Colours Aloft!

by Alexander Kent

  Jobert must have imagined that Barracouta was one of Nelson’s ships, the vanguard of his blockading squadron off Toulon.

  He said, “But he’ll not survive a passage to Malta.”

  Allday persisted, “He’ll never leave ’is ship, sir!”

  Bolitho shook his head. “I think otherwise. This time.”

  Keen was waiting for him, his face full of questions.

  How different were Argonaute’s decks, Bolitho thought. Order, purpose. But despair was infectious; it would soon spread, with Helicon’s hull a constant reminder to them.

  He said, “Captain’s conference, Val, this afternoon if possible. If the wind gets up, it might be days before I can speak with them together.”

  Keen looked across at Helicon and said quietly, “There’s the heart of a ship, sir.”

  Bolitho shaded his eyes and saw a thin fragment of sail being hoisted between the fore and mainmast stumps.

  He said, “Inch’s heart.”

  He pictured Jobert’s squadron in his mind. It was not formed for a diversion or merely to seek revenge. If the latter offered itself, then so much the better, but there was far more to it. Was it to draw Nelson’s blockade from Toulon so that Admiral Villeneuve’s main fleet could break out in force? With Gibraltar under siege from another fever, it was unlikely that any English ships would stay there to act as a deterrent. Jobert might well try for the Strait. Bolitho dismissed the idea at once. Jobert could have done that already, could be in Brest by now if he had managed to slip past the blockade there.

  Bolitho made his way aft as Keen called out to the signals midshipman to pipe his assistants on deck. Allday watched him and noticed that he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he did not even falter or hesitate when the deck tilted in the swell.

  Bolitho walked through the screens and made his way right aft to stare through the stern windows. He should have been exhausted, worn down by shock and a sense that he had failed. Instead his mind seemed to have taken on a new edge, sharpened still further whenever he thought of Inch, lying over there in his stricken ship.

  Keen entered and said, “The signal is bent on, sir.” He sounded strained.

  Knowing Keen, he was probably blaming himself for what had happened. If he had not been recalled to Malta—

  Bolitho faced him. “Dismiss any doubts from your mind, Val. At least by going to Malta I discovered something I might never have known otherwise.”

  “Sir?” Keen was astounded by Bolitho’s demeanour.

  “Hoist the signal, and call our gallant captains.” He waited until Keen was almost at the door. “And, Val, when you next hold her in your arms you will know that Fate left you no choice.”

  Bolitho walked to the windows and out onto the gallery with its two smiling mermaids.

  He heard a shout and guessed that the signal had broken aloft. He would speak with his captains. Repair the damage. Restore their confidence. He saw Helicon drift slowly into view.

  But not you, dear old friend, you have done your share.

  During the day the wind rose only slightly, but there were more clouds and perhaps a hint of rain.

  Bolitho stood aft by the windows again and watched his captains as they sat in their various attitudes in the great cabin. Not the wardroom this time. He wanted no retreat. There was none. He had gone through the details of Jobert’s squadron, its strength, and its possible purpose.

  “There is nothing to gain from remaining in the gulf, gentlemen. I intend to sweep to the south-east’rd. If Jobert has headed west to pass through the Strait then we have already lost him. If not—” He looked at their intent faces, “then we must find him and call him to action.”

  There were muffled shouts from the main deck and the cabin quivered as two of Helicon’s thirty-two-pounders were lowered on board.

  Bolitho said, “Those guns will be conveyed to Rapid tomorrow.” He saw her young commander start up in his chair as if he had been only half listening.

  Quarrell stammered, “Too heavy, sir, I mean—”

  Bolitho eyed him bleakly. “You have shipwrights and a carpenter, I believe? I want you to mount two guns forward as bow-chasers. By shifting ballast and stores and shoring up the deck you should manage it easily enough. I once commanded a sloop-of-war—she was not much bigger and had a very heavy bow armament. So do it.”

  Captain Montresor said, “My steering is repaired, sir. I had no way of knowing.” He looked bitterly at Houston. “I wanted to fight. I didn’t expect Helicon to stand alone.”

