Richard Bolitho – Midshipman

The door opened, and Bolitho saw the captain's servant beckoning him urgently, holding the door open just sufficiently to allow him to enter. Like a footman in a fine house who is not sure of an unwelcome visitor. 'If you would wait 'ere, ' pause, 'sir.' Bolitho waited. It was a fine lobby which opened on to the captain's dining room and which ran the whole breadth of the hull. Glass tinkled quietly in a large mahogany cabinet, while above the long polished table a circular tray of bottles and decanters swung evenly to the ship's motion. The deck was covered in canvas, well-painted in black and white squares, and the nine-pounder cannon on either side of the cabin were discreetly hidden under chintz covers. The door in a further screen opened and the servant said, This way, sir.' He was watching Bolitho with something like despair. The great cabin. Bolitho stood just inside the door, his cocked hat wedged beneath one arm as he stared at the broad expanse of his captain's domain. The cabin was splendid, and made further so by the huge stern windows which were so streaked with salt and dappled spray that in the grey dawn light they looked like those of a cathedral. Captain Beves Conway was sitting at a large desk, leafing slowly through a sheaf of papers. A mug of something hot was steaming by his elbow, and as the lantern above the desk swung this way and that Bolitho saw that he was already dressed in a clean shirt and breeches, and his blue coat with its broad white lapels was laid carefully on a bench seat, his hat and boatcloak nearby. There was nothing about the man's face or appearance to suggest he had just returned from the deck and the bitter wind. He looked up and studied Bolitho without expression.