Command a King's Ship Read Online Free PDF Page B

It was said that her bottom had fallen clean away with rot. If it could happen to a lofty first-rate at anchor, it would do worse to a frigate.
    Bolitho came out of his thoughts as he heard the shrill of boatswain’s calls above the wind, the stamp of feet as the marines prepared to receive him. He stared up at the towering masts, the movement of figures around the entry port and above in the shrouds. They had had a month to get used to seeing him about the ship, except for the unknown quantity, the newly recruited part of the company. They might be wondering about him now. What he was like. Too harsh, or too easy-going. To them, once the an- chor was catted, he was everything, good or bad, skilful or incompetent. There was no other ear to listen to their complaints, no other voice to reward or punish.
    â€œEasy all!” Allday stood half poised, the tiller bar in his fist. “Toss your oars!”
    The boat thrust forward and the bowman hooked on to the main chains at the first attempt. Bolitho guessed that Allday had been busy during his stay in London.
    He stood up and waited for the right moment, knowing Allday was watching like a cat in case he should slip between launch and ship, or worse, tumble backwards in a welter of flailing arms and legs. Bolitho had seen it happen, and recalled his own cruel amuse- ment at the spectacle of his new captain arriving aboard in a dripping heap.
    Then, with the spray barely finding time to catch his legs, he was up and on board, his ears ringing to the shrill of calls and to the slap of marines’ muskets while they presented arms. He doffed his hat to the quarterdeck, and nodded to Herrick and the others.
    â€œGood to be back, Mr. Herrick.” His tone was curt.
    â€œWelcome aboard, sir.” Herrick was equally so. But their eyes shone with something more than routine formality. Something which none of the others saw, or shared.
    Bolitho removed his cloak and handed it to Midshipman Penn. He turned to allow the fading light to play across the broad white lapels of his dress coat. They would all know he was here. He saw the few hands working aloft on last minute splicing, others crowded on gangways and down on the main deck between the twin lines of black twelve-pounder guns.
    He smiled, amused at his own gesture. “I will go below now.”
    â€œI have placed the orders in your cabin, sir.”
    Herrick was bursting with questions. It was obvious from his flat, formal voice. But his eyes, those eyes which were so blue, and which could look so hurt, made a lie of his rigidity.
    â€œVery well, I will call you directly.”
    He made to walk aft to the cabin hatchway when he saw some figures gathered just below the quarterdeck rail. In mixed gar- ments, they were in the process of being checked against a list by Lieutenant Davy.
    He called, “New hands, Mr. Davy?”
    Herrick said quietly, “We are still thirty under strength, sir.”
    â€œAye, sir.” Davy squinted up through the light drizzle, his handsome face set in a confident smile. “I am about to get them to make their marks.”
    Bolitho crossed to the ladder and ran down to the gun deck. God, how wretched they all looked. Half-starved, ragged, beaten. Even the demanding life aboard ship could surely be no worse than what had made them thus.
    He watched Davy’s neat, elegant hands as he arranged the book on top of a twelve-pounder’s breech.
    â€œCome along now, make your marks.”
    They shuffled forward, self-conscious, awkward, and very aware that their new captain was nearby.
    Bolitho’s eye stopped on the one at the end of the line. A sturdy man, well-muscled, and with a pigtail protruding from beneath his battered hat. One prime seaman at least.
    He realised Bolitho was watching him and hurried forward to the gun.
    Davy snapped, “Here now, hold your damn eagerness!”
    Bolitho asked, “Your name?”
    He hesitated. “Turpin,