A Flag of Truce Read Free

their holes. On the larboard side the other party of seamen were hauling hard on a yard that was under pressure from the wind, but haul they did, until the leading edge to starboard passed the eye. So had the bows and, as the ship rose on the swell, the wind hitting them aided the movement, the appropriate command was issued.
    ‘Quartermaster, bring us round on to the larboard tack.’
    Beside him the wheel was swung, not without effort, the rudder biting into the sea and, now aided by the still potent
tramontane
, completing the travel of the bowsprit from well left of Mont Faron, across the head of the Grand Rade of Toulon, until it was shaping for the eastern limit of the mountains that backed the port.
    ‘Sheet home,’ came the command, and the falls of both sides were lashed off with the yards braced right round, holding in place the sails that would inch the ship forward.
    ‘Neatly done, sir,’ said Neame.
    Looking over he saw that Midshipman Harbin had performed the same manoeuvre and was still on a parallel course. The youngster would be watching his consort’s deck with a keen eye;whatever
Weazel
did, he would do likewise, until ordered otherwise.
    ‘I think it has eased enough for the cook to get his coppers lit, Mr Neame.’
    ‘It has, sir.’
    ‘Do we need to signal Mr Harbin?’
    ‘He will issue like orders as soon as he sees the smoke from our galley chimney.’
    ‘I don’t know about you, Mr Neame, but I would much appreciate some warm food and dry clothing and since we are near to port we might indulge ourselves, if you and our purser will join me for dinner, by finishing off the last of that Hermitage I fetched aboard. A pity such a heavy sea does not permit us to ask Mr Harbin yonder to join us.’
    ‘Poor lad,’ said Neame, without conviction.

    ‘HMS
Weazel
has made her number, sir,’ said the midshipman sent from the quarterdeck of HMS
Victory
with the message, ‘and she has in her possession a prize.’
    ‘Has she, by God!’ exclaimed Admiral Lord Hood, his heavy grey eyebrows shooting up and his prominent nose following. ‘If he has, then I think that Captain Benton has disobeyed his quite specific orders.’
    ‘That is the other thing, sir. The Officer of the Watch made it my duty to tell you that her own ensign is upside down.’
    ‘Benton dead, then?’
    ‘He fears so, sir, though he had no knowledge of who is in command.’
    ‘Signal to HMS
Weazel
. Captain to repair aboard immediately.’
    ‘Sir.’
    The lookout on HMS
Victory
was not the only one to see that prize, and the sight of their own navy’s flag flying above that of the enemy, and a signal that a Master and Commander was dead, probably killed in action, set any number of hearts racing. It had every lieutenant in the fleet who was not ashore and unaware looking to their seniority and their relationship to Lord Hood. There was nothing callous about this; it was the way of things. War brought death as well as the chance of glory, and advancement in King George’s Navy, unless an officer had impeccable connections, generally came through one or the other. Of course they would mourn for a dead comrade, that was only fitting, but his demise meant promotion for someone to fill his place, and that would ripple down through the fleet, affecting dozens of officers who would move up a place.
    It caused as much excitement below decks on the seventy-four gun warship, HMS
Leander
, as the news filtered down, yet there was anxiety too. The fact that the captain was dead did not mean that others had been spared the same fate. Commonseamen went on deck as little as possible, especially in a strong clothes-tugging wind that chilled even on a September day, so it was rare to see such figures as Michael O’Hagan, Charlie Taverner, Rufus Dommet and old leathery-faced Latimer leaning over the rail peering at the incoming vessels. If John Pearce had known his friends were so arrayed he would have abandoned his dinner, as well as his