Passage to Mutiny by Alexander Kent Read Free Book Online Page A

foxy face peering at each of his men in turn. Bolitho had never heard him offer one word of encouragement or praise, even when a marine had been promoted.
    More muffled than the sounds near the quarterdeck, he heard the thump of hammers and the occasional rasp of a saw.
    Isaac Toby was the ship’s carpenter. Fat, slow-moving and rather vacant-looking, he had the appearance of an untidy owl. But as a carpenter he was an artist. With his own small crew he kept the repairs up to date, although with a vessel built of teak that was the least of his worries. At this moment he would be completing his latest challenge, the building of a new, additional jolly boat. It had been something of a joke to begin with, a casual remark made by the gunner about waste of valuable wood when a seaman had been caught throwing some offcuts over the side.
    Toby had taken it as a personal affront and had said he would build a boat with his own hands out of all the oddments which Brass could discover. The boat was nearly completed, and even Brass had had to admit it was far better than Tempest’ s original one.
    Bolitho leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair.
    Cheadle gathered up the last document and made sure the signature was dry. The clerk was a strange, withdrawn man, as were many of his kind. He had deep, hollow eyes and large, uneven teeth, so that he appeared to be smiling, something he never did, as far as Bolitho knew. To discover anything of his past Bolitho had had to drag it from him word by word. He had been transferred from another ship which had been paid off in Bombay. His captain had assured Bolitho that Cheadle was a good clerk, if somewhat reticent. He had once worked in a grocer’s shop in Canterbury, and prided himself on his service to “the quality.” But so far, even after two years of daily contact, Bolitho had never heard him mention it.
    Noddall entered as the clerk left and placed a glass of wine on the desk. With fresh water so much in demand, and the uncertainty of supply a constant worry, Bolitho usually took wine as an easy alternative. He recalled when he had been guided to the famous shop in St James’s, how he had purchased the many fine bottles before his voyage to the other side of the world in Undine. The wine had been reduced to broken glass and spillage during his fight with the Argus, but the memory stayed with him. He touched the watch in his pocket. Like so many others.
    Allday sauntered through from the sleeping cabin and watched him gravely.
    â€œReckon we’ll find ’em, Captain?”
    He stood with arms folded across his deep chest, his face and body relaxed. He was more like a companion than a subordinate. How much they had shared together. Bolitho often wondered if Allday missed England. He would certainly be missing the girls. Allday had always had a reputation with them, and more than once had been glad, if not eager, to set sail in haste for fear of husband or irate father.
    â€œI hope so.”
    Bolitho sipped the drink. Cheap and stale. Not like the French wine which Herrick had got for him. The Sydney garrison had probably bought a stock from a French ship, or some ambitious trader. If you were prepared to risk your fortune and your life, and pit your wits against fierce natives, pirates and the constant dangers of shipwreck you could sell anything out here.
    In the wake of navigators and explorers like Cook had come the others. On some islands, where the natives had lived in simple, idyllic surroundings, the ships had introduced disease and death. The merchant adventurers had set one tribe against another by offering shoddy goods and cheap cloth in exchange for secure moorings from which to barter.
    And now everyone was paying for it. Soon, some over-greedy trader would start supplying a tribe with muskets. Bolitho had seen it happen in the Americas, where the French had trained Indians to track and kill the British, and the British had done the same