The Flag Captain

“Then I think we might land a second force, of seamen.” Broughton was pouting his lower lip. “Some guns too, if we can discover a favourable beach.”

Bolitho looked away. “Very well, sir.” Already he could visualise the tremendous effort and strain of getting even one thirty-two-pounder ashore and hauled up the hillside. And nothing but a gun of that size would do any good against the fortress. It would take a hundred men, maybe more, and others to be nearby to ward off any sudden attack by enemy skirmishers. A Long Nine weighed over three tons, and one such weapon would not be enough.

But it was better than having the squadron pounded to fragments in a senseless procession back and forth across the bay’s entrance.

He turned, caught off guard as Tothill said, “Sir!”

“What is it? Have they all acknowledged?”

“Not that, sir.” The midshipman pointed across the starboard nettings. “Coquette is off station and making more sail, sir.”

As he raised his telescope Bolitho saw the telltale balls dashing to the frigate’s yards and breaking out in bright patches of colour.

Tothill said, “Signal, sir. Strange sail bearing north-west.”

Bolitho lowered the glass and looked at Broughton. “Shall I order Coquette to give chase, sir?”

Tothill’s voice cut across Broughton’s reply. “Coquette is making another signal.” A pause, and Bolitho watched the muscle jerking in sharp, regular intervals in Broughton’s cheek. Then, “Strange sail has gone about, sir.”

Broughton let his arms fall to his sides. “Probably an enemy frigate. Coquette would have been able to close with her had she been anything else.” He looked at Bolitho. “She’ll be screaming our presence to the world now.”

“I suggest we recall the marines, sir.”

Bolitho pushed away his earlier ideas about landing guns and all the tackle and boats it would have required. There was no time for that now, and they might be lucky to regain all their marines if an enemy squadron was nearby.

“No.” Broughton’s eyes were like stones. “I will not withdraw. I have my orders. So have you.” He gestured towards the line of barren hills. “Djafou must be taken before any enemy ships reach here! Must be, do you understand?” He was almost shouting, and several of the seamen by the guns were staring up at him.

Draffen’s voice cut through the brief silence like a knife. Where he had been during the action Bolitho did not know, but now he looked very calm, his eyes cold and steady, like a hunter at the kill.

“Let me make a suggestion, Sir Lucius.” As Broughton turned to him he added quietly, “For I think you will agree we have wasted quite enough time with conventional methods.”

For a brief instant Bolitho expected the admiral to show some of his earlier defiance.

But instead he replied, “I will agree to hear your suggestions, Sir Hugo.” He looked round as if seeking the companion ladder. “In my quarters, I think.”

Bolitho said, “I will signal the squadron to steer due west, sir.

With Restless and Coquette remaining on station at present.”

He waited, seeing Broughton’s mind wrestling with his words.

Then he replied, “Yes.” Nodding more firmly, “Yes, attend to it.”

As they left the quarterdeck Keverne said softly, “We fared better than Tanais, sir. She lost twenty killed. We have seven dead and five with splinter wounds.”

Bolitho was still looking towards the poop and wondering what Draffen could suggest at this late stage.

“Damage?”

“Sounded worse than it was, sir. The carpenter is below now.”

“Good. Tell Mr Grubb to get his men to work on it as soon as he can.”

He paused as the first corpse was carried through the main hatch and dropped loosely to await burial. In the space of a few minutes they had lost seven lives. About one a minute.

Bolitho clasped his hands behind him and walked slowly towards the weather side, his face suddenly angry. Euryalus was the most modern device known to man’s ingenuity at making war. Yet an ancient fort and a few soldiers had made her as impotent as a royal barge.

He snapped, “I am going to see the admiral, Mr Keverne.”

“Sir?”

“I too have some ideas which I will put to him directly!”

Allday watched him pass and gave a slow smile. Bolitho was angry. It was about time the captain took charge, he thought, for all their sakes.

13. Second chance

Vice-Admiral Broughton looked up from his desk, his expression a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

“We had not quite finished, Bolitho.” He gestured towards Draffen, who was leaning against the cabin bulkhead. “Sir Hugo was just explaining something to me.”

Bolitho stood firmly in the centre of the cabin which seemed vaguely empty without its more valuable fittings and furniture. These has been taken below the waterline for safety before the fruitless attack on the fortress. Nevertheless, Broughton was lucky to have been spared the usual disorder which would be found in a British built three-decker. Then, his quarters, like all the rest of the ship, would have been stripped bare, the normally hallowed cabins wreathed and stained in smoke from their own guns. But the nearest cannon were safely beyond the bulkhead, so that after the air of alertness and battle tension on the upper deck this cabin added to Bolitho’s sense of frustration and growing anger.

He replied, “I would suggest we act quickly, sir.”

Broughton raised one hand. “I am aware of the urgency.” He seemed to sense Bolitho’s anger and added coldly, “But speak your mind if you wish.”

“You have seen the fortress, sir. The futility of trying to beat it into submission from the sea. Using ships against sited shore batteries and defences has never, in my experience, been of any use.”

Broughton eyed him bleakly. “If you want me to admit that you advised me against such action in the early stages, then I will do so. However, as we have neither the facilities nor the strength for a combined attack, nor the time available to starve the garrison into submission, I do not see we have any alternative.”

Bolitho breathed out slowly. “The only thing which has made Djafou a thorn in the side of every maritime nation using these waters is the fort, sir.”

Draffen said shortly, “Well, Bolitho, that is surely rather obvious?”

Bolitho looked at him. “I would have thought it obvious also

to whoever devised this plan in the first place, Sir Hugo.” He turned back to the admiral. “Without it this bay is valueless, sir.” He waited, watching Broughton’s eyes. “And with it, this bay is still quite useless to us.”

“What?” Broughton sat upright as if he had been struck. “You had better explain!”

“If we succeed in taking the fortress we will still be hard put to hold the bay as a base, sir. Given time, the enemy, particularly the French army, would land artillery further along the coast and make the anchorage untenable for our ships. So we would be like the present defenders. Driven back inside that stone pile and able only to stop others from using the bay for shelter or whatever use they might see in it.”

Broughton stood up and walked slowly to the quarter windows. “You have still made no mention of an alternative.” He sounded less abrupt.

Bolitho said slowly, “Return to Gibraltar. Inform the Commander-in-Chief of the true facts, and I am sure he will give you the support and the ships for making another attempt to obtain a base.” He expected Broughton to turn on