  Captain Houston sat with his arms folded, unrepentant.

  He said, “My ship had fallen too far astern because of the wind and that damned mist. I saw Despatch was in trouble.” His thin mouth opened and shut, each word rationed. “I would have been a target and nothing more had I gone to assist Helicon. Anyway, I knew the Frogs would do for the lot of us piecemeal, so I decided to take Montresor in tow.”

  Bolitho nodded. So typical of the man, he thought. Hard, uncompromising, but in this case right. His choice had been straightforward, in his view at least. Save a ship or lose the squadron.

  He said, “Jobert has a purpose for everything he does. So far he has been one step ahead of us.” He saw Keen watching him grimly. He knew that by quitting their station he was taking a huge responsibility, a greater risk to himself. It was odd, but it no longer mattered. After the court of inquiry at Malta he was a marked man anyway. He felt lightheaded. It was beyond personal risk and reputation now.

  Houston said in his harsh voice, “We shall have to consider where and when we will replenish water supplies, sir.”

  Bolitho looked at him, suddenly aware of the shadow across his left eye. It taunted him but for once he was able to ignore it.

  “There will be no watering, Captain Houston.” He glanced at the others. “For any of us. Cut the ration, halve it if need be, but we stay together until this is finished.” He did not add one way or the other but the thought was obvious on their faces.

  “I need all the information we can gather. Coastal craft must be stopped and searched thoroughly. If they are neutral, do it just the same. If not, sink them.” He felt the hardness creep into his tone, like that other time. It made him think of Herrick, the pain in his blue eyes when he had left Benbow. In his heart Bolitho knew Herrick had acted only as he saw fit. Bolitho hated any sort of favouritism and despised those who used it for advancement or personal gain in the Navy. Yet he had done exactly that for Keen, and because Herrick was his friend. What would he have done had he been in Herrick’s position and another had asked a favour of him? But the thought of what it had cost in lives made him shy away from an answer. Inch was a broken man. If he lived it was unlikely he would ever tread his own deck again. He saw some of them glance at him as he unwittingly touched his left eye. That thought was always there. Suppose I lost the sight of my right eye? Blind, as he had been in Supreme, but forever.

  Captain Lapish asked, “Will Jobert have any more ships at his command, sir?” He even sounded more confident than before.

  Bolitho gave a grave smile. “Are there not enough already?”

  Houston muttered, “Two frigates, y’say? And we’ve but one.”

  Commander Quarrell exclaimed, “My brig is worthy enough!”

  Bolitho said, “Save your steel for the enemy, all of you. Drill your people until they can point and fire in their sleep. Make each one aware that the enemy is human, not a god. We can and will beat him, for I believe we are the only bulwark ’twixt Jobert and his objective.”

  The deck tilted heavily and a book slithered from the table.

  Bolitho said, “Return to your ships. If there is rain, gather it as part of the rations. Whenever you need to search or seek out small craft, use your boats to full advantage. I want our people to be ready to fight and to expect trouble in advance.”

  Houston commented, “Léopard is a second-rate, I believe, sir?”

  Bolitho saw the blunt reminder move round the others like
a chill wind through corn.

  He glanced at Keen. “My flag-captain took on this ship and two frigates at once, Captain Houston. Battered we may be, but you will see that we are both still here!”

  Quarrell laughed outright and grinned at his friend Lapish. They had both learned a lot in a short while. And they were still too young to nurse fear for long.

  After the captains had been seen over the side Keen returned to the cabin and asked, “Do you already know what Jobert is about, sir?”

  “When I am certain I shall tell you, Val. Until then we must make sure that our ships do not grow slack or careless. A lack of vigilance now can mean only defeat.”

  The sentry called, “Surgeon, sir!”

  Tuson entered and eyed them curiously. “You sent for me, sir?”

  Bolitho said, “Make arrangements to ferry Captain Inch aboard. I fear the weather may change.”

  Tuson nodded. “He was speaking with me when I was aboard Helicon earlier, sir. He is in great pain, but I would prefer him here in my care.”

