resentful and bitter.
The door opened and Stockdale said throatily, 'I've told At well to lay out your best uniform, sir. And he'll be in here shortly to prepare the table.' He stared at Bolitho's worn features and then said flatly, 'You'll be taking a rest now, I expect?'
Bolitho glared at him. 'I have work coo do, damn Ay ouple of Stockdale said, 'I'll just turn your hours until the Dog Watches will do you a power of good.'
He ignored Bolitho's expression and added cheerfully, 'I see the Formidable's here, sir! She's a fine big ship an' no mistake! But then you'd need a big ship to hold an admiral like Rodney!' He stood a moment longer, one hand resting on the cot. 'Are you ready now, sir?'
Bolitho gave in. 'Well, just two hours. No more.'
He allowed Stockdale to help him into the cot and felt the tiredness closing in on him once more. Stockdale picked up his shoes and said to himself, 'You rest there. We'll need a good captain tonight to meet the bloody admiral!'
As he turned Stockdale's eye fell on Bolitho's empty rack above the cot, and for a moment he felt strangely unnerved. The sword was back there somewhere in the wrecked Andiron… If only he could have got it back. If only…
He stared down at Bolitho's face relaxed in sleep. And he wanted to do something for me! He pulled the curtain to shade Bolitho's face from the reflected sunlight and then ambled slowly towards the door.
The tall stone jetty threw a welcome rectangle of dark shade across the Phalarope's cutter as it rested easily alongside the steps. Packwood, the boatswain's mate, paused at the top of the steps and looked down at the lolling seamen in the boat. 'You can take a break. But nobody leaves the cutter, got it?'
Onslow squatted comfortably on the gunwale and pulled a short clay pipe from his shirt. Under his breath he murmured, 'Right, Mr. bloody Packwood! We do all the work, and you go off an' fill your belly with rum!'
Most of the other men were too weary to comment. All day they had pulled the cutter back and forth to the anchored frigate, the first. excitement of seeing a friendly port again soon giving way to grumbling complaint.
Packwood was in charge of their party, and although a capable man and considered to be fair in his allocation of work, was plagued by a complete lack of imagination. If he had told the men that the work was essential, not only to the Phalarope's efficiency, but more important, to the welfare of the crew once she returned to sea, some of the bitterness might have been dulled. As it was, Packwood had been too long in the Navy avy to seek for unnecessary explanations to anything. Work was work. Orders would be carried out at all times without question.
Pook, Onslow's constant companion, raised himself on his scrawny legs and peered towards the distant houses. He breathed out slowly. 'Mother of God! I kin see women!'
Onslow grimaced. 'What did you expect? Bloody clergymen?' He watched the men from beneath lowered lids. 'The officers will be doing themselves well enough. You see if I'm not right, lads!' He spat over the side. 'But just one of you try an' lay a little foot on the shore an' see what happens!' He gestured towards a red-coated marine who was leaning contentedly on his grounded musket. 'That bloody bullock'll place a ball between your eyes!'
John Allday lay across the oars and watched Onslow thoughtfully. Every word the man spoke seemed to be carefully weighted and fashioned before it was uttered. He turned as another seaman named Ritchie spoke up from the bow.
Ritchie was a slow-thinking Devon man, with an equally slow manner of speech. 'When we was at Nevis Oi didn't see yew runnin' off, Onslow!' He blinked his mild eyes against the glittering water. 'Yew had plenty of time to go an' join your rebel friends!'
Allday watched Onslow, expecting a flash of anger. But the tall seaman merely eyed Ritchie with something like pity. 'An' what good would that do? If I went over to the rebels or to the Frogs, do you think we'd be any better off?' He had their full attention now. 'No, lads. We'd be exchanging one master for another. A fresh flag, but make no mistake, the lash feels the same in any navy!'
Ritchie scratched his head. '01 still don't see what yew'm gettin' at!'
Pook sneered, 'That's because you're stupid, you great ox!'
