Stand Into Danger by Alexander Kent Page B

That was the value of a medical man who cared, and who had the knowledge to fight the dreaded scurvy and other diseases which could cripple a whole ship.
    Bulkley was one of the few privileged ones. He had gone ashore with orders from the captain to purchase all the fresh fruit and juices he thought necessary, while Codd, the purser, had similar instructions on the matter of vegetables.
    Bolitho removed his hat and let the sun warm his face. It would be good to explore that town. Sit in a shady tavern like those Bulkley and some of the others had described.
    The gig had reached the jetty now and some of Destiny ’s marines were making a passage through a watching crowd for old Lockyer to get through.
    Palliser said, “I see that your shadow is nearby.”
    Bolitho turned his head and saw Stockdale kneeling beside a twelve-pounder on the gun-deck. He was listening to Vallance, the ship’s gunner, and then making gestures with his hand beneath the carriage. Bolitho saw Vallance nod and then clap Stockdale on the shoulder.
    That was unusual. He already knew that Vallance was not the easiest warrant officer to get along with. He was jealous about everything in his domain, from magazine to gun crews, from maintenance to the wear and tear of tackle.
    He came aft and touched his hat to Palliser.
    â€œThat new man Stockdale, sir. He’s solved a problem with a gun I’ve been bothered with for months. It was a replacement, y’see. I’ve not been happy about it.” He gave a rare smile. “Stockdale thinks we could get the carriage reset by . . .”
    Palliser spread his hands. “You amaze me, Mr Vallance. But do what you must.” He glanced at Bolitho. “Your man may not say much, but he is certainly finding his place.”
    Bolitho saw Stockdale looking up at him from the gun-deck. He nodded and saw the man smile, his battered face screwed up in the sunlight.
    Jury, who was the midshipman of the watch, called, “Gig’s shoved off, sir!”
    â€œThat was quick!” Rhodes snatched a telescope. “If it’s the captain coming back already, I’d better . . .” He gasped and added quickly, “Sir, they’re bringing Lockyer with them!”
    Palliser took a second glass and levelled it on the green-painted gig. Then he said quietly, “The clerk’s dead. Sergeant Barmouth is holding him.”
    Bolitho took the telescope from Rhodes. For the moment he could see nothing unusual. The smart gig was pulling strongly towards the ship, the white oars rising and falling in perfect unison, the crew in their red checkered shirts and tarred hats a credit to their coxswain.
    Then as the gig swung silently to avoid a drifting log, Bolitho saw the marine sergeant, Barmouth, holding the wispy-haired clerk so that he would not fall into the sternsheets.
    There was a terrible wound across his throat, which in the sunlight was the same colour as the marine’s tunic.
    Rhodes murmured, “And the surgeon’s ashore with most of his assistants. God, there’ll be hell to pay for this!”
    Palliser snapped his fingers. “That man you brought aboard with the other new hands, the apothecary’s assistant? Where is he, Mr Bolitho?”
    Rhodes said quickly, “I’ll fetch him, sir. He was doing some jobs in the sick-bay, just to test him out, the surgeon said.”
    Palliser looked at Jury. “Tell the boatswain’s mate to rig another tackle.” He rubbed his chin. “This was no accident.”
    The local boats parted to allow the gig to glide to the main chains.
    There was something like a great sigh as the small, untidy boat was hauled up the side and swung carefully above the gangway. Some blood ran down on to the deck, and Bolitho saw the man who had joined his recruiting party hurrying with Rhodes to take charge of the corpse.
    The apothecary’s assistant’s name was Spillane. A neat, self-contained man, not the