The Flag Captain

“Thank you.” Bolitho thought suddenly of the wife who waited

in Bordeaux. He wondered if he would ever write and tell her where Witrand had died. That he lay beside a British lieutenant and a pimply-faced midshipman.

Then with a nod he jumped into the boat and snapped, “Cast off.”

Inch was waiting to greet him at the bomb’s low bulwark, his hat askew as he squinted towards the wavecrests beyond the headland. He saw Calvert, opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. He, after all, knew Bolitho better than most. And if he did something, he usually had a damn good reason.

He watched the boat being swayed inboard on its tackles and shouted, “Stand by the capstan!” Then he looked enquiringly at Bolitho. “When you are ready, sir?”

Their eyes held. Across the years like a conspiracy. He grinned and replied, “Directly, Commander Inch!”

Inch bobbed with pleasure. “Directly it is, sir!”

After his own quarters in Euryalus the bomb’s stern cabin was like a rabbit hutch. Even here her sturdy build was very apparent, and the massive deckhead beams gave the impression they were pressing down forcibly to further restrict movement and space.

Bolitho sat on the bench seat and watched the salt spray dashing across the thick glass, feeling the shallow hull staggering and groaning in a steep beam sea as she plunged awkwardly on the larboard tack. The deckhead lanterns were gyrating wildly, and he pitied the helmsmen on the unsheltered upper deck, and those unfortunate souls aloft at this moment trying to take in another reef.

The door banged open and Allday appeared carrying a jug of coffee. He rocked back on his heels, swayed and then hurtled towards the table, cracking his head on a low beam as the Hekla pitched sickeningly into a deep trough. Miraculously none of the scalding coffee was lost, and Bolitho marvelled at the cook’s skill in such a sea.

Allday rubbed his skull and asked, “Can’t you sleep, Captain? ’Tis four hours before daylight.”

Bolitho let the coffee explore his stomach and was grateful for it. His mind had defied rest while the Hekla had clawed her way clear of the coast, but now that time was running out he knew he should try to sleep. Calvert was rolled in a blanket in one of the two boxlike cabins, but whether he was asleep or brooding over Lelean’s death it was hard to say. He should have left him in Djafou, he knew it. Just as he was certain that Calvert would have gone out of his mind at being abandoned to his tortured thoughts.

He said, “I will rest in a moment!”

Inch entered the cabin, his tarpaulin coat glistening with salt rime as he staggered towards the coffee jug. He wiped his streaming face and said, “Wind’s veered a piece, sir. Gone round to west nor’ west, as far as I can tell. I’ll go about in an hour.” He hesitated, suddenly aware of his authority. “If that is suitable, sir?”

Bolitho smiled. “You are the captain. I am sure it will be convenient for our purpose. At daylight we may sight Restless.” He forced his mind to stop probing and reexamining his doubts. “But now I will sleep.”

Allday followed Inch towards the companion ladder and muttered, “My God, sir, I thought I yearned for small ships again!”

Inch grinned. “You are getting old!”

The sea thundered over the upper deck, and a goodly portion of it cascaded down the ladder towards them.

Allday swore and replied, “And, with respect, I should like to get older before I die!”

“Good morning, sir.” Inch touched his hat as Bolitho appeared at the companion and stepped over the coaming.

Bolitho nodded and walked to the lee rail, the sleep already gone from his mind in the keen, damp air. The daylight was as

yet only a glimmer, and now that Hekla had gone about to run almost parallel with the coast he guessed they were barely more than two miles offshore. The wind had veered still more and now pushed steadily across the larboard quarter, the spray leaping occasionally above the stout bulwarks to sluice noisily away into the scuppers. He could see the land, although it was little more than purple shadow, and it was strange to accept the fact that due to the slow necessity of clawing away from it to gain the wind’s advantage, Djafou now lay less than thirty miles ahead of Hekla’s blunt bows. Inch had done well, and there was nothing in his long horseface to show he had been on deck for most of the time while his ship had tacked and beaten around one great circle to her present position.

Astern they were being followed by a thick sea mist, so that it gave a false impression of being motionless, an impression made a lie by the flying spray around the bowsprit and the bulging tan sails above the deck.

As he peered forward he saw a sheen of dull silver on the dancing wavecrests, and knew dawn was nearby, but as yet the eastern horizon was still lost in spray and shadow. A few gulls drifted and shrieked above the topmasts, and he wondered whether eyes other than theirs had seen their careful approach. Careful for reasons other than surprise. Even as he considered the treacherous coastline so close abeam he heard the leadsman chant from the chains, his cry almost lost in the crack and thunder of the sails.

“By the mark seven!”

But Inch appeared satisfied, and Bolitho knew he knew his shallow hull better than Bolitho did.

Shadows around the bomb’s decks were already taking on strength and personality, and he saw the hands at work around the guns, while others moved restlessly on the forecastle where Mr Broome, Inch’s elderly gunner, was examining his mortars.

But mortars were not the only teeth in Hekla’s defences. Apart

from a few swivels, she mounted six massive carronades. Altogether they would certainly find any weakness in her stout construction and timbers.

“By the mark five!”

Inch called, “Bring her up a point, Mr Wilmot!”

His first and only lieutenant walked straddle-legged up the slanting deck, and as the helm squeaked over he shouted “Steady, sir! East by south!”

“By the mark seven!”

Inch said to no one in particular, “Damme, it’s like a sailor’s lot hereabouts. All ups and downs!”

Bolitho set his teeth against the screech and scrape of a grindstone from below the foremast where some of the seamen were busily putting new edges to their cutlasses. How overcrowded the deck appeared, mainly because in addition to her normal complement the Hekla carried the survivors from the Devastation as well as the remnants of his own landing party.

Inch rubbed a hand across his wind-reddened face. “Won’t be long now sir.” He gestured aloft. “I’ve a good man to watch for Restless.”

Bolitho said, “There is supposed to be an inlet where this Messadi takes refuge. Shelter enough for his chebecks, and within reach of several villages for his needs.” He looked searchingly at Inch. “You will be able to fire the mortars without anchoring, I hope?”

“Aye, sir.” Inch frowned. “We have never done it before, of course.” He chuckled, all doubt gone. “But then we had never fired at a fortress either!”

“Good. Once you have awakened their nest, we will engage whoever comes out.” He looked at the sky. “Restless will close and give ready support once we have made contact.”

Inch eyed him soberly. “And if she is not available, sir?”

Bolitho shrugged. “Then she is not available.”

Inch grinned again. “It’ll be like stirring wasps with a stick!”

Another cry from the leadsman took him away again and left Bolitho to his thoughts.

He watched the land hardening and taking on its true form, and recognised the same bleak hills and desolation as they had found in Djafou. It looked uneven but as yet unbroken by any sign of a cove or inlet, but he knew from boyhood it was deceptive. Once when a mere child he had taken out a small boat from Falmouth and had been horrified to find himself carried away on a swift coastal current. There should have been a safe cove nearby, but as the light faded he could see nothing but those grim, hostile cliffs. With all hope and most of his courage gone he had suddenly found it. Almost hidden by an overlap of cliffs, beyond which the water was flat calm, and his relief had given way in a flood of tears.

His father had been away at sea. It had been his brother Hugh who had come to find him and had boxed his