Flag Captain (4 page)

“And if I say nothing can be done, what then?”

Taylor looked him in the eyes. “There's many aboard who swear we'll 'ang anyway. They want to sail the ship to France an' trade 'er for their freedom.” He hardened his jaw. “But those like me say otherwise, sir. We just want our rights like the boys at Spit'ead got.”

Bolitho eyed him narrowly. How much did Taylor know of the other unrest at the Nore? He might be genuine, or could be the tool of someone more experienced in revolt. There was little doubt that what he had said of his ship was true.

He said, “Have you harmed anyone aboard?”

“None, sir, you've my word.” Taylor spread his hands plead-ingly. “If you could tell 'em that you'd put our case to the admiral, sir, it'd make a world o' difference! “Something like a sad smile showed on his rough features. “I think some of the lieutenants an' th' master are a might glad it's 'appened, sir. It's bin a terrible

un'appy ship.”

Bolitho's mind moved rapidly. Vice-Admiral Broughton might be in London. He could be anywhere. Until he hoisted his flag Rear-Admiral Thelwall was still in command, and he was too sick to be involved in anything like this.

There was Captain Rook, and the officer commanding the local garrison. There were probably dragoons still at Truro, and the port admiral thirty miles away in Plymouth. And all were equally useless at this moment of time.

If a frigate was indeed handed over to the enemy it might act as a general signal to the men at the Nore, who were still hovering on the brink of mutiny. It might even be seen as the thing to do when all else had failed. A chill ran down his spine. If the French got to hear of it they would act without delay to put an invasion into force. The thought of a confused demoralised fleet being destroyed because he alone had failed to act was unthinkable, no matter what the consequences might be later.

He asked shortly, “What else were you told to explain?”

“The
Auriga
's anchored in Veryan Bay. Some eight miles from 'ere. Do you know of it, sir?”

Bolitho smiled grimly. “I am a Cornishman, Taylor. Yes, I know it well.”

Taylor licked his lips. Maybe he had been expecting instant arrest. Now that Bolitho was listening to him he seemed unable to get the words out fast enough.

“If I'm not back afore sunset they'll make sail, sir. We bin approached by an armed cutter more'n once an' we've told 'em to stand off, that we're anchored to carry out some repairs.”

Bolitho nodded. It was not unusual for smaller ships to take refuge in that particular bay. It was quiet and fairly well sheltered in anything but severe weather. Whoever had steered this mutiny to its present state certainly knew what he was doing.

Taylor continued, “There's a little inn on the west side o' th' bay, sir.”

Bolitho said, “The Drake's Head. A smugglers' haunt, to all accounts.”

“Maybe, sir.” Taylor watched him uncertainly. “But if you'll come there tonight an' meet our delegates, we can settle matters there an' then like.”

Bolitho turned away. How easy it all sounded. And what was the
Auriga
's captain supposed to think about it? Merely pack his chest and leave? The simple reasoning probably seemed sound enough between decks, but it would cut little cloth when it reached higher authority.

But the most important and urgent thing was to stop the ship being taken and given to the enemy. Bolitho had no doubt that her captain was all and more than Taylor had described. There were enough of such petty tyrants throughout the Service, and he had even assumed an earlier command himself because of the previous captain's callousness.

Anyway, he could not hide his head and ignore it.

He said, “Very well.”

“Thank you, sir.” Taylor nodded vehemently. “You must come alone, but for a servant. They says they'll kill the cap'n if there's any sort o' treachery.” He hung his head. “I'm sorry, sir, it was none o' my wantin'. All I wished was to end me days in one piece, with a pot o' prize money at th' end o' it to open a little inn maybe, or a chandler's.”

Bolitho looked at him gravely. Instead, you'll probably end on a yardarm, he thought.

Taylor said suddenly, “They'll listen to you, sir. I just know it. With a new cap'n the ship'd be ready to live again.”

“I will promise nothing. Lord Howe's pardon should certainly have applied to your ship, however . . .” He faced the other man steadily. “It could go hard with you, as I expect you know.”

“Aye, sir. But when you've lived with misery for so long it is a chance we must face up to.”

Bolitho walked to the door. “I will ride to the inn at dusk. If what you have told me is true, I will do what I can to bring the matter to a rightful conclusion.”

The relief on Taylor's face faded as Bolitho added flatly, “If on the other hand this is some delaying tactic to give your people more time to dispose of the ship, be in no doubt of the consequences. It has been done before, and the culprits have always been run to ground.” He paused. “Eventually.”

The man knuckled his forehead and hurried out into the passage.

Ferguson watched him go with obvious distaste.

“Is it all well, sir?”

“At present, thank you.” He pulled his watch from his pocket. “Send someone to signal for my barge.” He saw the disappointment on Ferguson's face and added, “I will be back ashore later today, but there are things to attend to.”

An hour later Bolitho climbed up through the
Euryalus
's gilded entry port and removed his hat to the pipes' shrill greeting and the stamp and slap of muskets.

Keverne looked unusually preoccupied. When they reached the quarterdeck he said shortly, “The surgeon is worried about the admiral, sir. He is very low, and I am afraid for him.”

Bolitho glanced at Allday whose face had been screwed up with burning curiosity ever since the barge had reached the jetty.

“Keep the bargemen standing by. I may require them soon.”

Then he strode aft and down to the admiral's quarters.

Lying quietly in his cot the admiral seemed even smaller and more fragile. His eyes were shut, and there was blood on his shirt-front as well as the handkerchief.

Bolitho glanced at the surgeon, a thin, wiry man with unusually large and hairy hands.

“Well, Mr Spargo?”

