Flag Captain

by Kent, Alexander

  They left the house before dusk, but by the time they had crossed the river at a small ford, well clear of Falmouth, it was getting dark rapidly. But Bolitho knew the countryside like the back of his hand, and with Allday trotting uncomfortably behind him kept up a good pace until he had found the narrow twisting lane which led to Veryan. In places it was very steep, with the trees almost touching overhead, the thick brush alive with squeaks and startled rustlings as they passed by.

  Then a sharp curve and for a few more minutes he saw the edge of the headland itself, with a writhing pattern of surf far below where the rocks lay like black teeth at the foot of the high cliffs.

  Allday gasped, “My God, Captain, this horse has no respect for my rump!”

  “Hold your noise, damn you!” Bolitho reined his horse at the top of yet another steep slope and strained his eyes towards a darker line of tangled bushes.

  The cliff edge had moved inwards again and probably came to within yards of the bushes. Beyond he could see the sea shining dully in the gloom, flat and unruffled, like pewter. But the bay was in deeper shadow, there might not be a ship there at all. Equally there could be half a dozen.

  He shivered slightly and was glad he had allowed Mrs. Ferguson to have her way over the boat-cloak. It was cold up here, and the air felt damp. There would be another sea mist in before dawn.

  He heard Allday breathing heavily beside him and said, “Not much farther now. The inn is about half a mile from here.”

  Allday grunted. “I don’t like it, Captain.”

  “You do not have to like it.” Bolitho looked at him. He had told Allday the bones of what was happening and nothing more. Just enough to clear himself if anything went wrong. “Surely you’ve not forgotten . . .”

  He broke off and gripped his arm. “What was that?”

  Allday stood up on his stirrups. “A hare maybe?”

  The shout, when it came, was with the suddenness of a shot.

  “Keep still and raise yer ’ands in the air where we can see ’em!”

  Allday groped for his cutlass. “By God, it’s a bloody ambush!”

  “Belay that, Allday!” Bolitho wheeled his horse against him and knocked his hand away from the weapon. “It is what I expected, man.”

  The voice said, “Easy, Cap’n! We don’t want to cut you down but . . .”

  Another voice, more insistent and hard with tension, snapped, “We can do without wasting time, just you go an’ disarm ’em, and lively with it!”

  There seemed to be about three men, Bolitho thought. He watched as a shadowy figure reached up to relieve Allday of his cutlass, and heard the clatter of steel as it fell in the lane.

  Another man materialised out of the darkness right beside him and said, “An’ you, sir. You’ll have pistols with you?”

  Bolitho handed them down with the hanger and said coldly, “I was told that some sort of trust was needed. I did not know it was to be one-sided.”

  The man faltered. “We’re takin’ a great risk, Cap’n. You might have brung the militia with you.” He sounded frightened.

  The man who had not shown himself shouted, “Take the horses and lead ’em.” A pause and then, “I’ll be astern. One wrong tack and I will fire, no matter the rights an’ wrongs of the argument.”

  Allday said between his teeth, “I’ll spit him, the bugger, for talking like that!”

  Bolitho remained silent, allowing the horse to jog along with the man walking at its head. It was no more than he had anticipated. Nobody but a fool would arrange a meeting without taking these elementary precautions. They had probably been followed for the last few miles, the horses’ hoofbeats would have drowned most of the noise.

  A single light appeared round the bend in the lane and he saw the pale outline of the inn. A small, untidy building, added to and altered over the years without much idea of beauty, he thought vaguely.

  There was no moon and the stars looked very small. It was colder too, and he knew that the sea was not far away now, perhaps half a mile to the foot of the cliffs by way of a rugged and dangerous path. No wonder the inn was considered safe for smugglers.

  “Dismount.”

  Two more figures moved from the building and he saw the glint of metal as he swung himself from the saddle.

  “Follow me.”

  It was only a lantern burning inside the low-beamed parlour, but after the dark lane it seemed like a beacon. The room smelt of ale and tobacco, bacon and dirt.

