Colours Aloft! (4 page)

Ozzard said, “The cox'n's waiting, Sir Richard.”

Bolitho smiled. “Good.”

Allday was right aft by the big sloping windows. He faced Bolitho and touched his forehead. Even that he did with massive dignity, Bolitho thought. There was neither subservience nor indifference there.

“How is it coming along?” Bolitho sat on the new chair and stretched his legs. “When do I meet, er, your son?”

Allday replied, “Tomorrow forenoon if it suits, Sir Richard.”

Even the title rested easily with Allday. He seemed prouder of it than its recipient.

Allday continued, “He's a fine lad, sir.” He sounded anxious. “I was wonderin'—”

Now to the truth of the matter. Bolitho said encouragingly, “Come on, old friend. There are no admirals or coxswains down here.”

Allday watched him worriedly. “I knows that, sir. I've always known it. You treated me like one of the family in Falmouth. I don't reckon anyone would forget
that.
”

He tried again. “I get a bit o' pain from time to time, sir.”

“Yes.” Bolitho poured two glasses of claret. “I fear there is no rum within reach.”

The memory brought a slow grin to Allday's bronzed features.
Remembering.
The rum which had brought him back to life, if only because his reeling mind had recorded that Bolitho was drinking some out of despair. Bolitho never drank rum. In some strange way it had dragged Allday across the margin of survival and death.

“I wants to do my duty for you, sir. Like always. But somehow—”

Bolitho said gently, “You think I might need a second cox'n, is that it?”

Allday stared at him. Awe, astonishment, gratitude, it was all there.

“God bless you, sir.” Allday nodded. “It would help the lad, an' I could keep an eye on him like.”

Keen entered and stopped by the screen door. “I beg your pardon, sir.” It seemed quite natural to find the big coxswain having a quiet drink with his admiral. Keen had cause to know and respect Allday. When he had been a midshipman under Bolitho's command he had been cut down by a great splinter which had driven into his groin like a bloody lance. The frigate's surgeon had been a drunkard and Allday had carried the barely conscious midshipman below and cut the splinter away himself. It had saved his life. No, he would never forget, especially as the respect had become mutual.

Bolitho smiled. “All done. With your permission, I'd like to take, er—” He glanced at Allday. “What name does he use?”

Allday looked at his feet. “John, like me, sir.” He became serious, “Bankart. That was 'er name.”

Keen nodded, his handsome features expressionless. His own coxswain, Hogg, had told him about it.

Bolitho said, “A second cox'n. Good idea, eh?”

Keen replied gravely, “None better.”

They watched him leave and Keen said, “God, he even looks like a father now!”

Bolitho asked, “Do you know this Bankart?”

Keen took a glass from Ozzard and held it up to a lantern.

“I saw him sworn in, sir. About twenty or so. Served in the
Superb
before the Peace. A clean bill.”

Bolitho looked away. Keen had checked up already. To protect him or Allday, it did not matter which.

Keen said, “I am in despair over the
Orontes,
sir. Her master ignores Captain Inch's instructions and I am fast becoming impatient with the fellow.” He eyed Bolitho thoughtfully. “I've a mind to go aboard tomorrow.”

Bolitho smiled. “Yes. I think my flag-captain will get more done than Inch's lieutenants.”

Stayt entered the cabin and handed Ozzard his hat. He too had apparently been considering the
Orontes.

“I think I have discovered why the other transport sailed on without
Orontes,
sir.” He leaned over to move a chair and for a second or so revealed the bright pistol beneath his coat. “
Philomela
carries gold as well as human beings. The paymaster for New South Wales is with it.”

Bolitho rubbed his chin. That was strange. Nobody had mentioned it before.

Keen said bitterly, “Afraid to put his money in a man-of-war, is he? In case we have to fight for him, damn his eyes!”

Ozzard hovered by the other screen door. He had heard everything but would keep it to himself. He had known all about the gold, as did most of the squadron. It was funny that the officers were always the last to hear such matters, he thought.

“Dinner is served, Sir Richard,” he said meekly.

When Bolitho went on deck the following morning he saw the disarray in his ships after a mounting overnight gale. Now, as each captain endeavoured to place his ship on the required station, the wind just as mischievously dropped to a wet breeze, to leave the heavier vessels rolling uncomfortably in the troughs, their sails flapping and banging in confusion.

Keen glared across at the
Orontes.
Quite rightly Inch had cast off the tow during the night to avoid a collision and now it would have to begin all over again.

Keen sounded exasperated. “Call away the gig. I shall go over to her.” He took a glass from the midshipman-of-the-watch and trained it on the drifting transport. Half to himself he said, “I have already had words with my carpenter, Sir Richard. With his aid I intend to coax
Orontes
' master into rigging a jury rudder.”

Bolitho raised his own telescope and studied the other vessel. Her decks seemed to be full of people, crew or convicts it was impossible to tell. No one appeared to be working and he said quietly, “Take some marines with you, Val.”

Keen lowered his glass and looked at him. “Aye, sir.” He sounded uneasy. “Some of their people are drinking. At this time of the day!”

The gig and then a cutter were lowered alongside while the flagship came into the wind and lay hove-to, her reefed canvas flapping wetly in the spray.

Keen hurried to the entry port and Bolitho said, “Go with him, Mr Stayt. You may learn something less basic then seamanship today.”

Keen waited impatiently as a squad of Royal Marines clattered down into the cutter with their junior officer Lieutenant Orde. He was a haughty young man who obviously resented the idea of soaking his immaculate scarlet coat on the crossing Keen touched his hat to the quarterdeck and then hurried down the side where Hogg waited with his gig.

