Bolitho kept his face impassive. “Except for your senior, I understand?”
Before Brice could reply he rapped, “And kindly sit down! When you address me you will keep a civil tongue in your head!” He was shouting and the fact surprised him. It must be infectious, he thought. But his sudden display of anger seemed to have had the right effect.
Brice sank on to the seat and said heavily, “My first lieutenant is a good officer, sir. A firm man, but that . . .”
Bolitho finished it for him. “That is what you expect, eh?”
Beyond the bulkhead some voices were raised in argument and then died away just as quickly.
He added, “Your behaviour, were you now in port, would make you eligible for court-martial.” He saw the shot go home. The sudden clenching of Brice’s fingers. “Surely after the affair at Spithead you should have taken some heed of their requirements? Good God, man, they deserve justice if nothing else.”
Brice regarded him angrily. “They got what they deserved.”
Bolitho recalled Taylor’s words. An unhappy ship. It was not difficult to imagine the hell this man must have made her.
“Then I cannot help you.”
Brice’s eyes gleamed with sudden malice. “They’ll never allow you to leave the ship now!”
“Perhaps not.” Bolitho stood up and walked to the opposite side. “But there will be a mist in the bay at dawn. When it clears your ship will be facing something more than words and threats. I have no doubt that your people will fight no matter what the odds, for by then it will be too late for second thoughts, too late for compromise.”
Brice said, “I hope I see them die!”
“I doubt that, Captain. In afterlife maybe. For you and I will be dangling high enough for the best view of all.”
“They wouldn’t dare! ” But Brice sounded less sure now.
“Would they not?” Bolitho leaned across the table until they were only two feet apart. “You have tormented them beyond all reason, have acted more like a demented fiend than a King’s officer.” He reached out and tore the epaulette from Brice’s shoulder and threw it on the table, his face stiff with anger. “How dare you talk of what they can or cannot do under such handling? Were you one of my officers I would have had you broken long before you could bring disgrace to the commission entrusted to you!” He stood back, his heart pumping against his ribs. “Make no mistake, Captain Brice, if your ship does escape to be given to the enemy, you were better dead anyway. The shame will otherwise grip you tighter than any damned halter, believe me!”
Brice stared round the cabin and then let his eyes rest on the discarded epaulette. He seemed shocked, even stunned, by Bolitho’s attack.
Bolitho added in a calmer tone, “You cannot kill a man’s need to be free, don’t you understand that? Freedom is hard to win, harder still to hold, but these men of yours, confused and ignorant perhaps, they all understand what liberty means.” He had no idea if his words were having any effect. The voices on deck were getting louder again and he felt a growing sense of despair. He continued, “All seamen realise that once in the King’s service their lot is as good or as bad as their commanders will allow. But you cannot ask or expect them to fight or give of their best when their own treatment is unnecessarily wretched.”
Brice looked at his hands. They were trembling badly. He said thickly, “They mutinied. Against me, and my authority.”
“Your authority is nearly done.” Bolitho watched him gravely. “Because of you I have put my coxswain in jeopardy. But you have sacrificed far more than our lives, and I am only sad that you will not live long enough to see what you have done.”
The door banged open and the man Gates stepped into the cabin, his hands on his hips.
“All done, gentlemen?” He was smiling.
Bolitho faced him, aware of the dryness in his throat, the sudden silence in the airless cabin.
“Thank you, yes.” He did not look at Brice as he continued evenly, “Your captain has agreed to place himself under open arrest and await my orders. If you release the ship’s officers immediately . . .”
Gates stared at him. “What did you say?”
Bolitho tensed, expecting Brice to shout abuse or demand the immediate withdrawal of his promise. But he said nothing, and when he turned his head he saw that Brice was staring at the deck, as if in a state of collapse.
The master’s mate, Taylor, pushed through the other men and shouted wildly, “D’you see, lads? What did I tell you?” He stared at Bolitho, his eyes misty with relief. “God, Cap’n, you’ll never regret this!”