  The innkeeper stepped into the lamplight, wiping his hands on a long, filthy apron. He was exactly as Allday had described, with one eye veering away as if trying to burst out of its socket.

  He said in a thin, wheedling tone, “None o’ my doin’, sir. I wants you to remember that I had no part in all this.” He trained his good eye on Bolitho and added, “I knew your father, sir, a fine man . . .”

  The voice barked, “Hold your damn noise! I’ll leave you hanging on your bloody rafters if you don’t stow your whining!”

  Bolitho turned slowly as the innkeeper cringed into the shadows. The speaker was about thirty, ruddy faced but lacking the toughness expected of a seaman. His clothes were quite good. A plain blue coat and a shirt which had been recently washed. His face was intelligent but hard. A man who became angry very easily, Bolitho decided.

  “I do not see Taylor here.”

  The man, obviously the leader, said coldly, “He is with the boat.”

  Bolitho looked at the others. There were four of them, and probably two more outside. All seamen, they were ill at ease and watching their spokesman with a mixture of anxiety and resignation.

  “You will be seated, Captain. I have sent for some ale.” He lifted his lip in a sneer. “But perhaps someone of your standing would prefer brandy, eh?”

  Bolitho eyed him calmly. The man was trying to provoke him.

  “The ale will be very welcome.” He opened his cloak and dropped it on a chair. “You must be the chosen delegate? ”

  “I am.” He watched with mounting irritation as the innkeeper shuffled to the table with some tankards and a brimming earthenware jug of ale. “You wait in your kitchen!”

  In a more level tone he continued, “Now, Captain, have you decided to accept our terms?”

  “I was not aware that any had been agreed upon.” Bolitho lifted a tankard and noticed with relief that his hand was still steady. “You have taken a King’s ship. That is an act of mutiny as well as one of treason if you persist with the rest of your plan.”

  Strangely, the man seemed more satisfied than angry. He looked at the others and said, “You see, lads! There’s no bargaining with the likes of him. You should have listened to me in the first place instead of wasting time.”

  A grizzled petty officer replied quickly, “Easy! Mebbe if you was to tell ’im the other things like we agreed?”

  “You’re a fool!” He turned back to Bolitho. “I knew this would happen. The lads at Spithead won their cause because they stood together. Next time there’ll be no damn promises strong enough to break us!”

  The petty officer said gruffly, “Would you look at this book, sir.” He pushed it over the table, his eyes on Bolitho’s face. “I bin at sea man an’ boy for thirty years. I’ve never bin in anything like this afore, an’ that’s God’s truth, sir.”

  “You’ll hang just the same, you fool!” The spokesman eyed him with contempt. “But show him if it makes you feel better.”

  Bolitho opened the canvas-covered book and leafed past the first few pages. It was the frigate’s punishment book, and as he ran his eyes down the neatly written records he felt the revulsion twisting his stomach like fever.

  None of these men could have known the effect it would have on him. They were merely trying to show him what they had suffered. But in the past Bolitho had always inspected the punishment book of any ship of which he had just taken command. He believed it gave a better picture of her previous commander than any other testimony.

  He could feel
them watching him, sense the tension surrounding him like a physical thing.

  Most of the offences listed were trivial and fairly typical. Disorderly behaviour, disobedience, carelessness and insolence. Many of them he knew from experience would mean little more than ignorance on the part of the man involved.

  But the punishments were savage. In one week alone, while the Auriga had been patrolling off Le Havre, her captain had awarded a total of one thousand lashes. Two men had been flogged twice in the same period, one of whom had died under the lash.

