The Flag Captain

by Alexander Kent

  Tothill said shakily, ‘Impulsive requests instructions, sir.’

  Broughton stared at the pen which he was still gripping in his hand. In a strange tone he murmured, ‘It was a trap.’

  Bolitho kept his eyes on Broughton’s face. ‘Yes. Colonel Alava was right after all. And the French motives towards Egypt and Africa are every bit as true as he described.’ He jerked his head towards the cruising patterns of white-horses. ‘This battle is important to the enemy. So important because they know that this one crushing victory, the complete failure on our part to return our presence in the Mediterranean, will be more than enough to pave their way to success.’

  Tothill seemed almost fearful to intrude. ‘From Impulsive, sir. Estimate ten sail of the line.’

  Broughton appeared unable to move or react.

  Eventually he said thickly, ‘And fight them we will.’ But there was no conviction in his voice.

  Bolitho pushed the pity from his mind. ‘We have no choice in that, sir. They have the advantage, and if we run, can hunt us at leisure until they pin us against the land like moths.’ He added bitterly, ‘No doubt there are other ships already sailing from Toulon or Marseilles to ensure the trap is not short of teeth!’

  The admiral took a grip on himself. It was almost a physical thing to watch as he screwed up his eyes and spoke in short, staccato sentences.

  ‘Make a general signal. We will put the squadron about and approach the enemy on an opposite tack. Ship to ship we can…’ He saw Bolitho’s expression and said desperately, ‘For God’s sake, it will be two against one!’

  Bolitho turned away, unable to watch Broughton’s apparent helplessness.

  ‘Deck there! Sail in sight to wind’rd!’

  Bolitho nodded. So they were already visible, and coming in fast for the kill.

  Ten ships-of-the-line. He gripped his hand against his side, willing himself to think instead of allowing his mind to grow numb before such odds. Two to one, Broughton had said, but Impulsive was not much more than a large frigate. Old too, her hull rotten from rough usage over the years. He smiled sadly. Ripe, as Herrick had described it.

  He swung round, his mind suddenly steady again.

  ‘With your permission, sir, I believe we should re-form in two divisions.’ He spoke fast, seeing the plan of battle like counters on a map. ‘The French have a liking for fighting in a set line of battle. Too much time in port has left them little scope to exercise much else.’ Like you, he thought, as he watched Broughton’s uncertainty. ‘We can take the weather division, with just Impulsive astern of us. Rattray can lead the lee division with the same order as before. If we can break the enemy’s line in two places we might still give a good account of ourselves.’ Broughton was still wavering, so he added harshly, ‘But ship to ship and line to line you will witness your squadron dismasted within one half-hour of close action!’

  Lieutenant Bickford said quietly, ‘I can see Auriga, sir.’ He lowered a big signal telescope. ‘She has struck to Coquette.’ It was like a final taunt at Broughton’s unbending determination to recover her.

  Broughton looked at Bolitho and said, ‘I am going below for a moment. You have my authority to put your plan to the test.’ He seemed about to add a rider but said savagely, ‘I wish Draffen was up here to see for himself what his deceit has cost us.’

  Bolitho watched him go and then beckoned to Keverne and Tothill. ‘General signal. Squadron will tack in succession and steer due west.’

  Keverne hurried to the rail yelling at the watching seamen.

  As pipes shrilled and the men ran to their stations Bolitho watched the signal flags soaring aloft, the colours very bright against the pale sky.

  As one acknowledgement after another was reported he said, ‘Another general, Mr. Tothill. Prepare for battle.’ He made himself smile at the midshipman’s intent expression. ‘Yes, it seems we will fight this fine morning, so keep a good eye on your people.’

  Order had settled over the decks as petty officers checked their watch-bills, and Partridge stood close to the helmsmen in readiness to follow the Tanais round and across the wind.

  Tothill called, ‘Acknowledgements close up, sir!’

  They were ready. ‘Execute!’

  As Keverne waited, balanced on his toes to watch first Zeus and then Tanais labouring round with all their sails in confusion, Bolitho said to him, ‘Lay her on the starboard tack while I prepare instructions for the other captains.’

