In the King's Name by Alexander Kent Read Free Book Online Page A

who tried to take advantage of that disability. Maddock could lip-read from one end of the gun deck to the other.
    Several of the seamen working on deck were barefoot, either to save shoe leather, or to harden their soles for shrouds and ratlines. A few would regret it.
    But they must all feel the difference, even the last to join at Plymouth. There was a suggestion of warmth under a clear sky, and the bite had gone from the wind. Squire’s face cracked into a wry smile.
Almost
.
    He knew that the midshipman had moved closer. A bright lad, eager to learn and not afraid to ask questions. But it was not that. If he leaned further over the rail he would see the large grating inboard of the nearest gun, scrubbed almost white again, and dried by the wind and sun. Where a man had been seized up in the presence of all the ship’s company and flogged.
    Midshipman Walker was not yet fourteen, but soon would be, the same age as Squire when he had joined his first ship. In his two years aboard Squire had witnessed two hundred floggings. His captain had believed in discipline of the most ferocious kind. He and others like him had contributed to the great fleet mutinies at the Nore and Spithead, even as England had been living in daily fear of a French invasion.
    Since he had joined
Onward
there had been only one flogging, suspended halfway through, before the punishment of the seaman Lamont two days ago. And Lamont was lucky he would not be doing the Tyburn Jig when he reached port and higher authority.
    You might become hardened to it, but you never forgot. Squire thought of Jago, the captain’s coxswain, a strong man, and a loyal one. But Squire had seen him being washed down one day, twisting his muscular body under a pump. The scars of the cat were unmistakable. Jago had received a written pardon from an admiral, and a sum of money in compensation amounting to a year’s pay, and the officer who had ordered the unjustified punishment had paid for it with a court-martial. But Jago would carry the scars to his grave. Squire had glimpsed his face as Lamont was being flogged, and wondered how he could remain so faithful to any captain after his own experience.
    Midshipman Walker exclaimed suddenly, “I think he deserved it!”
    Squire sighed.
Out of the mouths of babes
…
    â€œDeck there!”
    Every one, even the helmsman, looked up as the cry came from the foretopmast. It seemed ages since the lookouts had sighted anything, and this was certainly not land. Squire stared at the small silhouette who was signalling with his arm, but he already knew the face and the name. Always reliable. But he would need more than the naked eye.
    He saw the midshipman reach for a telescope, but took it from him and shook his head. “Not this time … Bosun’s Mate! Aloft with you! You’ll feel at ease up there!”
    It was Tucker. He took the telescope and held it to his eye briefly before slinging it across his shoulder. “Starboard bow,” was all he said.
    Squire replied, “Aye, probably nothing, or out of sight by now. But …”
    Tucker was already striding along the gangway, as he must have done countless times in his service as a foretopman. Squire watched him until he had reached the shrouds and began to climb.
Keep busy, mind and body
. It helped. Squire had learned that for himself.
    David Tucker climbed steadily, his eyes fixed on the foretop and the hard, bellying curve of canvas. He was conscious of the men by the guns, heard Maddock’s voice as he repeated some instructions; a few faces might have turned in the direction of the figure on the ratlines, or maybe not. What did he expect? Anger? Hostility? Certainly not sympathy.
    He reached the foretop and pulled himself out and over the barricade, his body hanging momentarily over the creaming water below.
Don’t look down
, they used to shout up at him in those early days. Now it was something he told others.
    A seaman was