Flag Captain (45 page)

He felt a sudden heat on his cheek, and when he turned saw the French three-decker's sails and rigging ablaze like torches. The lower gunports were also glowing bright red, and before a man could speak the air was torn apart with one deafening explosion.

The smoke surrounded the destruction, changing to steam as with a jubilant roar the sea surged into the shattered hull, dragging it down in a welter of bubbles and terrible sounds. Guns crashed from their tackles, and men trapped below in total darkness ran in madness until caught by either sea or fire.

When the smoke finally cleared there was only a great, slow-moving whirlpool, around which the flotsam and human fragments joined in one last horrible dance. Then there was nothing.

Broughton cleared his throat. “A victory.” He watched the wounded being carried or dragged below. Then he looked at Calvert and added, “But the bill is greater.”

Bolitho said dully, “We will commence repairs, sir. The wind has eased slightly . . .” He paused and rubbed his knuckles into his eyes, trying to think. “
Valorous
looks in a bad way. I think
Tanais
can take her in tow.”

He heard distant cheering and saw the men on the
Zeus
's battered forecastle waving and yelling as they edged past. They could still cheer after all that. He turned to watch as some of his own company scrambled into the shrouds to return the cheers.

He said quietly, “With men like these, Sir Lucius, you never need fear again.”

But Broughton had not heard him. He was unbuckling his beautiful sword, and with a small hesitation handed it to Pascoe.

“Here, take it. When I needed it, I dropped it.” He added gruffly, “Any damn midshipman who tackles the enemy with a dirk deserves it!” He watched the astonishment on the boy's dark features. “Besides, a
lieutenant
must look the part, eh?”

Pascoe held the sword and turned it over in his hands. Then he looked at Bolitho, but he was standing rigidly by the rail, his fingers gripping it so tightly that they were white.

“Sir?” He hurried to his side, suddenly fearful that Bolitho had been wounded again. “Look, sir!”

Bolitho released the rail and put his arm round the boy's thin shoulders. He was desperately tired, and the pain in his wound was like a branding iron. But just a little longer.

Very slowly he said, “Adam. Tell me.” He swallowed hard. He could barely risk speaking. “That boat!”

Pascoe stared at his face and then down into the sea nearby. A longboat was pulling towards the
Euryalus
's shot-scarred side, crammed to the gunwales with dripping, exhausted men.

He replied hesitantly, “Yes, Uncle. I see him, too.”

Bolitho gripped his shoulder more tightly and watched the boat's misty outline as it nudged alongside. Beside its coxswain he saw Herrick peering up at him, his strained face set in a grin while he supported a wounded marine against his chest.

Keverne came striding aft, an unspoken question on his lips, but paused as Broughton snapped, “If you are to have
Auriga,
Mr Keverne, I would be obliged if you would take command here until such time as a transfer is possible!” He looked at Bolitho with his arm round the boy's shoulder. “I think my flag captain has done enough.” He saw Allday hurrying down to the entry port. “For all of us.”

E
PILOGUE

T
HE
A
DMIRALTY
messenger ushered Bolitho and Herrick into a waiting room and closed the door with hardly a glance. Bolitho walked to a window and looked down at the crowded highway, his mind conscious only of sudden anticlimax. It was very quiet in the waiting room, and through the window he could feel the late September sunlight warm against his face. But down below, the people who hurried so busily about their affairs were well wrapped, and the many horses which trotted with carriages and carts in every direction gave some hint of the coming winter with their steaming breath and bright blankets.

Behind him he heard Herrick moving restlessly around the room, and wondered if like himself he was preparing for the coming interview with resignation or anxiety.

What an unnerving place London was. No wonder the messenger had treated them with such indifference, for the entrance hall and corridors had been crammed with sea officers, few of them lowlier than captains. All intent on their own worlds of appointments, ships, or the mere necessity of appearing busy in the centre of Britain's naval power.

Nearly three months had passed since the French flagship had blasted herself apart in one terrible explosion, during which time he had been more than fully occupied getting the battered squadron to Gibraltar without further losses, and there await orders.

As the many wounded had died or made some kind of recovery, and the ships' companies had worked without respite to repair as much of the damage as possible under the Rock's limited resources, Bolitho had waited for some acknowledgement of their efforts.