  Bolitho said, “I know that.” He watched the surgeon leave and said, “If Helicon gets into difficulties en route for Malta, it were better that Inch be with us. He’d be on deck, taking charge, otherwise.”

  Keen smiled, “Like you, sir.” He moved to the chart. “A needle in a haystack. Damn Jobert! He might be anywhere.”

  Bolitho walked to the table and caught his foot in a ringbolt and almost lost his balance. He felt the touch of fear once more. He thought of Inch returning home. What would his pretty Hannah think? What might Belinda think, for that matter? Even if Adam had not told her of the full extent of his injury, his handwriting in that last letter would make her realize something was wrong. The letter. He thought of the way his words had poured out; it had been as if he had been listening to his own voice. It was so unlike him; he was almost sorry he had written to her of his innermost hopes and fears, of the love which had burned with such passion and which he had imagined was gone forever.

  Keen said suddenly, “It breaks a confidence, sir, but, like you, I cannot bear to see Allday in the doldrums.”

  “You know something, Val?”

  Keen sat on a chair. Half of him needed to be on deck, but Paget could deal with most things now. The other half wanted to be here, with this one man who had risked so much for his happiness and had shown no regrets for it.

  “My cox’n told me, sir. Old Hogg is a solid fellow and cares for little in this world but himself and, I believe, for me. Also Allday confides in him occasionally.” Water laced the stern windows and Bolitho tried not to think of Inch being swayed down into a lively boat for the crossing. A sudden shock could kill a man in his condition.

  Keen said, “It seems that young Bankart believed Allday would soon quit the sea after being wounded so badly at San Felipe. He had learned of his life in Falmouth with you, sir, of his security there. He wanted to share it. He had had enough of farm work, and a life at sea didn’t appear to satisfy him even though he is a volunteer.” He watched Bolitho’s profile and asked, “Can we be certain that Bankart is his son, sir?”

  Bolitho smiled. “If you had known Allday when he first came aboard my ship, Phalarope, that was twenty years ago, remember, you’d not need to ask. He is exactly like him, in looks anyway.”

  Keen stood up as the bell chimed out from the forecastle. “As his captain I shall deal with it, sir. It might be better if he is discharged when we reach England.”

  They stared at each other, startled by the word. England.

  Bolitho looked away. It seemed likely they might never see green fields again.

  “I shall speak to Allday myself, Val. A troubled man is often the first to fall in battle.”

  Keen raised his head to listen to the sounds on deck.

  He said, “You brought the squadron together today, sir. I watched the others and saw the pride coming back to them.”

  Bolitho shrugged. “I should have been with them, with Inch. But recriminations will not give him back an arm.”

  He heard a sudden wave of cheering and said, “We’ll go on deck. This will be an ordeal for Inch.”

  Keen hurried beside him. “I’ll tell Mr Paget to stop the hands from doing it!”

  Bolitho shook his head. “No. Let them.”

  On the quarterdeck Bolitho saw Big Harry Rooke, the boatswain, supervising the tackle on a chair to sway Inch’s cot over the side. Across the water the listing Helicon was pitching heavily in the swell, her gangway lined with tiny faces as they watched the slow-moving boat which approached the flagship with such care. Bolitho adjusted his swordbelt and tugged his hat down over his forehead.

  Another familiar face, broken with pain. Another of the Happy Few, who even if he defied death would never be the same again.

  Paget looked at his superiors. “Ready, sir.”

  Bolitho stepped forward, “Man the side, if you please.” He walked to the entry port and leaned out to watch the approaching boat. He did not hold on, and knew the risk he took for such a small gesture.

  He heard the Royal Marines guard picking up their dressing from Sergeant Blackburn, the hiss of steel as Captain Bouteiller drew his spadroon.

  He saw the boatswain’s mates moistening their silver calls on their tongues while the tackle took the strain and all cheering stopped dead.

  Keen looked at Bolitho, framed against the heavy swell. He knew what this moment was costing him. But Keen’s voice was steady as he called, “Stand by on deck!” He saw Bolitho turn to look at him, their eyes understanding as they had in the cabin. “Prepare to receive Helicon’s captain!”