  ‘And then, sir?’ Keveme kept his eyes on Tanais.

  ‘You may beat to quarters and clear for action.’ He smiled. ‘And this time you will do it in eight minutes!’

  Keverne yelled, ‘Stand by on the quarterdeck! Man the braces there!’

  ‘Ready aft, sir!’

  Bolitho turned at the sound of that voice and saw Pascoe standing by the afterguard at the mizzen braces, his hat pulled over his unruly hair as he squinted into the bright sunlight.

  For an instant their eyes met, and Bolitho made to lift his hand to him. But the sudden stab of pain reminded him of his wound and he saw the dismay on the boy’s face, as if he too was sharing it with him.

  ‘Helm a’lee! Let go and haul!’

  Figures darted in every direction, and groaning under the thrust of wind and tiller the Euryalus began to turn, until like a giant tusk her jib boom pointed once again at an enemy.

  19

  A Ship of War

  ‘ALTER COURSE A point to larboard, Mr. Partridge.’

  Bolitho walked to the lee side to watch the Zeus which was almost directly abeam at the head of the other seventy-fours. It had taken less than an hour to put the squadron about and for individual captains to form up in their present divisions, and he was grateful they had had sufficient time for getting to know each other’s ways.

  ‘West by south, sir!’ Partridge sounded grim.

  ‘Steady as you go.’

  Bolitho walked forward to the quarterdeck rail and ran his eye along his command. How much more space and vision to see and think now that Euryalus was in the van. With her great courses clewed up and topsails braced round to hold her on a steady starboard tack he could see the enemy like some painted panorama of battle. The ten ships were sailing in an almost perfect line, their approach diagonal to that of the British squadron. To an untrained eye it would appear as if the way ahead was completely sealed by this great line of ships, and even to the experienced onlooker the sight was enough to chill the imagination.

  He made himself walk a few paces athwart the silent quarterdeck, darting an occasional glance towards Zeus to ensure she was still keeping on station to leeward. Astern of her, Tanais and Valorous followed at regular intervals, their double lines of guns glinting in the hard sunlight like rows of black teeth.

  The Euryalus’s high poop hid most of the Impulsive from view, but he could see her furled topgallants and whipping masthead pendant, and just as easily picture Herrick standing stolidly on his deck, feet apart, with those bright blue eyes watching the flagship.

  Keverne asked quietly, ‘Do you think the Frogs have guessed what we are about, sir?’

  Bolitho gauged the distance for the tenth time between the two small divisions. Captain Rattray’s Zeus was about three cables distant, and he saw a gleam of scarlet as her marines began to climb up to the fighting tops. The best marksmen would be in dire need today.

  He replied, ‘Our divisions are so ill-matched that I hope the French admiral imagines us to be unprepared.’

  As well he might, he thought grimly. Five ships in two unequal divisions approaching that unwavering line like huntsmen trotting towards some unbreakable barrier.

  He looked once more at his own ship. Keverne had cleared for action in eight minutes in spite of everything else. From the moment the drummer boys had started their nerve-jarring tattoo the seamen and marines had gone to quarters with the intentness of men under sentence of death. Now there was only silence. Only here and there was there any movement. A ship’s boy
scampering with sand to give the gun crews better grip on the deck. Fittock, the gunner, in his felt slippers making his way once again down to the threatening gloom of the magazine.

  Nets were rigged above the decks and chain slings on each yard, and at every hatch an armed marine had been posted to prevent those terrified by the sights of battle from fleeing below to illusionary safety.

  How clean and open it all seemed. The boats were either cast adrift or being towed astern, and below the gangways he could see the gun crews, naked to the waist, as they stared at their open ports and waited for bedlam to begin.

  And it would not be long. He raised a glass and steadied it upon the leading enemy ship. She was less than two miles away on the larboard bow and therefore almost directly across Zeus’s line of advance.

  She was strangely familiar, but it had taken Partridge to explain the reason. He had said with professional interest, ‘I knows ’er, sir. Le Glorieux, Vice-Admiral Duplay’s flagship. Met up with ’er once off Toulon.’

