The Flag Captain

18. the Trap

Allday opened the cabin door and announced, “Mr Midshipman Pascoe, Captain!” In spite of the attempted formality his face was breaking into a great grin of pleasure.

It was late evening, and but for a brief encounter when the boy had clambered hurriedly from the boat, he had not been able to speak with him. It had been a strange meeting. He had seen Pascoe’s face changing from excitement to caution, a sort of reserved shyness, as he had removed his hat and said, “Coming aboard to join, sir.”

Bolitho had been equally formal, aware of Keverne and the others nearby watching the unexpected reunion.

He had said awkwardly, “Mr Keverne will give you your duties. You are to take the position of acting sixth lieutenant. I am sure Mr Keverne will be able to equip you with the necessary clothing and anything else you might need…” He had broken off as a battered midshipman’s chest had been hauled unceremoniously from the boat alongside. It was then that he had fully realised the importance of that moment in time.

Pascoe had said quietly, “I thought you might wish me to transfer to your ship, sir.” He’d paused. “I hoped. So I was ready…”

Now, as Allday closed the door to leave them together for the first time, he felt the warmth flooding through him, yet was aware of the change which had grown between them.

“Here, Adam, sit down by me.” He gestured to the table which Trute had laid with unusual care. “The food is not too exciting,

but doubtless no worse than you’ve been accustomed to.”

He fumbled with a decanter, aware the whole time of the boy’s eyes watching him. How he had changed. He was taller and looked more confident, more sure of himself. And yet, there was the same dark restlessness, like that of a young colt, which he had remembered since their parting two years ago.

The boy took the glass and said simply, “I have been waiting for this moment.” Then he smiled, and Bolitho was again reminded of those other faces in the portraits at Falmouth. “When Captain Herrick told me you were wounded…”

Bolitho raised his glass. “Let us forget about that. How have you been?” He ushered him to the table, vaguely conscious as always of the deck’s steady vibration and the regular rolls of the hull as the ship plunged in pursuit of Coquette in accordance with Broughton’s orders.

He pulled a steaming dish of beef towards him. It was recently from the cask and was probably already going bad. But in the warm lantern light, and served as it was on the best cabin pewter, it looked almost luxurious. He hesitated, suddenly confused by his inability to use the knife. The realisation both angered and embarrassed him. This was to have been a perfect moment, spared of duties on deck, and for once almost free of pain.

Pascoe reached across the table and took the knife from his hand. For a moment their eyes met and then he said softly, “Let me, Uncle!” He smiled again. “Captain Herrick has trained me to do all manner of things.”

Bolitho watched him as he bent over the plate, the hair, as black as his own, falling rebelliously over his eyes as he sawed busily through the tough meat.

“Thank you, Adam.” He smiled to himself. Seventeen. It was so easy to remember what it had been like as a young midshipman. And Adam was actually enjoying himself. There was neither pity nor deception in his voice as he chatted excitedly about the Impulsive’s part in the mutiny, of Herrick and all the dozens of

things which had changed him from a young boy to a confident replica of his father, and himself.

Bolitho had difficulty in eating the meat even after it had been cut into small pieces for him. But Adam had no such qualms and helped himself again and again from the platter.

Bolitho asked, “How can you keep stuffing yourself and be as thin as a stick?”

Adam eyed him gravely. “A midshipman’s lot is a hard one.”

They both laughed and Bolitho said, “Well, maybe your days in the gunroom are numbered. Once an examination can be arranged, I see no reason why you should not sit for lieutenant.”

The boy dropped his eyes. “I will try not to betray that trust.”

Bolitho watched him for several seconds. This boy could never betray anyone. He was the one who had been wronged. Again he had the pressing feeling that he wanted to do something about it and without more delay. The wound in his shoulder was a warning. The next time might be final.

He said clumsily, “There is a lawyer in Falmouth named Quince.” He hesitated, trying to make his voice sound matter-of-fact. “When we return home I would like you to come with me and see him.”

Pascoe pushed the plate away and wiped his mouth. “Why, Uncle?”

Why? How could so great a question be crammed into one tiny word?

He stood up and walked along the swaying deck towards the windows. Below he could see the frothing wake gleaming like snow in the light of a stern lantern and imagined he could see Valorous following at a discreet distance through the darkness. In the thick glass he saw Pascoe’s reflection as he sat at the table, his chin in his hands. Like a child for these moments of privacy and value which might soon pass.

He said, “I want to be sure that you have the house and property when I am dead, Adam.” He heard the boy gasp and

cursed himself for the crudity of his words. “I know that with luck I will be bothering you for years to come.” He turned and smiled at him. “However, I want to be certain about this thing!”

Pascoe made to rise but Bolitho crossed to the table and laid one hand on his shoulder.

