Colours Aloft! Read online

  COLOURS

  ALOFT!

  Selected Historical Fiction Published by McBooks Press

  BY ALEXANDER KENT

  The Complete Midshipman Bolitho

  Stand Into Danger

  In Gallant Company

  Sloop of War

  To Glory We Steer

  Command a King’s Ship

  Passage to Mutiny

  With All Despatch

  Form Line of Battle!

  Enemy in Sight!

  The Flag Captain

  Signal–Close Action!

  The Inshore Squadron

  A Tradition of Victory

  Success to the Brave

  Colours Aloft!

  Honour This Day

  The Only Victor

  Beyond the Reef

  The Darkening Sea

  For My Country’s Freedom

  Cross of St George

  Sword of Honour

  Second to None

  Relentless Pursuit

  Man of War

  Heart of Oak

  BY PHILIP M CCUTCHAN

  Halfhyde at the Bight of Benin

  Halfhyde’s Island

  Halfhyde and the Guns of Arrest

  Halfhyde to the Narrows

  Halfhyde for the Queen

  Halfhyde Ordered South

  Halfhyde on Zanatu

  BY DEWEY LAMBDIN

  The French Admiral

  The Gun Ketch

  A King’s Commander

  Jester’s Fortune

  What Lies Buried

  BY ALEXANDER FULLERTON

  Storm Force to Narvik

  Last Lift from Crete

  All the Drowning Seas

  A Share of Honour

  The Torch Bearers

  The Gatecrashers

  BY JULIAN STOCKWIN

  Mutiny

  Quarterdeck

  Tenacious

  Command

  The Admiral’s Daughter

  BY JAN NEEDLE

  A Fine Boy for Killing

  The Wicked Trade

  The Spithead Nymph

  BY DUDLEY POPE

  Ramage

  Ramage & The Drumbeat

  Ramage & The Freebooters Governor

  Ramage R.N.

  Ramage’s Prize

  Ramage & The Guillotine

  Ramage’s Diamond

  Ramage’s Mutiny

  Ramage & The Rebels

  The Ramage Touch

  Ramage’s Signal

  Ramage & The Renegades

  Ramage’s Devil

  Ramage’s Trial

  Ramage’s Challenge

  Ramage at Trafalgar

  Ramage & The Saracens

  Ramage & The Dido

  BY FREDERICK MARRYAT

  Frank Mildmay OR The Naval Officer

  Mr Midshipman Easy Newton Forster OR The Merchant Service

  Snarleyyow OR The Dog Fiend

  The Privateersman

  BY V.A. STUART

  Victors and Lords

  The Sepoy Mutiny

  Massacre at Cawnpore

  The Cannons of Lucknow

  The Heroic Garrison

  The Valiant Sailors

  The Brave Captains

  Hazard’s Command

  Hazard of Huntress

  Hazard in Circassia

  Victory at Sebastopol

  Guns to the Far East

  Escape from Hell

  BY JAMES DUFFY

  Sand of the Arena

  The Fight for Rome

  BY JOHN BIGGINS

  A Sailor of Austria

  The Emperor’s Coloured Coat

  The Two-Headed Eagle

  Tomorrow the World

  BY R.F. DELDERFIELD

  Too Few for Drums

  Seven Men of Gascony

  BY JAMES L. NELSON

  The Only Life That Mattered

  BY C.N. PARKINSON

  The Guernseyman

  Devil to Pay

  The Fireship

  Touch and Go

  So Near So Far

  Dead Reckoning

  The Life and Times of Horatio Hornblower

  BY DOUGLAS W. JACOBSON

  Night of Flames

  BY DOUGLAS REEMAN

  Badge of Glory

  First to Land The Horizon

  Dust on the Sea

  Knife Edge

  Twelve Seconds to Live

  The White Guns

  A Prayer for the Ship

  For Valour

  BY DAVID DONACHIE

  The Devil’s Own Luck

  The Dying Trade

  A Hanging Matter

  An Element of Chance

  The Scent of Betrayal

  A Game of Bones

  On a Making Tide

  Tested by Fate

  Breaking the Line

  BY BROOS CAMPBELL

  No Quarter

  The War of Knives

  A lexander K ent

  COLOURS ALOFT!

  the Bolitho novels: 16

  McBooks Press, Inc.

  www.mcbooks.com

  ITHACA, NY

  Published by McBooks Press 2000

  Copyright © 1986 by Highseas Authors Ltd.