Eventually a brig had arrived with despatches for Broughton. Those ships ready and able to set sail would do so immediately. Not to join Lord St Vincent off Cadiz, but for England. After all they had achieved and endured together it was hard to see the small squadron scattered.

Valorous
was almost beyond repair, and with
Tanais,
which was in not much better state, had remained at Gibraltar. With the two French seventy-fours taken as prizes the remainder had sailed, and in due course anchored at Portsmouth. There again, the necessary business of dispersal and repair was continued. But it meant bidding farewell to many more familiar faces. Keverne, who had received his just promotion to commander, had been given
Auriga.
Captain Rattray had been carried ashore to Haslar Hospital, where with only one leg and half blinded by splinters he would probably end his days.

Furneaux had died in the battle, and Gillmor had received separate orders to take his
Coquette
and join the Channel Fleet, where as always there was a shortage of frigates.

As day had followed day in Portsmouth harbour Bolitho had found time to wonder how Broughton's report had been received at the Admiralty.

With the span of time behind him, their findings and hardships at Djafou, the last desperate battle with twice their number of the enemy seemed to fade and become less real. Broughton had appeared to feel much as he did, for most of the time he had remained aloof in his quarters or paced alone on the poop resisting every contact but the requirements of duty.

Then, just two days ago, the summons had arrived. Broughton and his flag captain were to report to the Admiralty. One unexpected addition had been for Herrick. He too was to accompany them. He had already confided that it was probably to explain more fully the loss of his
Impulsive,
but Bolitho thought otherwise. It was more likely that Herrick, being the only captain not completely involved in the squadron's previous affairs, was being called as an impartial witness and to give his own assessment. It was to be hoped he would not allow blind loyalty to damage his own position with his superiors.

But whatever happened, Adam's step on the first real rung of the ladder was secure. He had received his commission with an ease which had apparently surprised him, and even now was aboard
Euryalus,
probably fretting about his uncle's future, or lack of it.

A door opened and Broughton walked through the room towards the corridor. Bolitho had not seen him since he had left the ship, and said quickly, “I hope all went well, Sir Lucius?”

Broughton seemed only then aware of his presence. He eyed him flatly. “I have been appointed to New South Wales. To manage the vessels and affairs of our naval administration there.”

Bolitho tried to disguise his dismay. “That would appear to be quite a task, sir.”

The admiral's eyes flickered to Herrick. “Oblivion.” He turned away. “I hope you fare better.” Then with a curt nod he was gone.

Herrick exploded, “By God, I know little of Broughton, but that is damned cruel! He'll rot out there while some of these powdered poppinjays in London grow fat on the efforts of such men!”

Bolitho smiled sadly. “Easy, Thomas. I think Sir Lucius expected it.”

He turned back to the window. Oblivion. How well it described such an appointment. Yet Broughton had a name and power. A man of influence.

He thought with sudden bitterness of the
Auriga
's chief mutineer, Tom Gates. He could see him sitting across the table in the little inn at Veryan Bay, and again confronting Captain Brice in his cabin.

Almost the first sight he had witnessed at Portsmouth Point had been the weathered remains of Gates swinging from a gibbet as a grisly reminder of the price of revolt. How strange was fate.
Auriga
's second lieutenant had been released by the French in exchange for one of their own officers. His appointment had taken him to another frigate, where hiding under a false name he had discovered Gates. All hopes and ambition gone, and left only with the need to hide amongst his own sort, Gates had ended on a halter like so many others after the mutiny.

The door opened again and a lieutenant said, “Sir George will see you now.” When Herrick hung back he added, “Both of you, please.”

It was a fine room, with many pictures and a large bust of Raleigh above a lively log fire.

Admiral Sir George Beauchamp did not rise from his desk but gestured briefly to two chairs.

Bolitho watched him as he leafed through some papers. Beauchamp, distinguished for his work on reorganisation at the Admiralty since the outbreak of war. A man noted for his wisdom and humour. And his severity.

He was thin and rather stooped, as if bowed down by the weight of his resplendent gold-laced coat.

“Ah, Bolitho.” He looked up, his eyes very cold and steady. “I have been studying the reports and your findings. It makes interesting reading!”

