Colours Aloft! (26 page)

Pullen stood up. “You take all the responsibility, Sir Richard?”

Bolitho faced him, calm again. “Yes. Captain Keen is under my command and will remain so until I am ordered otherwise.” He looked as steadily as he could manage at the black-garbed figure.

“When you explain to your superiors of admiralty, Mr Pullen, and you tell them what I intend, you may be surprised at the outcome, and when that happens I trust you will show the same zeal as you did when you tried to arrest a young girl who has already suffered brutality beyond measure.” He looked again at Keen. “That too is being taken care of.”

Laforey asked irritably, “Why did we not know about this?”

Bolitho tried not to blink his damaged eye. “Some were too eager for the kill, Sir Marcus. To hurt or to damage me through another's reputation.”

Jerram dabbed his face. “I can proceed no further, sir.” He looked at Herrick. “At this stage.”

Herrick opened his mouth and then looked towards the screen doors as a lieutenant entered and after some nervous hesitation made his way aft.

He handed a piece of paper to Laforey, who thrust it across to Herrick.

Bolitho remained standing. He may have ruined his career, but Keen and his Zenoria were safe.

Herrick looked up, “I think you should see this, Sir Richard.”

Bolitho took the paper and read it carefully, aware that every face was watching him. He could feel the rising tension, mounting to match his despair and anger.

He looked around the great cabin, the same one where he had planned each battle, had survived, when so many had not.

He said quietly, “His Majesty's armed schooner
Columbine
has entered harbour.” His voice was so low that many craned forward to hear him better. “My squadron was attacked last week and the
Helicon,
” he glanced at Jerram without expression, “under that same Captain Inch, was severely damaged with many killed and wounded.” He saw Keen watching him, his handsome features quite stricken. Bolitho continued in spite of the catch in his voice which he could not control.
Dear God, not Inch too.
“What we anticipated has happened. Jobert is out, and my squadron engaged them. When they needed me, I was here.” He picked up his hat. “As Sir Marcus said, we are at war. It is a pity that some still do not realize the fact.”

Herrick said, “You may leave with your flag-captain.” Bolitho looked along the table and said in the same level tone, “I have one more thing to say.” He glanced from face to face. “God damn all of you!” Then he strode from the cabin, and after a brief moment Keen followed.

Herrick sat quite still for several moments.

Then he said, “This court is dismissed.” He was stunned by Bolitho's anger, and yet not surprised. He had done and given too much to care any more.

Pullen said breathlessly, “He'll never get away with this!”

Herrick said flatly, “You didn't understand, did you? The French are
out,
man, and Nelson will be watching Toulon like a hawk, and be too hard-pressed to release ships to search for Jobert! Nothing stands between Jobert and his intentions but that man we all wronged just now!”

Laforey watched the people leaving the cabin. Silent now, as if they had pictured the battle through Bolitho's quiet voice.

Herrick helped Laforey out of his chair. “I know Bolitho better than any man.” He thought suddenly of Allday. “Except one possibly. To him loyalty stretches in both directions. If people try to scar him through others he will fight back like a lion.” He tried not to think of the blazing anger in Bolitho's eyes. “But there are some battles he can't win.”

He waited for his captain to see the visitors into their boats and then returned to the cabin of which he had been so proud.
If I were still his captain he would have acted the same way for me. When he needed me, what did I do? My duty?
It was an empty word now.

If Bolitho had been with his squadron the result might have been exactly the same. But Bolitho would feel it deeply, nurse it like another wound until he conquered it. Or it killed him.

His servant peered in at him.

“Can I bring some hands to return the furniture, sir?”

Herrick eyed him sadly. “Aye, do that. And clean it too. It smells rotten in here.”

While Herrick stared through the stern windows
Argonaute
's green barge moved slowly amongst the other ships.

Bolitho noticed that the stroke was slower and guessed Allday was taking his time to give him a moment to recover himself.

Keen sat beside him, his face grave as he watched the harbour. He said suddenly, “You should not have done what you did, sir.”

Bolitho looked at him and smiled. “You had no control over events where that girl was concerned, Val. I took the responsibility because I wanted to. She has come to mean a lot to me, just as her happiness counts a great deal.” His face softened. “With you it was a matter of humanity to begin with, then your heart took the tiller.”

Keen said in a low voice so that the oarsmen could not hear him, “May I ask how you know who is behind this attack, sir?”

“No. Not yet.” Bolitho tried to find comfort in the fact that a simple bluff had worked, but it evaded him. All he could see was Inch facing the enemy. The schooner's message had little news of value, except that the enemy flagship was named
Léopard.

