The Flag Captain

Grindle, you were quick. Now get ready to pass the children aft, though God knows how many there are down there. Then the women…” He broke off as a terrified figure tried to push past Ashton on the ladder. He seized him by the coat and said harshly, “Tell this one that I will have him thrown overboard if he disobeys my orders!”

In a calmer tone he continued, “You may put all the fit men to work on deck under Mr Meheux.”

Grindle looked at him dubiously. “They ain’t seamen, sir.”

“I don’t care. Give ’em axes and have that wreckage hacked away. Cut loose any top hamper you can find. You may cast the poop guns over the side if you can manage it without letting them run wild.” He paused to listen to the wind whipping against the

hull, the growing chorus of groans and bangs which seemed to come from every side, above and below.

Grindle nodded. “Aye, aye, sir. But we’ll not save ’er, I’m thinkin’.”

“Just do as I say.” He halted the man before he could move away. “Look, Mr Grindle, there is something you must face. These people cannot abandon ship, for there are no boats, nor could we build a raft in this sea. Their officers are dead, and they are near giving in to their terror.” Grindle was an experienced man, he deserved an explanation, even at this late stage.

The master’s mate nodded. “Aye, sir. I’ll do what I can.” He raised his voice. “You lads there! Watch the ’atch, while we goes down to get the bairns out!”

Another seaman came staggering down the passageway. “Captain, sir! Mr Meheux sends his respects, and the Euryalus is signalling!” He gaped as Grindle reeled through the hatch carrying two screaming babies as he would a bundle of canvas.

Bolitho snapped, “Give Mr Grindle a hand.” To Ashton he called, “On deck and see what is happening.” The boy faltered and then ran as Bolitho shouted, “Well, move yourself, my lad! I may have need of your Spanish presently.”

The tide of scrambling, gasping figures was growing every minute, with the seamen occasionally reaching into it to haul out some man who was trying to remain hidden with the women.

Bolitho had vague impressions of dark hair and frightened eyes, of tear-stained faces, an atmosphere of despair and near panic.

Ashton was back again, pushing through the throng, his hat awry as he reported, “The admiral wishes to know when you are returning, sir.”

Bolitho tried to shut out the din, the clawing uncertainty of other people’s fear which hemmed him in on every side.

Then he snapped, “Signal the ship at once. I need more time. It will be pitch dark soon.”

Ashton stared at him. “It is all but dark now, sir.”

“And the wind?” He must think. Detach his mind from this throng of terrified, unreal figures.

“Strong, sir. Mr Meheux says it is still rising.”

Bolitho looked away. It was settled. Perhaps there had never been any doubt.

“Go and make your signal. But inform the admiral that I will endeavour to get sail on this ship within the hour.” Ashton looked stunned. Maybe he had expected Bolitho to order them from the ship. The jolly boat could still make the crossing, at least with some of them.

Grindle panted past, his grey hair standing on end like dead grass.

Bolitho called, “How many so far?”

He scratched his head. “’Bout twenty kids. Fifty or so women!” He grinned, showing a line of uneven teeth. “Sailors’ dream, annit, sir?”

Grindle’s humour seemed to steady Bolitho. He knew he had been about to call back the midshipman before he could signal his ship. To make a last-minute compromise. One which Broughton might overrule with every justification and so recall him to the Euryalus.

He dismissed it instantly. Imagining Meheux trying to manage all on his own while he hid behind his proper role was unthinkable.

Ashton returned almost immediately. He was white faced and visibly alarmed.

“Signal from Euryalus, sir. If you are sure you can save the prize will you confirm it now?” He swallowed hard as something crashed across the upper deck, followed by shouts and wild curses from the seamen.

“Then confirm it, Mr Ashton.”

The midshipman added, “In which case you are ordered to

proceed independently to the squadron rendezvous. The flagship is making sail.”

Bolitho tried to hide his feelings. No doubt Broughton was more afraid of losing control of his squadron than anything. It was, after all, his first responsibility. If he allowed himself to be caught in a bad storm it might take him days to find his ships, to learn if Draffen had discovered anything useful.

He weighed his own reactions against their true value. Keverne could manage well enough, he had already proved that. Whereas here… He broke out of his thoughts and clapped Ashton on the shoulder. “Now be off with you.” As Ashton ran back along the passageway he called after him, “Walk. It does no harm to appear calm, no matter what your feelings may be!”

The midshipman glanced back at him and then forced a smile, before continuing on his way. Walking.

Allday called above the noise, “Can you come on deck, Captain?” He peered at some male passengers who were being herded in the opposite direction by two armed seamen. “Blow me, Captain, ’tis like the gates of hell opening!”

Grindle asked, “What’ll I do, sir?”

“Keep the passengers quiet until I can send the petty officer to relieve you. Then try and find some charts, and together we’ll decide what to do next.”

He followed Allday up the ladder and then said, “Get that corpse cleared away. It is no sight for children at first light.”

Allday watched him and gave a grim smile. Earlier it seemed they must abandon. Now he was speaking of first light. Things might get better after all.

On deck the wind and sea greeted Bolitho like forces gone mad. The light had almost disappeared, except for slivers of grey sky left darting between the clouds. Just enough for him to see the men reeling about the scarred decks, the bare space where the broken mizzen had lain trapped in its attendant rigging.

He rapped out his orders and then said to Meheux, “You have made a fine start.”

He turned to watch as Meheux raised one arm to point across the rail. The Euryalus was a mere shadow already, with the paler patches growing above her as her topsails filled to the wind and she began to go about. For a moment longer he saw her side glistening in spray, the checkered lines of her sealed ports, and pictured Keverne at his place on the quarterdeck, perhaps already imagining this to be yet another chance for him.

“We will have to stand before the wind, Mr Meheux. Any attempt to tack and we would lose the rudder and worse.”

The master’s mate came stumbling out of the darkness, a chart clutched against his chest.

“She was ’eadin’ for Port Mahon, sir. Most o’ the passengers are traders an’ their families, as far as I can make out.”

Bolitho frowned. The Navarra was much further south than need be when they had intercepted her. Another mystery, yet still no answers.

He said, “We will try and set the tops’ls, Mr Meheux. Put two good men on the wheel. Mr Ashton can translate your requirements to the Spanish hands.”

Bolitho looked round for the Euryalus, but she had completely vanished. He said, “I would rather have the Navarra’s men aloft for the present, where we can keep our eyes on them.”

Meheux grimaced. “They’ll be unhappy to go up in this wind, sir.”

“If they refuse, tell ’em there’s only one other place they can go.” He gestured between his straddled feet. “About a thousand fathoms straight down hereabouts!”

Another seaman sought him out and shouted, “There’s some fifty wounded in the fo’c’sle, sir! Blood all over the place! ’Tis a fearful sight!”

Bolitho watched the shadowy figures climbing gingerly up the