Command a King's Ship by Alexander Kent Read Free Book Online

utter much in the way of orders. His massive sergeant, Coaker, took care of the close contact with the marines, and Bellairs contented himself with an occasional “Carry on, Sar’nt Coaker!” or “I say, Sar’nt, that fellah’s like a bundle of old rags, what?” He was one of the few people in Bolitho’s experience who could get completely drunk without any outward change of expres- sion.
    Triphook, the purser, appeared very competent, if grudging with his rations. He had taken a lot of care to ensure that the vict- ualling yard had not filled the lower hold with rotten casks, to be discovered too late to take action. That in itself was rare. Bolitho’s thoughts came back to the surgeon. He had been aboard for two weeks. Had he been able to get a replacement he would have done so. Whitmarsh was a drunkard in the worst sense. Sober he had a quiet, even gentle manner. Drunk, which was often, he seemed to come apart like an old sail in a sudden squall.
    He tightened his jaw. Whitmarsh would mend his ways. Or else . . .
    Feet scraped across the planks overhead and Herrick said, “There’s a few below decks tonight who’ll be wondering if they’ve done a’right by signing on.” He chuckled. “Too late now.”
    Bolitho stared astern at the black, swirling water, hearing the urgent tide banging and squeaking around the rudder.
    â€œAye. It’s a long step from land to sea. Far more so than most people realise!” He returned his glass to the rack. “I think I shall turn in now. It will be a long day tomorrow.”
    Herrick stood up and nodded. “I’ll bid you goodnight, sir.”
    He knew full well that Bolitho would stay awake for hours yet. Pacing and planning, searching for last-minute faults, possible mistakes in the arrangement of watch-bills and delegation of du- ties. Bolitho would know he was aware of this fact, too.
    The door closed and Bolitho walked right aft to lean his hands on the centre sill. He could feel the woodwork vibrating under his palms, the hull trembling all around him in time to the squeak of stays, the clatter and slap of halliards and blocks.
    Who would watch them go? Would anyone care? One more ship slipping down channel like hundreds before her.
    There was a nervous tap at the door, and Noddall, the cabin servant, pattered into the lantern light. A small man, with the pointed face of an anxious rodent. He even held his hands in front of him like two nervous paws.
    â€œYer supper, sir. You’ve not touched it.” He started to gather up the plates. “Won’t do, sir. It won’t do. ”
    Bolitho smiled as Noddall scampered away to his pantry. He was so absorbed in his own little world it seemed as if he had not even noticed there was a change of command.
    He threw his new cloak across his shoulders and left the cabin. On the pitch-dark quarterdeck he groped his way aft to the taffrail and stared towards the land. Countless lights and hidden houses. He turned and looked along his ship, the wind blowing his hair across his face, the chill making him hold his breath. The riding light reflected on the taut shrouds like pale gold, and right forward he saw a smaller lantern, where the lonely anchor watch kept a wary eye on the cable.
    It felt different, he decided. No sentries on each gangway to watch for a sneak attack or a mass attempt at desertion. No nets to delay a sudden rush of enemy boarders. He touched a quarterdeck six-pounder with one hand. It felt like wet ice. But for how long, he wondered?
    The master’s mate of the watch prowled past, and then sheered away as he saw his captain by the rail.
    â€œAll’s well, zur!” he called.
    â€œThank you.”
    Bolitho did not know the man’s name. Not yet. In the next hundred days he would know more than their names, he thought. As they would about him.
    With a sigh he returned to his cabin, his hair plastered to his head, his