  He shut the book and looked up. There were so many questions he wanted to ask. Why the first lieutenant had done nothing to prevent such brutality? He checked the thought instantly. What would Keverne have done in the past if his own captain had ordered such punishment? The realisation made him suddenly angry. He had seen often enough the way men looked at him when things went wrong, as they often did in the complex matters of working a ship-of-the-line. Sometimes it amounted to real terror, and it never failed to sicken him. A captain, any captain, was second only to God as far as his men were concerned. A superior being who could encourage advancement with one hand and order the most vicious punishment with the other. To think that some captains, the Auriga’s amongst them, could abuse such power was nothing but abhorrent to him.

  He said slowly, “I would like to come aboard and speak with your captain.” As several of them started to speak at once he added, “Otherwise I can do nothing.”

  The chief delegate said, “You may have fooled the others, but I can see through your deception well enough.” He gestured angrily. “First a show of sympathy, and the next thing we’ll know is the gibbet on some sea wall where every passing sailor can see what value there is in trusting the word of an officer!”

  Allday gave a savage oath and half rose to his feet, but looked helplessly at Bolitho as he said, “Rest easy, Allday. When a man thinks that righting a wrong is a waste of time, there is little point in argument.”

  One of the seamen said thickly, “Aye, what’s wrong in the cap’n comin’ aboard? If ’e breaks ’is faith with us we can take ’im along as ’ostage.”

  There was a murmur of agreement, and for an instant Bolitho saw the leader caught off guard.

  He decided to make another move. “If on the other hand you had no intention of seeking justice, and merely wanted an excuse to hand your ship to the enemy, ” he let his voice drag over the word, “then I should warn you that I have already made certain arrangements to forestall you.”

  “He’s bluffing!” But the man’s voice was less assured now. “There’s no ship within miles of us here!”

  “There will be another mist at dawn.” He thrust his hands under the table knowing they were quivering with excitement or worse. “You will be unable to make sail before the forenoon. I know this bay well and it is too dangerous.” He hardened his tone. “Especially without the help of your officers.”

  The petty officer muttered, “’E’s right, Tom.” He craned forward. “Why not do like ’e says? We got nowt to lose by listenin’.”

  Bolitho studied the leader thoughtfully. His name was Tom. It was a beginning.

  “Damn your eyes, the lot of you!” The man was flushed with sudden anger. “A batch of delegates, are you? More like a pack of old women!”

  The anger calmed as suddenly as before, and Bolitho was reminded of Keverne.

  He said harshly, “Right then, so be it.” He gestured to the old petty officer. “You will remain here with one lookout.” He glanced at Allday, his eyes hostile. “And you can keep this lackey as hostage. If we make the signal I want him dead. If there’s some sort of attack we will kill the pair of them and hang them beside our own precious lord and bloody master, right?”

  The petty officer flinched but nodded in agreement.

  Bolitho looked at Allday’s grim features and forced a smile. “You wanted a rest and a tankard. You have both.” Then he rested his hand briefly on his shoulder. He could almost feel the man’s tension and anger beneath it. “It will be all right.” He tried to give value to his words. “We are not fighting the enemy.”

  “We shall see!” The man named Tom opened the door and made a mock bow. “Now walk in front of me and mind your manners. I’ll not pipe my eye if I have to cut you down here and now!”

  Bolitho strode into the darkness without answering. The night was still before them, but there was a lot to do before dawn if there was to be any hope of success. As he hurried down the steep track his mind returned to the punishment book. It was surprising that men driven and provoked by such inhumanity had bothered to try to seek justice by channels they only barely understood. It was more surprising still that the mutiny had not broken out months earlier. The realisation helped to encourage him, although he knew it was little enough to sustain anything.

  3 SALUTE THE FLAG

  “BOAT AHOY !” The challenge seemed to come from nowhere.

  A man in the bows cupped his hands and replied, “The delegates!”

  Bolitho tensed on the thwart as the anchored frigate suddenly grew out of the darkness, the crossed yards and gently spiralling masts black against the stars. While the jolly boat manoeuvred alongside he noted the carefully spread boarding nets above the ship’s gangway, the dark clusters of figures crowding around the entry port. He could feel his heart racing, and wondered if his own apprehension was matched by the waiting mutineers’.