Gates interrupted hoarsely, “You fools! You blind, ignorant madmen!” Then he looked at Bolitho. “Tell ’em the rest!”
Bolitho met his stare. “The rest? There has been an unlawful disobedience of orders. Under the given circumstances I believe that justice will be reasonable. However,” he looked at the watching seamen by the door, “it will not be entirely overlooked.”
Gates said, “The rope never overlooks anyone, does it?”
Taylor was the first to break the sudden stillness. “What chance do we ’ave, Cap’n?” He squared his shoulders. “We’re not as blind as some think. We know what we done was wrong, but if there’s some ’ope for us, then . . .”
His voice trailed away into silence again.
Bolitho replied quietly, “I will speak with Sir Charles Thelwall. He is a humane and generous officer, that I will vouch for. He will no doubt think, as I do, that what has happened is bad. But what might have occurred, far worse.” He shrugged. “I can say no more than that.”
Gates glared around him. “Well, lads, are you still with me?”
Taylor looked at the others. “We’ll ’ave a parley. But I’m for takin’ Cap’n Bolitho’s word as it stands.” He rubbed his mouth. “I’ve worked all me life to get as far as I ’ave, an’ no doubt I’ll lose what I’ve gained. I’ll most likely taste the cat, but it won’t be the first time. Rather all that than live in misery. An’ I don’t fancy spendin’ the rest o’ me days in some Frog town or ’idin’ whenever I sees a uniform.” He turned to the door. “A parley, lads.”
Gates watched them file out and then said quietly, “If they agree to your empty promises, Captain Bolitho, then I’ll first take his confession down in writing.”
Bolitho shook his head. “You can give your evidence at the court-martial.”
“Me?” Gates laughed. “I’ll not be aboard when these fools are taken!” He twisted round to listen to the babble of voices. “I will be back.” Then he left the cabin.
Brice breathed out slowly. “That was a terrible risk. They might still not believe you.”
“We can only hope.” Bolitho sat down. “And I trust that you believe it also. That was no mere threat to deceive either them or you.”
He glanced at the door, trying not to show his uncertainty. “That man Gates seems to know a great deal.”
“He was my clerk.” Brice sounded lost in thought. “I caught him stealing spirits and had him flogged. By God, if I ever get my hands on him . . .” He did not continue.
The cabin lanterns swayed in unison and settled at a steeper angle. Bolitho cocked his head to listen. There was more breeze, so the mist might not come after all. Perverse as ever, the Cornish weather was always ready to make a man a liar.
The door banged open and Taylor entered the cabin. “We’ve decided, sir.” He ignored Brice. “We agree.”
Bolitho stood up and tried to hide his relief. “Thank you.” A boat thudded against the hull and he heard orders being shouted to the oarsmen.
Taylor added, “They’ve gone for the others, sir, an’ yer cox’n.” He dropped his eyes. “Gates ’as run.”
More voices, and three lieutenants, dishevelled and apprehensive, stepped into the cabin. Two were very young, the third, tall and tight-lipped, was obviously the first lieutenant, the one Taylor had described as taken with abusing the people, having them flogged at the slightest pretext. He thou
ght of Keverne and was suddenly grateful.
The lieutenant said harshly, “I am Massie, sir, the senior.”
He glanced enquiringly at Brice but stiffened as Bolitho said, “You will place yourself under open arrest.” He added sharply, “For your own good at present.”
He looked at the other officers. “How is the wind?”
“Freshening, sir. From the sou’ west.” The young lieutenant sounded dazed.
“Very well. Inform the master that we will be raising the anchor as soon as the boat returns. If we are to reach Falmouth before morning we must beat well clear of the bay.” He forced a smile. “I’d not wish to have the Auriga piled on Gull Rock for all to see!”
On deck it seemed cleaner, the air less threatening. An illusion again, but with good reason, Bolitho thought.
He found the frigate’s sailing master listening to the lieutenant with silent disbelief.
Bolitho said calmly, “I will take the responsibility.” In a quieter tone he added, “Far better to take a small risk than to leave your people with too much time on their hands.” Inwardly he thought, also it is better to make sail in darkness than to confront the Euryalus’s broadsides at first light.
