The Flag Captain

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 officers 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.”

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 thought 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 frigate, 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.

Bolitho crossed over to the lieutenants. “Rest assured, I will see that you are not abused.” He looked at Rook. “I am making you responsible.”

The one-armed officer wiped his forehead worriedly. “As you say, sir.”

Bolitho walked back to the quarterdeck rail and looked along the crowded mass of silent seamen.

“I gave you my word. Keep your peace and obey orders. I shall go across and meet the admiral without delay.”

He saw Taylor make as if to come aft and then stop when a marine jerked a bayonet in his direction.

Bolitho called, “I have not forgotten, Taylor.”

Then he turned and made his way to the port. A boat was coming from the Euryalus. No doubt for him, and an explanation.

He glanced back at the silent, watching men. They were

dreading what would happen next. No, they were terrified, he could almost smell their fear, and wanted to reassure them.

He thought suddenly of Brice who had caused it all, and of the clerk Gates who had used the captain’s cruelty for his own ends. Now Gates was free somewhere, and Brice might just as easily escape without dishonour. He tightened his jaw and waited impatiently for the boat to get alongside.

We shall see, he thought coldly.

Bolitho raised his hat to the quarterdeck and asked quietly, “Well, Mr Keverne? I think I need an explanation, and quickly.”

Keverne replied just as quietly, “I could not help it sir. Vice-Admiral Broughton arrived during the last dog watch yesterday. He came overland by way of Truro.” He shrugged helplessly, his face worried. “I had to tell him of your sealed orders, and he required me to open them.”

Bolitho paused by the poop and looked down at the larboard battery of twelve-pounders, still run out and pointing at the Auriga. Most of their crews, however, were looking aft at him, their expressions torn between surprise and anxiety. As well they might, he thought bitterly.

But it was not Keverne’s fault, and that was something. For a while he had been tortured with the idea that Keverne might have given his secret orders willingly, to ingratiate himself with the new admiral.

He asked, “How is Sir Charles?”

Keverne shook his head. “No better, sir.”

The second lieutenant crossed the deck and touched his hat, “The vice-admiral is waiting to see you, sir.” He fidgeted with his sword hilt. “With respect, sir, he seems somewhat impatient.”

Bolitho forced a slow smile. “Very well, Mr Meheux, it is a day for urgency.”

But he did not feel like smiling. He could not blame the admi-

ral for demanding to know of his whereabouts. After all, flag officers were not accustomed to making excuses for their own lateness, or explaining their reasons to subordinates. But to have the frigate put under the guns of his own flagship was unthinkable.

He made himself walk the last few steps to the admiral’s quarters at a slower pace. To give his mind time to clear for the confrontation.

A marine corporal opened the door, his eyes blank. Even he seemed like a stranger.

Vice-Admiral Sir Lucius Broughton was standing right aft by the tall windows, a telescope trained towards the shore. He was wearing his undress blue coat and gold epaulettes, and appeared thoroughly engrossed. When he turned Bolitho saw that he was much younger than he had anticipated, about forty, the same age as himself. He was not tall, but his body was slim and upright, giving an impression of height. That again was fairly unusual. Once they had attained the coveted flag rank, admirals often tended to run to portliness. Spared the constant demands of watchkeeping, or appearing on deck at all times of day and night, they reaped rewards other than those of high command.

Broughton’s face was neither angry nor impatient. In fact, it was relaxed to a point of complete calm. He had light brown hair, quite short, and tied in a small queue above his collar.

“Ah, Bolitho, so we meet at last.” He was not being sarcastic, merely matter-of-fact. As if Bolitho had just returned from some vague journey.

His voice was easy and aristocratic, and when he walked across a patch of sunlight from the stern windows Bolitho saw that his clothes were of the finest materials, his sword hilt hand-worked in gold facings.

He replied, “I am sorry I was not here to greet you, sir. There was some doubt as to your time of arrival.”

“Quite.” Broughton sat down at the desk and regarded him calmly. “I expect to be receiving news of my other ships very shortly. After that, the sooner we are at sea and working in company the better.”

Bolitho cleared his throat. “The Auriga, sir. With respect, I would like to explain what has happened.”

Broughton pressed his fingertips together and smiled gently. For a few moments he looked almost boyish, his eyes shining with something like amusement.

“By all means, Bolitho, although I would have thought that explanations are hardly needed. Your action to prevent the ship falling in French hands was, to say the least, unorthodox, and at no little personal risk. Your loss to me would have been a hard one, although some might say the loss of the frigate would have been even more serious.” He shifted in the chair, the smile gone. “But the frigate is here in Falmouth, and all such vessels are too short in numbers for us to be over-particular about their past records.”

“I believe her captain should be removed at once, sir. Also her first lieutenant.” Bolitho tried to relax, but for once he felt uneasy, even out of his depth with the new admiral. He added, “It took some courage for the ship’s company to act as they did. But for the Spithead trouble, and the promises made to our people there, it might never have happened.”

