In Gallant Company Read Online Free Page B

voice from the bows, ‘Anchor’s aweigh, sir!’
    Released from the ground, her first anchor already hoisted and catted,
Trojan
side-stepped heavily across the wind, her sails spreading and thundering like a bombardment as the men hauled at the braces, their bodies straining back, angled down almost to the deck.
    Round and further still, the yards swinging to hold the wind, the sails freed one by one to harden like steel breastplates until the ship was thrusting her shoulder in foam, her lower gunports awash along the lee side.
    Bolitho ran from one section to the next, his hat knocked awry, his ears ringing with the squeal of blocks and the boom of canvas, and above all the groaning and vibrating chorus from every stay and shroud.
    When he paused for breath he saw the outline of Sandy Hook sliding abeam, some men waiting in a small yawl to wave as the great ship stood over them.
    He heard Cairns’ voice again. ‘Get the t’gan’sls on her!’
    Bolitho peered up the length of the mainmast with its great bending yards. He saw midshipmen in the tops, and seamen racing each other to set more canvas. When he looked aft again he saw Bunce with his hands thrust behind him, his face like carved rock as he watched over his ship. Then he nodded very slowly. That was as near to satisfaction as Bolitho had ever seen him display.
    He pictured the ship as she would look from the land, her fierce, glaring figurehead, the Trojan warrior with the redcrested helmet. Spray bursting up and over the beakhead and bowsprit, the massive black and buff hull glistening and reflecting the cruising whitecaps alongside, as if to wash herself clean from the land.
    Probyn’s voice sounded raw as he shouted at his men to secure the second anchor. He would need plenty to drink after this, Bolitho thought.
    He looked aft, past his own seamen as they slid down stays and vaulted from the gangways to muster again below the mast. Then he saw the captain watching him. Along the ship, over all the bustle and haste their eyes seemed to meet.
    Self-consciously, Bolitho reached up and straightened his hat, and he imagined he saw the captain give a small but definite nod.
    But the mood was soon broken, for
Trojan
rarely gave much time for personal fancies.
    â€˜Man the braces there! Stand by to come about!’
    Sparke was shouting, ‘
Mr Bolitho!
’
    Bolitho touched his hat. ‘Aye, I know, sir. Take that man’s name!’
    By the time they had laid the ship on her chosen tack to both the captain’s and Bunce’s satisfaction the land was swallowed in mist and rain astern.

2
A Wild Plan
    LIEUTENANT RICHARD BOLITHO crossed to the weather side of the quarterdeck and gripped the hammock nettings to hold his balance. Towering above and ahead of him,
Trojan
’s great pyramids of sails were impressive, even to one accustomed to the sight. Especially after all the frustration and pain in the last four and a half days, he thought.
    The wind which had followed them with such promise from Sandy Hook had changed within hours, as if driven or inspired by the devil himself. Backing and veering without warning, with all hands required to reef or reset the sails throughout each watch. It had taken one complete, miserable day just to work round and clear of the dreaded Nantucket shoals, with sea boiling beneath the long bowsprit as if heated by some force from hell.
    Then after raising their progress to four and even five knots the wind would alter yet again, bellowing with savage triumph while the breathless seamen fought to reef the hard canvas, fisting and grappling while their pitching world high above the decks went mad about them.
    But this was different.
Trojan
was standing almost due north, her yards braced round as far as they would to take and hold the wind, and along her lee side the water was creaming past as evidence of real progress.
    Bolitho ran his eyes over the upper gundeck. Below the quarterdeck rail