Stand Into Danger Read Online Free Page B

“You two men, start plucking the chickens. You, Thomas, watch out for unwanted visitors.” He faced Stockdale and thrust out the guinea. “’Ere, matey, you take it. You’ve bloody earned it!”
    Stockdale barely heard. As he bent over his sack he wheezed, “No. ’Twere ’is money. You keep it.”
    To Bolitho he said, “This is for you, sir.”
    He held out a bottle which looked like brandy. It made sense. The farmer was probably mixed up with the smuggling “trade” hereabouts.
    Stockdale watched Bolitho’s face searchingly, then he added, “I’ll make you comfortable, you see.”
    Bolitho saw him moving about amongst the busy seamen as if he had been doing it all his life.
    Little said quietly, “Reckon you can stop frettin’ now, sir. Old Stockdale will be worth fifteen men all on his bloody own, by my reckonin’!”
    Bolitho drank some of the brandy, the grease from a chicken leg running unheeded across the cuff of his new shirt.
    He had learned a lot today, not least about himself.
    His head lolled, and he did not feel Stockdale remove the cup from his fingers.
    And there was always tomorrow.

1 LEAVE THE P AST BEHIND
    BOLITHO pulled himself up the Destiny ’s side and raised his hat to the quarterdeck. Gone was the mist and dull cloud, and the houses of Plymouth beyond the Hamoaze seemed to be preening themselves in hard sunshine.
    He felt stiff and tired from tramping from village to village, dirty from sleeping in barn and inn alike, and the sight of his six recruits being mustered and then led forward by the master-at-arms did little to raise his spirits. The sixth volunteer had come up to the recruiting party less than an hour before they had reached the long-boat. A neat, unseamanlike figure aged about thirty, who said he was an apothecary’s assistant but needed to gain experience on a long voyage so that he might better himself.
    It was as unlikely a story as that of the two farm labourers, but Bolitho was too weary to care.
    â€œAh, I see you are back, Mr Bolitho!”
    The first lieutenant was standing at the quarterdeck rail, his tall figure framed against the washed-out sky. His arms were folded and he had obviously been watching the new arrivals from the moment the returning launch had been challenged.
    In his crisp voice he added, “Lay aft, if you please.”
    Bolitho climbed to the larboard gangway and made his way to the quarterdeck. His companion of three days, the gunner’s mate Little, was already bustling down a ladder, going to take a “wet” with his mates, no doubt. He was lost amongst his own world below decks, leaving Bolitho once more a stranger, little different from the moment he had first stepped aboard.
    He confronted the first lieutenant and touched his hat. Palliser looked composed and extremely neat, which made Bolitho feel even more like a vagrant.
    Bolitho said, “Six hands, sir. The big man was a fighter, and should be a welcome addition. The last one worked for an apothecary in Plymouth.”
    His words seemed to be falling like stones. Palliser had not moved and the quarterdeck was unnaturally quiet.
    Bolitho ended, “It was the best I could do, sir.”
    Palliser pulled out his watch. “Good. Well, the captain has come aboard in your absence. He asked to see you the moment you returned.”
    Bolitho stared at him. He had been expecting the heavens to fall. Six men instead of twenty, and one of those would never make a sailor.
    Palliser snapped down the guard of his watch and regarded Bolitho coolly. “Has the long sojourn ashore rendered you hard of hearing? The captain wishes to see you. That does not mean now; aboard this ship it means the moment that the captain thought of it!”
    Bolitho looked ruefully at his muddy shoes and stockings. “I— I’m sorry, sir, I thought you said . . .”
    Palliser was already looking elsewhere,