Colours Aloft!

by Alexander Kent

  “I can’t say, sir, and that’s the truth. Both eyes are scarred, but there is little I can decide until the ruptures heal or—”

  Bolitho persisted, “Will I see?”

  Tuson walked round the cot. He must be looking through an open gunport, Bolitho thought, for his voice was muffled.

  Tuson said, “The left eye is the worst. Sand and metal particles. Your cheek was cut by a sliver of metal—a bit higher and there’d be no eye for us to worry about.”

  “I see.” Bolitho felt his body relax. It was easier somehow when you knew the worst, the inevitable truth. He thinks I’m done for.

  Bolitho said, “I must speak with my flag-captain at once.”

  Tuson did not move. “He is busy, sir. It can wait.”

  “Don’t you dare to tell me what can and cannot wait!”

  Tuson rested his hand on his arm again. “That is my duty, sir.”

  Bolitho covered the surgeon’s hand with his own. “Yes. My apologies.”

  “None needed. All men are different. I once took off a seaman’s leg and he didn’t even whimper. Then he thanked me for saving his life. Another damned me to hell for sewing up his head after a fall from aloft. I have seen and heard everything, from quarterdeck to the lowliest mess.” He yawned. “Why do we do it? Why do you do it, Sir Richard? You have given so much for your country. You must realize the consequences of staying at sea year in and year out? There is an inevitability about it which cannot be ignored or silenced.”

  “Death?”

  Tuson replied, “There can be worse things than death.” He added, “I shall leave you now, it seems your captain is here anyway.”

  Keen sat down beside the cot and asked, “How is it, sir?”

  Bolitho tried to push his despair into the darkness. It was important, maybe vital, how he replied.

  “I saw some light, Val. The pain is less, and as soon as I have had a shave I shall be more of a man again.”

  Keen said, “Thank God.”

  Bolitho found his arm. “And thank you, Val, for saving us.” He clenched his other hand into a fist to contain his emotion. “Tell me what you are doing.”

  When Tuson returned he found them both in deep conversation. He said sternly, “This must cease, gentlemen!”

  Bolitho held up his hand. “A moment more, you impatient sawbones!”

  To Keen he said, “Finish watering then, and we shall make haste to gather the squadron. Jobert had tried to scatter our strength, destroy our ability to follow his movements. Like you, I feel it is near the time for his next move. Send Yovell to me.” He heard Tuson tutting. “And I’ll have my own report sent with Supreme.”

  Almost to himself he said, “I was with Hallowes when he died. Both legs gone. He had promise, that one.”

  Bolitho laid his head on the pillow and tried to move his eyelids beneath the bandage. He could hear Keen and the surgeon whispering outside the door and suddenly wanted to get out of the cot, to go on deck and make as if he was the same as before.

  Keen was saying, “But in truth, will he recover?”

  “And in honesty I do not know. I would have said it was hopeless, but with him I am not so sure.” He shook his head. “He’s like a ship in a storm, suddenly bent on its own destruction. It seems as if nothing can stop him.”

  Keen saw Allday carrying a bowl of hot water and a razor. He had heard what Tuson had said to Bolitho about terrible odds against survival. He touched his side and felt the wound beneath his shirt. First one, then the other. Now Hallowes was gone.

  He hesitated by the little cabin with its scarlet-coated sentry. Then he tapped on the door and stepped inside as she called on him to enter.

  She was sitting on the big chest, the gown he had bought from the Genoese trader spilled across her lap, filling the place with light. She looked at him and said quietly, “It is lovely. So good of you. You are a kind man.”

  She laid it carefully across the cot and stood up. She had been crying, for Bolitho, for them, he could not tell.

  She said, “You have done so much, and I have nothing to give you.”

  She turned away abruptly and when she faced him again he saw that her shirt was unbuttoned to her waist. Very deliberately she took his hand, her eyes fixed on his with a kind of defiance, then she pulled it inside her shirt and pressed it to her breast.

  Keen did not move and felt the rounded skin beneath his hand burning into him, consuming him.

