Passage to Mutiny Read Online Free PDF Page A

movement. Noddall was small, like a little rodent. Even his hands, which when not in use he held in front of his body, were like paws. But he was a good and willing servant, and like some of the others had come to the ship from Bolitho’s Undine.
    Herrick stood up, his head clear of the deck beams as evidence of Tempest’ s generous proportions, and raised his goblet.
    He said, “To you, sir, and your birthday.” He grinned. “I know it was yesterday in fact, but it took me a day to discover the wine.”
    They continued almost in silence, their long pipes lit, their glasses readily refilled by the watchful Noddall.
    Overhead, through the skylight, they could see the stars, very large and close, and hear the regular footsteps of a master’s mate as he paced back and forth on watch, the occasional shuffle of boots from the marine sentry beyond the bulkhead. Bolitho said, “It will be late autumn in Cornwall now.” He did not know why he had said it. Maybe he had been thinking of Sayer. But he could see it all the same. Gold and brown leaves, a keener edge to each dawn. But still fresh and bright. It always held off the winter in Cornwall. He tried to recall the ordinary sounds. The ring of chipping hammers as the farm workers used their time building or repairing the characteristic stone and slate walls which separated their fields and houses. Cattle and sheep, the fishermen tramping up from Falmouth to one of a dozen tiny hamlets at the end of the day.
    He thought of his own house below Pendennis Castle. Square and grey, the home of the Bolithos for generations. Now, apart from Ferguson, his steward, and the servants, there was nobody. All gone, either dead or, like his two sisters, married and living their separate lives. He remembered his feelings when he had met the marine captain, Prideaux, for the first time, and his attendant rumours of duels fought and won. It had reminded him of his own brother, Hugh. He had killed a brother officer over a gambling debt and had fled to America. To desert his ship had been a bad enough shock for their father, but when he had joined the Revolutionary Navy and had risen to command a privateer against his old friends and companions it had been more than enough to speed his death. And Hugh was gone, too. Killed, it seemed, by a runaway horse in Boston. Life was difficult to fathom out.
    Herrick sensed his change of mood.
    â€œI think I should turn in, sir. I have a feeling we’ll all be up and about tomorrow. Two days in harbour? Tch, tch, someone high-up will say! It’ll never do for the Tempest, and that’s the truth!” He grinned broadly. “I truly believe that if all our people were allowed ashore in this place, we’d never get ’em back!”
    Bolitho remained by the stern windows long after Herrick had gone to his cot, or more likely the wardroom for a last drink with the other officers.
    Herrick always seemed to know when he needed to be alone. To think. Just as he understood that it only made the bond stronger between them.
    He watched the smoke from his pipe curling slowly out and over the black water which surged around the rudder. It was bad to keep thinking of home. But he had been away so long now, and if he was to be banished he would have to do something to change his future.
    He heard a violin, strangely sad, from below decks, and guessed it was Owston, the ropemaker, who played for the capstan crew, and entertained the hands during the dog watches.
    Tempest would make a fine picture from the shore, if anyone was watching. Gunports open, lit from within like yellow eyes. Riding light and a lantern on the starboard gangway for the officer-of-the-guard to climb aboard without losing his footing in the darkness.
    He thought of some of the convicts he had seen. Surely none could be here for serious offences? They would have been hanged if they were hardened criminals. It made him ashamed to think how he had just