  After the din of calls and commands, as the cot was manhandled towards the poop, Bolitho took Inch’s hand and said quietly, “Welcome aboard, Captain Inch.”

  Inch tried to grin but looked very pale and suddenly older. He said in a hoarse whisper, “Please let me see my ship.”

  They carried him to the gangway and Tuson himself cradled Inch’s shoulders so that he could look at the distant seventy-four with her pathetic scraps of sail.

  Inch said slowly, “I’ll not see that old lady again.”

  Tuson wanted to look away, surprised that he could still be moved by such men and such moments.

  Bolitho watched as the little procession was swallowed up in the poop and then said, “And we’ll not see his like again, either.”

  He swung away and added bitterly, “Get the ship under way. Signal the squadron to take station on the flag as ordered.”

  If anything, Keen thought, Inch’s presence aboard would be a reminder and a warning to them all.

  On the larboard side of Argonaute’s orlop deck, in the tiny berth which he shared with Mannoch, the sailmaker, Allday moved a flickering lantern closer to his handiwork. Allday was big and powerfully built, and his fists made a cutlass look like a midshipman’s dirk, but the model which he had half completed was as delicate as it was perfect. Wood, bone, even human hairs had been used to fashion it, but Allday was ever critical of his work. He had made models of every ship in which he had served with Bolitho, and on occasions he had produced more than one.

  He cradled the little ship in one palm and turned it slowly before the lantern. It was a seventy-four, and he grunted with grudging approval as the ship it represented quivered and murmured around him.

  Down on the orlop, which never saw the light of day, the air was always thick. In the small berth it was still heavy from the sailmaker’s rum. He was a marvel at his work and could run up a sail or a suit of clothes with equal skill. But he loved his tot and was known by his crew as Old Grog Mannoch.

  Allday shifted his buttocks on his hard sea-chest and thought of Bolitho, two decks above his head. It had been painful to watch him when the bandages had first come off; now it was hard to tell the extent of his injury and he rarely mentioned it any more. He heard Tuson laugh, and his assistant Carcaud say something in return. The sickbay was just a few yards away on the opposite side. A place to avoid at all costs. T
hey were playing chess by the sound of it. Inch had been given an empty cabin elsewhere. The air down on the orlop could kill a man in his state, Allday decided.

  He recalled the girl as he had last seen her with her shorn hair and borrowed clothes. There had been a nasty moment when they had headed for the Falmouth packet at Malta: one of the guard-boats had passed almost directly alongside. He had threatened his boat’s crew with a quilting if one of them had said a word about it. Some of them had not even noticed. One midshipman was much like another in the dark.

  It had made Allday think seriously about getting married himself. He grinned silently. Who would want an old bugger like me?

  There was a tap on the narrow door and he looked up, surprised to see Bankart looking at him.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to talk a spell, if it’s all right?”

  Allday shifted along the chest to make room. “What about?”

  He looked at the youngster’s features and remembered his mother. A clean, fresh girl. He had even thought of wedding her at the time. There had been so many of them, different faces, in many ports. The landlord’s daughter of the inn near Bolitho’s home was the only one who still held a firm place in his thoughts. He had thought her too young, but after what had happened to Captain Keen, well, you never know.

  Bankart blurted out, “I don’t want bad blood between us.” He would not look at him. Like Allday, he was stubborn, and surprised that he had come to this place at all.

  “Spit it out then.” Allday watched him sternly. “An’ no lies.”

  Bankart doubled his fists. “You may be me father, but—”

  Allday nodded. “I know. I’m not used to it. Sorry, son.”

  The youth stared at him. “Son,” he repeated quietly.

  Then he said, “You was right about me. I wanted to get ashore, to come to where you was.” He looked at him, his eyes bright. “I wanted a ’ome, a real one.” He shook his head despairingly. “No, don’t stop me or I’ll never get it out. I wanted it ’cause I was sick of bein’ chased an’ cheated. I’d always sort of looked up to you, ’cause of what me Mum said an’ told me ’bout you. I joined up as a volunteer ’cause it seemed the proper thing to do, like you, y’see?”