  Then she did lower her eyes and said in a small voice, “That is my heart. Now I have something to give. It is yours for as long as you will it.”

  Then with equal gravity she withdrew his hand and closed the shirt.

  Someone was shouting on the poop, and feet clattered on a ladder. But for just a few more seconds they stood motionless together.

  Then she said, “Go now. They must not see us like this.”

  He stooped and kissed her lightly on the forehead and then left the cabin.

  For a long while afterwards the girl stood watching the closed door, her hand touching her breast as he had done.

  Then she said softly, “Indeed I do love thee too.”

  In two days the ships had completed taking on fresh water and with a brisk southerly wind to speed their passage they soon left the islands astern.

  Keen had watched as Supreme, her shot holes crudely patched, her pumps still cranking, had cleared the anchorage and headed for open water. At the head of that same beach several of her company had been buried, including Lieutenant Hallowes. It was a sad parting, Keen had thought.

  On the fifth day, with Rapid in the lead, they entered the Golfe du Lion.

  Keen was walking the quarterdeck, his chin sunk in his neckcloth and deep in thought when the masthead sighted a sail. It was soon identified as Barracouta— the squadron would be one again.

  But today was also special for Bolitho, and down in the cabin he was seated in his high-backed chair, breathing deeply as Ozzard opened one of the stern windows and his assistant Twigg put a cup of coffee in his hand.

  Bolitho listened to the sea and the creak of the rudderhead. The ship was alive around him. He heard Allday speaking with Yovell, Ozzard bustling about. They were so bright. Did they think they could deceive him?

  He heard Tuson enter the cabin, the soft, bare-footed step of the girl who was with him.

  Tuson put down his case and said, “Plenty of light today.”

  Bolitho nodded. “We have sighted a ship, I believe?”

  Tuson grunted. “Barracouta, sir.”

  Bolitho tried not to show his dismay. Keen had not come to tell him. Even he thought it was over. He gripped the arms of the chair and said, “Then Captain Inch will not be far away.”

  He listened to his voice, his empty words. But he would play their game too. Not give in to his true thoughts.

  “Now then.” Tuson moved the bandage slightly and began to unwind it. “Keep your eyes shut until they have been bathed.” He was breathing hard, concentrating so that it was almost physical. The bandage went and Bolitho was aware of the complete silence around him. A warm pad dabbed at his eyelids, and for an instant a jab of pain shot through him.

  Tuson saw him recoil and said, “In a moment I’ll tell you—”

  Bolitho held out his hand. “Are you here? Zenoria?” He felt her grasp his hand between hers.

  He said, “I want you to be the first one I see, not these ugly characters!”

  She laughed, but he recognized the anxiety.

  Tuson said flatly, “In your own time, sir.”

  Bolitho touched his left eye then his right with his fingers. He could feel himself holding her hands so hard he must be hurting her. He gritted his teeth together. He tried again, but was suddenly afraid.

  Tuson said, “Now, sir, if you please.”

  Bolitho gasped aloud as the eyelids opened. It was as if they had been stitched down and were tearing themselves apart. Vague, distorted lights beamed past him from the stern windows, shadows too, but
there was light.

  Tuson was ready, another soft pad forcing moisture into each eye. They stung once more but Bolitho saw the pale oval of the girl’s face, the checkered floor covering, something shining. He craned his head around, not caring how he looked, straining with desperation as he tried to focus on something familiar.

  Then he turned back to the girl, who was kneeling by his chair. Her eyes, which he remembered so well, were shining up at him and her lips were parted in a smile, encouraging him.

  Tuson seemed to be behind the chair. He put one hand over Bolitho’s left eye.

  Bolitho said, “Not too clear yet.”

  “There will be discomfort, but the liquid I am using will clear it eventually. Now look at the girl, sir.”

  Bolitho could sense the others watching, not daring to move. He felt his lips cracking into a smile. “That is a pleasure indeed.” He saw her flinch under his one-eyed stare but she said, “Bless you, sir.”

  Bolitho whispered, “My captain is a lucky man.”

  Tuson placed a hand over his right eye and said remorselessly, “Now the left.”

