Alexander Kent - Sloop Of War

vital part to play if a ship was to move and act to perfection?

Bolitho crossed to the stern windows and stared at the nearest strip of land. It was a bright morning, with the sky above the hills very pale, washed-out and clean. He could just see the staff above the headland battery, its flag no longer listless but lifting and curling to a fair northeysterly. It was almost physical pain to stay sealed in the cabin, waiting and fretting for the exact moment to show himself?

Voices pealed along the upper deck and shadows flitted busily across the skylight. Occasionally he could hear the plaintive squeak of a fiddle, the distorted rumble of a shanty as the men tramped around the capstan?

In the past hours and for most of the night he had tossed and turned in his cot, listening to the sea noises, the creak of timbers and rigging, his mind exploring every contingency, his brain bursting to the mental picture of his chart. Every unemployed eye would be watching him this morning. From the flagship's quarterdeck to some unknown lieutenant who probably hated Bolitho for getting the golden chance which he considered should have been his?

"The coffee, sir." Stockdale hovered by the table? "While it's still 'ot."

Bolitho swung round to curse him for breaking his racing thoughts, but the sight of his anxious face was too much for him. As was so often the case?

He sat down at the table and tried to relax? Stockdale was right. If he had forgotten anything it was already too late. You could cram your head just so much. After that the mind became awash and confused beyond reason?

He sipped his coffee and stared at the cold meat? He could not touch that. His stomach was already twisting with apprehension, the lean slices of pork would be just enough to tip the balance?

Stockdale peered through the windows." It will be a good passage, sir. Long enough to get the measure ob these fellows."

Bolitho glanced up at him. He must be a mind-reader. In company with another sloop they were to escort two fat transports with supplies for the troops at Philadelphia once a rendezvous with the inshore squadron had been made. Two thousand miles, mostly

in open waters, would certainly allow him time to test himself and his company. He had met his officers in the small wardroom the previous evening. With the exception of Tyrrell, all had been aboard since commissioning at Greenwich. He felt vaguely jealous of their obvious familiarity with the Sparrow. The two midshipmen, each eighteen years old, had joined as untrained novices. They had grown up in the Sparrows and were now hopefully awaiting promotion. It was a pity they were only midshipmen, he thought. They might vie too much for their captain's approval, where, in a larger ship and with more competition amongst the "young gentlemen" it would be less direct?

Buckle had said little during their informal meeting? Reserved, and no doubt waiting to see how his captain would behave under sail, he had restricted himself to matters of navigation?

Robert Dalkeith, the surgeon, was an odd one? Young, but already too plump for his own good, he was also completely bald, and wore a bright red wig. But he appeared more skilled in his trade than was usual in a King's ship, as well as cultivated, and Bolitho imagined there was more to him than he showed at face value?

Lock, the purser, a bobbing, genial stick of a manB

completed the gathering?

Graves had joined them later, making a good deal ob noise about his trouble with the water-lighters, the difficulties in obtaining help ashore for loading boatss in fact the list had been formidable?

Tyrrell had interrupted cheerfully, "It ain't fair, Hector? You being singled out to be a bloody martyr like this!"

Graves had frowned and then forced a smile when the others had joined Tyrrell in the laughter?

Bolitho leaned back and stared at the skylight. He was not sure of Graves either. A hard worker? Ransome's toady? It was hard to see where the latent bad feeling had started between him and Tyrrell. But it was there right enough?

"Captain, sir?"

Bolitho started and looked at the door. Midshipman Bethune was standing with his hat under his arm, his free hand grasping the hilt of his dirk. He was round-faced, sturdy youth, and his face was a mass of dark freckles?

"Well?"

Bethune swallowed." Mr. Tyrrell's respects, sir, and the transports have weighed. Fawn has her preparative hoisted, sir." He glanced curiously round the cabin?

Bolitho nodded gravely." I will be up directly!"

With elaborate care he forced himself to take another sip of coffee. It almost choked him. Fawn was the other sloop for the escort and would be carrying Colquhoun, in addition to her commander, as senior officer?

The midshipman was still inside the cabin. He added awkwardly, "I am from Cornwall, too, sir."

Bolitho smiled in spite of his tension. The competition had begun already?

He replied, "I will try not to hold it against you, Mr? Bethune." He dropped his eyes as the boy fled from the cabin?

He stood up and took his hat from Stockdale. Then with a brief nod he strode out towards the waiting sunlight?

The gangways and decks seemed more crowded than ever as seamen ran this way and that, pursued by the hoarse shouts of their petty officers. As he reached the quarterdeck he saw two heavy transports idling towards the headland, their tan sails flapping and billowing in the breeze?

Tyrrell touched his hat." Anchor's hove short, sir."

"Thank you."

Bolitho strode to the larboard side and stared towards the anchored Fawn. He could see the muddle of men at her capstan, the scurrying preparations as the cable became bar-taut beneath her beakhead?

He crossed to the opposite side, trying to ignore the seamen who were poised at their stations on every hand. Beyond the nearest headland towards the hard blue horizon he saw a lively pattern of small white horses. Once outside this sheltered anchorage it would be good sailing weather. He glanced at the sluggish swirl of currents around a nearby storeship and bit his lip. He had to get free of all the shipping first?

"Fawn's signal is close up, sir!" Bethune was clinging to the shrouds with his telescope, althougN

Colquhoun's signal was clear enough to be seen without any glass?

"Stand by on the capstan!"

Tyrrell ran to the rail and cupped his big hands? "Loose th' heads'ls!"

Beside the wheel Buckle stood near the two helmsmen, his eyes watching Bolitho?

"Breeze is freshening a mite, sir."

"Yes."

Bolitho walked to the rail and stared along his command. He saw Graves watching over the anchor party, Midshipman Heyward at the foot of the mainmast with his division of seamen?

"Signal, sir! Up anchor!"

"Hands aloft and loose tops'ls!"

He stood back to watch the seamen surging up the shrouds and out along the swaying yards, their bodies black against the sky. Tyrrell said very little, and Bolitho observed that the topmen were well able to manage without added inducement from the deck. As canvas thundered loosely from the yards and the ship gave a longdrawn shudder, he saw the Fawn's masts already swinging across the stern, her foretopsail filling to the wind as she heeled over?

Bethune called, "Signal! Make haste, sir!" He lowered his glass, trying to avoid Bolitho's eye?

"Man the braces!"

He tried to shut out Colquhoun's last signal. Maybe he was endeavouring to goad him into doing something foolish. Perhaps he was always the same? But nothing must or would spoil this moment?

From forward came the cry, "Anchor's aweigh, sir!"

Free of the land the Sparrow tilted steeply to the wind, the headland sliding across her jib-boom as with more and more canvas thundering and hardening from her yards she paid off into the wind?