Almost to himself Bolitho said, “The French went for
Rapid.
Inch tried to support her and took the whole weight of the attack. Why did they want the brig, I wonder?” Keen watched his profile and wondered how much more there was about Bolitho he did not understand.

Bolitho shrugged, “Remember
Achates,
Val?”

Keen nodded and smiled, “
Old Katie
, yes, I remember her.”

“When Jobert attacked us we were outnumbered three to one. To draw him into close quarters we concentrated our fire on his smallest ship, the
Diane,
and so we took
Argonaute.
”

Understanding flooded Keen's face. “And now he's done the same to us!”

Argonaute
's shadow covered them as the barge glided alongside in the choppy water.

Bolitho gripped his sword. The wind was still strong. The same one which had blown from the west and had brought the French with it. He looked up at the faces of the waiting side party. Was this ship cursed after all? Still French, no matter what they could do to her?

As his head lifted through the entry port and the salutes died away, Lieutenant Paget, who had preceded them in the gig, raised his hat and yelled, “A cheer for the Admiral, lads!”

Keen had seen the look in Bolitho's eyes; he said, “It's
men,
not ships, sir.”

Bolitho raised his hat and held it above his head. He wanted them to stop cheering just as he needed it to continue to drive back his thoughts like beasts into the shadows.

When they reached the stern cabin it felt like sanctuary.

Bolitho sat down in his chair and tried not to rub his eyes. They both ached and the vision in his good eye was blurred from strain and, he knew, emotion.

“I would like to see the schooner
Columbine
's commander immediately.” He saw Ozzard pouring some brandy. The little man looked both pleased and sad. He would remember Inch too. “I must discover everything I can before we rejoin the others. There must be
something.
”

“Captain Inch may be safe, sir.” Keen watched him fondly. “We can only hope.”

“A good friend, Val.” He thought of Herrick's face at the table. “Losing one is bad enough.”

He got up and walked vaguely round the cabin.

“God, I'll be glad to leave here, Val. The land has no warmth for me.” He glanced at the unfinished letter. “Inform the admiral that I intend to weigh before dusk.”

Keen hesitated by the door. “I'll go to the schooner myself.” He added quietly, “I can never thank you enough, sir.”

Bolitho looked away, unable to hold his depression at bay. “She is worth it, Val. So are you. Now fetch that officer for me.”

The door closed and Bolitho picked up the letter. Then he screwed it up and with sudden determination began to write another.

My dearest Belinda—
and suddenly he was no longer alone.

14
S
PEAK WITH PRIDE

B
OLITHO
stood quite still beside
Helicon
's wheel which had somehow remained intact. He had forcibly to examine the ship's upper deck, masts and gangways if only to convince himself that the fight had been two weeks ago. It looked as if it had been yesterday.

The wind which had brought the French down like thunder on this shattered vessel had died away completely; in fact the last few miles before
Argonaute
had made contact with the squadron had been an additional torment.

There was a deep, oily swell, above which a hard sun, more silver than gold, laid bare the scattered ships, their disorder seeming to symbolize their combined shock and defeat.

Figures bustled about the decks, sailors from other ships, for there were not so many from Inch's company who were fit to work. The clank of pumps was a reminder of the damage, if anyone needed reminding, and as a crude jury-rig began to emerge from the tangle of cordage and tackles Bolitho wondered how the ship had managed to survive.

Ripped deck planking, great patterns of dried blood, black in the harsh glare, upended guns and charred canvas; only the dead were missing, and the wounded were below, fighting their own private battles while the ships' surgeons did what they could for the ones who still refused to die.

Bolitho could feel Allday watching with him, sharing it, remembering all those other times.

It had not been a battle. More like a slaughter. But for the arrival of
Barracouta,
tearing down on the scene under full sail,
Helicon
would be on the bottom. If the wind rose again she might still make that final journey, he thought.

Barracouta
had tossed caution aside, had even shredded her studding sails to the wind as she had endeavoured to turn aside the enemy's calculated assault.

Allday said, “Why not go back to the ship, sir. Good bath an' a shave, might do wonders.”

Bolitho looked at him. “Not yet.” He felt sick, stunned by the savagery of the destruction all around him. “If I ever forget this day, remind me.” He added fiercely, “No matter what!”

He saw Tuson below the poop. Even that deck was mauled and knocked out of shape. As if a giant had crushed it and left great black scars, like burning clawmarks. So many had died here, and many more were paying for that day.

He asked, “How is he now?”

