ALEXANDER KENT: Richard Bolitho – Midshipman

High overhead they could hear the muffled squeal of blocks as nets were rigged above the deck and its guns to protect the men underneath from falling spars and broken rigging. How many times had they done it over the four thousand miles? He felt men hurrying past, guided by the boatswain's thick voice. Screens were still being torn down, chests, tables and unwanted clutter being taken below to the orlop. Tregorren's voice boomed in the gloom, 'Lively, you scum! It's taken far too long already! ' On the lower gundeck, apart from the mass of seamen needed to work the double battery of thirtytwo-pounders, were two lieutenants, Tregorren being in charge, and Mr Wellesley, the ship's junior lieutenant, his assistant, and four midshipmen. The latter were evenly placed along the various divisions of guns, and were supposed to relay orders, fire independently if need be, and carry messages to the quarterdeck. Bolitho and Dancer shared the larboard side, and a sulky youth named Pearce and little Eden had the starboard battery. Halfway along the deck Tregorren stood with his back to the mainmast trunk, arms folded, his head bent down to peer along his domain. Nearby a marine sentry stood by the companion ladder, as did others at every hatch, so that in the event of battle he could prevent the less brave from running below to hide. Wellesley, the sixth lieutenant, hurried down the larboard side, his sword flapping against his thigh as he paused by each gun captain just long enough to hear the man snap, 'Ready, sir! ' At last it was all still, and only the gentle heave of the deck, the regular creak of tackles as the guns tugged or nudged to the ship's roll broke the silence. Bolitho could smell the tension, the men around him, the hull deeper still under his feet. He tried not to think of the midshipmen's berth on the orlop, the after cockpit as it was called, which too had been transformed. There now would be the surgeon and his assistants. Lanterns lit, instruments gleaming in the open cases. Just as they had done it to Captain Conway's orders on countless occasions. Tregorren yelled, 'Mr Wellesley! What kept you?' The sixth lieutenant scuttled towards him and almost went sprawling across a ring-bolt. He gasped, 'Lower battery cleared for action, sir! ' On the deck above they heard a whistle and someone calling, 'Cleared for action, sir! ' Tregorren swore savagely. 'Beaten us again, damn them! ' He added harshly, 'Mr Eden! Pass the word, at the double! ' Eden returned, his breath wheezing as he reported, 'The first lieutenant's compliments, sir, and the ship cleared for action in twelve minutes.' He hesitated. 'But -' 'But what?' The boy gulped. 'It took us longer than anyone else, sir.' More orders were being piped, the calls of the boatswain's mates shrilling like birds on a Norfolk fen. 'Open ports! ' Bolitho leaned forward to restrain one of the gun crews. It was stiflingly hot between decks, but he knew that every port should open as one, here and on the deck above. As the port lids were hoisted upward he felt the cooler air fanning around him, saw the men nearest him take on personality and meaning, their bodies stripped to the waist and shining faintly in the strange dawn light. He glanced aft and saw Dancer give him a quick wave. During the morning watch Gorgon had altered course slightly and was now steering east-south-east, the wind having shifted to the north and held there. The hull tilted and felt steady, and with the wind coming across the larboard quarter, Bolitho's section of guns was pointing high and free from spray. He saw the lively whitecaps, some strange fish leaping like birds along the ship's wash and keeping level with their slow approach. By leaning out and around a gun muzzle he saw a darker shape on the water and guessed it to be the City of Athens. He tried to guess what was happening on deck. The prize vessel was obviously leaving her station downwind of her protector and was beating across their line of advance to place herself between Gorgon and the land, wherever that was. A young seaman asked, 'Can you see the land, sir?' He was a good-looking youth who had come from Devon to join the ship. During the night watches and the sweating drill at this same gun he had explained that all his family had worked for their local squire. A hard man, and one taken with abusing the daughters of his tenant farmers and labourers.

That was all he had confided, but Bolitho guessed it likely that he had given the squire a beating and then run to join a ship, any ship, to escape punishment.

