The landlord whispered to his wife, “Did you see him? A King’s officer, no less. Lord, he looks more like a boy!”
Bolitho stirred from his drowsiness and yawned. Then his arms froze in mid air as he heard loud shouts of anger interposed with laughter. He jumped to his feet, groping for his sword and hat and trying to button his coat at the same time.
He almost ran to the door, and when he stumbled into the keen air he saw the seamen and marines falling against each other, convulsed with laughter, while the little barker screamed, “You cheated! You must ’ave cheated!”
Little spun the gold guinea and caught it deftly in his palm. “Not me, matey. Fair an’ square, that’s Josh Little!”
Bolitho snapped, “What’s going on?”
Corporal Dyer said between gasps of laughter, “ ’E put the big prize-fighter on ’is back, sir! Never seen the like!”
Bolitho glared at Little. “I’ll speak to you later! Now fall the men in, we’ve miles to go to the next village!”
He swung round and stared with astonishment as the barker turned on the fighter. The latter was standing as before, as if he had never moved, let alone been knocked down.
The barker picked up a length of chain and screamed, “This is for yer bloody stupidity!” The chain slashed across the man’s naked back. “This is for losin’ my money!” Crack.
Little glanced at Bolitho uneasily. “’Ere, sir, I’ll give the bugger ’is money, I’ll not see that poor devil beaten like a cur!”
Bolitho swallowed hard. The big fighter could have killed his tormentor with one blow. Perhaps he had been on the way down for so long he no longer felt pain or anything else.
But it was more than enough for Bolitho. His bad beginning aboard Destiny, his failure to find the required volunteers were all he could take. This degrading sight tipped the balance completely.
“You there! Belay that!” Bolitho strode forward, watched with both awe and amusement by his men. “Put down that chain at once!”
The barker quailed and then quickly regained his earlier confidence. He had nothing to fear from a young lieutenant. Especially in a district where he was often paid for his services.
“I’ve me rights!”
Little snarled, “Let me ’andle the bugger, sir! I’ll give ’im bloody rights!”
It was all getting out of hand. Some villagers had appeared, too, and Bolitho had a mental picture of his men having a pitched battle with half the countryside before they could get to the launch.
He turned his back on the defiant barker and faced up to the fighter. Near to he was even bigger, but in spite of his size and strength Bolitho saw only his eyes, each of which was partly hidden by lids battered shapeless over the years.
“You know who I am?”
The man nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on Bolitho’s mouth as if he was reading every word.
Gently Bolitho asked, “Will you volunteer for the King’s service? Join the frigate Destiny at Plymouth,” he hesitated, seeing the painful understanding in the man’s eyes, “with me?”
Then just as slowly as before he nodded, and without a glance at the gaping barker he picked up his shirt and a small bag.
Bolitho turned to the barker, his anger matched only by his feeling of petty triumph. Once clear of the village he would release the fighter anyway.
The barker yelled, “You can’t do that!”
Little stepped forward threateningly. “ Stow the noise, matey, an’ show respect for a King’s officer, or…” He left the rest in little doubt.
Bolitho licked his lips. “Fall in, men. Corporal, take charge there!”
He saw the big fighter watching the seamen and called, “Your name, what is it?”
“Stockdale, sir.” Even the name was dragged out. His chords must have been mangled in so many fights that even his voice was broken.
Bolitho smiled at him. “Stockdale. I shall not forget you. You will be free to leave us whenever you wish.” He glanced meaningly at Little. “Before we reach the boat.”
Stockdale looked calmly at the little barker who was sitting on a bench, the chain still dangling from his hand.
Then he wheezed very carefully, “No, sir. I’ll not leave you. Not now. Not never.”
Bolitho watched him join up with the others. The man’s obvious sincerity was strangely moving.
Little said quietly, “You’ve no need to worry. This’ll be all round the ship in no time.” He leaned forward so that Bolitho could smell the ale and cheese. “I’m in your division, sir, an’ I’ll beat the block off any bugger who tries to make trouble!”
A shaft of watery sunlight played across the church clock, and as the recruiting party marched stoically towards the next village Bolitho was glad of what he had just done.
Then it began to rain, and he heard Little say, “Not much further, Dipper, then back to the ship for a wet!”
Bolitho looked at Stockdale’s broad shoulders. Another volunteer. That made five in all. He lowered his head against the rain. Fifteen to go.
The next village was even worse, especially as there was no inn, and the local farmer only allowed them to sleep for the night in an unused barn, and that was with obvious reluctance. He claimed his house was full of visitors, and anyway… That word “anyway” spoke volumes.
The barn leaked in a dozen places and stank like a sewer, and the sailors, like most of their kind, used to the enforced cleanliness of living in close quarters, were loud voiced in their discontent.
Bolitho could not blame them, and when Corporal Dyer came to tell him that the volunteer Stockdale had vanished, he replied, “I’m not surprised, Corporal, but keep an eye on the rest of the party.”
He thought about the missing Stockdale for a long time, and wondered at his own sense of loss. Perhaps Stockdale’s simple words had touched him more deeply than he had realized, that he had represented a change of luck, like a talisman.
Little exclaimed, “God Almighty! Look at this! ”
Stockdale, dripping with rain, stepped into the lantern light and placed a sack at Bolitho’s feet. The men crowded round as the treasures were revealed in the yellow glow. Some chickens, fresh bread and crocks of butter, half a meat pie and, more to the point, two big jars of cider.
Little gasped, “You two men, start plucking the chickens. You, Thomas, watch out for unwanted visitors.” He faced Stockdale and thrust out the guinea. “’Ere, matey, you take it. You’ve bloody earned it!”
Stockdale barely heard. As he bent over his sack he wheezed, “No. ’Twere ’is money. You keep it.”
To Bolitho he said, “This is for you, sir.”
He held out a bottle which looked like brandy. It made sense. The farmer was probably mixed up with the smuggling “trade” hereabouts.
Stockdale watched Bolitho’s face searchingly, then he added, “I’ll make you comfortable, you see.”
Bolitho saw him moving about amongst the busy seamen as if he had been doing it all his life.
Little said quietly, “Reckon you can stop frettin’ now, sir. Old Stockdale will be worth fifteen men all on his bloody own, by my reckonin’!”
Bolitho drank some of the brandy, the grease from a chicken leg running unheeded across the cuff of his new shirt.
He had learned a lot today, not least about himself.
His head lolled, and he did not feel Stockdale remove the cup from his fingers.
And there was always tomorrow.
1. Leave the Past behind
BOLITHO pulled himself up the Destiny’s side and raised his hat to the quarterdeck. Gone was the mist and dull
