Bolitho gripped his thick forearm. “I am glad you are satisfied.”
A lieutenant crossed the deck and touched his hat. “Capstan manned and boat hoisted, sir.”
“Very good.” He felt suddenly light-headed. Perhaps he had not, after all, realised just how close he had been to disaster. Allday had understood and had been prepared in his own way. But suppose Brice had refused to submit, or Gates had held his grip on the other men? He dismissed it from his thoughts. That part was over, and he could thank God no one had been injured, let alone killed, in the uprising.
“Tell the master to lay a course to clear the foreland, if you
please. We will run to the sou’ east until we have the sea room to go about.”
The young officer stood quite still, his eyes filling his face in the darkness.
Bolitho added gently, “Your name is Laker, am I right?” He saw him nod. “Well, Mr Laker, just imagine that both of your seniors had been killed in action.” Another nod. “It is your quarterdeck for the moment, and it would be well for your people to see you taking control right away. Trust is like gold, it must be earned to be of any true value.”
The youngster said quietly, “Thank you, sir.” Then he walked away, and seconds later the capstan began to clank round to the accompaniment of a half-hearted shanty.
Bolitho walked slowly aft and stood near the wheel. He would be ready, in case the frigate drove too close inshore. But if the Auriga had any hope of regaining her place in affairs, she had to begin here and now, with her own hands in command.
It was as if Allday was reading his mind.
He said softly, “Reminds me of when we were in the old Phalarope, Captain.” He glanced up as the sails cracked and stirred in readiness for the next order. “It took a long, long time before we got our good name back!”
Bolitho nodded. “I remember.”
“Loose the heads’ls!”
Feet scampered across the tilting decks, and from forward came the steady clank of the capstan as the men trudged around it.
“Anchors aweigh there!”
The dark land mass swam slowly across the quarter as the frigate tore free of the ground and paid off into the gentle wind.
Bolitho thought momentarily of Brice down there in his cabin, feeling his ship come alive, with voices other than his own calling the commands. How would I feel under such circumstances? He shuddered and then pushed Brice from his mind.
If the same circumstances ever did arise, then, like Brice, he would deserve it, he thought firmly.
“Steady as you go!”
“Nor’ west by west, sir!” The big wheel squeaked as the Auriga glided slowly towards the land.
Bolitho stayed by the weather rail watching the town in the brittle morning sunlight. The Euryalus was swinging almost bows on towards the approaching frigate, her topgallant yards gold in the pale glare, the fierce-eyed figurehead bright against the spray-dappled hull.
He looked around the busy activity on the frigate’s main deck, the first time he had seen her in daylight. Brice must have been mean as well as a tyrant. The paintwork was faded and flaking, and the seamen were dressed mostly in ragged scraps of clothing and appeared for the most part half starved. Several of them, without shirts as they worked about the deck, had backs so scarred that they looked as if they had been mauled by some crazed beast.
Forward, the anchor party stood watching the outspreading arms of the bay, the town of Falmouth beyond, still in the morning shadow. A guardboat idled above her own reflection, a blue flag at the masthead to indicate where the incoming frigate was to drop anchor. Both the young lieutenants and the ship’s master were concentrating on the last two cables, and Bolitho said quietly, “You had better pass the word to your gunner to prepare a salute, Mr Laker. With all else on your mind it would be a shame to forget that a rear-admiral demands a salute of thirteen guns.”
The lieutenant looked startled and then gave a shy grin. “I had not forgotten, sir, although I was not expecting you to test me.” He pointed across the nettings. “But as you well know, sir, it will require fifteen guns.” He was still smiling as he hurried back to join the master by the wheel.
Bolitho walked to the nettings and climbed up on to a bollard.
It could not be. The lieutenant had to be deceived by a trick of the light, or the fact that Euryalus was swinging her bows towards them.
He jumped back to the deck and saw Allday watching him. There was no error. The flag which now lifted in the sunlight flew from the three-decker’s foremast.
Allday said quietly, “So he’s arrived, Captain?” While the Auriga moved slowly towards the anchorage, the salute banging out at regular five-second intervals, Bolitho made himself walk back and forth along the weather side of the quarterdeck. Glasses would be trained on the frigate, he must be seen to be both safe and in control. It seemed to take an age for those last moments to drag by. Moments in which he wondered what had happened to Rear-Admiral Thelwall, and what Broughton would think of his actions. When he looked again he saw the Euryalus swinging across the bowsprit as the frigate went about, and with canvas cracking and slapping against the yards turned easily into the wind. The anchor had barely dropped into the water when Bolitho heard another sound, growing in the clear air like a roll of great drums. As he swung round and ran to the side he saw, with something like sick horror, the three rows of gun ports along the Euryalus’s side opening together, and as if guided by a single hand, the whole triple array of black muzzles running out into the sunlight.
The lieutenant murmured, “My God!” Taylor ran aft, pointing dazedly. “Boats comin’, sir!” There were nearly a dozen of them. Cutters and launches, all crammed with marines, their coats shining like blood as they sat motionless between the busy oars.
Some of the seamen seemed unable to drag their eyes from the Euryalus’s massive armament, as if they expected every gun to open fire. A few remained staring at the quarterdeck, watching Bolitho, perhaps hoping to read their own fate on his face.
The leading boat rounded the frigate’s quarter, shielded from the flagship’s guns, and headed towards the entry port. Captain Rook was in the sternsheets, and as he drew alongside he looked up and shouted, “Are you safe, sir?”
Allday muttered, “Bloody fool!” But Bolitho did not hear.
He looked down at Rook’s red face and replied, “Of course.” He hoped the seamen nearby would hear him. They would need all their trust in the next few moments.
Rook clambered up to the deck and touched his hat.
“ We were worried, sir, very worried indeed.” He saw the two lieutenants watching him and shouted, “Hand your swords to the lieutenant of marines immediately!”
Bolitho snapped, “By whose order?”
“I beg pardon, sir,” Rook looked uncomfortable. “By order of Vice-Admiral Sir Lucius Broughton.” He turned as more boats grappled alongside and the gangway suddenly came alive with grimfaced marines, their muskets and fixed bayonets trained on the crowded main deck.
Bolitho crossed over to the lieutenants. “Rest assured, I will see that you are not abused.” He looked at Rook. “I am making you responsible.”
The one-armed officer wiped his forehead worriedly. “As you say, sir.”
Bolitho walked back to the quarterdeck rail and looked along the crowded mass of silent seamen.
“I gave you my word. Keep your peace and obey orders. I shall go across and meet the admiral without delay.”
He saw Taylor make as if to come aft and then stop when a marine jerked a bayonet in his direction.