Keen had no doubts in his mind that the next months would be crucial as England and her old enemy circled one another to seek out and exploit a first weakness. He wanted to begin, to use his ship where she was most needed. For Keen it was like a driving force. He had nothing else.

Once he glanced astern and saw his ship riding easily in the swell and Bolitho's straight figure by the quarterdeck rail.
Argonaute
would serve him well, Keen thought.
I owe him that and so much more.

The coxswain swore silently as the gig shuddered alongside and hooked onto the main-chains. The cutter, caught on a sudden crest, was carried past, the marines watching with amusement as the oarsmen fought to regain control.

Stayt stood aside to allow Keen to climb the ladder. After the lively motion and stinging spray the
Orontes
' broad deck seemed almost sluggish and without wind.

There were figures everywhere, on the deck and gangways, even in the tops overhead. A few carried weapons, guards probably, the rest looked like the sweepings of a jail.

But Keen saw only the drama being enacted below the poop. The rigged grating, a great brute of a boatswain's mate with what looked like a long whip in his hand as he stared at the figure seized up for flogging.

Keen hated the savage ritual of a flogging, more so the occasional need for it. Ever since he had seen his first punishment as a young midshipman, like most sea officers he had fought to conceal his revulsion for the sake of discipline. Others, it seemed, could watch it without turning a hair.

But this was different. He felt his spine go cold as he stared at the spreadeagled form on the grating.

A seaman exclaimed behind him, “Christ A'mighty, sir, it's a girl!”

She was stripped almost to her buttocks, her face and shoulders hidden by her hair, her arms stretched out as if she had been crucified.

Keen stepped forward but before he could speak the boatswain's mate drew back his arm and curled the whip across the girl's back with the sound of a pistol shot.

Keen saw her arch her body, her torn clothing falling still further. But she did not scream for the force of the blow had smashed the breath from her body. Then, after what seemed like several seconds, a bright scarlet line showed itself from one bare shoulder to the opposite hip and then the blood ran down her back, and as the man drew back his arm she began to struggle.

Keen said sharply,
“Belay that!
” He felt Stayt beside him but did not take his eyes from the scene. Around and above him he could hear a baying chorus of voices. Anger, disappointment— they had
wanted
to watch her flogged.

In the sudden silence Keen said, “Mr Stayt! If that man so much as lifts his whip I order you to shoot him dead!”

Stayt stepped forward, the pistol already cocked in his hand. He raised his arm, not like a man going into battle, but as a duellist would balance his weapon for that one, vital shot.

A portly figure in a blue coat pushed towards Keen, his jowls jogging with fury.

Keen regarded him calmly although he was feeling cold anger sweeping through him, blinding him to everything but the desire to smash this man, the master, in the face.

“What the hell do you think you're about, blast you!” The man was almost incoherent with rage and drink.

Keen met his angry glare. “I am Sir Richard Bolitho's flagcaptain. You abuse your authority, sir.” He felt his relief as he heard the marines scrambling up the side. At last. Inch had obviously withdrawn his own men before the squall. In another moment, he, Stayt and the others might have been overwhelmed. Most of the crew looked too drunk to be able to think, let alone take orders.

Lieutenant Orde seemed unable to respond to what he saw, but Blackburn, his big sergeant, rasped, “Fix bayonets, Marines! If they moves, cut 'em down!” Blackburn did not trust anyone who did not wear the scarlet coat of the Corps.

The rasp of steel seemed to shock the vessel's ungainly master.

He said in a conciliatory tone, “She's a damned thief, that's what. No better than a common whore! I must have order and discipline in my ship! If I had my way—”

He broke off as Keen said gently, “Cut her down. Cover her with something.”

A seaman called, “She'm fainted, sir!”

Keen made himself cross to the grating. He saw the way her slight figure was dragging on her bound wrists, the blood running down her spine. Her breasts were pressed into the grating, and he could see where her heart pumped against the scrubbed wood.

She had fainted, but the pain would be waiting for her.

Hogg had appeared on deck and Keen heard him sheathe his cutlass. He must have thought the worst to quit his gig and come aboard without an order. A riot, a mutiny, Hogg was ready to save his captain. Like Allday had done for Bolitho.

Hogg strode over and cut the bonds and caught her as she fell, the last of her blood-spattered clothing gathered up in his arms as he hid her body from the silent onlookers. The ship's master said thickly, “I have a surgeon.”

Keen eyed him. “I can well imagine.” It must have been the way he looked rather than what he said, because the master fell back as if he had seen his own danger in Keen's eyes.

“Take her to the gig, Hogg, and return to the ship. You go with the boat, Mr Stayt. I have work to do here.” He saw the barest hint of resentment in the lieutenant's dark eyes. He wanted to shoot, to kill the man with the whip. Anyone. Keen knew that look.
Perhaps I have it also?

“Now, Captain Latimer.” Keen was surprised he had remembered the man's name, when moments earlier he had wanted to smash him to the deck. “I intend that you shall put your best hands to work on a jury rudder. I will supply more men when required, but you will waste no more time, do you understand?”

“The girl?” The earlier anger showed itself. “I'm responsible for every living soul aboard.”

Keen eyed him coldly. “Then God help them. There are women in Captain Inch's ship, wives of the Gibraltar garrison officers. They can take care of the girl for the present, after my surgeon has examined her.”

The other man knew his authority was dwindling with each second.

“It must be said, Captain, you've not heard the last o' this.”

Keen raised one hand and saw the man flinch. But he tapped his blue lapel and said, “Nor you, I can promise that.”