Alexander Kent - Passage to Mutiny

Bolitho locked his fingers behind his head. He felt the sweat trickling down his chest and armpits, the shirt, newly washed and fresh on today, clinging like a wet shroud.

Maybe this was what had occurred in the missing Bounty, or aboard the Eurotas. Men tormented by climate and unceasing work taken off guard by some stupid remark made without real thought. The rest could explode like a powder cask.

He said, “Peterson’s father was hanged at Exeter for murder and theft. But he was wrongly identified, and the real murderer was caught and executed a year later.” His tone hardened. “But not before Peterson’s mother and family had been driven from their home by the dead man’s friends. They received a pardon, but it was somewhat late.” He saw Borlase pale and added, “I do not blame Schultz, because his language is limited. I cannot blame Peterson either. The very mention of a gibbet, the suggestion, no matter how casually made, that he were better use hanging from one, would drive me to rage!”

Borlase muttered haltingly, “I am sorry, sir. I did not know.”

“Which is why I blame you. That man is in your division and was of your watch. I knew, so did the first lieutenant. I trust that you will do something, and soon, to restore his respect. Something you have to earn, Mr Borlase, it does not come with the King’s coat!”

Borlase turned about and left the cabin, and for several moments Bolitho remained quite still in his chair, letting the sea noises intrude again to cover the fierce beats of his heart.

Allday said, “That was a rare quilting, Captain!”

“I told you to leave the cabin!” He stood up, furious with himself for losing his temper, and with Allday for his calm acceptance of it.

“But I did, Captain!” Allday kept his face stiff. “I thought you were calling me aft again.”

Bolitho gave in. “Was it that loud?”

Allday grinned. “I’ve heard worse, but I guessed you had pressing matters on your mind, and might wish to be reminded of them.”

“Thank you.” He felt his mouth giving way to a smile. “And damn you for your insolence.”

The coxswain took down Bolitho’s old sword from the bulkhead and rubbed it against his shirt.

“I think I’ll give it a polish, Captain. Might bring us fortune.”

Bolitho looked up at the open skylight as bare feet pounded over the deck and he heard the sudden squeal of blocks, the boom of canvas. The watch on deck was trimming the sails and resetting the yards again. The wind getting up? A change of direction?

He left the chair and walked swiftly through the day cabin to the outer door.

Keen was still in charge of the watch, and was as competent and reliable as any young officer could be. But Bolitho knew his one weakness. That Keen would rather die than call his captain to aid him if the wind began to change. He also understood why Keen was so unwilling, and the knowledge had so far prevented him from warning the lieutenant of the danger which delayed action could bring.

He reached the quarterdeck and saw the hands at the braces and the yards trimmed to take a slight alteration in the wind’s direction.

Starling, master’s mate-of-the-watch, touched his forehead and reported, “Wind’s backed a mite, sir. An’ ’tis risen, too.”

His voice was extra loud, and Bolitho guessed he was warning his lieutenant that the captain was about.

Bolitho consulted the compass and the set of the sails. They were hard and filling well. They might gain another knot for a few hours, with any luck.

Keen hurried in from the quarterdeck rail, his face anxious.

Bolitho nodded impassively. “We will call the hands to exercise the main armament in an hour’s time, Mr Keen.” He saw the surprise and the relief on Keen’s face. “Something wrong?”

Keen swallowed hard. “N-no, sir. Nothing. I just thought…” He broke off.

Bolitho turned aft to the poop. Keen would never make a good liar.

Keen watched him walk to the comparative seclusion of the stern and then whispered fiercely, “Did he say anything, Mr Starling?”

The master’s mate eyed him cheerfully. Like most of the others he liked Keen. Many, once raised to the rank of lieutenant, thought themselves too proud to speak with mere sailormen.

He replied, “I think ’e just wanted you to know ’e was there, sir. In case you needed ’im like.” He showed his teeth. “But o’ course, we didn’t, did we, sir?” He walked away chuckling to himself, and to supervise the flaking down of disordered halliards.

Keen thrust his hands behind him as he had seen Bolitho do so often and began to pace the deck, ignoring the heat and the thirst which was making his mouth like clay. It was difficult to fathom the captain sometimes. To know if he was sharing something with you or holding it to himself for his own amusement.

Keen had heard his voice through the cabin skylight, although he had not known what was said. But Bolitho’s tone, and Borlase’s face when he had appeared on deck, had told him far more.

It never stopped for a captain. Never. He saw Allday walking along the gundeck carrying the sword under his arm. He could almost envy him his confidences with the captain. More even than Herrick he seemed to be the one who really shared them.

He swung round, startled, as Bolitho called from the taffrail, “Mr Keen, I fully realize your intention to keep your body in a healthy condition by walking back and forth under the sun, but would you please exercise your mind also and send some hands to the fore-tops’l brace. It too needs your urgent attention.”

Keen nodded and hurried to the rail.

No matter what other problems might be on the captain’s thoughts his eyes were in no way affected.

BOLITHO raised a telescope to his eye and winced as the hot metal touched his skin.

Since first light, when the masthead lookout had reported sighting land, Tempest had continued her slow approach, the first excitement giving way to a feeling of tension.

He studied the islands with methodical care, noting the various hills, the one on the nearest headland which looked for all the world like a bowed monk with his cowl pulled over his head. How close it looked through the powerful lens, but he knew that the first spit of land was a good three miles away. Beyond it, and further still, other islands and tiny humps of bare rock overlapped in profusion, giving an impression of one ungainly barrier of land.

A seaman’s head and shoulder loomed through the glass, and Bolitho steadied it as he focused upon Tempest’s cutter which had been lowered soon after dawn. Under a tiny scrap of sail, it was pushing ahead of the frigate, and he could see an occasional splash beyond the bows as a leadsman took regular soundings to mark their approach.

For if the sea looked placid and inviting, Bolitho knew danger was rarely far off. Close to the nearest headland, where the sea was green rather than blue, he had seen a darker smudge beneath the surface. Like a giant stain, or a submerged patch of devil’s weed. Reefs were here in plenty. There was no room at all for taking chances.

Without lowering the glass he said, “Let her fall off a point, Mr Lakey.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The sailing master sounded tense.

Bolitho continued to study the nearest island. Uninhabited, or did those lush slopes hide curious eyes? He recalled how he had landed on one such beach. Lulled by the heady scents of palms and unfamiliar vegetation, free for a while from the spartan life aboard ship, he had been totally unprepared for the sudden rush of screaming, stabbing savages. It still came back to him, especially at moments like this.

“Nor’-west by north, sir! Steady as she goes!”