When the boat came alongside again he saw Allday scrambling through the entry port, his head turning in all directions as if to take on the whole ship single-handed.
He found Bolitho and said thickly. “By the Lord, Captain, I never expected this!” The admiration was only overshadowed by his obvious concern.
Bolitho looked at him and grinned. “I am sorry to have placed you in danger.”
The big coxswain waited until some scurrying seamen had run past. “I was just about to leave the inn, Captain, and try my luck again on that damned horse. I might have been able to reach Falmouth in time to raise the alarm.”
Bolitho frowned. “What of your guards?”
Allday shrugged and then pulled up the leg of his trousers. Even in the gloom it was possible to see the small double-barrelled pistol protruding from his stocking.
“I reckon I could have laid those two beauties to rest without too much sweat!”
“You will never fail to amaze me, Allday.” Bolitho stared at him. “So you had a plan all of your own, eh?”
“Not all my own. Bryan Ferguson gave me the pistol before we left. He bought it off one of the Falmouth Packet officers.” He breathed out noisily. “I’d not be wanting to leave it all to you, Captain.” He peered around the quarterdeck. “Not amongst bloody hounds like these!”
Bolitho turned away, his mind dwelling on Allday’s simple loyalty. He wanted to find the right words, something which might convey just how much it meant to him at this moment of time.
“Thank you, Allday. That was reckless but extremely far-sighted of you.”
Why could he never find the words when he needed them? And why was Allday grinning almost enough to split his face in two?
Allday said, “Strike me blind, Captain, you are a cool one, and there’s no mistake. We might both be dead, an’ instead here we are as safe as the Tower of London.” He rubbed his buttocks. “Also, we return to Falmouth as sailors should, and not on some bony, misbegotten animal.”
Bolitho gripped his thick forearm. “I am glad you are satisfied.”
A lieutenant crossed the deck and touched his hat. “Capstan manned and boat hoisted, sir.”
“Very good.” He felt suddenly light-headed. Perhaps he had not, after all, realised just how close he had been to disaster. Allday had understood and had been prepared in his own way. But suppose Brice had refused to submit, or Gates had held his grip on the other men? He dismissed it from his thoughts. That part was over, and he could thank God no one had been injured, let alone killed, in the uprising.
“Tell the master to lay a course to clear the foreland, if you please. We will run to the sou’ east until we have the sea room to go about.”
The young officer stood quite still, his eyes filling his face in the darkness.
Bolitho added gently, “Your name is Laker, am I right?” He saw him nod. “Well, Mr Laker, just imagine that both of your seniors had been killed in action.” Another nod. “It is your quarterdeck for the moment, and it would be well for your people to see you taking control right away. Trust is like gold, it must be earned to be of any true value.”
The youngster said quietly, “Thank you, sir.” Then he walked away, and seconds later the capstan began to clank round to the accompaniment of a half-hearted shanty.
Bolitho walked slowly aft and stood near the wheel. He would be ready, in case the frigate drove too close inshore. But if the Auriga had any hope of regaining her place in affairs, she had to begin here and now, with her own hands in command.
It was as if Allday was reading his mind.
He said softly, “Reminds me of when we were in the old Phalarope, Captain.” He glanced up as the sails cracked and stirred in readiness for the next order. “It took a long, long time before we got our good name back!”
Bolitho nodded. “I remember.”
“Loose the heads’ls!”
Feet scampered across the tilting decks, and from forward came the steady clank of the capstan as the men trudged around it.
“Anchors aweigh there!”
The dark land mass swam slowly across the quarter as the frigate tore free of the ground and paid off into the gentle wind.
Bolitho thought momentarily of Brice down there in his cabin, feeling his ship come alive, with voices other than his own calling the commands. How would I feel under such circumstances? He shuddered and then pushed Brice from his mind.
If the same circumstances ever did arise, then, like Brice, he would deserve it, he thought firmly.
“Steady as you go!”
