Alexander Kent - Command a King`s Ship

On deck it was remaining fresh, the day's heat yet to come, and he took a few paces along the weather side while there was still time. In the heavy dress coat he would be dripping unless he held to the sails' curved shadows.

Fowlar touched his forehead and said awkwardly, 'May I thank you, sir?'

Bolitho smiled. 'You have earned it, Mr. Fowlar, have no fear.'

He had made the master's mate an acting-lieutenant to fill the gap left by Davy. Had young Keen been aboard, it would have been his chance. Another would be put in Fowlar's place. And so it went on, as in all ships.

Herrick took Fowlar aside and waited until Bolitho was pacing again.

'A word of warning. Never interrupt the captain when he is taking his walks.' He smiled at Fowlar's uncertainty. 'Unless in real emergency, of course, which does not include your promotion!' He touched his shirt. 'But congratulations, all the same.'

Bolitho had already forgotten them. He had seen the dark smudge of land which just topped the glittering horizon, and was wondering what he might find there. It looked at this distance like one great spread of land, but he knew it consisted of a crowded collection of islets, some even smaller than the one where they had captured Davy's schooner. The Dutch had originally occupied them because of their shape and position. Ships anchored amidst the surrounding islets would have the advantage of using any wind to put to sea, the use of several channels to avoid delay. The fortress had been built to protect the place from marauders, such as the one who now commanded it and challenged all authority and every flag. The Dutch still listed the Benuas as one of their possessions. But it was in name only, and they were no doubt glad to be rid of it and its unhappy history.

He saw the sailmaker speaking with Potter below the forecastle, and wondered if he would ever really recover from his suffering. It could not be easy for him to be drawing so near to Muljadi's stronghold again. But of all the people aboard, he was the only man, apart from the prisoner, who had seen what lay beyond the protective reefs and sandbars where he had endured so much.

He shivered slightly in spite of his heavy coat. Suppose he had misjudged his opponents? He, too, might become another Potter, a pitiful, broken thing which even his friends and his sisters in England might wish to think of as dead.

And Viola Raymond? How long would she take to forget him?

He shook himself out of his mood and said, 'Mr. Soames!

You may beat to quarters and clear for action now!' He saw the ripple of excitement run through the men on the gun deck.

'Exercise the larboard battery first.'

Allday walked up the slanting deck and turned the sword over in his hands before buckling it to Bolitho's belt. 'You'll be taking me, of course, Captain.'

He spoke calmly, but Bolitho saw the anxiety in his eyes. 'Not this time.'

Calls shrilled along the berth deck, and the marine drummer boys ran breathlessly to the quarterdeck rail, pulling their sticks from their white crossbelts to begin their urgent tattoo.

Allday said stubbornly, 'But you'll be needing me, Captain!'

'Yes.' Bolitho looked at him gravely. 'I will always do that…'

The rest of his words were lost in the rattle of drums, the stampede of feet as the Undine's people ran to quarters once again.

Bolitho levelled his telescope across the hammock nettings and studied the overlapping islets in silence. All morning and into the forenoon watch, while Undine had cruised steadily towards them, he had noted each unusual feature, and had compared his findings with what he already knew. The main channel through the islets opened to the south, and almost in the centre of the approach was one stark hump of rock upon which stood the old stone fortress. Even now, with the nearest spurs of land less than two miles distant, it was impossible to see where the fortress began or the craggy hilltop ended.

'We will alter course again, Mr. Herrick.' He lowered the glass and dabbed his eye with his wrist. 'Steer east nor'-east.'

He saw the men by the larboard twelve-pounders peering through their open ports, the guns already shimmering in the sunlight as if they had just been fired.

Herrick shouted, 'Hands to the braces! Alter course two points to larboard, Mr. Mudge!'

Bolitho sought out the frail figure of Potter amongst the unemployed hands below the forecastle, and when he glanced up beckoned him aft.

He slipped out of his heavy coat and handed it with his hat to Allday, saying as calmly as he could, 'I will go aloft myself.'

Allday said nothing. He knew Bolitho well enough to understand what it was costing him.

Potter hurried on to the quarterdeck and knuckled his forehead.

'Sir?'

'D'you think you could climb to the maintop with me?'

Potter stared at him dully. 'If you says so, sir.' Herrick called, 'East not'-east, sir!'

He looked from Bolitho to the mainyard stretching athwartships and vibrating to the great press of canvas below it.

Bolitho unbuckled his sword and gave it to Allday. 'I may need your eyes today, Potter.'

Feeling every man watching him, he swung out on to the weather shrouds and began to climb, his fingers locking so tightly around each ratline that the pain helped to steady him. Up and up, with his gaze fixed on the futtock shrouds which leaned out and around the sturdy maintop where two marines were studying his progress with unblinking curiosity.

Bolitho gritted his teeth and fought the urge to look down. It was infuriating. Unfair. He had first gone to sea at the age of twelve. Year by year he had studied and matured, had replaced his child's infatuation for the Navy with a genuine understanding which had amounted almost to love. He had overcome seasickness, and had learned to hide his loneliness and grief from his companions when his mother had died while he had been at sea. So, too, his father was buried while Bolitho had been fighting Frenchman and American in and around the Caribbean. He had watched men suffer horribly in battle, and his body bore enough scars to show the narrow margin between his own survival and death. Why then, should he be cursed with this hatred of heights?

He felt his shoes scrabbling on the ratlines as he hauled himself out and around the futtock shrouds, his body hanging in space and supported only by fingers and toes.

A marine said admiringly, 'By God, sir, that was a fair climb!'

Bolitho arrived beside him, his chest heaving painfully. He watched the marine to see if he was disguising his sarcasm, but saw it was the same sharpshooter who had discovered the anchored schooner just two days back.

He nodded and allowed himself a glance at the ship far below.

Foreshortened bodies moved about the quarterdeck, and when he looked forward he saw the leadsman in the chains, the blur of his arm as he hurled the heavy weight deftly beyond the bows.

He relaxed, and waited for Potter to scramble up beside him.

For a moment longer he toyed with the idea of forcing himself up the next length of quivering shrouds to the maintopsail yard, but rejected it. Apart from proving something to himself, or showing his capability to those who might be watching from below, it would serve for little. Potter was exhausted by the climb, and if Herrick needed him urgently on deck he would look even more foolish if he fell headlong from his perch.

He unslung the telescope from his shoulder and trained it on the channel between the islets. In the time it had taken him to climb from the deck and regain his wind Undine had cruised over a cable, and it was possible to see the next overlapping islet behind the central hill with its forbidding fortress and steep, sunbaked cliff.

Potter said, 'I never bin to the east'rd side, sir. There's a good channel there, too, I'm told.' He shuddered. 'They used to bury the corpses in the sandbars at low water. What there was left of 'em.'