Passage to Mutiny Read Free Page A

losing way, her decks even hotter as the last canvas was manhandled and fisted to the yards.
    â€œLet go!”
    Bolitho heard the familiar splash beneath the bows, and pictured the massive anchor shattering the stillness of that inviting water. He repressed a shudder. He recalled the two large sharks which had patiently followed the ship for several days almost into the harbour itself.
    â€œSignal from Flag, sir. Captain repair on board.”
    Bolitho looked at Midshipman Swift. He was in charge of the signals party, and at seventeen was no doubt full of hopes and impatience for a chance of promotion. He shifted his gaze to Keen, the third lieutenant, wondering briefly if he was remembering when he had been in Swift’s shoes aboard the Undine. It all seemed so long back. Now Keen was twenty-two. As brown as a berry, with the clean good looks which would conquer any girl’s heart, Bolitho thought. Keen, who had joined his first ship because his father wanted him to learn to “find himself ” before entering the family’s city business, and who had stayed on because he actually liked it. Keen, who had taken a wood splinter the size of a marlin spike which had been blasted from the deck into his body within inches of his groin. Even now he grimaced whenever it was mentioned. Allday, mistrusting any ship’s surgeon, and Undine’ s in particular, had taken the splinter from the boy’s body himself. The burly coxswain had surprised Bolitho yet again with one more unsuspected talent.
    â€œAway gig!” Herrick cupped his hands. “Mr Jury, put some more hands to the tackles, and lively so!”
    Allday was watching the hurried preparations, his eyes critical as the boat was swayed up and over the nettings. In his blue jacket and flapping white trousers, his hair tied to the nape of his powerful neck, he looked as solid and as dependable as ever.
    He said quietly, “Another place, Captain. Another task no doubt.” Then he yelled, “Watch that paintwork, you clumsy bugger! This is for the captain not the bloody cook!”
    Some of the old hands grinned, others, newer or with less knowledge of the language about them, cringed at the outburst.
    Allday muttered, “By God, if we don’t get back to proper work, I can’t picture what sort of hands we’ll be using!” He shook his head. “Seamen indeed!”
    Bolitho did not know what Allday meant by “proper work.” They performed regular patrols amongst the growing spread of trading stations which were scattered across the seas from Sumatra to New Guinea. They had made long passages many hundreds of miles to the west to search for and act as escort to some valuable merchantmen on passage from Europe. Tempest was always kept busy. For with the spread of trade, and with it the exploitation and expansion into settlement and colony, so too came those who preyed on it. Pirates, self-styled princes, old enemies sailing under letters of marque, it was dangerous enough without the additional hazards of hostile natives and tropical storms.
    Perhaps he meant, like Herrick, getting away from heat and thirst, the daily risk of an uncharted reef, or attack by warring savages.
    The explorers and the great navigators had done much to disperse the mystery and the dangers of these waters. But those who had followed in their wake had less noble motives. For a handful of nails, some axes and a few strings of beads a captain could buy almost anything and anyone.
    For the sake of their trade and possessions Britain, France and Holland carried the main share of protecting the vast sea areas so that vulnerable merchant vessels could go about their affairs. Unfortunately, the oceans were too large, the forces employed too small to be much more than a gesture. Also, the countries who had the most invested in the Indies and the islands of the Great South Sea did not trust each other, nor had they forgotten old wars and debts