Read Online Badge of Glory (1982) by Douglas Reeman - Free Book Online Page B

was a big double-wheel, but to his surprise Blackwood saw there was only one helmsman. The officer of the watch, a quartermaster and a red-cheeked midshipman completed the group near the compass.
    ‘Morning, Major.’
    Blackwood released his grip and almost fell. Captain Tobin had appeared from aft and was watching his reactions with some amusement.
    ‘Sleep well?’
    ‘Aye, sir.’ Blackwood looked around again, the captain’s obvious pride in his ship was giving him a kind of strength. ‘I thought we were in a gale.’
    ‘I should have warned you.’
    Tobin had his hands jammed deeply in his watch-coat, and his salt-stained sea-going cap was tugged tightly down level with his eyes. He was a sturdy, ruddy-faced man in his mid-thirties, Blackwood guessed. You would know him as a sailor no matter what he was wearing.
    Tobin added, ‘You’re used to carrying a lot of canvas, the same as I was. Steadies the hull, no matter how steep theangle. Here,’ he waved his fist before replacing it in his pocket, ‘we ride the sea.’
    He rocked back on his heels and waited for the hull to plunge down into a deep Atlantic trough. The starboard paddle lifted slightly and Blackwood felt the same vibration as the blades churned up to the surface. Tobin’s resonant voice carried easily above the regular thump of machinery and he spoke for several minutes about his ship, what she could do, if given half a chance.
    Without bitterness he said, ‘We are the scavengers of the fleet. We take any mission, any job so as not to give their lordships the chance to get rid of us.’ He gave a crooked smile. ‘But Sir James Ashley-Chute will have drilled
that
into you, eh? No place for steam, the majesty of sail and all that rot?’
    Satyr
was two hundred and forty-nine feet from her graceful stem to her taffrail, and was of nearly two thousand tons burden.
    Blackwood listened without interruption. He had rarely heard a ship’s captain speak with such understanding of every aspect of his command and the individual tasks of her company. It was something akin to love.
    Tobin said, ‘It’s a long haul to our rendezvous, so I’ll try and make your stay a pleasant one.’ He grinned. ‘Might even convert you too.’
    Blackwood had noticed the apparent lack of guns. In any other ship you were always aware of the vessel’s main purpose for being. On every deck, be she frigate or first rate, the guns pointed towards each broadside port. The seamen lived, ate and slept between them in their tiny messes. The guns were there when they were piped on deck. They were waiting when they were piped below.
    Tobin saw his uncertainty and gestured with his chin towards the midships deck.
    ‘Up forrard I’ve got two rifled ten-inch chasers, and abaft the paddle-boxes there are four-inchers divided on either broadside.’ He pivoted easily on the deck and looked at himsearchingly. ‘Just six guns, compared with your average frigate’s forty or so! Yet with my armament I can outshoot and outmanoeuvre anything else afloat.’ He nodded to the lieutenant by the wheel. ‘I’m going down to breakfast, Mr Spalding.’ He looked at Blackwood. ‘Well?’
    Blackwood took a deep breath. His lurking sea-sickness had vanished completely.
    ‘Thank you, sir.’
    The captain’s quarters were right aft, following the usual custom. There was little other similarity.
    The dining space was panelled and unmarred by gunports. There was a proper carpet on the deck instead of painted canvas, and the place had a feeling of privacy and comfort. The captain’s sword rested in its rack on the bulkhead, and nearby Blackwood saw a painting of a woman and a little girl by a stream.
    Tobin had handed his cap to the cabin steward and sat at the table where Sir Geoffrey Slade was reading a sheaf of papers and sipping coffee, apparently oblivious to the ship’s irregular plunges.
    Tobin got down to a large breakfast, and Blackwood lost himself in his own thoughts. Steam and sail had