'Easy, lads.' Onslow dropped his voice. 'I meant what I said. Out here or in the Americas a man can live well. A new life, with a chance to make something for himself!' He gave a small smile. 'But to start off right a man needs more than hope. He needs money, too!'
Nick Pochin stirred himself and said uneasily, 'If the war ends an' we get paid off, we can go back to our homes.'
'And who'll want to remember you there? Onslow looked down at him coldly. 'You've been away too long, like all the rest of us. There'll be nothing for you but begging on the streets!'
Pochin persisted. 'I was a good ploughman once. I could do it again!'
'Aye, maybe you could.' Onslow watched him closely, his eyes full of contempt. `You can push your furrow for the rest of your stupid life. Until the furrow is deep enough for some fat squire to bury you in!'
Another voice asked cautiously, `Well then? What's the point of arguing about it’
'I'll tell you the point!' Onslow slid from the gunwale like a cat. `Soon we'll be at sea again. You've seen the fleet mustering here. There'll be no rest for the likes of us. The buggers always need an extra frigate.' He pointed at the Phalarope as she swung gently at her anchor. `There is our chance, lads! The price of our future!' He lowered his voice again. 'We could take the ship.' He spoke very slowly to allow each word to sink, in. `Then we could use her to bargain for our own price!' He looked around their grim faces. `Just think of it! We could parley with the other side and name our own amount! Then with the money and a free passage we could split up and go our own ways, every one of us richer than he ever thought possible!'
Pochin sat up with a jerk. 'That's mutiny! You mad bugger, we'd all be caught and hanged!'
Onslow grinned. 'Never! After the war is over, who will have time to care about us?'
Pook added gleefully, 'He's right! We'd be rich!'
Allday said, 'And we'd never see England again!'
'And who cares about that?' Onslow threw back his head. 'Do you think we have any chance at present? You saw what they did to Kirk? You've seen men die week by week from disease or the lash. From battle or falling from aloft! And if you escape all that, it's more than likely you'll get shipped off in some other ship, as I was!'
Allday felt a chill at his spine as the uneasiness and resentment moved through the boat like a threat. He said quickly, 'Do you think Captain Bolitho would stand for your ideas?' He looked at the others. 'I've been through the mill, but I trust the captain. He's a brave and a fair man. He'll not let us down!'
Onslow shrugged. 'Suit yourself.' He added tightly, 'Just so long as you keep your thoughts to yourself, mate! If what I said gets out, we'll know where to come a'hunting!'
There was a scattered murmur of assent from the boat, and Allday realised with sudden shock that Onslow's little speech had already gone deep. It was strange that nobody had noticed before how Onslow had persisted in his efforts to rouse the men to mutiny. Perhaps because his words were carefully chosen and without the blind malice of a wronged sailor. The latter was too common to rouse much more than jeers.
He thought too of Mathias's death in the hold and Onslow's careful manoeuvring to get Ferguson the job as captain's clerk. The pattern was like a slow but deadly disease. When the symptoms came to light the victim was already beyond hope.
He said, `You'll find me ready enough, Onslow! Just you keep out of my way!'
Pochin muttered, `Watch out! 'E's comin' back!'
Packwood stood at the top of the steps, his face sweating profusely from a hasty tankard of rum. `Right, my babies! Stand by to take on some more casks!' He swung his rattan casually. `After this trip you can go to your sty and get cleaned up. The admiral is coming to see you all this evening!'
Pook nudged his friend. `That Allday! Is he safe?'
Onslow ran his fingers around the loom of his oar. `The men like him. It must be handled carefully. It needs thinking about.' He watched Allday's naked back rippling in -the sunlight. 'But handled it must be!'
Punctual to the minute, Rear-Admiral Sir Robert Napier stepped through the. Phalarope's entry port and removed his hat to receive his due respects. As the shrill pipes faded into silence- and the marine guard presented arms- the frigate's small drummer, accompanied by two reedy fifes, broke into a frail but jaunty march, and with a final glance around the upperdeck Bolitho stepped forward to meet his admiral.
Sir Robert nodded curtly to the assembled officers, and as the marines banged their muskets to the deck he
