would repair the less important damage in the days on passage for Rio.
Slade had gone across to the Heloise to take charge of the prize crew, and Palliser returned in the quarter-boat even as nightfall joined the sky to the horizon like a curtain.
Bolitho marvelled at the way Palliser kept going. He showed no sign of tiredness, and did not spare himself as he bustled about the ship using a lantern to examine every repair and shouting for the culprit if he discovered something which he considered to be shoddy workmanship.
Thankfully Bolitho climbed into his cot, his coat on the deck where it had fallen. Around him Destiny shivered and groaned as she rode a quarter sea without effort, as if she too was grateful for a rest.
It was the same throughout the hull. Bulkley sat in his sick-bay drawing on a long clay pipe and sharing some of his brandy with Codd, the purser.
Outside, barely visible on the orlop deck, the remaining sick and wounded slept or whimpered quietly in the darkness.
In the cabin Dumaresq was at his table writing busily in his personal diary, without a coat, and with his shirt open to the waist. Occasionally he glanced at the screen door as if to pierce it and see the length of his command, his world. And sometimes he looked up at the deckhead as Gulliverâs footsteps told him that the master was still brooding over the collision, fearful the blame might be laid at his door.
Throughout the main-deck, where there was barely room to stand upright, the bulk of the shipâs company swung in their hammocks to Destiny âs regular plunging motion. Like lines of neat pods, waiting to give birth in an instant if the wind so ordered or the drums beat to quarters.
Some men, unable to sleep or working their watch on deck, still thought of the short, bitter fight, of moments when they had known fear. Of familiar faces which had been wiped away, or of the prize money the handsome brigantine might bring them.
Tossing in his cot in the sick-bay, Midshipman Jury went over the attack yet again. Of his desperate need to help Bolitho as the lieutenantâs hanger had been hurled away, of the sudden agony across his stomach like a hot iron. He thought of his dead father whom he could scarcely remember and hoped he would have been proud of what he had done.
And Destiny carried them all. From the grim-faced Palliser who sat opposite Colpoys in the deserted wardroom, the cards mocking him from the table, to the servant, Poad, snoring in his hammock, they were all at her mercy as her figurehead reached out for the horizon which never drew any nearer.
Two weeks after seizing the brigantine, Destiny crossed the Equator on her way south. Even the master seemed pleased with their progress and the distance covered. A convenient wind and milder, warmer air did much to raise the menâs spirits and keep them free of illness.
Crossing the line was a new experience for over a third of the shipâs company. Boisterous horse-play and skylarking which accompanied the ceremony were encouraged by a four daysâ allowance of wine and spirits for everybody.
With Little, the gunnerâs mate, making a formidable Neptune in a painted crown and a beard of spunyarn, accompanied by his bashful queen in the shape of one of the shipâs boys, all the newcomers to his kingdom were soundly ducked and abused.
Afterwards, Dumaresq joined his officers in the wardroom and stated his satisfaction with the shipâs performance and swift passage. They had left the Heloise far astern, with some of her damage still being repaired. Dumaresq was obviously in no mood to delay his own landfall, and had ordered Slade to meet him off Rio with all the haste he could manage.
On most days Destiny pushed her way along under all plain sail, and would have made a fine sight had there been any other vessel to share their ocean. Working high above the decks, or employed in regular sail and gun drill, the new hands began to fit into the
Slade had gone across to the Heloise to take charge of the prize crew, and Palliser returned in the quarter-boat even as nightfall joined the sky to the horizon like a curtain.
Bolitho marvelled at the way Palliser kept going. He showed no sign of tiredness, and did not spare himself as he bustled about the ship using a lantern to examine every repair and shouting for the culprit if he discovered something which he considered to be shoddy workmanship.
Thankfully Bolitho climbed into his cot, his coat on the deck where it had fallen. Around him Destiny shivered and groaned as she rode a quarter sea without effort, as if she too was grateful for a rest.
It was the same throughout the hull. Bulkley sat in his sick-bay drawing on a long clay pipe and sharing some of his brandy with Codd, the purser.
Outside, barely visible on the orlop deck, the remaining sick and wounded slept or whimpered quietly in the darkness.
In the cabin Dumaresq was at his table writing busily in his personal diary, without a coat, and with his shirt open to the waist. Occasionally he glanced at the screen door as if to pierce it and see the length of his command, his world. And sometimes he looked up at the deckhead as Gulliverâs footsteps told him that the master was still brooding over the collision, fearful the blame might be laid at his door.
Throughout the main-deck, where there was barely room to stand upright, the bulk of the shipâs company swung in their hammocks to Destiny âs regular plunging motion. Like lines of neat pods, waiting to give birth in an instant if the wind so ordered or the drums beat to quarters.
Some men, unable to sleep or working their watch on deck, still thought of the short, bitter fight, of moments when they had known fear. Of familiar faces which had been wiped away, or of the prize money the handsome brigantine might bring them.
Tossing in his cot in the sick-bay, Midshipman Jury went over the attack yet again. Of his desperate need to help Bolitho as the lieutenantâs hanger had been hurled away, of the sudden agony across his stomach like a hot iron. He thought of his dead father whom he could scarcely remember and hoped he would have been proud of what he had done.
And Destiny carried them all. From the grim-faced Palliser who sat opposite Colpoys in the deserted wardroom, the cards mocking him from the table, to the servant, Poad, snoring in his hammock, they were all at her mercy as her figurehead reached out for the horizon which never drew any nearer.
Two weeks after seizing the brigantine, Destiny crossed the Equator on her way south. Even the master seemed pleased with their progress and the distance covered. A convenient wind and milder, warmer air did much to raise the menâs spirits and keep them free of illness.
Crossing the line was a new experience for over a third of the shipâs company. Boisterous horse-play and skylarking which accompanied the ceremony were encouraged by a four daysâ allowance of wine and spirits for everybody.
With Little, the gunnerâs mate, making a formidable Neptune in a painted crown and a beard of spunyarn, accompanied by his bashful queen in the shape of one of the shipâs boys, all the newcomers to his kingdom were soundly ducked and abused.
Afterwards, Dumaresq joined his officers in the wardroom and stated his satisfaction with the shipâs performance and swift passage. They had left the Heloise far astern, with some of her damage still being repaired. Dumaresq was obviously in no mood to delay his own landfall, and had ordered Slade to meet him off Rio with all the haste he could manage.
On most days Destiny pushed her way along under all plain sail, and would have made a fine sight had there been any other vessel to share their ocean. Working high above the decks, or employed in regular sail and gun drill, the new hands began to fit into the
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