Tuson regarded him impassively. “The ship's surgeon took off his arm too low, sir. I am not satisfied with it. I would suggest—”

Bolitho seized his sleeve. “God damn you, man, that is my friend you are speaking of, not some bloody carcass!” He turned aside and said quietly, “Forgive me.”

Tuson watched him and said, “I understand. But I would like to deal with it myself.”

He did not say what Bolitho already knew, that
Helicon
's own surgeon had made a bad wound worse by his treatment. In fairness, he had been overwhelmed by the ferocity of the battle, the tide of broken, frightened men who had been dragged down to the orlop to face his knife and saw, while the ship had quaked to the roar of guns, the terrifying fire from the enemy.

“I must see him.” Bolitho watched some seamen flinging broken timber and other fragments over the side. They had not been in this ship and yet they moved like survivors, the heart gone out of them.

Tuson said, “I cannot promise anything.” He glanced at Bolitho's profile. “I am sorry.”

Beneath the poop there was still the stench of burning and pain, death and anger. A few guns lay on their sides or at the full extent of their tackles where they had recoiled on a last broadside before their crews were scattered or cut down. The sunlight shone through distorted gunports, gouged into strange shapes by the intensity of the attack.

From the main deck the sounds of hammers and squeaking blocks became muted as Bolitho groped his way down the companion to all that was left of the wardroom. Inch's own quarters had been swept away completely, charred beyond recognition, and had taken those of the gun crews and after-guard who had stayed to the last. Bolitho saw men glancing at him, parting to let him through before returning to their work in saving the ship and preparing her for a passage to safety. The regular clank of pumps seemed to sneer at their efforts, and the cries from the wounded as they waited for relief or death added to a backcloth of hopelessness.

Helicon
's wardroom seemed almost cold after the upper deck, and even though the stern windows had been blasted away it could not free the place of its stench.

Bolitho stood beside the cot and looked down at Inch's pale features. He did not seem to be conscious and Bolitho felt his heart chill as he saw the bloody bandage where Inch's arm had been. The thing he had always feared most for himself had happened to his friend.

Tuson drew down a blanket and said, “He took a metal splinter here, sir.” He replaced the blanket and added heavily. “Their surgeon says he removed it.” He sounded doubtful.

It was then Bolitho realized that Inch had opened his eyes and was staring at him. His eyes did not move, as if he was concentrating all his strength to recognize and discover what was happening.

Bolitho leaned over him and took his hand. “I'm here, old friend.”

Inch licked his lips. “I knew you'd come. Knew it.” He shut his eyes and Bolitho felt his grip tighten as the agony tore through him. But the grip was feeble nonetheless.

Inch said, “Three ships of the line. But for
Barracouta,
I'm afraid—”

Tuson whispered, “
Please,
sir, he's terribly weak. He'll need all his will to survive what I must do.”

Bolitho turned to him, their faces almost touching. “Must you?”

Tuson shrugged. “Gangrene, sir.” It needed no more words.

Bolitho leaned over the cot again. “Don't give in. You've a lot to live for.” He wanted to ask Inch about the French ships, but how could he?

He saw Carcaud, the surgeon's mate, and two assistants waiting by an upended gun. Like ghouls. Bolitho felt his eyes smart. They would do it here and now, hold him down while Tuson did his bloody work.

Bolitho lowered his head, unable to look at him. Francis Inch, a man with all the courage and so much luck. Who would care? His pretty young wife and a few old comrades, but who would really spare a thought for the cost of unpreparedness, of ignorance?

Inch looked past him and saw Allday. A shadow of a smile creased his long face and he whispered, “You've still got that rascal, I see!”

Then he fainted and Tuson snapped,
“Now!”
He glanced only briefly at Bolitho. “I suggest you go elsewhere, sir.”

Bolitho barely recognized this Tuson. Steady-eyed, coldly professional. To him it was not a wrecked wardroom but a place of work.

Bolitho walked up to the quarterdeck again and saw that a young lieutenant, one of
Helicon
's, was supervising the hoisting and rigging of two staysails. It would give them steerage-way, but little else until they could replace some of the yards. Bolitho looked at the forecastle and decking again. Point-blank range, mostly grape by the look of it.

The lieutenant saw him and touched his hat. He said, “Addenbrook, sir, fifth lieutenant.”

“Where were you?” Bolitho watched the strain and emotion on the lieutenant's grimy features. At a guess about eighteen and newly promoted like most of Keen's. Probably the first time in battle in his junior rank.

