Read Online Band of Brothers by Alexander Kent - Free Book Online Page B

stand by me.’ He seemed to recall the question. ‘We’ve no marines to support us this time. Break open the arms chest.’ He did not even raise his voice.
    He looked at Bolitho. ‘Up you go. Sweep to the sou’ east. Take your time. Remember what you saw on the chart.’
    Afterwards, Bolitho recalled how each point was allowed to settle in his mind, take shape. So calmly said when Verling’s entire being must have wanted to ram his meaning home, or even to snatch up the glass and claw his way aloft himself. In case he was mistaken. When Bolitho and the other midshipmen had gathered around Gorgon ‘s sailing master, old Turnbull, for their regular instruction in navigation and pilotage, or when they were struggling with the mysteries of the sextant, they had often been warned about the first sight of land. Turnbull had reminded his youthful audience, ‘An error in judgment is no excuse at the court-martial table!’
    He reached the foremast shrouds as Verling shouted, ‘Shorten sail!’
    Men were already at their stations, handling lines and tackles as if they had been serving Hotspur for months, not days.
    Bolitho climbed steadily but slowly, making sure each ratline was underfoot before he took his weight with his arms, Verling’s heavy telescope thumping across his spine. He heard Tinker call after him, ‘Don’t drop that , me son, or the sky’ll fall on you!’
    How he could find time to joke about it was a marvel. Tinker was everywhere, and at once. Ready to help or threaten without hesitation. He should have been promoted to warrant rank; there was not a strand of rope or strip of sail he could not control. But in twenty-five years at sea, he had never learned to read or write.
    Bolitho reached the upper yard, and could feel his heart banging against his ribs. Too long in harbour. Getting soft … .
    The lookout already curled in position, his arm around a stay, turned and peered at him.
    ‘Mornin’, sir!’ He jerked his thumb. ‘Land, larboard bow!’
    Bolitho swallowed and forced himself to look. Sea and haze, an endless expanse of choppy white crests. But no land.
    The lookout was one of Gorgon ‘s foretopmen; more to the point, he had been chosen by Tinker for the passage crew.
    He gasped, ‘Tell them, Keveth! No breath!’
    He swung the telescope carefully around and beneath his arm, even as the lookout yelled to the small figures below. With a name like that, he must be a fellow Cornishman. Two wreckers up here together… .
    He opened the telescope with great care, waiting for each roll and shudder running through his perch, causing Hotspur to vibrate from truck to keel.
    Land, sure enough. Another careful breath, gauging the moment. The sea breaking; he could feel the power and height of the waves, but when he lowered the glass to clear his vision there was nothing there. But it was there . The blunt outline of land, sloping to a point which defied the waves. Like the little sketch in Verling’s log.
    Jerbourg Point. Who or what was ‘Jerbourg’, he wondered.
    He made his way down to the deck and hurried aft, slipped and almost fell, lightheaded, as if drunk or in fever.
    Verling listened as he blurted out everything he had seen. He was conscious of his eyes, his patience, as he described the landfall.
    All he said was, ‘Well done.’
    Egmont said loudly, ‘I’ll note it in the log, sir.’
    Bolitho said, ‘The lookout, Keveth. He sighted it first, sir. Without a glass!’
    Verling glanced at both of them, as usual missing nothing.
    ‘A good hand, that one. A fair shot, too, when given the chance.’ The hint of a smile. ‘And should be. He was a poacher before he signed up with a recruiting party. One jump ahead of the hangman, I shouldn’t wonder.’
    ‘ Deck there! ‘ It was the masthead again. The poacher. ‘ Wreckage ahead, larboard bow! ’
    Verling did not hesitate. As if he had been expecting it; as if he knew.
    ‘Stand by to lower a boat. Two leadsmen in the chains.’