“Nor’ west by west, sir!” The big wheel squeaked as the Auriga glided slowly towards the land.
Bolitho stayed by the weather rail watching the town in the brittle morning sunlight. The Euryalus was swinging almost bows on towards the approaching frigate, her topgallant yards gold in the pale glare, the fierce-eyed figurehead bright against the spray-dappled hull.
He looked around the busy activity on the frigate’s main deck, the first time he had seen her in daylight. Brice must have been mean as well as a tyrant. The paintwork was faded and flaking, and the seamen were dressed mostly in ragged scraps of clothing and appeared for the most part half starved. Several of them, without shirts as they worked about the deck, had backs so scarred that they looked as if they had been mauled by some crazed beast.
Forward, the anchor party stood watching the outspreading arms of the bay, the town of Falmouth beyond, still in the morning shadow. A guardboat idled above her own reflection, a blue flag at the masthead to indicate where the incoming frigate was to drop anchor. Both the young lieutenants and the ship’s master were concentrating on the last two cables, and Bolitho said quietly, “You had better pass the word to your gunner to prepare a salute, Mr Laker. With all else on your mind it would be a shame to forget that a rear-admiral demands a salute of thirteen guns.”
The lieutenant looked startled and then gave a shy grin. “I had not forgotten, sir, although I was not expecting you to test me.” He pointed across the nettings. “But as you well know, sir, it will require fifteen guns.” He was still smiling as he hurried back to join the master by the wheel.
Bolitho walked to the nettings and climbed up on to a bollard. It could not be. The lieutenant had to be deceived by a trick of the light, or the fact that Euryalus was swinging her bows towards them.
He jumped back to the deck and saw Allday watching him. There was no error. The flag which now lifted in the sunlight flew from the three-decker’s foremast.
Allday said quietly, “So he’s arrived, Captain?”
While the Auriga moved slowly towards the anchorage, the salute banging out at regular five-second intervals, Bolitho made himself walk back and forth along the weather side of the quarterdeck. Glasses would be trained on the friga
te, he must be seen to be both safe and in control. It seemed to take an age for those last moments to drag by. Moments in which he wondered what had happened to Rear-Admiral Thelwall, and what Broughton would think of his actions. When he looked again he saw the Euryalus swinging across the bowsprit as the frigate went about, and with canvas cracking and slapping against the yards turned easily into the wind. The anchor had barely dropped into the water when Bolitho heard another sound, growing in the clear air like a roll of great drums. As he swung round and ran to the side he saw, with something like sick horror, the three rows of gun ports along the Euryalus’s side opening together, and as if guided by a single hand, the whole triple array of black muzzles running out into the sunlight.
The lieutenant murmured, “My God!”
Taylor ran aft, pointing dazedly. “Boats comin’, sir!”
There were nearly a dozen of them. Cutters and launches, all crammed with marines, their coats shining like blood as they sat motionless between the busy oars.
Some of the seamen seemed unable to drag their eyes from the Euryalus’s massive armament, as if they expected every gun to open fire. A few remained staring at the quarterdeck, watching Bolitho, perhaps hoping to read their own fate on his face.
The leading boat rounded the frigate’s quarter, shielded from the flagship’s guns, and headed towards the entry port. Captain Rook was in the sternsheets, and as he drew alongside he looked up and shouted, “Are you safe, sir?”
Allday muttered, “Bloody fool!” But Bolitho did not hear.
He looked down at Rook’s red face and replied, “Of course.” He hoped the seamen nearby would hear him. They would need all their trust in the next few moments.
Rook clambered up to the deck and touched his hat.
“We were worried, sir, very worried indeed.” He saw the two lieutenants watching him and shouted, “Hand your swords to the lieutenant of marines immediately!”
Bolitho snapped, “By whose order?”
“I beg pardon, sir,” Rook looked uncomfortable. “By order of Vice-Admiral Sir Lucius Broughton.” He turned as more boats grappled alongside and the gangway suddenly came alive with grimfaced marines, their muskets and fixed bayonets trained on the crowded main deck.
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