Stand Into Danger by Alexander Kent Page A

believe me. But I have met men such as our captain, and I know him better than many. He is a fine officer in most respects, if a trifle headstrong. But he yearns for action like a drunkard craves the bottle. He commands this fine frigate, but he feels deep down that it is too late or too early for him. With England at peace, the chances of distinction and advancement are few. It suits me very well, but . . .” he shook his head. “I have said enough, but I know you will respect my confidence.”
    He ambled to the ladder, leaving an aroma of brandy and tobacco to join the other smells already present.
    Bolitho walked forward into the daylight and then ran quickly up a ladder to the quarterdeck. He knew that if he did not keep moving he would fall asleep on his feet.
    Destiny ’s gun-deck was littered with broken rigging, amidst which the boatswain and the ropemaker stood and discussed what might still be saved. Above the decks the seamen were busy splicing and hammering, and the torn sails were already brought down to be patched and stowed away for emergencies. A ship-of-war was self-sufficient. Nothing could be wasted. Some of that canvas would soon be gliding into the sea-bed, weighted down with round shot to carry the dead to the place where there was only darkness and peace.
    Rhodes crossed to his side. “Good to have you back, Dick.” He dropped his voice as they both turned to look across at the drifting brigantine. “The lord and master was like an enraged lion after you’d broken free from the side. I shall tread very warily for the next week.”
    Bolitho studied the other vessel. It was more like a dream than ever now. It was hard to believe he had managed to rally his men and take the Heloise after all which had happened. Men had died. He had probably killed at least one of them himself. But it had no meaning. No substance.
    He walked to the rail and saw several of the faces on the deck below turn up towards him. What did they think, he wondered? Rhodes seemed genuinely pleased for him, but there would be envy, others might feel he had been too lucky, too successful for one so junior.
    Spillane, the surgeon’s new helper, appeared on the lee gangway and threw a parcel over the side.
    Bolitho felt sick. What was it? An arm or a leg? It could have been his.
    He heard Slade, the master’s mate, yelling abuse at some unfortunate seaman. The Destiny ’s recovery of the launch and the thankful shouts of the exhausted crew when she had eventually discovered them had apparently done nothing to make Slade any gentler.
    In due course the dead men were buried, while the living stood with bared heads as the captain read a few words from his prayer book.
    Then, after a hasty meal and a welcome tot of brandy, the hands turned to again, and the air was filled with the noise of saws and hammers, with strong smells of paint, and tar for the seams, to mark their progress.
    Dumaresq came on deck at the end of the afternoon-watch and for several minutes looked at his ship and then at the clearing sky which told him more than any instrument.
    He said to Bolitho, who was once more officer of the watch, “Look at our people working. Ashore they are branded as hawbucks and no-good drunkards. But give ’em a piece of rope or a span of timber an’ you’ll see what they can do.”
    He spoke with such feeling that Bolitho ventured to ask, “Do you think another war is coming, sir?”
    For an instant he thought he had gone too far. Dumaresq turned quickly on his thick legs, his eyes hard as he said, “You have been speaking with that damned sawbones, eh?”
    Then he gave a deep chuckle. “There is no need to answer. You have not yet learned deceit.” He moved to the opposite side for his usual stroll, then added, “War? I am depending on it!”
    Before darkness closed in to hide one ship from another, Palliser sent word to say he was ready to proceed and