  Of course he should have seen it. It was like the one additional twist of fate, for Le Glorieux came from the same yard as Euryalus, to the same specifications down to the last keel bolt. But for her colouring, the broad scarlet stripes between her gunports, she was an exact twin of his own command.

  He shifted the glass slowly to starboard and then held it on the two vessels in the middle of the line. Unlike the rest, they wore the red and yellow colours of Spain, placed for security’s sake in the centre where they could follow their admiral without having to display too much initiative. Initiative which had already cost their French allies dearly at St. Vincent.

  He heard Calvert murmuring to Midshipman Tothill, and when he lowered the glass saw him poring over the signal book, as if giving one last effort to make himself useful. Poor Calvert. If he survived this day, arrest and trial awaited him in England. Draffen’s friends would see to that.

  Bolitho turned and saw Pascoe standing by the quarterdeck nine-pounders, a hand resting on his hip, and one foot on a bollard. The boy did not see him and was staring towards the enemy line.

  He said to Keverne, ‘If possible we will break through by the Spanish ships. It will be the weakest point, if I am any judge.’

  Keverne was watching Zeus. ‘And Captain Rattray, sir?’

  Bolitho looked at him gravely. ‘He will act as he sees fit.’ He though of Rattray’s heavy, bulldog face and guessed he would need no urging to dose with the enemy. Only one thing counted now, that they could separate the French flagship from her consorts long enough to break the line and obtain the advantage of the wind. After that it would be every man for himself.

  Vice-Admiral Broughton strode out into the sunlight and nodded curtly to the officers on the quarterdeck.

  For a moment longer he looked at the lee division of ships, his eyes clouded with doubt and anxiety. Then he said, ‘The din of battle I can endure. But the waiting is torture.’

  Bolitho watched him thoughtfully. He appeared calmer again. Or was it resignation? The admiral was wearing his beautiful sword, and beneath his coat the scarlet ribbon of the Bath. Was he so despairing that he was even offering himself as target to some French marksman? All at once he felt sorry for Broughton. Recriminations and accusations were pointless now. He was watching his squadron and his proud hopes sailing towards what must seem certain destruction.

  He asked, ‘Will you walk a while, Sir Lucius? I find it helps ease the tension.’

  Broughton fell in step beside him without protest, and as they strode slowly up and down Bolitho added quietly, ‘The centre of the line is the best choice, sir. Two Spanish seventy-fours.’

  Broughton nodded. ‘Yes, I saw them. Astern of them is the second-in-command.’ He halted suddenly and snapped, ‘Where the hell is Coquette?’

  ‘She is making good some repairs, sir. Auriga too has suffered damage to foremast and mizzen.’ He added quietly, ‘They will not be of much use yet.’

  Broughton looked at him for several seconds, his eyes very still. Then he asked, ‘Will our people fight?’ He held up his hand urgently. ‘I mean really fight?’

  Bolitho turned away. ‘Have no fear on that score. I know them, and…’

  Broughton interrupted, ‘And they know you.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  When he looked forward again the enemy line had extended itself across either bow, so that it seemed to hide all of the horizon with a wall of sails. At any moment now the French admiral might guess what was happening, in which case they were beaten before they had made even the smallest impression on him. Had they been given more time, or better still the fluidity and independence denied to them by Broughton’s rigid demands, they could have sent some meaningless signal to Rattray and the others. It would have made the enemy believe that at any moment now they would tack and engage his line in the same hidebound traditional style still approved by so many. But without previous experiments of that sort, any false signal would throw their meagre resources into terrible and fatal confusion.

  Unless… He looked at Broughton’s strained profile.

  ‘May I suggest a general signal before the one to engage, sir?’ He saw a nerve jumping in Broughton’s throat, but his eyes were unblinking as he stared at the oncoming ships. He persisted. ‘From you, sir.’

  ‘Me?’ Broughton turned and looked at him with surprise.

  ‘You said earlier that our people know me, sir. But this is my ship, and they understand my ways, as I have tried to appreciate theirs.’ He gestured towards Zeus. ‘But all these ships are yours, and they are depending on you today.’

  Broughton shook his head. ‘I cannot do it.’

