Flag Captain (6 page)

The anger calmed as suddenly as before, and Bolitho was reminded of Keverne.

He said harshly, “Right then, so be it.” He gestured to the old petty officer. “You will remain here with one lookout.” He glanced at Allday, his eyes hostile. “And you can keep this lackey as hostage. If we make the signal I want him dead. If there's some sort of attack we will kill the pair of them and hang them beside our own precious lord and bloody master, right?”

The petty officer flinched but nodded in agreement.

Bolitho looked at Allday's grim features and forced a smile. “You wanted a rest and a tankard. You have both.” Then he rested his hand briefly on his shoulder. He could almost feel the man's tension and anger beneath it. “It will be all right.” He tried to give value to his words. “We are not fighting the enemy.”

“We shall see!” The man named Tom opened the door and made a mock bow. “Now walk in front of me and mind your manners. I'll not pipe my eye if I have to cut you down here and now!”

Bolitho strode into the darkness without answering. The night was still before them, but there was a lot to do before dawn if there was to be any hope of success. As he hurried down the steep track his mind returned to the punishment book. It was surprising that men driven and provoked by such inhumanity had bothered to try to seek justice by channels they only barely understood. It was more surprising still that the mutiny had not broken out months earlier. The realisation helped to encourage him, although he knew it was little enough to sustain anything.

3
S
ALUTE THE FLAG

“B
OAT 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.