  First published in the United Kingdom by Arrow Books 1987

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any

  portion thereof in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

  without the written permission of the publisher. Requests for such

  permissions should be addressed to McBooks Press, Inc.,

  ID Booth Building, 520 North Meadow St., Ithaca, NY 14850.

  Cover painting by Geoffrey Huband.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Kent, Alexander.

  [Colors Aloft!]

  Colours aloft / by Alexander Kent.

  p. cm. — (Richard Bolitho novels ; 16)

  ISBN 0-935526-72-2 (alk. paper)

  1. Great Britain—History, Naval— 19th century— Fiction.

  2. Bolitho, Richard (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 3. Napoleonic Wars, 1800-1815—Fiction. I. Title

  PR6061.E63 C6 2000

  823'.914—dc21

  00-022862

  All McBooks Press publications can be ordered by calling

  toll-free 1-888- BOOKS 11 (1-888-266-5711).

  Please call to request a free catalog.

  Visit the McBooks Press website at www.mcbooks.com.

  Printed in the United States of America

  9 8 7

  TO KIM, MY LOVE

  And the sailor lost his heart to her,

  But she had given him hers long before.

  1 EBB TIDE

  IT WAS unusually cold for mid-September and the cobbled streets of Portsmouth Point shone like metal from the overnight rain.

  Vice-Admiral Sir Richard Bolitho paused at a corner and stared back at the George Inn where he had stayed for two days since his arrival from Falmouth. There was the old Blue Posts Inn too, a plume of smoke pouring from a chimney, a reminder of long-lost times when he had begun a voyage as a lowly midshipman.

  He sighed and turned to his companion who was waiting for him and as they rounded the corner Bolitho felt the Solent’s chill wind like a challenge.

  It was morning and yet the narrow streets were all but deserted. For this was 1803 and the fragile peace had been swept away in the first broadside of May. No young man or casual idler loitered here for fear of the dreaded press-gangs. Like a lesson repeating itself with little learned from before, he thought. He saw his nephew watching him, his eyes troubled, and was reminded of a remark made at the George Inn just that morning while he and Adam had played out a last cup of coffe
e. The man had been a traveller and had been watching the two sea officers in conversation, and later had said that he had originally taken them for brothers.

  Bolitho faced his nephew, hating the moment of parting but knowing it was selfishness to detain him further. Adam Bolitho was twenty-three and in his uncle’s eyes was little changed from the day he had first joined his ship as a midshipman.

  But there was a difference, a marked one. Adam had gone through danger and pain, sometimes at his side, other times not. The line of his mouth and the firmness of his chin showed he had learned well, and the solitary gold epaulette on his left shoulder said all the rest. A commander at twenty-three and now with a ship of his own. The little fourteen-gun brig Firefly lay out there beyond the wall, lost amongst the sprawling anchorage with its big men-of-war, transports and all the life of a naval port at war.

  Bolitho looked at him fondly without really seeing him, but catching glimpses of small, swift pictures of what they shared.

  He said almost without realizing it, “Your father would have been proud of you today.”

  Adam stared at him, his eyes anxious but pleased. “That was good of you.”

  Bolitho tugged down his gold-laced hat to compose himself. Then he said, “If I had to discover a reward for myself in all this, it is here and now, seeing you about to sail with your own command.” Impetuously he gripped his arm. “I shall miss you, Adam.”

  Adam smiled but his eyes remained sad. “You were looking back just now, Uncle?”

