Passage to Mutiny Read Free Page B

still left unpaid.
    Bolitho heard the gig’s crew clattering into the boat, and saw that the side party of marines and boatswain’s mates were waiting to see him safely away.
    He looked up at the drooping masthead pendant and then across the shimmering water to two large transports which were anchored well clear of the shore.
    And now there was this additional responsibility. The growing colony of New South Wales. He studied the big transports for some sign of life. Convict ships. How many poor wretches had been transported out here to provide labour and the power for clearing land and founding a nation. He tried to imagine what it would be like in such a ship battling round the Cape of Good Hope or, worse, around the dreaded Horn. Men, women and children. The law was as impartial as it was tragic.
    Herrick touched his hat. “Boat’s ready, sir.”
    Bolitho nodded gravely and looked at the red-coated marines and their captain, Jasper Prideaux. It was rumoured that he was in the marines because he had been made to leave society for killing two men in duels. Bolitho, more than many, had cause to understand that.
    For two years he had tried not to dislike Prideaux. Despite sun and salt air the marine captain remained pale and unhealthy looking. He had sharp, almost pointed features. Like a fox. A man who would enjoy duelling and winning. Bolitho had not succeeded in getting rid of his dislike.
    â€œAttention in the boat!”
    Allday stood by the tiller, one eye on Bolitho’s sword as he clambered down the side to the twitter of calls and the slap and thud of muskets on the deck.
    â€œShove off! Give way all!”
    Bolitho shaded his eyes as the boat pulled swiftly around and beneath the tapering jib boom and blue-eyed figurehead.
    Tempest was a well-found ship, but as Lakey had said often enough, she was a Company vessel, no matter what flag flew above her taffrail. With thirty-six guns, which included twenty-eight twelve-pounders, she was more powerful than any ship he had yet commanded. But she was so heavily built of teak, and her timbers and spars matched accordingly, that she lacked the swift agility expected of a King’s ship in close combat. She had been built to protect heavy Indiamen from pirates and to strike fear into any such island or inlet which might be harbouring them.
    Herrick had remarked from the start that if challenged by a real fighting ship they would have to close the range and hold on to it. Any sort of feinting and last-moment manoeuvres were not even to be considered.
    On the other hand, even the most doubtful had to agree she was a fine sailer under good conditions. With just her plain sail set, and she carried over seventeen thousand square feet of it, she had been known to log fifteen knots. But Lakey, always down to earth, had said, “Trouble is, you don’t get good conditions when you needs ’em!”
    Bolitho made sure his despatches and his own report were safely stowed below the thwart and turned his attention to the Hebrus.
    Another castaway. Perhaps events were moving so fast in Europe that they had already been forgotten. Around the world lonely, solitary ships like his and the commodore’s patrolled, and tacked back and forth in complete ignorance of what was happening in the very countries whose decisions shaped their destinies.
    â€œWay ’nough!” Allday swung the tiller, his eyes slitted against the sun until they were covered by the flagship’s great shadow. “Hook on, bowman!”
    Bolitho stood up and took a deep breath. He always remembered a captain he had once served. He had caught his legs in his sword as he had come aboard for the first time and had sprawled headlong at the feet of his startled marines.
    At the top of the steps and just inside the entry port he removed his hat and waited for the din of calls and muskets being snapped to the present to subside.
    The commodore walked to greet him, one hand