather side, his head lowered in thought. All the rest of them were pretending to console him and themselves, but really they wanted to be reassured and had no idea what the captain was thinking.

  But Allday knew, had seen the pain in his grey eyes at the first sight of that hated tricolour. He would be recalling the time he had been made to fight another British ship under an enemy flag, with his own brother in command.

  He was feeling Auriga’s shame like his own, and all these empty-headed puppies could talk about was their own blameless part in it.

  Allday strode towards Bolitho, hardly realising that his feet had started to move. He saw Bolitho halt, the swift anger in his eyes at being disturbed.

  ‘What is it?’ The voice was cold, but Allday was undeterred.

  ‘I was just thinking, Captain.’ He paused, gauging the moment. ‘The Frogs have just got a British frigate, but not by force of arms.’

  ‘Well?’ He sounded dangerously calm.

  Allday grinned. ‘I was just looking around while all that was going on.’ The grin got wider. ‘Now this three-decker, for instance. I seem to remember we took her together without too much difficulty in the face of some very angry Frogs.’

  Bolitho glared at him. ‘That is a damn stupid comparison to make! If you can think of nothing more useful to say then be good enough to get out of my sight!’ His voice was loud enough to make several heads turn in their direction.

  Allday walked slowly away, hopeful and at the same time afraid that he had for once mistimed his attempt to help.

  Bolitho’s voice halted him.

  ‘Now that you mention it, Allday.’ Bolitho dropped his eyes as the other man turned towards him. ‘It was a fine prize. And still is. Thank you for reminding me. It was wrong I should forget what British seamen can do.’

  Allday glanced at the silent lieutenants and smiled gently before sauntering back to his place by the poop ladder.

  Bolitho’s voice broke the silence again.

  ‘Very well, Mr. Keverne, you may pipe the lower battery to quarters and exercise the crews now that the ports are no longer awash.’

  He paused and looked over the nettings so that Keverne had to hurry forward to hear the rest of his words. Even then he was not sure if he was meant to listen.

  Bolitho said quietly, ‘We will meet again, my friend. And things may be a little different.’

  * * * * *

  Eighteen days after seeing the Auriga strike her colours to the enemy, Broughton’s squadron dropped anchor at Gibraltar. Due to the loss of time incurred at the start of the voyage while the admiral had exercised the ships in his plan of battle, the arrival beneath the Rock’s great shadow was even later than Bolitho had anticipated. They had been beset by constantly shifting winds, and once when some ninety miles west of Lisbon had been forced to ride out a storm of such swift and savage intensity that the Zeus had lost six men overboard. And yet the very next day had found all the ships floating helplessly in a dead calm, their sails flat and devoid of any movement while the sun made the daily routine almost unbearable.

  Now, with awnings rigged and gunports open to a lazy offshore breeze, the squadron rested beneath the afternoon glare, their boats plying back and forth to the land like busy water-beetles.

  Bolitho entered his cabin where all the other captains had been summoned within an hour of anchoring. They looked tired and strained after the voyage, and the swift pattern of events which had followed their arrival at Gibraltar had left none of them much time for rest.

  Needless to say, it was Rattray of the Zeus who was the first to speak.

  ‘Who is this fellow with the admiral? Does anyone know him, eh?’

  Captain Furneaux of the Valorous took a glass of wine from the cabin servant and eyed it critically.

  ‘Don’t look much of a diplomat, if you ask me.’ He turned his haught
y face towards Bolitho. ‘In war we seem to attract the oddest sort of advisers, what?’

  Bolitho smiled and nodded to the others and then walked to the open stern windows. On the far side of the bay, quivering and misty in haze, was Algeciras, where already many telescopes would be trained on the British squadron, and messengers riding to carry the news inland to the garrisons.

  The visitor aboard the flagship, the man whose sudden and unheralded appearance was causing such speculation, was certainly unusual. He had come offshore in the Governor’s launch and had swarmed up through the entry port almost before the side party had got into position to receive him.

  Dressed in well cut and expensive coat and breeches, he had snapped, ‘No need for all this sort of thing. No damn time to waste!’

  His name was Sir Hugo Draffen, and in spite of his dress and title he looked like a man who was more accustomed to hard activity and physical effort rather than one of more leisurely pursuits. Thickset, even squat, his face was very tanned, his eyes surrounded with tiny wrinkles as if well used to the sun and more severe climates than Whitehall.

  Broughton, called hastily from his quarters where he had spent most of the remainder of the voyage, had been strangely quiet, even subservient towards his guest, and Bolitho imagined there was far more to Draffen than anyone of them yet realised.

  Captain Gillmor of the frigate Coquette, sent on ahead of the squadron in search of fresh information, said gloomily, ‘He came aboard my ship when I anchored.’ He was a lanky, even ungainly young man, and his long face was frowning as he relived the meeting with Draffen. When I suggested I should return and contact the squadron he told me not to bother.’ He shuddered. ‘And when I asked him why, he told me to mind my own damn business!’

  Falcon of the Tanais put down his glass and said grimly, ‘At least you were spared seeing Auriga’s disgrace.’

  The others looked at him and at each other. It was the first time it had been mentioned.

  Bolitho said, ‘I doubt that we will be in suspense much longer.’ He wondered briefly if the others had noticed his exclusion from the talk now going on in Broughton’s cabin beneath his feet. It was unusual, but then, so it appeared, was Draffen.