Stand into Danger

9. No Childish Desire

THE Destiny’s stern cabin seemed unnaturally large and remote after the embattled brig.

In spite of what he had endured, Bolitho felt wide awake, and wondered what had given him this renewal of energy.

All day the frigate had been hove to with the mastless Rosario wallowing in her lee. While the rest of Palliser’s party and the wounded had been ferried across to Destiny, other boats had been busy carrying men and material to help the brig’s company set up a jury-rig and complete minimum repairs to take them into port.

Dumaresq sat at his table, a litter of papers and charts scattered before him, all of which Palliser had brought from the Rosario. He was without his coat, and, sitting in his shirt, his neckcloth loosely tied, he looked anything but a frigate captain.

He said, “You did well, Mr Palliser.” He looked up, his widely spaced eyes turning on Bolitho. “You also.”

Bolitho thought of that other time when he and Palliser had been demolished by Dumaresq’s scathing attack.

Dumaresq pushed the papers aside and leaned back in the chair. “Too many dead men. Heloise gone, too.” He brushed the thought aside. “But you did the right thing, Mr Palliser, and it was bravely done.” He gave a grin. “I will send Heloise’s people with the Rosario. From what we have discovered, it would seem that their part in all this was of no importance. They were hired or bribed aboard the brigantine, and by the time they realized they were not going on some short coastal passage they were well out to sea. Their master, Triscott, and his mates, took care to ensure they remained in ignorance. So we’ll release them into Rosario ’s care.” He wagged a finger at his first lieutenant. “After you have selected and sworn in any good hands you can use to replace those lost. A spell in the King’s service will make a lively change for them.”

Palliser reached out and took a glass of wine as Dumaresq’s servant hovered discreetly beside his chair.

“What of Egmont, sir?”

Dumaresq sighed. “I have ordered that he and his wife be brought across before nightfall. Lieutenant Colpoys has them in his charge. But I wanted Egmont to remain to the last moment so that he could see what his greed and treachery has cost the brig’s company as well as my own.” He looked at Bolitho. “Our plump surgeon has already told me about the vessel you both saw leaving Rio with such stealth. Egmont was safe while he lay hidden, but whoever gave the order for the Rosario to be waylaid and seized wanted him dead. According to the brig’s charts, her final destination was St Christopher’s. Egmont was prepared to pay the master anything to take him there, even to avoid his other ports of call in order that he should reach St Christopher’s without delay.” He gave a slow smile. “So that is where Sir Piers Garrick will be.” He nodded as if to emphasize his confidence. “The hunt is almost over. With Egmont’s sworn evidence, and he has no choice left now, we shall run that damn pirate to earth once and for all.” He saw Bolitho’s open curiosity and added, “The Caribbean has seen the making of much wealth. Pirates, honest traders, slavers and soldiers of fortune, they are all there. And where better for old enemies to simmer undisturbed?”

He became business-like again. “Complete this coming and going without too much delay, Mr Palliser. I have advised Rosario to return to Rio. Her master will be able to relate his tale to the Viceroy, whereas I was unable to tell mine. He will know that a guise of neutrality must not be so one-sided in future.” As Palliser and Bolitho stood up he said, “I am afraid we are short of fresh water because of my hasty departure. Mr Codd was able to get all the yams, greens and meat he could desire, but water will have to be found elsewhere.”

Outside the cabin Palliser said, “You are temporarily relieved of your duties. Even extreme youth has a limit. Go to your quarters and rest while you can.” He saw Bolitho’s uncertainty. “Well?”

“I-I was wondering. What will become of Egmont?” He tried to keep his voice unconcerned. “And his wife?”

“Egmont was a fool. By remaining quiet he aided Garrick. Garrick was trying to help the French at Martinique against us, and that makes Egmont’s silence all the more serious. However, if he has any sense he will tell the captain all he knows. But for us he’d be dead. He’ll be thinking of that just now.”

He turned to leave, his movements showing little of the strain he had been under. He was still wearing his old sea-going coat which now had the additional distinction of a blood-stain on one shoulder where he had rested his sword.

Bolitho said, “I should like to put Stockdale’s name forward for advancement sir.”

Palliser came back and lowered his head to peer at Bolitho beneath a deck-beam.

“Would you indeed?”

Bolitho sighed. It sounded rather like the old Palliser again.

But Palliser said, “I’ve already done that. Really, Mr Bolitho, you’ll have to think more quickly than that.”

Bolitho smiled, despite the ache in his limbs and the confusion in his thoughts which the girl named Aurora had roused with a kiss.

