Colours Aloft!

Selected Historical Fiction Published by McBooks Press

BY
A
LEXANDER
K
ENT
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
P
HILIP
M
C
C
UTCHAN
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
D
EWEY
L
AMBDIN
The French Admiral
The Gun Ketch
A King's Commander
Jester's Fortune
What Lies Buried

BY
A
LEXANDER
F
ULLERTON
Storm Force to Narvik
Last Lift from Crete
All the Drowning Seas
A Share of Honour
The Torch Bearers
The Gatecrashers

BY
J
ULIAN
S
TOCKWIN
Mutiny
Quarterdeck
Tenacious
Command
The Admiral's Daughter

BY
J
AN
N
EEDLE
A Fine Boy for Killing
The Wicked Trade
The Spithead Nymph

BY
D
UDLEY
P
OPE
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
F
REDERICK
M
ARRYAT
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. S
TUART
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
J
AMES
D
UFFY
Sand of the Arena
The Fight for Rome

BY
J
OHN
B
IGGINS
A Sailor of Austria
The Emperor's Coloured Coat
The Two-Headed Eagle
Tomorrow the World

BY
R.F. D
ELDERFIELD
Too Few for Drums
Seven Men of Gascony

BY
J
AMES
L. N
ELSON
The Only Life That Mattered

BY
C.N. P
ARKINSON
The Guernseyman
Devil to Pay
The Fireship
Touch and Go
So Near So Far
Dead Reckoning
The Life and Times of Horatio Hornblower

BY
D
OUGLAS
W. J
ACOBSON
Night of Flames

BY
D
OUGLAS
R
EEMAN
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
D
AVID
D
ONACHIE
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
B
ROOS
C
AMPBELL
No Quarter
The War of Knives

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

1 EBB
T
IDE

I
T 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 coffee. 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.

Bolitho had wanted to go, needed to see and speak with people he understood. He tossed the cloak from his shoulders to reveal the gleaming epaulettes, each with its two silver stars. Vice-Admiral of the Red, apart from Nelson the youngest on the Navy list. Even that he could not get used to. Like the title which had made everyone so pleased but which left him feeling awkward, embarrassed.

More pictures flashed through his mind as he watched the ship and gripped the old family sword between his knees.

London, the bright liveries and bowing footmen. The hush as he knelt before His Britannic Majesty, the lightest tap of the sword on his shoulder. Sir Richard Bolitho of Falmouth. It had been a proud moment surely? Belinda had looked so radiantly happy. Adam and Allday beaming like schoolchildren. And yet—

He saw a cluster of figures around the entry port, the blues and whites of the officers, the scarlet of the marines. His world. They would be watching his every move. Usually Allday would have been on hand to make sure he did not lose his balance or trip over his sword.