Bolitho heard Herrick breathing heavily beside him and wondered what Beauchamp would say next.

“I knew Sir Charles Thelwall, your previous admiral.” Beauchamp eyed him calmly. “A fine man.” He turned back to the papers again.

Still no mention of Broughton. It was almost unnerving.

The admiral asked, “Do you still believe what you did and that which you discovered was worthwhile?”

Bolitho replied quietly, “Yes, sir.” The question had been casually put, yet he believed it summed up all that had gone before. He added, “The French will keep trying. They must be held. And stopped.”

“Your action at Djafou and handling of what must have appeared a hopeless situation was good. Sir Lucius said as much in his report.” He frowned. “As well he might.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The admiral ignored him. “New tactics and ideas, fresh objectives, all are necessary if we are to survive, let alone win this war. But the knowledge and understanding of the people who have to fight and die for our cause is
vital!
” He shrugged wearily. “You have that understanding. Whereas . . .” He left the rest unsaid, but in Bolitho's brain the word returned. Oblivion.

Beauchamp peered at a gilt dock. “You will remain in London for a day or so while I arrange your new orders, understood?”

Bolitho nodded, “Yes, sir.”

The admiral walked to a window and studied the passing carriages and townspeople with apparent disdain. “Captain Herrick will leave for Portsmouth immediately!”

Herrick asked thickly, “May I ask the reason, sir?”

Beauchamp faced them again, his mouth set in a thin smile. “
Commodore
Bolitho will be hoisting his broad pendant in
Euryalus
as soon as he returns to Portsmouth!” He looked hard at Herrick's amazed face. “I knew he would ask for you as his flag captain, so I thought we would try and waste less time than is customary under this roof!”

He stepped forward, his hand outstretched. Seeing Bolitho's arm strapped inside his coat he offered the other hand, saying sharply, “Our bodies too often become charts of our misfortunes, eh?” He smiled. “I am giving you a squadron, Bolitho. Just a small one, but enough for you to put your ideas to best advantage.” His grip was firm. “Good luck to you. I hope I've not made a mistake.”

Bolitho looked away. “Thank you, sir.” The room seemed to be spinning. “And for giving me Captain Herrick.”

The admiral was back at his desk. “Oh, nonsense!” But as they left the room together he was smiling with quiet enjoyment.

Out on the highway, amidst the hurrying figures and blowing leaves, Bolitho said, “I think maybe I am dreaming, Thomas.”

Herrick was grinning hugely, “I can't wait to see your nephew's face when I tell him!” He shook his head. “A broad pendant. God damn them, I thought they would
never
give you your proper reward!”

Bolitho smiled, his emotions pulling in two directions. Broughton had warned him what it would be like if he ever attained flag rank. A superior being, unreachable and beyond personal touch. It was a challenge, something he had always wanted. And yet, when the watch turned out on deck to shorten sail or to up anchor, how would it feel? Another in command of the same ship, while he remained an onlooker.

He said, “You had best return to the inn, Thomas. If you catch the Portsmouth Flyer you can be aboard
Euryalus
tomorrow night!”

Herrick watched him, his face suddenly grave. “I'll tell Allday to prepare things for you, sir.”

“Yes.” He touched his arm. “We have come a long way, Thomas. And I would not have wished for a better companion, or friend.”

He watched Herrick's sturdy figure until he had vanished into a side street and then turned to stare at the busy scene around him.

He made to cross the road but paused to allow a fine pair of greys drawing an emerald green carriage to pass. But the coachman was reining them back and had his brightly polished boot hard on the brake.

Bolitho waited, still dazed by all that had happened and the speed of life in this great city.

The carriage window opened and a voice said, “I heard you were at the Admiralty, Captain.”

He looked at the elegant woman who was smiling down at him like a conspirator. It was Catherine Pareja.

He stammered, “Kate!” He could find no other words.

She rapped on the roof. “Robert! Help the captain in.” And as Bolitho sank on to the seat beside her she added, “We will dine together.” Her mouth lifted in that familiar smile. “And then . . .” Her laugh was lost in the rumble of wheels as the carriage moved rapidly into the throng of vehicles and horses.

From his lofty window Admiral Beauchamp watched them go and nodded thoughtfully. He had made a good choice, he decided. Definitely a man to be reckoned with.