  A hand thrust at his shoulder. “Up you go.”

  As he swung himself up through the port, a lantern was unshuttered, the yellow beam playing across his epaulettes while the press of seamen pushed closer to see him.

  A man said, “’E came then.”

  Then Taylor’s voice, brittle and urgent. “Stand aside, mates. There’s work to be done.”

  Bolitho stood in silence as the head delegate whispered further instructions to the watch on deck. The ship seemed under control, with no sign of argument or drunkenness as might be expected. Two of the guns were run out, and he guessed they were loaded with grape, just in case some suspicious patrol boat came too close for safety.

  A petty officer stood watch on the quarterdeck, but there was no officer in view. Nor were there any marines.

  The man named Tom said sharply, “We’ll go aft and you can meet the cap’n.” It was impossible to see his expression. “But no tricks.”

  Bolitho walked aft and ducked beneath the poop. In spite of serving in two ships-of-the-line in succession, he had never gotten used to their spacious headroom. Perhaps, even after all this time, he still yearned for the independence and dash of a frigate.

  Two armed seamen watched his approach, and after a further hesitation shuffled their feet to attention.

  “That’s right, lads, show some respect, eh?” The delegate was enjoying himself.

  He threw open the cabin door and followed Bolitho inside. It was well lit by three swaying lanterns, but the stern windows were shuttered, and the air was moist, even humid. A seaman, armed with a musket, was leaning against the bulkhead, and seated on the bench seat beneath the stern windows was the Auriga’s captain.

  He was fairly young, about twenty-six, Bolitho imagined, with the single epaulette on his right shoulder to indicate he held less than three years’ seniority as captain. He had sharp, finely defined features, but his eyes were set close together so that his nose seemed out of proportion. He stared at Bolitho for several seconds and then jumped to his feet.

  The delegate said quickly, “This is Captain Bolitho.” He waited as the emotions changed on the other man’s face. “He is alone. No grand force of bullocks to save you, I’m afraid.”

  Bolitho removed his hat and placed it on the table. “You are Captain Brice? Then I shall tell you at once that I am here without authority other than my own.”

  Briefly he saw something like shock in the other man’s eyes before a shutter fell and he became composed again. Composed yet watchful, like a wary animal.

  Brice replied, “My offi
cers are under guard. The marines have not yet joined the ship. They were due to be sent direct from Plymouth.” He darted a look at the delegate. “Otherwise Mr Gates here would be singing a different tune, damn his eyes!”

  The delegate said quietly, “Now, sir, none of that, please. I’d have you dancing at the gratings right now if I had my way! But there’ll be time enough for that later, eh?”

  Bolitho said, “I should like to talk with Captain Brice alone.”

  He waited, expecting an argument, but the delegate replied calmly, “Suit yourself. It’ll do no good, and you know it.” He left the cabin with the armed seaman, slamming the door and whistling indifferently as he went.

  Brice opened his mouth to speak but Bolitho said shortly, “There is little time, so I will be as brief as I can. This is a very serious matter, and if your ship is handed to the enemy there is no saying what repercussions may result. I have nothing to bargain with, and little to offer to ensure these men are brought back under command.”

  The other man stared at him. “But, sir, are you not the flag captain? One show of force, a full-scale attack, and these scum would soon lose the heart for mutiny!”

  Bolitho shook his head. “The new squadron has not been formed as yet. Every ship is elsewhere, or too far to be any use. My own is at Falmouth. She could be on the moon for all the help she can be to you.” He hardened his voice. “I have heard some of the grievances and I can find little if any sympathy for your personal position.”

  If he had struck Brice the effect could not have been more startling. He jumped to his feet, his thin mouth working with anger.

  “That is a damnable thing to say! I have worked this ship to the best of my ability, and I have a record of prizes to prove it. I have been plagued with the scum of the gutters, and officers either too young or too lazy to enforce anything like the standard I expect.”