Richard Bolitho – Midshipman

He broke off as the captain's voice called from the quarterdeck rail, 'Man your boat, Mr Tregorren.' His eyes were like glass in the bright glare. 'If it's fever aboard I want no part of it. Do what you can and be lively with it.' Bolitho watched him gravely. He did not know the captain, other than at a distance or seeing him at work with his officers. And yet he was almost certain that Captain Conway was on edge, anxious enough to speak severely to one of his lieutenants in front of the people. He flushed as the cold eyes settled on him. 'You.' The captain half lifted one hand. 'What is your name again?' 'Bolitho, sir.' It was strange that nobody ever seemed to remember a midshipman's name. 'Well, Bolitho, when you have quite finished your daydream, or composing a poem for your doxy, I'd be grateful if you would enter the boat! ' Several seamen lounging at the gangway chuckled, and Tregorren rasped angrily, 'If I thought you were trying to show me up! ' He gave Bolitho a thrust with his palm. Til deal with you later! ' Once in the quarter boat, one of Gorgon's twentyeight-foot cutters, the captain's mood, Tregorren's hostility and the discomfort of six weeks at sea were pushed from Bolitho's mind. Crowded in the sternsheets amongst the extra men and weapons, with Tregorren's great shadow swaying over the labouring oars, he turned and glanced quickly astern. How huge and invulnerable Gorgon appeared from a lowhulled boat. Standing above her rippling reflection, her masts and yards stark and black against the sky, she looked a symbol of sea power. He could tell from Dancer's expression that he shared his excitement. He looked leaner than when they had met at the Blue Posts, but tougher and more confident. Tregorren snapped, 'Give the fellow a hail! ' He was standing upright in the boat, oblivious to the lively motion as it lifted and sliced over the wavecrests.

The bowman cupped his hands. 'Ship ahoy! ' His voice seemed to echo back like an acknowledgement. Dancer whispered, 'What d'you reckon, Dick?' Bolitho shook his head. 'Not sure.' He watched the barquentine's masts lifting above the sweating oarsmen, the way the booms on her main and mizzen creaked and shook without purpose.