Alexander Kent: Stand into Danger

Bolitho said, “She is a fine vessel, sir. I am honoured to join her.”

“Yes.”

Dumaresq leaned over to refill the glasses. Again he moved with catlike ease, but used his strength, like his voice, sparingly.

He said, “I learned of your recent grief.” He raised one hand. “No, not from anyone in this ship. I have my own means, and I like to know my officers just as I know my command. We shall be sailing shortly on what may prove a rewarding voyage, then again it may be fruitless. Either way it will not be easy. We must put old memories behind us, reserve not forget them. This is a small ship and each man in her has a part to play.

“You have served under some distinguished captains and you obviously learned well from your service. But in a frigate there are few passengers, and a lieutenant is not one of them. You will make mistakes, and I will allow for that, but misuse your authority and I will fall upon you like a wall of rock. You must avoid making favourites, for they will end up using you if you are not careful.”

He chuckled as he studied Bolitho’s grave features.

“There is more to being a lieutenant than growing up. The people will look to you when they are in trouble, and you will have to act as you think best. Those other days ended when you quit the midshipman’s berth. In a small ship there is no room for friction. You have to become a part of her, d’you see?”

Bolitho found himself sitting on the edge of his chair. This strange man gripped his attention like a vice. His eyes, set wide apart, equally compelling, insistent.

Bolitho nodded. “Yes, sir. I do.”

Dumaresq looked up as two bells chimed out from forward.

“Go and have your meal. I’ve no doubt you’re hungry. Mr Palliser’s crafty schemes for recruiting new hands usually bring an appetite if nothing more.”

As Bolitho rose to his feet Dumaresq added quietly, “This voyage will be important to a lot of people. Our midshipmen are mostly from influential parents who are eager to see they get a chance to distinguish themselves when most of the fleet is rotting or laid up in-ordinary. Our professional warrant officers are excellent, and there is a strong backbone of prime seamen. The rest will learn. One last thing, Mr Bolitho, and I trust I will not have to repeat it. In Destiny, loyalty is paramount. To me, to this ship, and to His Britannic Majesty, in that order! ”

Bolitho found himself outside the screen door, his senses still reeling from the brief interview.

Poad was hovering nearby, bobbing excitedly. “All done, sir? I’ve ’ad yer gear stowed where it’ll be safe, just like you ordered.” He led the way to the wardroom. “I managed to ’old up the meal ’til you was ready, sir.”

Bolitho stepped into the wardroom and, unlike the last time, the place was noisy with chatter and seemingly full of people.

Palliser stood up and said abruptly, “Our new member, gentlemen!”

Bolitho saw Rhodes grinning at him and was glad of his friendly face.

He shook hands and murmured what he hoped was the right thing. The sailing master, Julius Gulliver, was exactly as Rhodes had described him, ill at ease, almost furtive. John Colpoys, the lieutenant who commanded the ship’s marine contingent, made a splash of scarlet as he shook Bolitho’s hand and drawled, “Charmed, m’dear fellah.”

The surgeon was round and jolly-looking, like an untidy owl, with a rich aroma of brandy and tobacco. There was Samuel Codd, the purser, unusually cheerful for one of his trade, Bolitho thought, and certainly no subject for a portrait. He had very large upper teeth and a tiny receding chin, so that it looked as if half of his face was successfully devouring the other.

Colpoys said, “I hope you can play cards.”

Rhodes smiled. “Give him a chance.” To Bolitho he said, “He’ll have the shirt off your back if you let him.”

Bolitho sat down at the table next to the surgeon. The latter placed some gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. They looked completely lost above his red cheeks.

He said, “Pork pie. A sure sign we are soon to leave here. After that”-he glanced at the purser-“we will be back to meat from Samuel’s stores, most of it condemned some twenty years ago, I daresay.”

Glasses clinked, and the air became heady with steam and the smell of food.

Bolitho looked along the table. So this was what wardroom officers were like when out of sight of their subordinates.

Rhodes whispered, “What did you make of him?”

“The captain?” Bolitho thought about it, trying to keep his memories in their proper order. “I was impressed. He is so, so…”

Rhodes beckoned Poad to bring the wine jug. “Ugly?”

Bolitho smiled. “Different. A bit frightening.”

Palliser’s voice cut through the conversation. “You will inspect the ship when you have eaten, Richard. Truck to keel, fo’c’sle to taffrail. What you cannot understand, ask me. Meet as many of the junior warrant officers as you can, and memorize your own divisional list.” He dropped one eyelid to the marine but not quickly enough for Bolitho to miss it. “I am certain he will wish to see that his men measure up to those he so skilfully brought us today.”

Bolitho looked down as a plate was thrust before him. There was little of the actual plate left visible around the pile of food.

Palliser had called him by his first name, had even made a casual joke about the volunteers. So these were the real men behind the stiff attitudes and the chain of command on the upper deck.

He raised his eyes and glanced along the table. Given a chance he would be happy amongst them, he thought.

Rhodes said between mouthfuls, “I’ve heard we’re sailing on Monday’s tide. A fellow from the port admiral’s office was aboard yesterday. He is usually right.”

Bolitho tried to remember what the captain had said. Loyalty. Shelve all else until there was time for it, when it could do no damage. Dumaresq had almost echoed his mother’s last words to him. The sea is no place for the unwary.

Feet clattered overhead, and Bolitho heard more heavy nets of stores being swayed inboard to the twitter of a call.

Away from the land again, from the hurt, the sense of loss. Yes, it would be good to go.

True to Lieutenant Rhodes’ information, His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Destiny of twenty-eight guns made ready to weigh anchor on the following Monday morning. The past few days had gone so swiftly for Bolitho he thought life might be quieter at sea than it had been in harbour. Palliser had kept him working watch-on, watch-off with hardly a break. The first lieutenant took nothing at face value and made a point of questioning Bolitho on his daily work, his opinions and suggestions for changing some of the men around on the watch and quarter bills. If he was swift with his sarcasm, Palliser was equally quick to put his subordinate’s ideas to good use.

Bolitho often thought of Rhodes ’ words about the first lieutenant. After a command of his own. He would certainly do his best for the ship and her captain, and be doubly quick to stamp on any incompetence which might eventually be laid at his door.

And Bolitho had worked hard to know the men he would deal with directly. Unlike the great ships of the line, a frigate’s survival depended on her agility and not the thickness of her timbers. Likewise, her company was divided into divisions where they could work with the best results for the ship’s benefit.

The foremast, with all its spread of canvas, course and topsails, topgallants and royals, with the additional foresails, jib and flying jib provided the means to turn with haste, through the wind’s eye if need be, or to luff and cut across an enemy’s vulnerable stern. At the opposite end of the ship the helmsmen and sailing master would use each mast, each scrap of canvas, to lay the vessel on the course required with the least need for manoeuvre.