Passage to Mutiny by Alexander Kent Page A

and filling well. They might gain another knot for a few hours, with any luck.
    Keen hurried in from the quarterdeck rail, his face anxious.
    Bolitho nodded impassively. “We will call the hands to exercise the main armament in an hour’s time, Mr Keen.” He saw the surprise and the relief on Keen’s face. “Something wrong?”
    Keen swallowed hard. “N—no, sir. Nothing. I just thought . . .” He broke off.
    Bolitho turned aft to the poop. Keen would never make a good liar.
    Keen watched him walk to the comparative seclusion of the stern and then whispered fiercely, “Did he say anything, Mr Starling?”
    The master’s mate eyed him cheerfully. Like most of the others he liked Keen. Many, once raised to the rank of lieutenant, thought themselves too proud to speak with mere sailormen.
    He replied, “I think ’e just wanted you to know ’e was there, sir. In case you needed ’im like.” He showed his teeth. “But o’ course, we didn’t, did we, sir?” He walked away chuckling to himself, and to supervise the flaking down of disordered halliards.
    Keen thrust his hands behind him as he had seen Bolitho do so often and began to pace the deck, ignoring the heat and the thirst which was making his mouth like clay. It was difficult to fathom the captain sometimes. To know if he was sharing something with you or holding it to himself for his own amusement.
    Keen had heard his voice through the cabin skylight, although he had not known what was said. But Bolitho’s tone, and Borlase’s face when he had appeared on deck, had told him far more.
    It never stopped for a captain. Never. He saw Allday walking along the gundeck carrying the sword under his arm. He could almost envy him his confidences with the captain. More even than Herrick he seemed to be the one who really shared them.
    He swung round, startled, as Bolitho called from the taffrail, “Mr Keen, I fully realize your intention to keep your body in a healthy condition by walking back and forth under the sun, but would you please exercise your mind also and send some hands to the fore-tops’l brace. It too needs your urgent attention.”
    Keen nodded and hurried to the rail.
    No matter what other problems might be on the captain’s thoughts his eyes were in no way affected.

3 A S TRANGE MESSAGE
    B OLITHO raised a telescope to his eye and winced as the hot metal touched his skin.
    Since first light, when the masthead lookout had reported sighting land, Tempest had continued her slow approach, the first excitement giving way to a feeling of tension.
    He studied the islands with methodical care, noting the various hills, the one on the nearest headland which looked for all the world like a bowed monk with his cowl pulled over his head. How close it looked through the powerful lens, but he knew that the first spit of land was a good three miles away. Beyond it, and further still, other islands and tiny humps of bare rock overlapped in profusion, giving an impression of one ungainly barrier of land.
    A seaman’s head and shoulder loomed through the glass, and Bolitho steadied it as he focused upon Tempest’ s cutter which had been lowered soon after dawn. Under a tiny scrap of sail, it was pushing ahead of the frigate, and he could see an occasional splash beyond the bows as a leadsman took regular soundings to mark their approach.
    For if the sea looked placid and inviting, Bolitho knew danger was rarely far off. Close to the nearest headland, where the sea was green rather than blue, he had seen a darker smudge beneath the surface. Like a giant stain, or a submerged patch of devil’s weed. Reefs were here in plenty. There was no room at all for taking chances.
    Without lowering the glass he said, “Let her fall off a point, Mr Lakey.”
    â€œAye, aye, sir.” The sailing master sounded tense.
    Bolitho continued to study the nearest island. Uninhabited,