He entered the wardroom, his body swaying to the frigate’s heavier motion.

Poad greeted him like a warrior.

“Sit you down, sir! I’ll fetch something to eat and drink.” He stood back and beamed at him. “Right glad we are to see you again, sir, an’ that’s the truth!”

Bolitho lay back in a chair and allowed the drowsiness to flow over him. Above and around him the ship was alive with bustling feet and the clatter of tackle.

A job had to be done, and the seamen and marines were used to obeying orders and holding their private thoughts to themselves. Across the darkening water the brig was also busy with working sailors. Tomorrow the Rosario would make her way towards safety, where her story would be retold a thousand times. And they would speak of the quiet Englishman with the beautiful young wife who had lived amongst them for years, keeping to themselves and outwardly content with their self-imposed exile. And of the frigate with her grotesque captain which had come to Rio and had slunk away in the night like an assassin.

Bolitho stared up at the deck head, listening to the ship’s noises and the sound of the ocean against her hull. He was privileged. He was right in the midst of it, of the conspiracy and the treachery, and very soon now she would be here, too.

When Poad returned with a plate of fresh meat and a jug of madeira he found the lieutenant fast asleep. His legs were out-thrust, the breeches and stockings torn and stained with what appeared to be blood. His hair was plastered across his forehead and there was a bruise on his hand, the one which had been gripping his hanger at the start of the day.

Asleep, the third lieutenant looked even younger, Poad thought. Young, and for these rare moments of peace, defenceless.

Bolitho walked slowly up and down the quarterdeck, avoiding flaked lines and the mizzen bitts without conscious effort. It was sunset and a full day since they had parted company with the battered Rosario to leave her far astern. She had looked forlorn and as mis-shapen as any cripple with her crude jury-rig and such a sparse display of sails it would take her several days to reach port.

Bolitho glanced aft at the poop skylight and saw the glow of lanterns reflecting on the driver-boom above it. He tried to picture the dining cabin with her there and the captain sharing his table with his two guests. How would she feel now? How much had she known from the beginning, he wondered?

Bolitho had seen her only briefly when she had been brought across from the brig with her husband and a small mountain of luggage. She had seen him watching from the gangway and had made to raise one gloved hand, but the gesture had changed to less than a shrug. A mark of submission, even despair.

He looked up at the braced yards, the topsails growing darker against the pale fleecy clouds which had been with them for most of the day. They were steering north-northeast and standing well out from the land to avoid prying eyes or another would-be follower.

The watch on deck were doing their usual rounds to inspect the trim of the yards and the tautness of running and standing rigging alike. From below he heard the plaintive scrape of the shantyman’s fiddle, the occasional murmur of voices as the hands waited for their evening meal.

Bolitho paused in his restless pacing and grasped the nettings to steady himself against the ship’s measured roll and plunge. The sea was already much darker to larboard, the swell in half shadow as it cruised slowly towards their quarter to lift Destiny’s stern and then roll beneath her keel in endless procession.

He looked along the upper deck at the regularly spaced guns lashed firmly behind the sealed ports, through the black shrouds and other rigging to the figurehead’s pale shoulder. He shivered, imagining it to be Aurora reaching out like that, but for him and not the horizon.

Somewhere a man laughed, and he heard Midshipman Lovelace reprimanding one of the watch who was probably old enough to be his father. It sounded even funnier in his high-pitched voice, Bolitho thought. Lovelace had been awarded extra duties by Palliser for skylarking during the dog-watches when he should have been pondering on his navigational problems.

Bolitho recalled his own early efforts to study, to keep awake and learn the hard-won lessons laid down by his sailing master. It all seemed so long ago. The darkness of the smelly orlop and the midshipman’s berth, trying to read the figures and calculations by the flickering light of a glim set in an old oyster shell.

And yet it was no time at all. He studied the vibrating canvas and marvelled at the short period it had taken to make so great a step. Once he had stood almost frozen with fear at the prospect of being left alone in charge of a watch. Now he felt confident enough, but knew if the time came he would and must call the captain. But no one else. He could not turn any more to seek out his lieutenant or some stalwart master’s mate for aid or advice. Those days were gone, unless or until he committed some terrible error which would strip him of all he had gained.

Bolitho found himself examining his feelings more closely. He had been afraid when he had believed he was going to go down, trapped below decks in the Heloise. Perhaps the closest to terror he had ever been. And yet he had seen action before, plenty of times, even as a twelve-year-old midshipman in his first ship he had gritted his teeth against the thunder of the old Manxman’s massive broadside.

