Stand Into Danger by Alexander Kent Page A

think so, sir.”
    â€œGood. If you are still mulling over that seaman’s death, I must ask you to desist. Life is God’s greatest gift. To risk it is one thing, to throw it away is to cheat. He had no right. Best forgotten.”
    He turned away as Palliser appeared on deck, the master-at-arms bringing up the rear.
    Palliser touched his hat to the captain, but his eyes were on Bolitho.
    â€œTwo hands for punishment, sir.” He held out his book. “You know them both.”
    Dumaresq tilted forward on his toes, so that it appeared as if his heavy body would lose its balance.
    â€œSee to it at two bells, Mr Palliser. Get it over and done with. No sense in putting the people off their food.” He strode away, nodding to the master’s mate of the watch like a squire to his gamekeeper.
    Palliser closed his book with a snap. “My compliments to Mr Timbrell, and ask him to have a grating rigged.” He crossed to Bolitho’s side. “Well, now?”
    Bolitho said, “The captain told me of his home in Norfolk, sir.”
    Palliser seemed vaguely disappointed. “I see.”
    â€œWhy does the captain wear a red waistcoat, sir?”
    Palliser watched the master-at-arms returning with the boatswain. “Really, I am surprised your confidences did not extend that far.”
    Bolitho hid a smile as Palliser strode away. He did not know either. After three years together that was something.
    Bolitho stood beside Rhodes at the taffrail and watched the colourful activity of Funchal Harbour and its busy waterfront. Destiny lay at her anchor, with only the quarter-boat and the captain’s gig in the water alongside. It did not look as if anyone would be allowed ashore, Bolitho thought.
    Local boats with quaint curling stems and stern-posts milled around the frigate, their occupants holding up fruit and bright shawls, big jars of wine and many other items to tempt the sailors who thronged the gangways or waved from the shrouds and tops.
    Destiny had anchored in mid-afternoon, and all hands had stayed on deck to watch the final approach, drinking in the beauty of what Dumaresq had rightly described as an attractive island. The hills beyond the white buildings were filled with beautiful flowers and shrubs, a sight indeed after the wild passage through the Bay. That, and the two floggings which had been carried out even as the ship had changed tack for their final approach, were forgotten.
    Rhodes smiled and pointed at one boat. It contained three dark-haired girls who lay back on their cushions and stared boldly up at the young officers. It was obvious what they hoped to sell.
    Captain Dumaresq had gone ashore almost as soon as the smoke of the gun salute to the Portuguese governor had dispersed. He had told Palliser he was going to meet the governor and pay his respects, but Rhodes said later, “He’s too excited for a mere social visit, Dick. I smell intrigue in the air.”
    The gig had returned with instructions that Lockyer, the captain’s clerk, was to go ashore with some papers from the cabin strong-box. He was down there now fussing about with his bag of documents while the side-party arranged for a boatswain’s chair to sway him out and down into the gig.
    Palliser joined them and said disdainfully, “Look at the old fool. Never goes ashore, but when he does they have to rig a chair in case he falls and drowns!”
    Rhodes grinned as the clerk was finally lowered into the boat. “Must be the oldest man aboard.”
    Bolitho thought about it. That was something else he had discovered. It was a young company, with very few senior hands like those he had known in the big seventy-four. The sailing master of a man-of-war was usually getting on in years by the time he was appointed, but Gulliver was under thirty.
    Most of the hands lounging at the nettings or employed about the decks looked in good health. It was mostly due to the surgeon, Rhodes had said.