“It would have been yours one day had life been kinder. I intend to see that right is not ignored by others.” He hurried on, unable to stop himself “You do not bear our family name, but you are as much a part of it and of me as would otherwise be possible.” He squeezed his shoulder, seeing the boy wipe his eyes with his hand. “Now away with you to your watch. I’ll not have my officers saying behind my back that I show favour to some upstart nephew!”

Pascoe stood up very slowly and then said quietly, “Captain Herrick was right about you.” He walked from the table, his face hidden until he turned again by the door. “He said you were the finest man he ever met. He also said…” But he could not finish it and almost ran from the cabin.

Bolitho walked to the stern windows and stared unseeingly at the leaping spray. He felt at peace for the first time since… he could not remember when that had been. Perhaps at last he would be able to help the boy. To right some of the wrong which had been done to him. At least he had been spared meeting with Draffen. To hear his hints about Hugh’s implication with slavery would turn the knife in his heart yet again and might damage him to an extent beyond repair.

There was a tap at the door. It was Ashton. “Mr Meheux’s respects, sir.” His eyes wandered to the greasy plates. “He would like to take in another reef. The wind is rising from the nor’ west.”

Bolitho nodded and picked up his hat. The moment of peace was to be laid aside again.

“I will go up directly.” He walked to the door adding, “When I return, I will not think it amiss if the rest of that meat has vanished.” He smiled as he closed the door behind him. It was the same frugal food as was served to the ship’s company. But seated

in the undreamed-of splendour of his captain’s cabin, Ashton would think it a banquet, although what Trute would say was hard to imagine.

The morning watch still had an hour to run when Bolitho strode on to the quarterdeck. Although he had been up and about several times during the night, he felt remarkably fresh, and his shoulder was sore rather than painful. He paused to peer at the swinging compass card. North-east, as it had remained since his last inspection before dawn.

The sky was very clear, with a washed-out look, and in a fresh north-westerly wind the sea stretched in an endless display of small white-horses from horizon to horizon.

As he had sat toying with his breakfast and lingering over his last supply of good coffee he had waited for the call from a lookout or the scamper of feet as someone came to bring a message that Coquette had been sighted. But as daylight strengthened and the deck above his head had echoed to the sluice of water and swabs, with all the usual chatter between the seamen, he had known there was no ship to see.

Now, as he walked towards the quarterdeck rail, his face impassive to shield his sudden uncertainty, he knew too that he must dissuade Broughton from continuing the chase.

For over seventeen hours since Broughton had sent Coquette in hot pursuit of the captured frigate the squadron had pressed on with every sail set to maximum advantage.

During the night when they had altered course to this present tack there had been several breath-stopping moments as Valorous had surged out of the gloom like a phantom ship bent on smashing into Euryalus’s stern.

He had examined his chart while he had finished the coffee in the private world beyond his cabin bulkhead. They were now some sixty miles due south of Ibiza and still pushing further and further into the Mediterranean. Ironically, Broughton’s

determination to recapture the Auriga had taken them back across the same waters as before, and the ships were now less than eighty miles north by east from Djafou.

Keverne gauged it was time to speak. “Good morning, sir.” He smiled. “Again.”

Bolitho looked past him and saw the Impulsive’s bulging topgallants far out on the lee quarter, pale yellow in the sunlight. Broughton had decreed that she should play a lone role on the squadron’s flank. She was faster than the others, and without a frigate at his disposal, and only the little Restless away on the horizon, Broughton had little choice in his deployment.

He said, “Signal Tanais to make more sail, if you please. She is out of station again.”

Keverne frowned and touched his hat. “Aye, aye, sir.”

Bolitho walked to the weather side and commenced his morning pacing. Tanais was a little to leeward of the line, but hardly sufficient to warrant a signal under their peculiar circumstances. Every ship was doing her best, and the squadron had logged in almost regular seven knots since the last alteration of course. Keverne was probably thinking he had mentioned it merely to remind him of the earlier collision with the two-decker. Imagined perhaps that Bolitho was making an offhand criticism.

His feet moved faster in time with his thoughts. Keverne could think what he liked. There was more than his comfort at stake this morning. On the face of it Broughton’s insistence was fair enough. Coquette and Restless had been off the Spanish coast when the captured frigate had somehow passed between the separated groups of vessels. It was equally possible that Auriga could not regain the Spanish coast without losing her lead and exposing herself to a clash with the pursuers. The prevailing north-west wind, which was so favourable to Broughton’s ships, would soon make short work of Auriga’s advantage. He frowned. It was getting him nowhere. Anyway, that was yesterday, when there had still been some real hope of a capture. But Auriga’s captain may

have had no intention of turning towards Spain or France. Majorca or Port Mahon, further east even to some secret mission all of her own, she might be heading on and on with all the speed her sails could muster.