Bolitho replied, 'Very near, I'd say, Fairweather. I can see some sea-birds now. Coming out to take a look at us, I shouldn't wonder.' 'Silence on the gundeck! ' Tregorren's anger seemed to spread itself to officers and seamen alike. Someone gave a yelp of pain as a gun captain used a rope's end, and from right aft Wellesley 's rather ineffectual voice called, 'Take that man's name, I say! ' Nobody knew what man, or to whom the order was directed, and Bolitho guessed that the lieutenant was merely trying to avoid Tregorren's tongue. It was strange how cut off from the rest of the ship it felt. More light was painting the sea in black and yellow patterns, but the horizon and sky were still as one. The square gunport cut in the ship's massive oak side was like a picture, Bolitho thought, but as the light strengthened and spilled down the long barrel of the thirty-two-pounder they all seemed to become part of it. Colour stood out now inside the gundeck. The dark red paint which was used on the ship's side, and much of the deck beneath them, showed itself for the first time. It was there to disguise the blood of dead and wounded men, everyone knew that. Bolitho glanced down the sloping deck to the opposite side. Those open gunports were still in darkness, broken here and there by some leaping feathers of spray or a crest breaking close to the hull. He looked towards Tregorren who was speaking quietly with Jehan, the gunner, silent in his felt slippers which he always wore to prevent striking sparks when he was working in his beloved magazine. He vanished down the nearest ladder by the marine sentry, and Bolitho wondered if Dancer was thinking of the fact that the most dangerous mass of gunpowder in time of action was directly beneath his feet. There was something like a sigh as the first sheen of sunlight filtered across the water and through each open port. Bolitho leaned on the gun's breech and watched it transform the horizon into something real and solid. The land. Fairweather asked excitedly, 'Be that Africa?' The gun captain showed his uneven teeth. 'Don't matter to you where it be, lad. Just attend to old Freda 'ere and keep 'er fed, no matter what! That's all you need to know! ' A midshipman pattered down from the next deck and sought out Tregorren. 'Mr Verling's compliments, sir.' It was a midshipman named Knibb, a boy as small and as young as Eden, but for a month's difference. 'And we will not be loading just yet.' Tregorren snapped, 'What's happening then?' Knibb blinked around him, seeking out his friends. 'The masthead has reported sighting two vessels at anchor around the point, sir.' His confidence was growing, aided by the knowledge that every shadowy figure was listening to him, trying to discover what was going on in that other world above. 'Our captain has ordered the barquentine to make more sail and investigate, sir.' The gun captain beside Bolitho was explaining to his crew. 'I know these 'ere waters, lads. Reefs an' shoals everywhere. Our cap'n'll 'ave two good leadsmen in the chains b'now, takin' regular soundins. Feelin' our way inshore.' Bolitho did not hear them. He was thinking of the deserted barquentine, the dead man in her cabin. He wondered if Tregorren's obvious ill-humour was because he had not been given command of the City of Athens. The third lieutenant, Tregorren's immediate superior, had been sent instead, and was assisted by Grenfell, the senior midshipman. If all went well, this little piece of extra responsibility would see the midshipman well on his way to promotion. Bolitho was glad for him, if envious of his freedom. Grenfell had done all he could to make him, and the awkward newcomers in his midst, welcome. It was not unusual for midshipmen in Grenfell's place to act like little tyrants. Two ships at anchor, Knibb had said. Pirates or slavers? Both would get a shock when Gorgon made her entrance. Feet tramped dully overhead and Bolitho heard the squeak of blocks as once again the yards were trimmed, the sails reset while the ship altered course. He moved inboard and rested his hands on the great capstan which was used for hoisting heavy spars or boats to their allotted positions and listened to Tregorren's harsh voice as he spoke to Wellesley and Midshipman Pearce. Beyond them the open ports were more sharply defined, and for a moment Bolitho thought that the light was playing tricks on him. The land was probing out to greet them, which was impossible, for he could see it on his own side. He recalled suddenly what the captain had said about an island. This must be it, with the ship steering into a great arrowhead of water between it and the mainland. The anchored ships must be right ahead and invisible to both gundecks.