He shrugged. “I cannot be sure, sir. He ought to be on shore. I am only a ship's surgeon.” He shrugged again. “But the effort of moving him now might be fatal.”

Bolitho nodded, his mind made up.

“Then leave him here and watch him well.” To Keverne he said, “Come up to my cabin.”

Keverne followed him in silence until they had reached the wide cabin which ran the whole breadth of the poop. Through the open stern windows was a perfect view of St Anthony Head, moving slightly as the ship swung ponderously on the current.

“I have to go ashore again, Mr Keverne.” He must be careful not to involve his first lieutenant, yet at the same time he had to be primed enough to know what to do if the scheme misfired.

Keverne's face was a mask. “Sir?”

Bolitho unclipped his sword and laid it on the table.

“There is no news of Vice-Admiral Broughton yet. Nor is there any hint of unrest ashore. Captain Rook's boats will be alongside after our people have had their meal, and you can carry on with loading stores all afternoon and into the dog watches if the sea remains calm.”

Keverne waited, knowing there was more to come.

“Sir Charles is very sick, as you have seen.” Bolitho wished Keverne would show some curiosity, like Herrick would have done when he had been his first lieutenant. “So you will be in command until my return.”

“When will that be, sir?”

“I am not sure. Later tonight perhaps!”

He had Keverne's interest roused at last.

“Is there something I can do to help, sir?” He paused. “Will there be trouble?”

“Not if I can prevent it. I will leave written orders for you to act upon if I am delayed for more than the night. You will open them and take whatever . . .” he held up his hand, “no,
every necessary step
to see that they are carried out without delay.” His mind grappled with the picture of the chart within his brain. It would take
Euryalus
more than two hours to up anchor and reach Veryan Bay, where the sight of her terrible armament would soon quell even the stoutest heart into submission. But by then it might be far too late.

Why not put to sea now, without further delay? No one would blame him, probably quite the reverse. He frowned and dismissed the idea immediately. This was to be a new squadron. And with the war entering its most dangerous stage so far, it would be a bad beginning for the flagship to pound an anchored consort into a bloody shambles because he had not the nerve or the will to do otherwise.

Surprisingly, Keverne smiled, showing his even teeth.

“I have not been with you for eighteen months and learned nothing of your methods, sir.” The smile vanished. “And I hope I have your confidence!”

Bolitho smiled. “A captain can only go so far to share his thoughts, Mr Keverne. His responsibility he must hold to himself, as you will one day discover.” If it goes badly tonight you may be promoted earlier than you imagine, he thought bleakly.

Trute, the cabin servant, stepped gingerly through the door and asked, “Permission to lay th' table for your lunch, sir?”

Keverne said, “I will go and attend to the hands, sir.” He watched distantly as Trute busied himself with plates and cutlery at the long table. “I'll not be sorry to get to sea again.” He left the cabin without another word.

As Bolitho sat moodily at his lonely table toying with the cold rabbit pie which must have been sent directly from the shore by Rook, he thought back over what Taylor had told him. The fact that he had been able to reach Falmouth and find the house so quickly spoke volumes, and suggested there were other watchful eyes already close by, ready to pass the word back to the
Auriga.
Any sort of deception, marines landed at the jetty or some such precaution other than normal port practice, would soon arouse suspicion, and the
Auriga
's captain would be in grave danger, the consequences terrible.

He stood up angrily. How long would it take before such men were pruned from the Navy once and for all? A new breed of officer was growing up, and finding the scope to attack the enemy as well as better the living conditions of their own seamen. But here and there was the bully and tyrant, often men with influence in high places who could not be broken or removed until moments like these, when it was too late.

Trute returned and eyed him worriedly. “Did yew not like the pie, sir?” He was a Devon man and viewed Bolitho, like all Cornishmen, with both apprehension and a little awe.

“Later perhaps.” Bolitho glanced at the sword. Old and so worn, the one which appeared in many of those family portraits. “I will leave this in your care.” He tried to keep his voice normal. “I shall take a hanger.” He paused. “And pistols.”

Trute gaped at the sword. “
Leave
it, sir?”

Bolitho ignored him. “Now pass the word for my cox'n.”

Allday was equally surprised. “Won't seem the same without the sword, Captain.” He shook his head. “Whatever next!”

Bolitho snapped, “I have told you before that one of these days you will open your mouth too wide. You are not so old and wise that you can avoid my displeasure!”

Allday smiled. “Aye,
aye,
Captain.”

It was hopeless. “We will be going ashore together. Do you know the Drake's Head?”

Allday became serious. “Aye. Veryan Bay. 'Tis owned by an old yaw-sighted villain. One eye points forrard, t'other almost abeam, but his wits are as sharp as a midshipman's hunger.”

“Good. That is where we are going.”

Allday frowned as Trute re-entered and laid a brace of pistols on the table beside a curved hanger.

He asked mildly. “A duel, Captain?”

“Call away the barge. Then give my compliments to Mr Keverne and tell him I am ready to leave, as soon as I have written his orders.”

Bolitho made a further visit to see the admiral, but there was little change. He appeared to be resting quietly, his wizened face more relaxed in sleep.

On deck he found Keverne waiting for him.

“Barge alongside, sir.” Keverne looked aloft at the listless flag. “The wind has died for some while, I think.”

Bolitho grunted. It was just as if Keverne was trying to warn him. That once he left the ship he was alone and without much hope of assistance. He cursed his own uncertainty. Keverne did
not
know, and anyway, what else could be done? To wait until the new admiral arrived was merely hiding from the responsibility he had accepted as his own. He said abruptly, “Look after her.” Then he lowered himself down to the waiting boat.