Perhaps if he had not been so concerned with his own personal affairs, his pleasure at seeing the boy again he might have confronted Broughton earlier. He frowned angrily. Always the perhaps and the maybe.

“Good morning, sir.”

He halted and saw Pascoe watching him from the top of the starboard gangway.

Bolitho relaxed slightly. “How are you settling in?”

The boy nodded. “I have been all over the ship, sir.” He looked suddenly grave. “It is hard to realise that it was here where the French surrendered.” He walked a few paces aft and stared at the damp. “I was thinking of Mr Selby, the master’s mate, who died to save me. I often think about him.”

Bolitho clenched his hand behind him. Would it never end? Always Hugh seemed to be at his shoulder, making mock of his efforts to forget. What would Adam say now, this second, if he knew Selby had been his own father? Perhaps their blood had been so strong that even the deception had been only temporary.

He knew too that the boy’s words had made him realise something else. He was jealous. Jealous because he still remembered a father he had not knowingly seen, and because it was something which could not be shared. Suppose he did discover the truth about Hugh and learn that his identity even at the moment of death had been denied him? At the time it had been vital for his own safety, as it was now for the boy’s future. But would those things seem important to him if he found the truth?

He realised Adam was studying him anxiously. “Is something wrong, sir? Your shoulder?”

Bolitho shook his head. “I am bad company today.” He smiled. “I am glad you still remember Mr Selby.” A lie, or was he being

genuine? “I often find it hard to accept that this is the same ship which cost us so dearly to win.”

Pascoe said quickly, “The admiral is coming, sir.” He walked away as Broughton crossed the deck and gazed bleakly at the horizon.

Bolitho made his customary report and then said, “I think we should put about, sir.” There seemed to be no reaction. “Maybe Gillmor will call her to give battle, but I think we have little to gain by continuing.”

Broughton’s eyes swivelled towards him. “Do you?”

“Yes, sir. Coquette should be able to take the enemy well enough, for all the French company will be new to their ship. Gillmor has already proved himself very capable in ship-to-ship actions.”

“ We will continue!” Broughton’s jaw tightened. “Auriga may try and retrace her course soon, and I want her!”

Bolitho said quietly, “It is like taking a hammer to crack an egg, sir.”

Broughton swung on him violently, his face suddenly livid. “My new orders state that unless I have secured a base to my satisfaction I am to return to the fleet off Cadiz! Do you know what will be said?” He raised his voice. “Do you?” He did not wait for a reply. “It will be put to me that I failed to complete any part of my mission. That I lost contact with the enemy because I allowed Auriga to be taken. My fault, my damned ruin, it is as simple as that!” He saw Meheux watching from the opposite side of the deck and barked, “Tell that officer to find himself some work, or I’ll make him sorry he was born!”

Bolitho said evenly, “Impulsive’s first report of sighting the frigate…”

The admiral interrupted, “Impulsive? In God’s name how do we even know she tried to catch that bloody ship? She was in the Nore mutiny, her captain seems almost proud of the experience, so is it not likely his company hindered the chase? Maybe they saw Auriga as a symbol of their own damn treachery at the Nore!”

“That is unfair, sir!”

“Unfair, is it?” Broughton’s reserve had completely gone and he was oblivious to some seamen working at the guns nearby, their faces screwed tight with expectancy. “I’ll tell you what I think.” He stuck out his chin, his face barely inches from Bolitho’s. “I believe that you have not learned even the first thing about senior command. I know you are popular! Oh yes, I’ve seen the way people like you.” He stared suddenly across the nettings, his eyes empty. “Do you imagine that I never wanted to be admired as well as obeyed? By God, if you ever attain flag rank you will learn there is no middle road to follow!”

Bolitho watched him in silence. He was still angry at Brough-ton’s slanderous attack on Herrick, but at the same time he could guess the full extent of his disappointment and despair. Auriga was indeed a symbol, but not as described by Broughton. To the admiral she represented the very beginning of his misfortune, almost from the moment he had hoisted his flag at the foremast.

He said, “I believe that Captain Herrick’s discovery of the Auriga was a pure accident, sir. Just as his arrival here was totally unexpected, so too the enemy would have been surprised.”

Broughton tore his mind from some inner thought. “So?”

“Our departure from Gibraltar was seen, and we have been sighted by other enemy ships, and some which we might not even have known were there.” He persisted, seeing the returning hostility in Broughton’s eyes. “After all, sir, why should Auriga come here?”

“I have no more idea of that than you, Bolitho.” His voice was icy. “But I am going to find and take her. When we return to the fleet it will be as a complete squadron. One which will be ready to re-enter the Mediterranean and act with the full authority at my disposal!”

He made as if to walk away and then added, “Inform me the moment you sight Coquette!” Then he strode beneath the poop.

