Free Colours Aloft! by Alexander Kent Page B

order this seemed a suitable solution for a companion for Zenoria Carwithen. It would not stop the speculation but might halve the gossip.
    Philip Montresor of the Despatch was a young, eager-faced man, who was not in the least daunted by the solitary epaulette on his right shoulder. Next to him, Tobias Houston of the Icarus looked old for his rank and had indeed gained it by a roundabout route through John Company and later the Revenue Service. He had a round, hard face like a weathered nut, and a mouth little more than a slit.
    Commander Marcus Quarrell was leaning across to whisper something to Lapish, who had commanded his brig Rapid before him. Quarrell was a lively, friendly man from the Isle of Man. But his humour was failing with Lapish who still looked sunk in gloom.
    Lieutenant Hallowes of the cutter Supreme was also present and quite rightly, he was as much a captain as any of them. For the present anyway.
    They were a mixed bunch, Bolitho thought. The whole fleet must be like this as their lordships tried to produce ships and men for a war which even an idiot should have expected.
    He looked over their expectant faces, the gold and blue of their uniforms, the confidence he had heard in their voices.
    He said, “Gentlemen, I intend to sail with a minimum of delay. In his despatches the Governor has informed me that an East Indiaman will be arriving any day now to take passage around the Cape of Good Hope. With her trained company and heavy artillery she will be able to offer a suitable escort to the two convict vessels until they are clear of French interference. I am sure the Governor will be able to persuade the grocery captain.”
    They all laughed. The HEIC was not known for losing time on a fast passage no matter for what reason.
    It hid Bolitho’s relief. He had been afraid that the Governor might demand one of his ships for the task; there were too few already without that.
    He continued, “This is unlike the blockades of Brest and the Bay. There, foul though it is for the ships involved, they can be relieved and sent to England for restoring or repairs in a couple of weeks. In the Mediterranean there is no such relief. Toulon is our main cause of anxiety; to watch the enemy and discover his intention will need constant vigilance. But where can we go for our supplies and, even more important, our fresh drinking water? Gibraltar is eight hundred miles from Toulon, and Malta about the same. A ship sent from Malta might be away from her admiral for over two months.” He smiled wryly. “Pleasant for her captain maybe,” he saw them grin, “but in the meantime the enemy could be away on the wind. I have no doubt that Vice-Admiral Nelson has already found a possible solution. If not, I intend to act independently.” He could see the captains of the seventy-fours considering what he had said. Each ship carried fresh water for only ninety days, and that was on a restricted ration. They had to find a source of water above all else.
    â€œYou must continue regular gun and sail drills at all times. Apart from improving both it will keep the people occupied.”
    There was a smell of food and he guessed that Ozzard was waiting to serve dinner for the gathered captains.
    He said, “We will speak later, but do you have any questions?”
    Montresor got to his feet. Like Keen he had fair hair and the fresh complexion of a schoolboy.
    He asked, “Are we to blockade the French at Toulon and the other ports, Sir Richard?”
    Bolitho replied, “Not entirely. Our main task is to catch them if they break out, and destroy them. They will be testing us, remember, feeling our strength as well as our ability.” He saw Keen’s face. He alone knew what Bolitho had left until now.
    â€œThere is one French squadron, newly formed, but not yet reported in Toulon.”
    Even as he said it he found it hard to believe, impossible to accept.
    â€œRear-Admiral Jobert commands