Somebody in the Euryalus’s foretop raised a cheer, but otherwise there was complete silence as seamen and marines watched the frigates overlapping, clawing closer and closer to each other, the smoke already whipped free in the wind.
Another ripple of flashes, this time from the Frenchman, but the Auriga’s masts and yards remained intact, whereas the enemy’s canvas was pitted with holes, her main topsail tearing itself to ribbons after the first barrage.
Keverne whispered, “A good prize, I’m thinking. We can do with another frigate anyway.”
It was hard to distinguish what was happening now. The two ships could only be half a cable apart, and getting nearer each minute. More cannon fire, and then the enemy’s mizzen top-
gallant pitched down into the rolling smoke, the ripped canvas and rigging following it into the bedlam below.
Broughton said, “She’ll strike soon.”
“The wind’s droppin’, sir.” Partridge kept his voice hushed, as if fearful of breaking the concentration.
Broughton replied. “It does not matter now.” He was smiling.
A new silence had fallen, and across the last three miles which separated the Zeus from the two frigates they could see that the gunfire had ceased and both ships lay locked together. It was over.
Broughton said softly, “Well, well, Bolitho. What do you have to say about that?”
Some marines on the forecastle removed their shakos and began to cheer, the cry taken up aboard the Tanais directly ahead.
Bolitho brushed past the admiral and snatched a telescope from its rack as the cheering began to falter and die almost as soon as it was begun. He felt his skin chill as he watched the flag fluttering down from the Auriga’s peak like a wounded bird, to be replaced instantly by another. The same flag which still lifted jauntily above the tattered sails of her adversary. The tricolour of France.
Keverne gasped, “By God, those bastards have struck to the Frogs! They never even tried to fight ’em!” He sounded stunned with disbelief.
The Auriga was already drifting clear of the Frenchman, and there was fresh activity on her deck and yards as she swung slowly downwind and away from the helpless squadron. Through the glass Bolitho could see her marines, their red coats making a patch of colour as they were disarmed and herded below by a French boarding party. Not that a boarding party was necessary, he thought bitterly. The whole of the ship’s company, which seconds before had been fighting so well, had surrendered. Gone
over to the enemy. He replaced the glass, unable to hold it because his hand was shaking with both anger and despair.
Without effort he could see the delegates gathered in the little inn at Veryan Bay. Allday and his hidden pistol. The man called Gates. And John Taylor, crucified and maimed because he had tried to help.
Partridge said in a small voice, “No chance of catchin’ ’em now. They’ll be in Vigo afore dusk.” He looked away, his shoulders slumped. “To see it ’appen like that!”
Broughton was still staring at the two frigates, which were already pulling away and spreading more sail.
“You may signal Restless to take station to windward!” He sounded remote, like a stranger. “Then make a general signal to resume original course! He looked at Bolitho. “So there’s an end to your talk of loyalty.” His tone was like a whip.
Bolitho shook his head. “You told me you must understand a captain as much as the ship he commands. I believe you, sir.” He moved his gaze towards the distant Auriga. She seemed to have grown smaller under the alien flag. “Just as I believe that while men like Brice are permitted their authority, such things as we have witnessed today may continue.”
Broughton stepped back, as if Bolitho had uttered some terrible obscenity. Then he said, “Captain Brice may have fallen in battle.” He walked aft. “For his sake, I trust that is the case.” Then he vanished into the gloom below the poop.
Lieutenant Meheux said loudly, “Well, there was nothing we could do to stop it. Now, if I could have got my battery to bear we could have given them a lesson in manners.”
Several unemployed officers joined in the discussion, and Allday, who had been standing below the poop in case he was needed, glared at them with disgust.
He saw Bolitho pacing slowly back and forth on the weather side, his head lowered in thought. All the rest of them were pre-
tending to console him and themselves, but really they wanted to be reassured and had no idea what the captain was thinking.
But Allday knew, had seen the pain in his grey eyes at the first sight of that hated tricolour. He would be recalling the time he had been made to fight another British ship under an enemy flag, with his own brother in command.
He was feeling Auriga’s shame like his own, and all these empty-headed puppies could talk about was their own blameless part in it.
Allday strode towards Bolitho, hardly realising that his feet had started to move. He saw Bolitho halt, the swift anger in his eyes at being disturbed.
“What is it?” The voice was cold, but Allday was undeterred.
“I was just thinking, Captain.” He paused, gauging the moment. “The Frogs have just got a British frigate, but not by force of arms.”
“Well?” He sounded dangerously calm.
Allday grinned. “I was just looking around while all that was going on.” The grin got wider. “Now this three-decker, for instance. I seem to remember we took her together without too much difficulty in the face of some very angry Frogs.”
Bolitho glared at him. “That is a damn stupid comparison to make! If you can think of nothing more useful to say then be good enough to get out of my sight!” His voice was loud enough to make several heads turn in their direction.
Allday walked slowly away, hopeful and at the same time afraid that he had for once mistimed his attempt to help.
Bolitho’s voice halted him.
“Now that you mention it, Allday.” Bolitho dropped his eyes as the other man turned towards him. “It was a fine prize. And still is. Thank you for reminding me. It was wrong I should forget what British seamen can do.”
Allday glanced at the silent lieutenants and smiled gently
before sauntering back to his place by the poop ladder.
Bolitho’s voice broke the silence again.
“Very well, Mr Keverne, you may pipe the lower battery to quarters and exercise the crews now that the ports are no longer awash.”
He paused and looked over the nettings so that Keverne had to hurry forward to hear the rest of his words. Even then he was not sure if he was meant to listen.
Bolitho said quietly, “We will meet again, my friend. And things may be a little different.”
Eighteen days after seeing the Auriga strike her colours to the enemy, Broughton’s squadron dropped anchor at Gibraltar. Due to the loss of time incurred at the start of the voyage while the admiral had exercised the ships in his plan of battle, the arrival beneath the Rock’s great shadow was even later than Bolitho had anticipated. They had been beset by constantly shifting winds, and once when some ninety miles west of Lisbon had been forced to ride out a storm of such swift and savage intensity that the Zeus had lost six men overboard. And yet the very next day had found all the ships floating helplessly in a dead calm, their sails flat and devoid of any movement while the sun made the daily routine almost unbearable.
Now, with awnings rigged and gunports open to a lazy offshore breeze, the squadron rested beneath the afternoon glare, their boats plying back and forth to the land like busy water-beetles.
Bolitho entered his cabin where all the other captains had been summoned within an hour of anchoring. They looked tired and strained after the voyage, and the swift pattern of events which had followed their arrival at Gibraltar had left none of them much time for rest.