Alexander Kent - Stand into Danger

Palliser rose to his feet, his head bowed uncomfortably between the deckhead beams. The rest followed suit.

Dumaresq turned his back and stared at the glittering water which stretched to the horizon astern.

“First we go to Rio de Janeiro. Then I shall know more.”

Bolitho caught his breath. The South Americas, and Rio was all of 5000 miles from his home at Falmouth. It would be the furthest he had yet sailed.

As they made to leave Dumaresq said, “Mr Palliser and Mr Gulliver, remain, if you please.”

Palliser called, “Mr Bolitho, take over my watch until I relieve you.”

They left the cabin, each immersed in his own thoughts. The far-off destination would mean little to the ordinary sailor. The sea was always there, wherever he was, and the ship went with him. Sails had to be trimmed and reset at all hours, no matter what, and a seaman’s life was hard whether the final landfall was in England or the Arctic. But let the rumour of treasure run through the ship and things might be very different.

As he climbed to the quarterdeck Bolitho saw the men assembling for the first-watch looking at him curiously, then turning away as he met their eyes, as if they already knew.

Mr Slade touched his hat. “The watch is aft, sir.”

He was a hard master’s mate and unpopular with many of the people, especially those who did not rise to his impressive standards of seamanship.

Bolitho waited for the helmsmen to be relieved, the usual handing over from one watch to the next. A glance aloft at the set of the yards and sails, examine the compass and the chalked notes on the slate made by the midshipman on duty.

Gulliver came on deck, banging his palms together as he did when he was worried.

Slade asked, “Trouble, sir?”

Gulliver eyed him warily. He had been in Slade’s position too recently to take any comment as casual. Seeking favours perhaps? Or a way of suggesting that he was out of his depth with the wardroom officers aft?

He snapped, “At the next turn of the glass we will alter course.” He peered at the tilting compass, “Sou’-west by west. The captain intends to see the t’gan’sls, though with these light winds under our coat-tails I doubt if we can coax another knot out of her.”

Slade squinted up at the masthead lookout. “So the strange sail means something.”

Palliser’s voice preceded him up the companion ladder. “It means, Mr Slade, that if that sail is still there tomorrow morning she is indeed following us.”

Bolitho saw the worry in Gulliver’s eyes and guessed what Dumaresq must have said to him and Palliser.

“Surely there is nothing we can do about that, sir? We are not at war.”

Palliser regarded him calmly. “There is quite a lot we can do about it.” He nodded to emphasize the point. “So be ready.”

As Bolitho made to leave the quarterdeck in his care Palliser called after him, “And I shall be timing those laggards of yours when all hands are piped to make more sail.”

Bolitho touched his hat. “I am honoured, sir.”

Rhodes was waiting for him on the gun-deck. “Well done, Dick. He’ll respect you if you stand up to him.”

They walked aft to the wardroom and Rhodes said, “The lord and master is going to take that other vessel, you know that, don’t you, Dick?”

Bolitho threw his hat on to one of the guns and sat down at the wardroom table.

“I suppose so.” His mind drifted back again, to the coves and cliffs of Cornwall. “Last year, Stephen, I was doing temporary duty aboard a revenue cutter.”

Rhodes was about to make a joke of it but saw the sudden pain in Bolitho’s eyes.

Bolitho said, “There was a man then, a big and respected landowner. He died trying to flee the country. It was proved he had been smuggling arms for an uprising in America. Maybe the captain thinks this is similar, and all this time that gold has been waiting for the right use.” He grimaced, surprised at his own gravity. “But let’s talk about Rio. I am looking forward to that.”

Colpoys strolled into the wardroom and arranged himself carefully in a chair.

To Rhodes he said, “The first lieutenant says you are to select a midshipman to assist with the clerical duties in the cabin.” He crossed his legs and remarked, “Didn’t know the young fellas could write!”

Their laughter died as the surgeon, unusually grim-faced, entered, and after a quick glance around to make certain they were undisturbed, said, “The gunner’s just told me something interesting.

He was asked by one of his mates if they would need to move some of the twelve-pounder shot forward to make room for the bullion.” He let his words sink in. “How long has it been? Fifteen minutes? Ten? It must be the shortest secret of any day!”

Bolitho listened to the regular creak and clatter of rigging and spars, the movement of the watch on deck overhead.

So be ready, Palliser had said. It had suddenly adopted another meaning altogether.

The morning after Dumaresq’s disclosures about the treasure ship found the strange sail still lying far astern.

Bolitho had the morning-watch, and had sensed the growing tension as the light hardened across the horizon and faces around him took on shape and personality.

Then came the cry, “Deck there! Sail to th’ nor’-east!”

Dumaresq must have been ready for it, expecting it. He came on deck within minutes, and after a cursory glance at the compass and the flapping sails, observed, “Wind’s dropping off.” He looked at Bolitho. “This is a damnable business.” He recovered himself instantly. “I shall have breakfast now. Send Mr Slade aloft when he comes on watch. He has an eye for most craft. Tell him to study that stranger, though God knows she is cunning enough to keep her distance and still not lose us.”

Bolitho watched him until he had disappeared below and then looked along Destiny’s full length. It was the ship’s busiest time, with seamen at work with holy-stones on the deck planking, others cleaning guns and checking running and standing rigging under Mr Timbrell’s critical eye. The marines were going through one of their many, seemingly complicated drills with muskets and fixed bayonets, while Colpoys kept at a distance, leaving the work to his sergeant.

Beckett, the carpenter, was already directing some of his crew to begin repairs on the larboard gangway which had been damaged when a purchase had collapsed under the weight of some incoming stores. The upper deck with its double line of twelve-pounders was like a busy street and a market-place all in one. A place for hard work and gossip, for avoiding authority or seeking favour.

Later, with the decks cleaned up, the hands were piped to sail drill with Palliser at his place on the quarterdeck to watch their frantic efforts to knock seconds off the time it took to reef or make more sail.

And all the while as they lived through the daily routine of a man-of-war, that other sail never left them. Like a tiny moth on the horizon it was always there. When Destiny shortened sail and the way fell from beneath her beakhead, the stranger too would follow suit. Spread more canvas and the lookout would immediately report a responding action by the stranger.

Dumaresq came on deck as Gulliver was just completing his supervision of the midshipman’s efforts as they took the noon sights to fix the ship’s position.

Bolitho was close enough to hear him ask, “Well, Mr Gulliver, how will the weather favour us tonight?” He sounded impatient, even angry that Gulliver should be doing his normal duties.

The sailing master glanced at the sky and the red masthead pendant. “Wind’s backed a piece, sir. But the strength is the same. Be no stars tonight, too much cloud in the offing.