  ‘May I speak, sir?’ It was Calvert. ‘The signal should read “My trust is in you”.’ He flushed as Keverne strode towards him and clapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘By God, Mr. Calvert, I never thought you had the imagination!’

  Broughtonlicked his lips. ‘If yuo really believe…’

  Bolitho nodded to Tothill. ‘I do, sir. Now get that bent on and hoisted immediately. We have little time left.’

  He saw the sunlight flashing on glass as several officers on Zeus’s poop watched the sudden array of flags streaming from Euryalus’s yards.

  But he turned swiftly as the air quaked and shook to a sudden roar of gunfire. The French flagship had fired, the orange flame spurting from gun after gun as she discharged a slow broadside towards the oncoming squadron. With the approach being diagonal, most of the balls were blind, and he saw them ripping through the short wave crests and throwing up water spouts far beyond the lee division. The smoke rolled down from the enemy in a steep brown fog, until only Zeus’s topmasts were visible.

  Broughton was gripping his sword-hilt, his face tight with fixed concentration as another French ship fired and a ball slapped through the fore topsail and shrieked away over the water.

  Bolitho said tersely, ‘Listen, sir!’ He strode to the admiral’s side. ‘Hear them?’

  Faintly above the wind and the dying echo of cannon fire came the sound of cheering, distorted and vague, as if the ships themselves were calling the tune. As word was shouted from gun to gun and deck to deck the Euryalus’s seamen joined in, their voices suddenly loud and engulfing. Some stood back from the main deck twelve-pounders and waved to Broughton, who still stood like a statue, his face as stiff as his shoulders.

  Bolitho said quietly, ‘You see, sir? They don’t ask for much.’

  He turned away as Broughton muttered, ‘God help me!’

  More ships were firing now, and some of the balls were flicking across the water close by, and he saw several holes in the Zeus’s sails as she continued purposefully into the smoke.

  He turned as Broughton said firmly, ‘I am ready. Signal the squadron to engage.’ Before he hurried back to the rail he saw that Broughton’s eyes were bright with shock or surprise at hearing the cheers. Cheers for a short, trite signal which at the threshold of death could mean so much.

  Bolitho
shouted, ‘Make the signal, Mr. Tothill!’ To Keverne, ‘Man the braces. We will endeavour to keep station on Zeus until the last moment.’

  More crashes echoed across the shrinking arrowhead of water, and he felt the deck shudder as some hit home. He saw Meheux walking behind the forward guns, his sword bared as he spoke to some of the crews, his round face completely absorbed.

  ‘Ready, sir!’

  Bolitho raised his hand very slowly. ‘Steady, Mr. Partridge!’ He felt the pain throbbing in his shoulder to mark the rising tension in his blood. His hand sliced down. ‘Now!’

  The flags vanished from Euryalus’s yards, and while men threw themselves on the braces and the wheel squealed against the rudder lines he saw the French line changing as if on a great gate, swinging across the bowsprit until Euryalus was pointing directly towards it at right-angles.

  A quick glance told him Zeus was leading her own division in obedience to the signal, her sails flapping violently as more balls screamed through them from the enemy guns. But instead of a converging bunch of ships, the French gunners now had the more slender targets to compete with. End on, their gundecks still silent, the two British lines moved steadily towards them, although because of the gentle turn to starboard Eurjalus was a good ship’s length ahead of Zeus.

  Bolitho gripped the rail as smoke rolled down from the flashing guns. Iron shrieked above the quarterdeck, and here and there a severed line or block fell unheeded on the taut nets.

  ‘Steady!’

  He wiped his eyes as more smoke swirled above the deck and watched the nearest set of topmasts standing, as if detached, fine on the larboard bow. He felt the deck jerk again as more shots smashed into the hull, and recalled suddenly the time he had described the superiority of her French build to Draffen. It was macabre to think of him down in the undisturbed darkness of a lower hold in his cask of spirits while the rest of them waited to fight and die.

  He strode to the nettings as a small patch of colour showed itself above the smoke. The Spanish flag was flapping from her gaff, and he knew he had not mistimed his approach.