In his cot, with the flimsy screen door of his cabin shut to the rest of the world, he had thought about it, wondered how his companions saw and judged him.

They never seemed to worry beyond the moment. Colpoys, bored and disdainful, Palliser, unbreakable and ever-watchful over the ship’s affairs. Rhodes appeared carefree enough, so perhaps his own ordeal in the Heloise and then aboard the brig had made a deeper impression than he had thought.

He had killed or wounded several men, and had watched others hack down their enemies with apparent relish. But surely you could never get used to it? The smell of a man’s breath against your own, the feel of his body heat as he tried to break your guard. His triumph when he thought you were falling, his horror as you drove your blade into muscle and bone.

One of the two helmsmen said, “Steady as she goes, sir. Nor’-nor’-east.”

He turned in time to see the captain’s thickset shadow emerging from the companionway.

Dumaresq was a heavy man but had the stealth of a cat.

“All quiet, Mr Bolitho?”

“Aye, sir.” He could smell the brandy and guessed the captain had just finished his dinner.

“A long haul yet.” Dumaresq tilted on his heels to study the sails and the first faint stars. He changed the subject and asked, “Are you recovered from your little battle?”

Bolitho felt stripped naked. It was as if Dumaresq had been reading into his very thoughts.

“I think so, sir.”

Dumaresq persisted. “Frightened, were you?”

“Part of the time.” He nodded, remembering the weight across his back, the roar of water through the deck below where he had been trapped.

“A good sign.” Dumaresq nodded. “Never become too hard. Like cheap steel, you’ll snap if you do.”

Bolitho asked carefully, “Will we be carrying the passengers all the way, sir?”

“To St Christopher’s at least. There I intend to enlist the governor’s aid and have word sent to our senior officer there or at Antigua.”

“The treasure, sir. Is there still a chance of recovering it?”

“Some of it. But I suspect we may recognize it in a very different form from that originally intended. There is a smell of rebellion in the air. It has been growing and smouldering since the end of the war. Sooner or later our old enemies will strike at us again.” He turned and stared at Bolitho as if trying to make up his mind. “I read something of your brother’s recent success when I was at Plymouth. Against another of Garrick’s breed, I believe? He caught and destroyed a man who was fleeing to America, a man once respected but who proved to be as rotten as any common felon.”

Bolitho replied quietly, “Aye, sir. I was there with him.”

“Indeed?” Dumaresq chuckled. “There was no mention of that in the Gazette. Your brother wanted all the glory for himself perhaps?”

He turned away before Bolitho could ask of the connection, if there was one, between the dash down the Channel just a few months back and the mysterious Sir Piers Garrick.

But Dumaresq said, “I am going to play cards with Mr Egmont. The surgeon has agreed to partner him, whereas I shall have our gallant marine for mine.” He gave a rich chuckle. “We might empty one of Egmont’s money-boxes before we drop anchor off Basseterre!”

Bolitho sighed and walked slowly to the quarterdeck rail. Half an hour and the watch would change. A few words with Rhodes, then down to the wardroom.

He heard Yeames, master’s mate of the watch, murmur with unusual politeness, “Why, good evenin’, ladies.”

Bolitho swung round, his heart pounding in immediate response as he saw her moving carefully along the side of the quarterdeck, her arm entwined with that of her maid.

He saw her hesitate and was of two minds what to do next.

“Let me assist you.”

Bolitho crossed the deck and took her proffered hand. Through the glove he felt the warmth of her fingers, the smallness of her wrist.

“Come to the weather side, ma’am. There is less spray and a far better view.”

She did not resist as he led her up the sloping deck to the opposite side. Then he pulled out his handkerchief and bound it quickly round the hammock nettings.

He explained as calmly as he could that it was to protect her glove from tar or any other shipboard substance.

She held herself close to the nettings and stared abeam across the dark water. Bolitho could smell her fragrant perfume, just as he was very aware of her nearness.

Then she said, “A long way to St Christopher’s Island, is it not?” She had turned to look at him but her eyes were in shadow.

“It will take us over two weeks, according to Mr Gulliver, ma’am. It is a good three thousand miles.”

He saw her teeth white in the gloom, but did not know if she was showing dismay or impatience.

“A good three thousand miles, Lieutenant?” Then she nodded. “I understand.”

Through the open skylight Bolitho heard Dumaresq’s deep laugh and Colpoys saying something in reply. Dealing his cards, no doubt.

