Richard Bolitho – Midshipman

Bolitho replied, 'Very near, I'd say, Fairweather. I can see some sea-birds now. Coming out to take a look at us, I shouldn't wonder.' 'Silence on the gundeck! ' Tregorren's anger seemed to spread itself to officers and seamen alike. Someone gave a yelp of pain as a gun captain used a rope's end, and from right aft Wellesley 's rather ineffectual voice called, 'Take that man's name, I say! ' Nobody knew what man, or to whom the order was directed, and Bolitho guessed that the lieutenant was merely trying to avoid Tregorren's tongue. It was strange how cut off from the rest of the ship it felt. More light was painting the sea in black and yellow patterns, but the horizon and sky were still as one. The square gunport cut in the ship's massive oak side was like a picture, Bolitho thought, but as the light strengthened and spilled down the long barrel of the thirty-two-pounder they all seemed to become part of it. Colour stood out now inside the gundeck. The dark red paint which was used on the ship's side, and much of the deck beneath them, showed itself for the first time. It was there to disguise the blood of dead and wounded men, everyone knew that. Bolitho glanced down the sloping deck to the opposite side. Those open gunports were still in darkness, broken here and there by some leaping feathers of spray or a crest breaking close to the hull. He looked towards Tregorren who was speaking quietly with Jehan, the gunner, silent in his felt slippers which he always wore to prevent striking sparks when he was working in his beloved magazine. He vanished down the nearest ladder by the marine sentry, and Bolitho wondered if Dancer was thinking of the fact that the most dangerous mass of gunpowder in time of action was directly beneath his feet. There was something like a sigh as the first sheen of sunlight filtered across the water and through each open port. Bolitho leaned on the gun's breech and watched it transform the horizon into something real and solid. The land. Fairweather asked excitedly, 'Be that Africa?' The gun captain showed his uneven teeth. 'Don't matter to you where it be, lad. Just attend to old Freda 'ere and keep 'er fed, no matter what! That's all you need to know! ' A midshipman pattered down from the next deck and sought out Tregorren. 'Mr Verling's compliments, sir.' It was a midshipman named Knibb, a boy as small and as young as Eden, but for a month's difference. 'And we will not be loading just yet.' Tregorren snapped, 'What's happening then?' Knibb blinked around him, seeking out his friends. 'The masthead has reported sighting two vessels at anchor around the point, sir.' His confidence was growing, aided by the knowledge that every shadowy figure was listening to him, trying to discover what was going on in that other world above. 'Our captain has ordered the barquentine to make more sail and investigate, sir.' The gun captain beside Bolitho was explaining to his crew. 'I know these 'ere waters, lads. Reefs an' shoals everywhere. Our cap'n'll 'ave two good leadsmen in the chains b'now, takin' regular soundins. Feelin' our way inshore.' Bolitho did not hear them. He was thinking of the deserted barquentine, the dead man in her cabin. He wondered if Tregorren's obvious ill-humour was because he had not been given command of the City of Athens. The third lieutenant, Tregorren's immediate superior, had been sent instead, and was assisted by Grenfell, the senior midshipman. If all went well, this little piece of extra responsibility would see the midshipman well on his way to promotion. Bolitho was glad for him, if envious of his freedom. Grenfell had done all he could to make him, and the awkward newcomers in his midst, welcome. It was not unusual for midshipmen in Grenfell's place to act like little tyrants. Two ships at anchor, Knibb had said. Pirates or slavers? Both would get a shock when Gorgon made her entrance. Feet tramped dully overhead and Bolitho heard the squeak of blocks as once again the yards were trimmed, the sails reset while the ship altered course. He moved inboard and rested his hands on the great capstan which was used for hoisting heavy spars or boats to their allotted positions and listened to Tregorren's harsh voice as he spoke to Wellesley and Midshipman Pearce. Beyond them the open ports were more sharply defined, and for a moment Bolitho thought that the light was playing tricks on him. The land was probing out to greet them, which was impossible, for he could see it on his own side. He recalled suddenly what the captain had said about an island. This must be it, with the ship steering into a great arrowhead of water between it and the mainland. The anchored ships must be right ahead and invisible to both gundecks.