Bolitho walked to the rail and stood looking down at the

sailmaker and his mates squatting on every square foot of deck, needles flashing while they carried out their endless repairs to some of the canvas. Everywhere around and above him there were men at work. Splicing and greasing, reeving new lines or merely putting a touch of paint where it was most needed. A squad of marines was climbing heavily to the foretop to do their drill at a swivel gun, and on the larboard gangway he saw Pascoe in close conversation with Meheux.

All this was what Broughton had failed to see. He saw all these men as some sort of threat, or a form of weakness which might imperil his own set plans. Yet here was the true strength, without which any ship was just timber and cordage. Broughton spoke often enough of loyalty, but he had failed to realise that it was merely another word for trust. And trust was two-sided, not the personal possession of one man.

He looked up sharply as Tothill called, “Gunfire, sir!”

Bolitho pressed his hand on the rail and leaned forward, straining his ears above the constant shipboard sounds. There it was, very faint, like surf booming in a deep cave. But it would be faint, with the wind so strong across the larboard quarter.

Trute, who was carrying a tray of empty mugs, was almost knocked from his feet as Broughton burst from beneath the poop, his face contorted with sudden agitation. He was hatless, and still carrying a pen in his hand like a baton.

“Did you hear that?” He peered round at the swaying figures of the watchkeepers. “Well, did you?” He crossed to Bolitho’s side, his eyes slitted in the sunlight. “What price your damn caution now?”

Bolitho watched him impassively. He was more relieved than angered by Broughton’s tirade. With luck, Gillmor could disable the Auriga or even take her completely within the hour, and then this escapade would be over.

He said to Keverne, “Tell the masthead to report the instant he sights them.”

Tothill said, “Sir, Impulsive is signalling.”

Broughton glared at him. “I suppose your friend Herrick will expect all the credit for it!”

Bolitho took a glass and levelled it towards the distant two-decker. She had turned slightly, and he could see her leaning heavily to the wind, her masthead pendant as straight as a pike.

Tothill scrambled into the shrouds, his large telescope swaying about like an unruly cannon. His lips moved soundlessly, and when he looked down at the quarterdeck his face seemed very pale.

“Impulsive to Flag, sir. Strange sail bearing west by north.”

“Acknowledge!”

Bolitho turned to the admiral who was still bending his head to catch the far-off sounds of gunfire.

He said, “Did you hear that, sir?”

Broughton stared at him. “Of course I did! I’m not bloody deaf!”

The masthead lookout’s voice made him start. “Deck there! Sail fine on the larboard bow, sir! I kin see flashes!”

Broughton rubbed his hands. “We’ll have Auriga to heel any minute now!”

“I think we should detach Impulsive to investigate the other sighting, sir.” It was like speaking to a deaf man. It was obvious Broughton could think of nothing but the two frigates fighting it out on the sea’s edge.

Tothill again. “From Impulsive, sir. Estimate four strange sail.”

For the first time Broughton seemed to tear himself away from his anxiety over the Auriga.

“Four? Where the hell are they coming from?”

Impulsive had shortened sail and was growing smaller as she fell astern of the squadron’s line. Bolitho bit his lip hard and was thankful for Herrick’s initiative. To proceed like this was sheer madness. The newcomers, and they could only be hostile, were coming down towards the squadron’s flank with full advantage of the wind. If Herrick could ascertain exactly what they were about,

there might still be time to put Broughton’s ships into some sort of order.

Keverne said, “Gunfire seems to have stopped, sir.”

“Good.” Broughton was frowning. “Now we shall see.”

Captain Giffard remarked, “Pity Coquette is so far ahead. We could use her now to spy out the land, eh, sir?”

Bolitho saw the marine recoil as Broughton snapped, “What did you say?”

Before he could repeat it Bolitho swung on Broughton, his eyes suddenly angry. “Damn them, they must have known! I daresay that Brice told what he knew when he was taken, and the rest they guessed.” He knew Broughton was staring at him as if he had gone mad, but continued bitterly, “They sent Auriga to us, knowing what you would do!” He gestured with his good arm across the nettings. “And you did it, sir!”

“What in hell’s name are you babbling about, man?”

Bolitho said flatly, “Auriga was the bait. One which you were unable to ignore because of your own outraged dignity!”

Broughton flushed. “How dare you speak like that? I’ll have you put under arrest, I’ll…”

Tothill’s voice was hushed. “Impulsive to Flag, sir. Strange fleet bearing west by north.”

Bolitho walked slowly to the rail. “Not ships, Sir Lucius, but a fleet.” He turned and looked at him, suddenly very calm. “And now these men whom you despise and have accused of every vice from mutiny to sloth will have to fight and die.” He let the words sink deeply. “For you, sir.”

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?” Keverne 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.