  “Aye,” They fell in step again and Bolitho tried to contain the feeling of depression which had been his shadow since leaving Falmouth. Was this then the last time? Was that the cause of his apprehension? Would he end up like so many others on some torn and bloodied deck never to return home?

  Adam said, “He thought we were brothers. A compliment to me I thought.”

  He laughed and Bolitho saw the midshipman again. Bolitho adjusted the boat-cloak about his shoulders. His flagship was waiting for him too. Perhaps the weight of responsibility which lay in his sealed orders would drive away his doubts and lose them far astern like the land.

  They would all be out there waiting for him. Thank God he had managed to keep Valentine Keen as his flag captain. There would not be too many other familiar faces this time, he thought.

  The Peace of Amiens, as it was called, had lasted less than a year but in that time their lordships and a complacent government had seen fit to run down the fleet in numbers and men to a maniac proportion. Sixty out of a hundred sail of the line laid up, and forty thousand sailors and Royal Marines thrown on the beach. Bolitho had been lucky to stay employed when so many had lost everything. It was ironic that his last flagship, Achates, had fought and won the first real battle after the Peace against the odds at a time when the fleet needed to hear of a victory of any kind. It was a further twist of fate that the French admiral’s ship Argonaute, which they had taken as a prize after one of the fiercest close actions Bolitho could recall, was now about to break his flag at the foremast. Achates had been an old ship and would remain in the dockyard for many more months. She had never really recovered from her earlier battles in the Caribbean. Argonaute was new by comparison and had been on her first commission when they had beaten her into surrender.

  He wondered briefly if prize-ships ever resented their new masters and one-time enemies. Bolitho had once been flag captain in a prize-ship but could not recall any strange behaviour in his command.

  Anyway there was no choice. They needed every ship and experienced seaman they could get. For whereas England had allowed her strength to sap away, the old enemy across the Channel had done the reverse. New ships, young, eager captains, and a vast army bent on final victory painted a gloomy picture for the future.

  Some Royal Marines were sheltering by the sallyport wall and sprang to life as the two officers drew near.

  It felt strange not to have Allday with him at this moment, Bolitho thought. Hogg, Keen’s coxswain, would be at the stairs with the barge this time. Allday had asked to go and visit someone. That in itself was strange. Allday never asked favours or discussed personal matters, and for a moment Bolitho had wondered if he had intended to accept his earlier offers to stay ashore. He had been at sea all his life apart from a brief spell when he had learned to be a shepherd. He had earned his freedom from the navy a thousand times over. And in Achates his life had nearly ended. Bolitho often thought of that day when his coxswain had taken a sword thrust in the chest which should have killed him instantly. He was usually his old cheerful, irrepressible self, but the wound showed itself none the less. He found it hard to straighten his back when he walked, and Bolitho knew just how much it hurt his pride. He had often compared Allday with an oak, or a faithful dog. He was neither. He was a true friend, one whom he could trust, who saw more of Bolitho the man than any other.

  They reached the stairs and Bolitho saw the barge swaying below him, Hogg, the coxswain, and a young lieutenant standing by the boat, faces upturned, heads bared. The tossed oars were in perfect white lines, the tarred hats and checkered shirts of the bargemen saying much for what Keen had already achieved with a new company.

  Keen would be watching him right now with his telescope, and probably his new flag-lieutenant, Hector Stayt, whom he had also sent on ahead of him. Stayt was a fellow Cornishman whose father had served with Bolitho’s father. He was highly recommended but looked more like an adventurer than someone who was supposed to show diplomacy when so required.

  A thousand worries and regrets rushed through his mind but his face was composed as he turned to his nephew once again. From one corner of his eye he had seen Adam’s little gig standing well clear while they waited for their youthful commander.

  The tide was on the ebb and he saw an old man gathering driftwood where the shingle showed itself. The man glanced up and looked directly at the two officers. They could be brothers. Each with black hair and the same steady grey eyes. Adam’s hair was cut short in the new fashion for sea officers; Bolitho retained the queue at the nape of his neck.

  The man on the shingle threw up a mock salute and Bolitho nodded. A last farewell.