Addenbrook said, “Lower gun deck, sir. The French laid off and concentrated their fire on us. Heavy artillery, everything.” He was reliving it, the roaring, sealed world of the lower gun deck. “We heard the masts shot away, but we kept firing, just like we'd been trained, what he expected of us.”

“Yes. Captain Inch is a fine man.”

The lieutenant barely heard him. “They kept coming for us, sir, until half our crews were laid low. They still closed the range and started to use grape.” He pressed one hand to his forehead. “I kept thinking, in God's name, why don't they stop? My senior was killed, and some of my men were half mad. They were beyond reason, screaming and cheering, loading and firing, not like the men I knew at all.”

Grape at close range. That explained the utter devastation. There could have been hardly a gun to return the fire by that time.

The lieutenant looked down at his stained uniform, scarcely able to believe it had happened, that he had survived without a scratch.

“We were alone, 'til
Barracouta
joined in, sir.” He looked up, his face suddenly bitter. “We had no chance.” For just a moment some pride cut through the hurt in his eyes. “But we didn't strike to the buggers, sir!”

There was a splash alongside and Bolitho saw Carcaud walk away from the gangway, wiping his hands on his apron. He did not have to guess what he had pitched into the sea. Was that all it took? He beckoned to the gangling surgeon's mate.

“How is he?”

Carcaud pursed his lips. “I don't think he knew what had been done, sir, but later on—”

Bolitho nodded and walked slowly towards the entry port, or what was left of it.

Helicon
's first lieutenant appeared on deck, his head in a bandage. He saw Bolitho and hurried towards him.

Bolitho said, “You have done well, Mr Savill. If you need any more men, signal the flag to that effect.” He saw the man sway. “Are you fit to be here?”

The lieutenant tried to grin. “I'll manage, sir.” He had a round Dorset accent—no wonder Inch liked him. “I shall lighten the ship as soon as I can rig some tackles.” His eyes sharpened. “Not the guns though. We'll fight this old lady again once we can get her into dock.”

Bolitho smiled sadly. A sailor's faith in his ship. And he was probably right.

“You saw the French flagship, the
Léopard,
I understand?”

“Aye, sir.” His eyes were far away. “I took a bang on the skull an' was pressed against a nine-pounder. I reckon that saved me in the next broadside.” He glanced aft. “They were all cut down, smashed like a bowl of eggs. But, oh yes, sir, I saw her right enough.” He gave a rueful smile. “Pity I've not got that Frenchie's extra boom. I could use it to hoist up some of the shot an' stores!” A man called out and he touched his forehead. “If you'll pardon me, sir.” He hesitated and turned. “Cap'n Inch just stood there an' damned th' lot of 'em, sir. He was a good cap'n, a real gentleman to the people.”

Bolitho looked away.
Was.
“I know.”

In the barge he twisted round in the sternsheets to look for his other ships, his mind trying to grapple with the mauled squadron as
Helicon
's lieutenants were fighting to restore life to their ship.

If
Barracouta
had not arrived the French would have gone for the other ships. He had already heard that
Barracouta
had been hurrying with the news that the enemy was moving out of Spanish waters when she had been chased by two French frigates. But for her speed, and the fact that the two enemy vessels had believed her to be a small two-decker, she would never have been able to help.

Once or twice he turned to look astern at
Helicon.
Scarred and burned, with only stumps for masts, she made a grim spectacle. How many had died? One more list of names to be considered. Jobert would not have wasted so much time if he had known the frigate was that near. But he had wanted to destroy
Helicon,
utterly. To pay him back for destroying his
Calliope
or because she was a prize-ship? Or was it a savage warning of the fate he intended for
Argonaute
if he could not retake her?

He pictured each of his remaining ships in turn. Without Inch, he was left with Houston and Montresor, who had yet to prove their ability in battle. Then there was
Rapid,
and with luck the cutter
Supreme
would rejoin them if the Maltese dockyard kept its promise. And one frigate. It was strange that Lapish, who had got off to such a bad start, had shown both skill and initiative. Bolitho wished in his heart that he was still captain of a frigate.

He sighed. “We must fetch Captain Inch aboard the flagship as soon as he may be moved, Allday.”

Allday glanced down at Bolitho's squared shoulders, the stains on his arms and legs from his examination of the other ship.

“If you think he can.” He flinched as Bolitho looked up at him. Those grey eyes were still the same. It was hard to accept that one was half blind.

He tried again. “You know how it is, sir.”

“Yes.” Bolitho stared at the
Despatch,
hove-to above her own reflection. But for her steering failing. He turned the thought aside. It would merely have delayed the inevitable.