The Flag Captain

clear sky the ship seemed indestructible, permanent. An illusion, he thought grimly. No vessel was stronger than those who served her.

Allday watched critically as the acting coxswain manoeuvred the barge clear of the stones for the return journey. Then he asked, “What now, Captain?”

“ To the house. I have things to do, and we will require two horses.”

He reached up and felt the locket beneath his shirt. The one she had given him containing a lock of that perfect chestnut hair. He would leave it at the house. Whatever happened this night, he was not going to have someone else pawing over the locket.

He added slowly, “A fine day. It is hard to think of war, and other things.”

Allday said, “Aye, Captain. A tankard and a woman’s voice would not come amiss right at present.”

Bolitho was suddenly impatient. “Well, come along, Allday. When the oven’s hot it is time to bake. No sense in wasting time in dreams.”

Allday followed him readily, his mouth set in a smile. Like the wind across the sea, all the signs were there. Whatever the captain was planning, that which was troubling him enough to make him provoke his own anger, would go hard with someone before another dawn.

He thought suddenly of Bolitho’s words and grimaced. A topsail yard or a rough backstay, he could manage either. Even a reluctant woman was not too much trouble. But a horse! He rubbed his buttocks. By the time they reached the Drake’s Head he would have need for more than a tankard, he thought gloomily.

They left the house before dusk, but by the time they had crossed the river at a small ford, well clear of Falmouth, it was getting dark rapidly. But Bolitho knew the countryside like the back of his hand, and with Allday trotting uncomfortably behind him kept up a good pace until he had found the narrow twisting lane which led to Veryan. In places it was very steep, with the trees almost touching overhead, the thick brush alive with squeaks and startled rustlings as they passed by.

Then a sharp curve and for a few more minutes he saw the edge of the headland itself, with a writhing pattern of surf far below where the rocks lay like black teeth at the foot of the high cliffs.

Allday gasped, “My God, Captain, this horse has no respect for my rump!”

“Hold your noise, damn you!” Bolitho reined his horse at the

top of yet another steep slope and strained his eyes towards a darker line of tangled bushes.

The cliff edge had moved inwards again and probably came to within yards of the bushes. Beyond he could see the sea shining dully in the gloom, flat and unruffled, like pewter. But the bay was in deeper shadow, there might not be a ship there at all. Equally there could be half a dozen.

He shivered slightly and was glad he had allowed Mrs. Ferguson to have her way over the boat-cloak. It was cold up here, and the air felt damp. There would be another sea mist in before dawn.

He heard Allday breathing heavily beside him and said, “Not much farther now. The inn is about half a mile from here.”

Allday grunted. “I don’t like it, Captain.”

“You do not have to like it.” Bolitho looked at him. He had told Allday the bones of what was happening and nothing more. Just enough to clear himself if anything went wrong. “Surely you’ve not forgotten…”

He broke off and gripped his arm. “What was that?”

Allday stood up on his stirrups. “A hare maybe?”

The shout, when it came, was with the suddenness of a shot.

“Keep still and raise yer ’ands in the air where we can see ’em!”

Allday groped for his cutlass. “By God, it’s a bloody ambush!”

“Belay that, Allday!” Bolitho wheeled his horse against him and knocked his hand away from the weapon. “It is what I expected, man.”

The voice said, “Easy, Cap’n! We don’t want to cut you down but…”

Another voice, more insistent and hard with tension, snapped, “ We can do without wasting time, just you go an’ disarm ’em, and lively with it!”

There seemed to be about three men, Bolitho thought. He watched as a shadowy figure reached up to relieve Allday of

his cutlass, and heard the clatter of steel as it fell in the lane.

Another man materialised out of the darkness right beside him and said, “An’ you, sir. You’ll have pistols with you?”

Bolitho handed them down with the hanger and said coldly, “I was told that some sort of trust was needed. I did not know it was to be one-sided.”

The man faltered. “We’re takin’ a great risk, Cap’n. You might have brung the militia with you.” He sounded frightened.

The man who had not shown himself shouted, “Take the horses and lead ’em.” A pause and then, “I’ll be astern. One wrong tack and I will fire, no matter the rights an’ wrongs of the argument.”

Allday said between his teeth, “I’ll spit him, the bugger, for talking like that!”

Bolitho remained silent, allowing the horse to jog along with the man walking at its head. It was no more than he had anticipated. Nobody but a fool would arrange a meeting without taking these elementary precautions. They had probably been followed for the last few miles, the horses’ hoofbeats would have drowned most of the noise.

A single light appeared round the bend in the lane and he saw the pale outline of the inn. A small, untidy building, added to and altered over the years without much idea of beauty, he thought vaguely.

There was no moon and the stars looked very small. It was colder too, and he knew that the sea was not far away now, perhaps half a mile to the foot of the cliffs by way of a rugged and dangerous path. No wonder the inn was considered safe for smugglers.

“Dismount.”

Two more figures moved from the building and he saw the glint of metal as he swung himself from the saddle.

“Follow me.”

It was only a lantern burning inside the low-beamed parlour,

but after the dark lane it seemed like a beacon. The room smelt of ale and tobacco, bacon and dirt.

The innkeeper stepped into the lamplight, wiping his hands on a long, filthy apron. He was exactly as Allday had described, with one eye veering away as if trying to burst out of its socket.

He said in a thin, wheedling tone, “None o’ my doin’, sir. I wants you to remember that I had no part in all this.” He trained his good eye on Bolitho and added, “I knew your father, sir, a fine man…”

The voice barked, “Hold your damn noise! I’ll leave you hanging on your bloody rafters if you don’t stow your whining!”

Bolitho turned slowly as the innkeeper cringed into the shadows. The speaker was about thirty, ruddy faced but lacking the toughness expected of a seaman. His clothes were quite good. A plain blue coat and a shirt which had been recently washed. His face was intelligent but hard. A man who became angry very easily, Bolitho decided.

“I do not see Taylor here.”

The man, obviously the leader, said coldly, “He is with the boat.”

Bolitho looked at the others. There were four of them, and probably two more outside. All seamen, they were ill at ease and watching their spokesman with a mixture of anxiety and resignation.

“You will be seated, Captain. I have sent for some ale.” He lifted his lip in a sneer. “But perhaps someone of your standing would prefer brandy, eh?”

Bolitho eyed him calmly. The man was trying to provoke him.

“The ale will be very welcome.” He opened his cloak and dropped it on a chair. “You must be the chosen delegate?”

“I am.” He watched with mounting irritation as the innkeeper shuffled to the table with some tankards and a brimming earthenware jug of ale. “You wait in your kitchen!”

In a more level tone he continued, “Now, Captain, have you decided to accept our terms?”

“I was not aware that any had been agreed upon.” Bolitho lifted a tankard and noticed with relief that his hand