Alexander Kent: Passage to Mutiny

He looked up, off guard, as there was a rap at the outer door. It was Borlase, the second lieutenant. As officer-of-the-watch he was no doubt the only officer aboard in full uniform. He was twenty-six years old, tall and powerfully built, and yet his features were rounded, even gentle, and his expression was usually one of mild surprise that he should be here. Bolitho guessed it had originally been a guard to hide his feelings, but had since become permanent.

Borlase had been first lieutenant in a small frigate. The ship had run hard aground near the Philippines and had been a total loss. Fortunately, there had been an East Indiaman nearby, and all but three hands had been rescued. At the hastily convened court martial the frigate’s captain had been dismissed from the Navy for negligence. Borlase had been officer-of-the-watch at the time, and his evidence had helped to send his captain into oblivion.

Bolitho asked, “Well, Mr Borlase?”

The lieutenant stepped into the lantern light.

“The guard boat has sent this despatch for you, sir.” He licked his lips, another childlike habit. “From the governor.”

Bolitho saw Noddall hurrying from the dining compartment carrying another lantern, his little shadow looming giantlike against the white-painted screen.

As he slit open the canvas envelope he found time to wonder if Borlase’s part at the court martial had been as much to clear himself as to bring down his captain.

He read swiftly along the neatly written paper. All at once the stresses and anxieties of the past weeks faded, and even Borlase, who was watching him with a gentle smile on his lips, seemed to have vanished.

He said sharply, “My compliments to the first lieutenant, Mr Borlase. I’d like to see him directly.”

The lieutenant opened his mouth as if to put a question, and shut it again.

Bolitho walked to the stern windows and leaned as far out as he could, letting the sea air explore his throat and chest. He wished he had not drunk so much or dined so well on the mutton pie.

He tried to clear his mind, to concentrate on the despatch.

Tempest was to weigh and put to sea as soon as it was prudent to work clear of the harbour limits. He felt the air cooling his hair and cheek. It felt stronger, but would it last? He checked his racing thoughts and heard Herrick coming into the cabin.

“Sir?”

“We are ordered to sea, Thomas. A transport ship is overdue, although she was reported safely on passage three weeks ago by the mail packet. The packet’s master made signal contact with her south-east of Tongatapu.”

Herrick tucked his shirt into his breeches, his face frowning.

“But that’s over a couple of thousand miles from here, sir.”

Bolitho nodded. “But the ship, she’s the Eurotas, is a regular visitor. She supplies the colony and some other islands as required. Her master is well versed with these waters. It is no use deluding ourselves. She should have been here, at anchor, days ago.” He recalled the grog shops and the brazen-eyed girls at the windows. “The governor knew she was expected. He kept it a secret, even from his subordinate. The Eurotas is filled with guns, powder and supplies. And money to pay the military and civil authorities.”

“And you think the Bounty mutineers may be in that area, sir?”

Bolitho did not reply immediately. He was thinking of the governor’s instructions, feeling their anger and urgency. Most of all he was remembering the last paragraphs. The Eurotas, apart from her valuable cargo, was also carrying more convicts, and he could almost see the rest in his mind. The newly appointed adviser and acting governor for yet another colonial project, James Raymond, and his wife were passengers.

He turned from the glittering lights and reflected stars. They had gone cold.

“Rouse the master, Thomas. Find out the first possible moment we can proceed. I’ll warp her clear with boats if need be. It may be a false alarm. Eurotas might have put into an island for water or wood. Or she could have been becalmed as we have often enough.”

Herrick was studying him, his eyes very still.

He said, “Doubtful.”

Bolitho walked past him, touching the chairs without feeling them, and the old sword which hung on the bulkhead, where Allday watched over it like a keeper.

He continued, “Sayer will be sending the courier brig when she returns, and the governor will despatch two small schooners to the north and east.”

“Like a needle in a haystack, sir.”

Bolitho swung on his heels. “I know that, damn it! But we must do something!”

He saw the instant look of surprise and hurt on Herrick’s homely features and added, “I’m sorry. Too much wine.” Herrick would have to know sooner or later. Bolitho thrust the papers across the table. “Read them for yourself.” He walked to the door and said to the sentry, “Call the midshipman-of-the-watch. I want all officers in the cabin without delay.” He turned aft again and saw Herrick watching him.

Bolitho said simply, “I know, Thomas. I even know what you have been thinking. But it was five years ago. A long while to remember.”

Herrick eyed him grimly. “Aye, sir. If you say so. I’ll go and assemble the officers outside and bring them in together.” He left the cabin.

Bolitho sat down on the bench seat and after a slight hesitation drew the watch from his pocket. It was a very good timepiece, made by Mudge and Dutton, and it had a neat cylinder escapement and a firm, air-tight guard.

He saw none of these things, but clicked open the guard to read the engraved inscription on the inside.

Conquered, on a couch alone I lie,

Once in dream’s deceit you came to me,

All dreams outstripped, if only thou were nigh!

He closed the guard and thrust it into his pocket. His head and mind were quite clear, and when his officers filed into the cabin they saw nothing to make them believe he was in any way different. Except for Herrick, and he could do nothing about it.

BOLITHO paused on the companion ladder and allowed his eyes time to adapt to the harsh glare.

It was almost eight bells, with the men of the forenoon watch listlessly assembled below the quarterdeck rail to make the changeover.

Bolitho had been on deck two hours earlier, as was his habit. Then, even with the sure knowledge of another scalding day to come, it had seemed refreshing and alive. There had been a dampness on canvas and rigging to add to the deception, but now the sun’s heat had expanded and magnified, and as he stepped on to the quarterdeck he found himself wondering just how long they could continue searching for the Eurotas.

Since leaving Sydney they had made good two thousand five hundred miles. Nearer three thousand with all the changes of tack and the maddening perversity of the wind. Herrick had remarked that itfelt twenty times that much.

Three weeks of searing heat and endless, empty miles.

Bolitho squinted his eyes to try and see beyond the gently pitching bowsprit, but the glare was already so fierce that the sea appeared as polished silver without division between it and the sky.

Slowly he examined the set of each sail. Drawing, but only just, with the yards braced round to hold the vessel on a starboard tack.

He heard the master’s mate report to Lieutenant Borlase, “The watch is aft, sir.”

Then Borlase’s heels squeaked as he crossed the deck, his shoes clinging to the hot pitch between the seams.

Both he and Keen, who was relieving him, were well aware that their captain was present, but were used enough to his ways to know he would not interfere with the routine of changing the watch.

Bolitho heard Keen say, “Aye, sir. Nor’-east by east. Full and bye.”