She had heard too and said quickly to her maid, “You may leave us. You have worked hard today.”

She watched the girl reaching for the companionway and added, “She has lived all her life on hard dry land. This ship must be strange to her.”

Bolitho asked, “What will you do? Will you be safe after all that has happened?”

She tilted her head as Dumaresq laughed again. “That will depend on him.” She looked past Bolitho, her eyes shining like the spray alongside as she asked, “Does it matter so much to you?”

Bolitho said, “You know it does. I care terribly.”

“You do?” She reached out and gripped his arm with her free hand. “You are a kind boy.” She felt him stiffen and added gently, “I apologize. You are a man to have done what you did back there when I thought I was going to be killed.”

Bolitho smiled. “I am the one to apologize. I want you to like me so much that I act like a fool.”

She twisted round and moved closer to look at him. “You mean it. I can tell that, if nothing else.”

“If only you could have remained in Rio.” Bolitho was searching his mind for some solution which might help. “Your husband should not have risked your life.”

She shook her head, the movement of her hair striking at Bolitho’s heart like a dagger.

“He has been good to me. Without him I would have been lost long ago. I was a stranger in Rio. I am of Spanish blood. When my parents died I was to have been bought as a wife by a Portuguese trader.”

She gave a shudder. “I was only thirteen. He was like a greasy pig!”

Bolitho felt betrayed. “Was it not love which made you marry your husband?”

“Love?” She tossed her head. “I do not find men very attractive, you know. So I was content with his arrangements for me. Like his many fine possessions, I think he sees me as a decoration.” She opened the shawl which she had carried on deck. “Like this bird, yes?”

Bolitho saw the same two-headed bird with the ruby tail feathers she had worn at her house in Rio.

He said fervently, “I love you!”

She tried to laugh but nothing came. She said, “I suspect you know even less about loving than I do.” She reached up and touched his face. “But you meant what you said. I am sorry if I hurt you.”

Bolitho grasped her hand and pressed it firmly against his cheek. She had not laughed or piled scorn on him for his clumsy advances.

He said, “You will be left in peace soon.”

She sighed. “And then you will come like a knight on your charger to save me, yes? I used to dream of such things when I was a child. Now I think as a woman.”

She pulled his hand down and pressed it against her skin, so that the warmth of the jewelled bird on his fingers was like a part of her.

“Do you feel that?” She was watching him intently.

He could feel the urgent beat of her heart rising to match his own as he touched the smooth skin and the firm curve of her breast.

“That is no childish desire.” She made to move away but when he held her she said, “What is the use? We are not alone to act as we please. If my husband thinks I am betraying him, he will refuse to help your captain.” She put her hand on his lips. “Hear me! Dear Richard, do you not see what that would mean? My husband thrown into some English prison to await trial and death. I, as his wife, might be taken also, or left destitute to await another Portuguese trader, or worse.” She waited for him to release her and then murmured, “But do not think I would not or could not love you.”

Voices echoed along the deck and Bolitho heard a boatswain’s mate calling out names as the watch trooped aft to relieve his own men.

In those few seconds Bolitho found himself hating the boatswain’s mate with all his soul.

He exclaimed, “I must see you again.”

She was already making her way to the opposite side, her slim outline like a ghost against the dark water beyond.

“Three thousand miles you said, Lieutenant? It is such a long way. Each day will be torture.” She hesitated and glanced back at him. “For both of us.”

Rhodes clattered up through the companionway and stood aside to let her pass. He nodded to Bolitho and remarked, “A beauty indeed.” He seemed to sense Bolitho’s mood, that he was prepared to be hostile if he mentioned her again.

He added, “That was clumsy of me. Stupid, too.”

Bolitho pulled him to one side, oblivious of the watch mustering beyond the quarterdeck rail.

“I am in hell, Stephen! I can tell no one else. It is driving me mad.”

Rhodes was deeply moved by Bolitho’s sincerity and by the fact he was sharing his secret with him.

He said, “We shall think of something.” It sounded so unconvincing in the face of his friend’s despair that he said, “A lot can happen before we sight St Christopher’s.”

The master’s mate touched his hat. “The watch is aft, sir.”

Bolitho walked to the companionway and paused with one foot on the ladder. Her perfume was still hanging there, or if not it must be clinging to his coat.

Aloud he exclaimed, “What can I do?”

But the only answer came from the sea and the rumble of the rudder beneath Dumaresq’s cabin.