  He said, “Take each step with care, Adam. You’ll get your frigate after this if you stay out of trouble.”

  Adam smiled. “I am sailing for Gibraltar with your dispatches, Uncle. After that I fear the fleet’s apron strings will tether me.”

  Bolitho returned his smile. It was like seeing himself being reborn. “Apron strings can stretch.” He clasped him against his boat-cloak, oblivious of the rigid marines and the watching bargemen. Almost to himself he said, “God be with you.”

  Then, as Adam doffed his new gold-laced hat and allowed his raven hair to ruffle in the wind, Bolitho hurried down the stairs. He nodded to the lieutenant. A face from the recent past, except he had been one of Achates’ midshipmen then.

  “Good day, Mr Valancey. It will be a hard pull in this wind.”

  He saw the flush of pleasure on the youngster’s face because he had remembered his name. Any link would help.

  He seated himself in the sternsheets and then waved to Adam as, with oars dipping and rising like wings, the smart, greenpainted barge thrust clear of the piles.

  With unseemly haste the little gig pulled towards the stairs, and as they swept around the stern of an anchored transport the sallyport was hidden from view.

  There were many vessels at anchor, their black and buff hulls shining dully in the rain and spray. Beyond them the Isle of Wight was little more than a misty hump, but the wind was steady. Was he glad to go this time?

  The lieutenant coughed nervously. “The frigate yonder is Barracouta, sir.” He flinched as Bolitho glanced at him. The frigate must have dropped anchor this morning otherwise he would have been informed. She was to be one of his new squadron under Jeremy Lapish who had commanded a brig like Adam’s when he had last served under him. In war the chance of promotion, like death, was ever present. But it was sensible of the
lieutenant to tell him and also showed that he took an interest in the comings and goings within the fleet.

  Bolitho said, “What is your appointment?”

  “Sixth lieutenant, sir.” One step up from the gunroom.

  Hogg swore under his breath and snarled, “Oars! Easy there!”

  The oar blades hovered, dripping and motionless, as Hogg put his weight on the tiller bar. A longboat was cutting directly across their path, so full of people it looked almost awash.

  Hogg glared at the youthful lieutenant and when he remained silent cupped his hands and bellowed, “Stand away there! Make way for a King’s officer!”

  Somebody waved and the longboat veered towards some nearby transports.

  Bolitho saw that one of the passengers was a young girl, her head and shoulders unprotected against the spray and wet breeze. She twisted round between two companions to see who was shouting and Bolitho’s eyes met hers across fifty feet of tossing whitecaps. He stared at one of her hands as she gripped the gunwale. She wore manacles on her wrists, but she turned away before he could see more.

  He asked quietly, “Who are those people?”

  Hogg eased the tiller carefully, still outraged that such a thing could happen under the eyes of his admiral.

  He said gruffly, “Convicts, sir.”

  Bolitho looked away. Going to Botany Bay probably. What had she done, he wondered? Who was she?

  “Ready, bowman!” Hogg was gauging the last cable or so with great care.

  Bolitho saw the tapered masts of Argonaute as the barge swept around another two-decker. She was a fine-looking ship, he conceded, shining in her new livery with a huge Red Ensign streaming out from her poop to welcome him aboard. She had fine graceful lines and Bolitho knew from hard experience she was an excellent sailer. Her poop deck was rather longer than her English counterparts but otherwise she was little different from any seventy-four, the backbone of the fleet.

  But as she drew closer Bolitho saw there were slight differences which any Frenchman would notice. The stronger bow and stiffly raked jib-boom and the gilded stern gallery which seemed almost flamboyant after earlier French ships. It was hard to see her with her decks puddled in blood, as embattled men hacked and thrust at each other to hold their ground. Many good hands died that day and on their way home to Plymouth. The dockyard had done magic with their battered charge, Bolitho thought. He had been tempted to visit his new flagship several times during her refit and repairs but had stayed away. Keen would hardly have been pleased to have his admiral come aboard in the midst of such confusion.