Passage to Mutiny by Alexander Kent

Peterson was slow to respond to an order, and Schultz shouted that he were better on a gallows than on the main yard? ” He waited, seeing Borlase’s fingers opening and closing like claws. “Well?”
    â€œYes, sir. Something like that. Then Peterson called Schultz a pig and a heartless devil.” Borlase nodded firmly. “It was then that I ordered him to be taken below.”
    Bolitho locked his fingers behind his head. He felt the sweat trickling down his chest and armpits, the shirt, newly washed and fresh on today, clinging like a wet shroud.
    Maybe this was what had occurred in the missing Bounty, or aboard the Eurotas. Men tormented by climate and unceasing work taken off guard by some stupid remark made without real thought. The rest could explode like a powder cask.
    He said, “Peterson’s father was hanged at Exeter for murder and theft. But he was wrongly identified, and the real murderer was caught and executed a year later.” His tone hardened. “But not before Peterson’s mother and family had been driven from their home by the dead man’s friends. They received a pardon, but it was somewhat late.” He saw Borlase pale and added, “I do not blame Schultz, because his language is limited. I cannot blame Peterson either. The very mention of a gibbet, the suggestion, no matter how casually made, that he were better use hanging from one, would drive me to rage!”
    Borlase muttered haltingly, “I am sorry, sir. I did not know.”
    â€œWhich is why I blame you. That man is in your division and was of your watch. I knew, so did the first lieutenant. I trust that you will do something, and soon, to restore his respect. Something you have to earn, Mr Borlase, it does not come with the King’s coat!”
    Borlase turned about and left the cabin, and for several moments Bolitho remained quite still in his chair, letting the sea noises intrude again to cover the fierce beats of his heart.
    Allday said, “That was a rare quilting, Captain!”
    â€œI told you to leave the cabin!” He stood up, furious with himself for losing his temper, and with Allday for his calm acceptance of it.
    â€œBut I did, Captain!” Allday kept his face stiff. “I thought you were calling me aft again.”
    Bolitho gave in. “Was it that loud?”
    Allday grinned. “I’ve heard worse, but I guessed you had pressing matters on your mind, and might wish to be reminded of them.”
    â€œThank you.” He felt his mouth giving way to a smile. “And damn you for your insolence.”
    The coxswain took down Bolitho’s old sword from the bulkhead and rubbed it against his shirt.
    â€œI think I’ll give it a polish, Captain. Might bring us fortune.”
    Bolitho looked up at the open skylight as bare feet pounded over the deck and he heard the sudden squeal of blocks, the boom of canvas. The watch on deck was trimming the sails and resetting the yards again. The wind getting up? A change of direction?
    He left the chair and walked swiftly through the day cabin to the outer door.
    Keen was still in charge of the watch, and was as competent and reliable as any young officer could be. But Bolitho knew his one weakness. That Keen would rather die than call his captain to aid him if the wind began to change. He also understood why Keen was so unwilling, and the knowledge had so far prevented him from warning the lieutenant of the danger which delayed action could bring.
    He reached the quarterdeck and saw the hands at the braces and the yards trimmed to take a slight alteration in the wind’s direction.
    Starling, master’s mate-of-the-watch, touched his forehead and reported, “Wind’s backed a mite, sir. An’ ’tis risen, too.”
    His voice was extra loud, and Bolitho guessed he was warning his lieutenant that the captain was about.
    Bolitho consulted the compass and the set of the sails. They were hard