  Bolitho blinked rapidly and saw Allday’s gilt buttons, the two swords at his back.

  He whispered, “Allday, old friend, I—” He wiped his face as if there was a cobweb across it. Something like a shadow was covering Allday.

  Bolitho turned despairingly to the girl again. The eyes, the mouth, and then the shadow moved over her so that she seemed to draw away although he held her hands and knew she had not moved.

  Tuson snapped, “Bandage.” He stooped over Bolitho and peered at his eyes. “Early days, sir.”

  He had tested the right eye first to give him hope. Tuson had known that the other one was the most badly damaged.

  The disappointment left Bolitho spent, unprotesting as the bandage brought back the darkness.

  A door opened and he heard Keen ask, “Well?”

  Tuson replied, “Better than I dared to hope, sir.”

  Bolitho said, “Blind in one lamp, not too fine in the other, Val.”

  The girl said, “I’d better go, sir.”

  Bolitho held out his hand. “No. Stay with me.”

  Keen said, “The squadron is in sight, sir.” He sounded defeated. “I shall report to you on the hour.”

  Bolitho held the girl’s hand like a lifeline. He leaned back in the chair and said, “If the weather allows, Val, I want all captains to repair on board tomorrow. But first signal Barracouta to convey Inch’s report on board directly.”

  He had expected Keen or certainly Tuson to protest; their silence brought home the reality more firmly than any words.

  Doors opened and closed and then Bolitho asked, “Are we alone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bolitho reached out and touched her hair. He must speak with his captains. They needed leadership, not despair. Jobert would use every weakness like a weapon.

  He felt her move and said softly, “Don’t cry, my girl, you have given too many tears already.” He continued to stroke her hair, soothing himself and unable to see the pity in her eyes.

  Then he said, “You must help me. Then when I meet my little band tomorrow they will find their vice-admiral, not some helpless cripple, eh?”

  Later, when a boat brought Inch’s report to the flagship and Keen carried it aft to the great cabin, he found Bolitho sitting as before, but with the girl asleep against his legs.

  Keen said, “I am glad she kept you company, sir.”

  Bolitho touched her hair again but she did not stir. “You understand, don’t you, Val? I needed her presence, her voice. I have become too used to the ways of men, the demands of strategy.”

  Keen let him talk and all the while Bolitho’s hand stroked the girl’s long hair as she lay curled up at his side.

  Bolitho continued in the same empty voice, “When your day comes to hoist your own flag, let nothing distract you. I was reluctant to let go of the personal contact when I became an admiral. I longed to be a part of whichever ship flew my flag, used to think of individual faces and names, the people, d’you see? Because I could not stay apart I now blame myself for those who died, with Supreme all but lost.”

  “You must not think like that, sir.”

  Bolitho said, “So when your tune is piped, Val, forget the faces, the pain you may cause them!” He was shouting and the girl opened her eyes and stared up at him, then questioningly at Keen.

  “But I cannot!” He lowered his head, the anger gone from him. “And it is tearing me apart.”

  Bolitho took the girl’s hand. “Go now. But please visit me again.”

  He held her hand to his lips. “Brave Zenoria.”

  The door closed and Bolitho heard Allday escort her to her cabin.

  Keen waited, feeling useless because he could not help.

  Bolitho said, “Open the report, Val. There’s work to be done.” He touched the bandage and added briskly, “So let’s be about it.”

  The following morning, while the ships lay hove-to in their various angles, the captains boarded Argonaute as ordered.

  In his cabin Bolitho sat facing a mirror and tried to compose his thoughts, as he had throughout the night. He could not accept what had happened, but he had told himself a thousand times he would not submit to it.

  He listened to the shrill of calls as the last captain was piped aboard.

  Bolitho smiled bitterly. It was more like being an actor than a sea officer. Should he have done this? Bravado or necessity? He felt different in some way, and it was not solely because of a clean, new shirt and a careful wash under Allday’s supervision.

  “Ready, sir?” Tuson always seemed to be there.

  Bolitho pressed his hands onto his knees and answered, “Aye.”

