To Glory We Steer Read Online Free Page A

his mouth working angrily.
    â€œBut, sir! The West Indies!” He struggled for words. “God, we’ve been on the blockade for two years!”
    Bolitho let his voice carry to the other officers. “And I have been away for six, Mr Vibart!” He walked aft where Stockdale sound-lessly marked the cabin hatch for his retreat. “I want all officers and senior warrant officers in my cabin in ten minutes!”
    He ran lightly down the ladder, his head automatically bowed beneath the low deck beams. Right aft, below a spiralling lantern, a red-coated marine snapped to attention outside his cabin door. Beyond it would be his haven, the only place aboard a crowded ship where he could think and dream alone.
    Stockdale held open the door and stood aside as Bolitho entered the cabin, which after Sparrow ’s cramped and spartan quarters seemed almost spacious.
    The sloping stern windows ran the whole width of the main cabin and the thick glass gave a panoramic picture of tossing water and the hostile, grey sky. The air was heavy and damp, and once again he was conscious of the cold in his limbs. It would be good to get back to the sun, he thought. To see blue and gold through those windows, and know again the peace of a friendly sea.
    A partition hid his sleeping quarters and another concealed the small chartroom. The main cabin itself contained a good table and matching chairs, as well as a bulkhead desk and a hanging wardrobe for his uniforms which even now Stockdale was unpacking from the boxes.
    The previous captain had done well for himself, Bolitho thought. On either side of the cabin, discreetly hidden in a canvas cover, was a big twelve-pounder, lashed down like some leashed beast, so that even here, in the captain’s own domain, the air would be filled with smoke and death when action found the frigate.
    He made himself sit quietly on the padded bench below the windows, and ignoring Stockdale’s furtive movements and shipboard noises above and beyond the door, began to read his orders.
    But apart from the usual directions the orders told him nothing. There were extra marines aboard, with a full captain in charge of them instead of the original sergeant. That was interesting. Sir Henry Langford obviously considered that if all else failed Bolitho could defend himself with the afterguard.
    He slammed the thick papers on the table and frowned. He did not want protection. He had meant what he had said. He wanted loyalty. No, he needed loyalty!
    The deck canted beneath him and he heard the patter of bare feet overhead. In spite of everything he was glad to be leaving the land. At sea you had room to think, and space to act. Only time was at a premium.
    Exactly ten minutes after Bolitho had left the quarterdeck the officers filed through the door into his cabin.
    Vibart, his head lowered beneath the deck beams, introduced each one in order of seniority in the same rasping tone.
    Okes and Herrick, the two other lieutenants, and Daniel Proby, the master. The latter was old and weathered like carved wood, his body round-shouldered beneath his well-worn coat. He had a lugubrious, heavy-jowled face, and the most mournful eyes Bolitho had ever seen. Then there was Captain Rennie of the marines, a slim and languid young man with deceptively lazy eyes. Bolitho thought that he at least would guess that there might still be trouble in the offing.
    The three midshipmen stood quietly in the background. Farquhar was the most senior, and Bolitho felt a small pang of uneasiness as he studied the youth’s tight lips and haughty expression. The admiral’s nephew might be an ally. He could equally be the admiral’s spy. The other young gentlemen, Neale and Maynard, seemed pleasant enough, with the usual crumpled cheekiness which most midshipmen reserved as their defence against officers and seamen alike. Neale was minute and chubby, and could not be more than thirteen, Bolitho thought. Maynard, on the other