The first week of the Destiny’s passage passed swiftly enough, with several blustery squalls to keep the hands busy and to hold back the scorching heat.

Up and around Cabo Branco then north-west for the Spanish Main and the Indies. There were longer periods of low breezes, and some of no wind at all when the boats were put down and the gruelling work of warping the ship by muscle and sweat was enforced.

Fresh water ran lower as a direct consequence, and with neither rain nor the prospect of an early landfall it was rationed. After a week it was cut further still to a pint a day per man.

During his daily watches under the blazing sun, Bolitho saw very little of Egmont’s wife. He told himself it was for her good as well as his own. There were troubles enough to contend with. Outbreaks of insubordination which ended in fists and kicks or the use of a petty officer’s starter. But Dumaresq refrained from having any of his men flogged, and Bolitho wondered if it was because he was eager to keep the peace or holding his hand for his passengers’ benefit.

Bulkley was showing signs of anxiety, too. Three men had gone down with scurvy. In spite of his care and the regular issue of fruit juice, the surgeon was unable to prevent it.

Once, while he had been lingering in the shadow of the big driver, Bolitho had heard Dumaresq’s voice through the cabin skylight, dismissing Bulkley’s pleas, even blaming him for not taking better precautions for his sick seamen.

Bulkley must have been examining the chart, because he had protested, “Why not Barbados, Captain? We could anchor off Bridgetown and arrange for fresh water to be brought out to us. What we have left is crawling with vermin, and I’ll not answer for the people’s health if you insist on driving them like this!”

“God damn your eyes, sir! I’ll tell you who you shall answer to, believe me! I’ll not go to Barbados and shout to the whole world what we are doing. You attend to your duties and I shall do the same!”

And there it had ended.

Seventeen days after parting from the Rosario the wind found them again, and with even her studding-sails set Destiny gathered way like the thoroughbred she was.

But perhaps it was already too late to prevent some kind of explosion. It was like a chain reaction. Slade, the master’s mate, still brooding over Palliser’s contempt, and knowing it would likely hinder, even prevent any chance of promotion, poured abuse on Midshipman Merrett for failing to calculate the ship’s noon position correctly. Merrett had overcome his early timidity, but he was only twelve years old. To be berated so harshly in front of several hands and the two helmsmen were more than enough for him. He burst into tears.

Rhodes was officer of the watch and could have intervened.

Instead he remained, by the weather side, his hat tilted against the sun, his ears deaf to Merrett’s outburst.

Bolitho was below the mainmast watching some of his topmen reeving a new block at the topgallant yard and heard most of it.

Stockdale was with him, and muttered, “It’s like an overloaded waggon, sir. Somethin’s got to give.”

Merrett dropped his hat and was rubbing his eyes with his knuckles when a seaman picked up the hat and handed it to him, his eyes angry as he glanced at the master’s mate.

Slade yelled, “How dare you interfere between your betters?”

The seaman, one of the after-guard, retorted hotly, “Dammit, Mr Slade, ’e’s doin’ ’is best! It’s bad enough for the bloody rest of us, let alone fer ’im!”

Slade seemed to go purple.

He screamed, “Master-at-arms! Secure that man!” He turned on the quarterdeck at large. “I’ll see his backbone at the gratings!”

Poynter and the ship’s corporal arrived and seized the defiant seaman.

The latter showed no sign of relenting. “Like Murray, eh? A good ’and an’ a loyal shipmate, and they was goin’ to flog ’im, too!”

Bolitho heard a growl of agreement from the men around him.

Rhodes came out of his torpor and called, “Pipe down there! What’s going on?”

Slade said, “This man defied me, and swore at me, so he did!” He was becoming dangerously calm and glaring at the seaman as if he would strike him dead.

Rhodes said uncertainly, “In that case…”

“In that case, Mr Rhodes, have the man put in irons. I’ll have no defiance in my ship.”

Dumaresq had appeared as if by magic.

Slade swallowed and said, “This man was interfering, sir.”

“I heard you.” Dumaresq thrust his hands behind his back. “As did the whole ship, I would imagine.” He glanced at Merrett and snapped, “Stop snivelling, boy!”

The midshipman stopped, like a clock, and looked about him with embarrassment.

Dumaresq eyed the seaman and added, “That was a costly gesture, Adams. A dozen lashes.”

Bolitho knew that Dumaresq could do nothing but uphold his subordinates, right or wrong, and a dozen lashes was minimal, just a headache, the old hands would term it.