  The bandage was removed from his right eye, the now familiar pad with its sweet-smelling ointment did its work, and Tuson said, “With respect, Sir Richard, you are a better patient than you were.”

  Bolitho opened his eyes and stared at his cloudy reflection in the mirror. The small scars on his face were less noticeable because of his sunburned skin, but the eye glared back at him, angry and red-rimmed. It did not look like the one he could feel in his head.

  He looked beyond the mirror, at Ozzard carefully brushing his uniform coat with its gleaming epaulettes. His best coat. It had to be a perfect performance. Allday craned forward to make certain he had not missed a single stray hair with his razor, and Yovell was busy with some papers at the table. The scene was almost set. He raised his eyes and saw the girl looking down over his shoulder.

  She smiled gently, like a conspirator, which she was. She moved a comb over Bolitho’s hair, loosening it across his forehead so that it partly covered the other bandage on his left eye. She had already arranged his queue and tied a ribbon which even Allday admitted was better than anything he could do.

  Bolitho heard faint voices and the stamp of feet. The captains’ meeting would be in the wardroom beneath his cabin. He had to leave his quarters free; for escape if things went wrong.

  He said, “Thank you, Zenoria, you have done your best with poor material.”

  Their glances met in the mirror. She did not reply, but he saw the pleasure on her face. With her hair tied back again she had a look of determination in her brown eyes.

  Bolitho tried to think of Inch’s report, rambling as usual, for he loved to write lengthy descriptions of everything no matter how trivial. But each report contained something useful. This one had an item which was more than that. A key perhaps, or was it one more sly trap?

  Tuson insisted, “Don’t overtax the eye, sir, and most certainly keep the other one covered. If you get proper treatment soon—”

  Bolitho looked at him. The eye felt as if there was something in it. Tuson told him that would pass, given time.

  Bolitho said, “Your care has been excellent.”

  Tuson would not be deterred. “Unless you avoid the other demands of this squadron, I cannot answer for the consequen
ces.”

  The door opened and Keen stood watching him, his hat beneath his arm. Bolitho noticed that he too was wearing his best dress coat. The second principal player, he thought.

  “They are assembled, sir.”

  Bolitho glimpsed him in the mirror and saw the quick exchange of glances with the girl who dressed like a boy. He saw too how her hand moved to her breast, and the look of understanding on Keen’s face.

  Bolitho touched his bandage. He was glad for them, no matter what difficulties lay ahead. He was not jealous, only conscious of a sense of envy.

  He stood up and adjusted to the roll of the deck. The ships lay-to in a hot southerly breeze from Africa. It would be good to get this done and be under way again.

  He slipped his arms into the coat and held one up as Allday clipped on the old sword.

  Allday muttered, “You watch yourself, sir.”

  Bolitho touched his thick arm and smiled, “I have work to do. I believe I have the makings of a plan.” He added quietly, “But thank you, old friend.” He glanced at their faces, trying not to blink as his eye pricked painfully. “And all of you.”

  Keen felt a chill at his spine. He knew that look, that voice. Something neither pain nor a bandage could disguise.

  The fire still burns.

  9 ATTACK

  BOLITHO sat restlessly by his table and watched Keen’s fingers busy with his dividers as he completed some more calculations on the chart.

  Several times Bolitho had leaned forward to examine his progress and had felt the same rising sense of despair. It was like being half blind; as for reading the chart, it was out of the question.

  He thought of his little squadron, so recently met in the Golfe du Lion and now drawing farther apart with each turn of the glass. Helicon and Despatch had spread all the canvas they could muster and headed for the islands to take on fresh water. Bolitho frowned and immediately felt a painful response in his left eye. When they returned they would stay together as long as possible and wait no longer for Jobert to choose the next move.

  Inch’s report had been excellent. He had ordered Barracouta to stop and search any coastal vessels he could find, and from one he had discovered that two large French men-of-war had been seen in Spanish waters, just beyond the frontier and less than two hundred miles south-west of Toulon. No wonder few French ships had been sighted by Nelson’s blockading squadron around the great port. This small fragment of news had been like a glimmer of light.