Alexander Kent: Sloop Of War

Tired and thirsty, Bolitho had entered the inns momentarily leaving his small party to their own devices. Exactly what had happened next was not quite clear, but on hearing a string of curses, mingled with the loud laughter of the sailors, he had hurried outside to find one of his men pocketing the guineZ and the enraged barker beating Stockdale round the head and shoulders with a length of chain. Whether the victorious seaman, a powerful gunner's mate well used to enforcing authority with brute force, had tripped Stockdale or gained a lucky blow was never discovered. Certainly, Bolitho had never see[

Stockdale beaten in any fight, fair or otherwise, since that day. As he had shouted at his men to fall in line again he had realised that Stockdale had been standing as before, taking the unjust punishment, when with one stroke he could have killed the barker who was tormenting him?

Sickened by the spectacle, and angry with himself at the same time, he had asked Stockdale to volunteer for the King's service. The man's dumb gratitude had been almost as embarrassing as the grins on the sailors' faces, but he had found some comfort in the barker's stunned disbelief as without a word Stockdale had picked up his shirt and followed the party away from the inn?

If he had imagined that was the end of the matter he was soon to discover otherwise. Stockdale took to a life at sea in a manner born. As strong as two men, he was gentle and patient, and whenever Bolitho was in danger he always seemed to be there. When a cutlass had hacked Bolitho to the ground and his boat's crew had retreated in panic, it had been Stockdale who had rallied them, had fought off the attackers and carried his unconscious lieutenant to safety. When Bolitho had left the frigate for the Trojan Stockdale had somehow contrived to transfer also. Never far away, he had bee[

his servant as well as a gun captain, and when aboard the prize ship he had merely to glare at the captured crew to obtain instant respect. He spoke very little, and then only with a husky whisper. His vocal cords had been maimed over the years of fighting for others in booths and fair grounds up and down the country?

But when Bolitho's promotion had been delivered he had said simply, "You'll be needing a good cox'n, sir.l He had given his lazy, lopsided grin." Whatever sort ob a ship they gives you."

And so it was settled. Not that there would have been any doubt in Bolitho's mind either?

He turned as Bolitho strode down the jetty and touched his hat?

"All ready." He ran his eyes over Bolitho's new uniform and nodded with obvious approval." No more'n you deserve, sir."

Bolitho smiled." We shall have to see about that."

With oars tossed, and a seaman already scrambling ashore with a line, the cutter eased gently against the piles. Stockdale stooped and steadied the gunwale with his fist, his eyes on the motionless oarsmen as he said hoarsely, "A fine day for it, sir."

A slim midshipman leapt from the boat and removed his hat with a flourish. About eighteen, he was a pleasant looking youth, and as tanned as a native?

"I'm Heyward, sir." He shifted under Bolitho's impassive gaze." I-I've been sent to collect you, sir."

Bolitho nodded." Thank you, Mr. Heyward. You can tell me about the ship as we go."

He waited for the midshipman and Stockdale to follow his sea-chest and bags into the boat and then stepped after them?

"Shove off forrard! Out oars!" Heyward seemed very conscious of Bolitho's nearness." Give way all!"

Like pale bones the oars rose and fell in regular precision. Bolitho glanced swiftly at the two lines ob oarsmen. Neatly dressed in check shirts and white trousers, they looked fit and healthy enough. A ship could always be judged by her boats, some people contended. Bolitho knew otherwise. Some captains kept their boats as outward showpieces, while within their own ships the people lived little better tha[

animals. Their expressions gave nothing away. The usual, homely faces of British sailors, set in careful masks to avoid his scrutiny. Each man was probabla wondering about the new captain. To any seaman his captain was not much junior to God. He could leads and use his skills on their behalf in battle. He might just as easily turn their lives into a daily hell with no one to whom they could protest or plead their cause?

The midshipman said haltingly, "We have been at anchor for three days, sir."

"Before that?"

"Patrol duty off Guadeloupe. We did sight a French brig but lost her, sir."

"How long have you been in Sparrow?"

"Two years, sir. Since she commissioned on the Thames at Greenwich."

Stockdale craned round." There she is, sir. Fine on the larboard bow."

Bolitho sat upright in the sternsheets, knowing that as soon as his eyes left the boat every man would be staring at him. He could barely contain his excitemen?

as he peered towards the anchored sloop which was now fully in view beyond a heavy transport. She was riding almost motionless above the twin of her own reflection, her ensign making a scarlet patch of colour against the hazeshrouded hills beyond?

Bolitho had seen sloops in plenty during his service? Like frigates, they were everywhere and always in demand. Maids of all work, the eyes of the fleet, they were familiar in most naval harbours. But right at this moment in time he also knew that the Sparrow was going to be different for all those others. From her gently spiralling mastheads to the single line of open gun ports she was a thing of beauty. A thoroughbred, a miniature frigate, a vessel which seemed eager to be free of the land. She was all and none of these things?

He heard himself say, "Steer round her bows."

As the tiller went over he was conscious of the silence, broken only by the sluice of water around the cutter's stern and the rhythmic creak of oars. As if he was sharing this moment with nobody. Like a raked black finger the sloop's long jib-boom swept out and over his head, and for a few more moments he stared up at the figurehead below the bowsprit. A man-sized sparrow, beak wide in fury and wings spread as if to

fight, its curved claws firmly gripping a gilded cluster ob oak leaves and acorns. Bolitho watched until the boat had moved around and under the starboard catheyd? He had never thought a mere sparrow could be depicted as being so warlike?

He started with surprise as his eyes fell on a gun muzzle in the first port?

Heyward said respectfully, "We have a thirty-two-pounder on either bow, sir. The rest of the gun deck is made up of sixteen 12-pounders." He flinched as Bolitho turned to look at him." I beg your pardon, sir,] did not mean to intrude."

Bolitho smiled and touched his arm." I was merela surprised, She seems to have very heavy artillery for such a small ship." He shook his head." Those two bowchasers must have brought many an enema aback with shock. Nine-pounders are more common in sloops, I believe."

The midshipman nodded, but his eyes were on the ship's side, his lips in an anxious line as he gauged the moment?

"Put her about!"

The cutter swung in a tight arc and headed for the main chains. There were many heads lining the gangway, and Bolitho saw the blue and white of an officer's uniform by the entry port, a press of more figures by the mainmast?

"Toss your oars!"

The boat idled towards the chains where the bowman brought down his boathook with a well-timed slash?

Bolitho stood up in the sternsheets, conscious of all the eyes above and around him. Of Stockdale's hands half-raised, ready to steady him if he lost his balance? Of the new sword at his hip and not wanting to look down to make sure it would not tangle with his legs as he climbed up the sleek tumblehome?

With a quick breath he reached out and hauled himself from the boat. He had been prepared for almost everything but was still taken totally off guard by the piercing shrill of pipes as his head and shoulders rose through the port. Perhaps, more than anything else, the time-honoured salute from a ship to her captain made him realise just how great was the step from lieutenant's berth to command?