Stand Into Danger by Alexander Kent

if ’e fell and broke ’is back. Or you could ’ave taken ’im aft for punishment. “E’d ’ave got three dozen lashes, but ’e’d ’ave been a man! ”
    Bolitho had reluctantly understood. He had taken away the seaman’s pride. His messmates would have sympathized with a man seized up at the gratings and flogged. Their contempt had been more than that lonely, defiant seaman had been able to stand.
    On the sixth day the storm passed on and left them breathless and dazed by its intensity. Sails were reset, and the business of clearing up and repairing put aside any thought of rest.
    Now, everyone aboard knew where the ship was first headed. To the Portuguese island of Madeira, although what for was a mystery still. Except to Rhodes, who had confided that it was merely to lay in a great store of wine for the surgeon’s personal use.
    Dumaresq had obviously read the report of the seaman’s death in the log, but had said nothing of it to Bolitho. At sea, more men died by accident than ever from ball or cutlass.
    But Bolitho blamed himself. The others, Little and Forster, years ahead of him in age and experience, had turned to him because he was their lieutenant.
    Forster had remarked indifferently, “Well, ’e weren’t much bloody good anyway, sir.”
    All Little had offered had been, “Could ’ave been worse, sir.”
    It was amazing to see the difference the weather made. The ship came alive again, and men moved about their work without glancing fearfully across their shoulders or clinging to the shrouds with both arms whenever they went aloft to splice or reeve new blocks.
    On the morning of the seventh day, while the smell of cooking started the wagers going as to what the dish would eventually be, the masthead lookout yelled, “Deck there! Land on the lee bow!”
    Bolitho had the watch, and beckoned Merrett to bring him a telescope. The midshipman looked like a little old man after the storm and a week of back-breaking work. But he was still alive, and was never late on watch.
    â€œLet me see.” Bolitho levelled the glass through the black shrouds and past the figurehead’s curved shoulder.
    Dumaresq’s voice made him start. “Madeira, Mr Bolitho. An attractive island.”
    Bolitho touched his hat. For so heavy a man the captain could move without making a sound.
    â€œI—I’m sorry, sir.”
    Dumaresq smiled and took the telescope from Bolitho’s hands. As he trained it on the distant island he added, “When I was a lieutenant I always made sure that somebody in my watch was ready to warn me of my captain’s approach.”
    He glanced at Bolitho, the wide, compelling eyes seeking something. “But not you, I suspect. Not yet anyway.”
    He tossed the glass to Merrett and added, “Walk with me. Exercise is good for the soul.”
    So up and down along the weather side of the quarterdeck the Destiny ’s captain and her most junior lieutenant took their stroll, their feet by-passing ring-bolts and gun-tackles without conscious effort.
    Dumaresq spoke briefly of his home in Norfolk, but only as a place. He did not sketch in the people there, his friends, or whether he was married or not.
    Bolitho tried to put himself in Dumaresq’s place. Able to walk and speak of other, unimportant things while his ship leaned to a steady wind, her sails set one above the other in ordered array. Her officers, her seamen and marines, the means to sail and fight under any given condition, were all his concern. At this moment they were heading for an island, and afterwards they would sail much further. The responsibility seemed endless. As Bolitho’s father had once wryly remarked, “Only one law remains unchanged for any captain. If he is successful others will reap the credit. If he fails he will take the blame.”
    Dumaresq asked suddenly, “Are you settled in now?”
    â€œI