Broughton looked at him thoughtfully. “You obviously do not believe that. You think that this Brice caused it himself, and possibly you’re right.” He shrugged. “Sir Charles Thelwall told me of his great trust in your reasoning. I will of course be guided by that.”

Bolitho said, “I gave my word to them, sir. That their complaints would be properly investigated.”

“Did you? Well, of course that would be expected. No blame will attach to you now that you have retrieved the ship intact.”

Again the brief smile. “To lie skilfully and in a good cause is always forgivable.”

“It was no lie, sir.” Bolitho could feel his apprehension giving way to anger. “They were brutally used-worse, they were driven beyond reason.”

He waited, watching for some sign, but Broughton’s face was empty of expression.

He continued slowly, “I am sure Sir Charles would have acted with humanity, sir. Especially in view of the circumstances elsewhere.”

“Sir Charles has gone ashore.” He could have been speaking of an unwanted piece of baggage. “I will decide what is to be done. When I have examined all the facts.” He paused. “Facts, Bolitho, not supposition, then I will tell you what I desire to be done. In the meantime, Captain Brice and his officers will be quartered ashore with the garrison. You will supply a guard watch aboard Auriga in company with the marines.”

He stood up and walked round the desk, his movements easy, almost graceful.

“I hate any sort of unnecessary recriminations, Bolitho!” His mouth tightened. “But I have already had my fill of deputations and degradation at Spithead. I’ll suffer none of it under my flag here.”

Bolitho watched him despairingly. “If I could be given permission to deal with the matter, sir? It will be a bad beginning to take severe action…”

The admiral sighed. “You are persistent. I hope that characteristic is not confined merely to domestic matters. But if you will write a full report I will see what must be done.” He looked Bolitho steadily in the eyes. “You must know that being efficient is not the easiest way to popularity.” He seemed to become impatient. “But enough of that for the present. I will be giving dinner in my cabin tonight. I find it the best way of meeting my

officers!” The smile reappeared. “No objections to that, I trust?” Bolitho tried to hide his anger. He was more disturbed with his own inability to convince Broughton than he was with the admiral’s wishes over dinner. He had managed the interview badly, and blamed himself accordingly. The admiral only knew what he was told, could only act on facts, as he had just explained. He replied, “I am sorry, sir. I did not mean to…” Broughton raised one hand. “Do not apologise. I like a man with fire in his belly. If I had wanted a flag captain who merely said yes all the time, I could have got one of a hundred!” He nodded. “And you have been up all night. That cannot have helped. Now be so good as to send for the purser. I will tell him what I require from the town. I have just been looking at it. Small, but not too rustic, I hope.”

Bolitho smiled for the first time. “I was born here, sir.” The admiral eyed him calmly. “Now there is an admission.” Bolitho made to leave the cabin but paused and said, “May I order the guns to be secured, sir?”

“You are her captain, Bolitho, as well as mine.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You do not approve of my action?”

“It is not that exactly, sir.” It was starting again, but he could not halt the words. “I have been with this ship for eighteen months. This matter of the frigate is bad enough, without their having to fire on their own kind into the bargain.”

“Very well.” Broughton yawned. “You really do care, do you not?”

Bolitho nodded firmly. “About trust, sir? Aye, I do.” “I really must take you to London with me, Bolitho.” Broughton walked back to the windows, his face in shadow. “You would be something of a novelty there. Unique in fact.”

Bolitho reached the sunlit quarterdeck without seeing a foot of the journey.

Keverne touched his hat and asked anxiously, “Any orders, sir?”

“Yes, Mr Keverne. Pass the word for the purser and then…” He paused, still thinking of the Auriga and Broughton’s quiet amusement.

“Then, sir?”

“Then keep out of my way, Mr Keverne, until I say otherwise!”

The master watched him stride to the side and begin to pace back and forth, his brows set in a frown of concentration.

To the baffled Keverne he said quietly, “More squalls, I’m thinkin’. An’ not for the better.”

Keverne glared at him. “When I need your opinion, Mr Partridge, I’ll damn well ask for it!” Then he too hurried away towards the quarterdeck ladder.

Partridge glanced up at the new flag at the fore. Young puppy, he chuckled unfeelingly. Wrath went with rank. Things never changed in the Navy. He turned, realising that the captain had stopped his pacing and was studying him gravely.

“Sir?”

“I was just thinking, Mr Partridge, how nice it must be to have nothing to do in the whole world but stand in the sun grinning like some village idiot.”

The master swallowed hard. “Sorry, sir.”

Surprisingly, Bolitho smiled. “Continue to stand if you wish. I have a feeling that this peace is to be shortlived.” He turned on his heel and walked briskly beneath the poop towards his cabin.

Partridge sighed and mopped his chins with a red handkerchief. A flagship could often make life hard on a sailing master. Then he looked across at the anchored frigate and shook his head sadly. Still, he thought, others were worse off. A whole lot worse.