But an hour later, as the lash rose and then cracked with terrible force across the man’s naked back, Bolitho realized just how frail was their hold over the ship’s company with land so far away.

The gratings were unrigged, the man named Adams was carried below grunting with pain to be revived with a wash-down of salt water and a liberal dose of rum. The spots of blood were swabbed away, and to all intents everything was as before.

Bolitho had relieved Rhodes in charge of the watch, and heard Dumaresq say to the master’s mate, “Discipline is upheld. For all our sakes.” He fixed Slade with his compelling stare. “For your own safety, I would suggest you stay out of my way!”

Bolitho turned aside so that Slade should not see him watching. But he had seen Slade’s face. Like that of a man who had been expecting a reprieve only to feel his arms being pinioned by the hangman.

All that night Bolitho thought about the girl named Aurora. It was impossible to get near her. She had been given half of the stern cabin, while Egmont made the best of a cot in the dining space. Dumaresq slept in the chartroom nearby, and there was always the servant and the marine sentry to prevent any casual caller from entering.

As he lay in his cot, his naked body sweating in the unmoving air, Bolitho pictured himself entering her cabin and holding her in his arms. He groaned at the torment, and tried to ignore the thirst which had left his mouth like a kiln. The water was foul and in short supply, and to keep drinking wine as a substitute was inviting disaster.

He heard uncertain footsteps in the wardroom and then a gentle tap on his screen door.

Bolitho rolled out of the cot, groping for his shirt as he asked, “Who is it?”

It was Spillane, the captain’s new clerk. Despite the hour he was neat and tidy, and his shirt looked as if it had just been washed, although how he had managed it was a mystery.

Spillane said politely, “I have a message for you, sir.” He was looking at Bolitho’s tousled hair and casual nakedness as he continued, “From the lady.”

Bolitho darted a quick glance around the wardroom. Only the regular creaks and groans of the ship’s timbers and the occasional murmur of canvas from above broke the silence.

He found he was whispering. “Where is it, then?”

Spillane replied, “By word of mouth, sir. She’d not put pen to paper.”

Bolitho stared. Now Spillane was a conspirator whether he wanted to be or not.

“Go on.”

Spillane lowered his voice further still. “You take over the morning-watch at four o’clock, sir.” His precise, landsman’s expression made him seem even more out of place here.

“Aye.”

“The lady will endeavour to come on deck. For a breath of air, if someone is bold enough to question her.”

“Is that all?”

“It is, sir.” Spillane was watching him closely in the faint light from a shuttered lantern. “Did you expect more?”

Bolitho glanced at him guardedly. Was that last remark a show of familiarity, a testing insolence because of their shared conspiracy? Maybe Spillane was nervous, eager to get it over with.

He said, “No. Thank you for telling me.”

Bolitho stood for a long moment, his body swaying to the motion, as he went over everything Spillane had said.

Later, he was still in the wardroom, sitting in a chair, the same shirt dangling from his fingers as he stared into the shadows.

A boatswain’s mate found him and whispered, “I see you don’t need a call, sir. The watch is musterin’ now. Fair breeze up top, but another blazin’ day is my guess.”

He stood back as Bolitho pulled on his breeches and fumbled around for a clean shirt. The lieutenant was obviously half asleep still, he decided. It was a cruel waste to don any clean garment for the morning-watch. It would be a wet rag by six bells.

Bolitho followed the man on deck and relieved Midshipman Henderson with the briefest possible delay. Henderson was next in line for lieutenant’s examination and Palliser had allowed him to stand the middle-watch on his own.

The midshipman almost fled from the deck, and Bolitho could well imagine his thoughts as he tumbled into his hammock on the orlop. His first watch alone. Reliving it. What had nearly gone wrong, when he had nearly decided to rouse Palliser or the master. The feeling of triumph as Bolitho had appeared, knowing the watch was ended without mishap.

Bolitho’s men settled down in the shadows, and after checking the compass and the set of the topsails he walked towards the companionway.

Midshipman Jury crossed to the weather side and wondered when he would get his chance to stand a watch unaided. He turned and saw Bolitho moving aft by the mizzen-mast, and then blinked as another pale figure glided to meet him.

He heard the helmsmen whispering together and noticed that the boatswain’s mate of the watch had moved discreetly to the weather gangway.

“Watch your helm there!” Jury saw the seamen stiffen at the great double-wheel. Beyond them the two pale figures seemed to have merged into one.

Jury walked to the quarterdeck rail and gripped it with both hands.

To all intents he was standing his first watch unaided, he thought happily.