Command a King's Ship by Alexander Kent Page A

on his companion under all circumstances. Many are entirely ignorant of the Navy’s ways and its demands. They hate to see ‘others’ getting away with crimes they themselves avoid. At this stage we cannot allow them to split into separate groups. Old hands and the new recruits, professional criminals and the weak ones who have no protection but to ally themselves with some other faction.”
    Herrick had persisted, “But in peacetime, sir, maybe it takes all the longer.”
    â€œWe can’t afford the luxury of finding out.” He had hardened voice. “You know how I feel. It is not easy.”
    The thief had taken his punishment without a whimper, a dozen lashes at the gratings while Undine had cruised along be- neath a clearing sky, some gulls throwing their shadows round and round across the tense drama below.
    As he had read from the Articles of War, Bolitho had looked along his command at the watching men in shrouds and rigging, the sharp red lines of Bellairs’s marines, Herrick and all the rest. The second culprit had been a brute of a man called Sullivan. He had volunteered to a recruiting party outside Portsmouth, and had all the looks of a hardened criminal. But he had served in a King’s ship before and should have been an asset.
    Three dozen lashes. Little enough in the Navy’s view for half killing a fellow seaman. Had he laid a hand on an officer he would have faced death rather than a flogging.
    The actual punishment was terrible. Sullivan had broken down completely at the first blow across his naked back, as the boatswain’s mates took turns to lay the lash over shoulders and spine he had wriggled and screamed like a madman, his mouth frothing with foam, his eyes like marbles in his distorted face.
    Mr. Midshipman Armitage had almost fainted, and some of those who had just recovered from their own sickness had vomited in unison, despite the harsh shouts from their petty officers.
    Then it had ended, the watching men giving a kind of sigh as they were dismissed below.
    Sullivan had been cut down and carried to Whitmarsh’s sickbay, where no doubt he had been restored by a plentiful ration of rum.
    Each day following the punishment, as he had paced the quarter- deck or supervised a change of tack, Bolitho had the eyes watching him. Seeing him perhaps as enemy rather than commander. He had told himself often enough that when you accepted the honour of command you carried all of it. Not just the authority and the pride of controlling a living, vital ship, but the knocks and kicks as well.
    There was a tap on the door and Herrick stepped into the cabin.
    â€œAbout another hour, sir. With your permission I will give the order to clew up all canvas except tops’ls and jib. It will make our entrance more easy to manage.”
    â€œHave some coffee, Thomas.” He relaxed as Herrick seated him- self across the table. “I am burning to know what we are about.”
    Herrick took a mug and tested the coffee with his tongue.
    â€œMe, too.” He smiled over the rim. “Once or twice back there I thought we might never reach land!”
    â€œYes. I can feel for many of our people. Some will never have seen the sea, let alone driven so far from England. Now, they know that Africa lies somewhere over the larboard bulwark. That we are going to the other side of the earth. Some are even beginning to feel like seamen, when just weeks back they had thumbs where their fingers should be.”
    Herrick’s smile widened. “Due to you, sir. I am sometimes very thankful that I hold no command. Or chance of one either.”
    Bolitho watched him thoughtfully. The rift was healed.
    â€œI am afraid the choice may not be yours, Thomas.” He stood up. “In fact, I shall see that you get command whenever the oppor- tunity offers itself, if only to drive some of your wild idealism into the bilges!”
    They grinned at each other like