Read Online Run Them Ashore by Adrian Goldsworthy - Free Book Online Page B

such vulgar implications. At twenty-eight, Edward Pringle looked older, although some of this was the air of stern omniscience he assumed as captain of his own ship. He also looked capable, and in this regard at least the brothers were alike.
    Williams could not actually see the captain climb on to the deck, but heard the pipe whistling. Lieutenant Reynolds, Sparrowhawk ’s only other officer, went next, just a little more slowly, even though the stocky, red-faced man must have been at least forty, his dark hair streaked with grey. Things were better than in the past, but even so unlucky and poorly connected officers in His Majesty’s Navy could find promotion painfully slow, even in comparison to the army. The coxswain gestured for Williams to go next, just in case the soldier had forgotten the proper order of things. He had come clumsily down into the boat, foot slipping on one of the steps, and was determined not to make a similar mistake. Deliberation was likely to make things worse, and so he tried not to think, bounding from the boat and trusting to instinct.
    His left knee struck hard against the timbers of Topaze and bounced out, his other foot was waving in empty space, while both hands clawed at the same step. Somehow one boot and then the other found toeholds and then he began to climb.
    ‘Ruddy lobsters,’ a voice whispered faintly from among the gig’s crew.
    ‘Hush, damn your eyes,’ the coxswain said almost as quietly.
    Williams ignored them and climbed. As he came nearer the top the side of the ship curved steeply inwards, another feature of French design which came as a great relief to the redcoat officer. Finally on deck, he found himself marvelling at the sheer bulk of the mainmast just ahead of him and the sense of being almost enclosed in endless webs of rigging and ropes. They were led aft towards the quarterdeck, where presentations were made to Captain Hope, his two lieutenants and a very young lieutenant of marines. Williams was glad that he had had time to don his good jacket, white breeches and boots, for this was a smart gathering. It was widely believed that the Royal Marines were always especially keen to outshine any redcoats from the army, and at least today he was able to give a good account of himself.
    With introductions made, they processed down a companionway on to the gun deck. Williams had already passed several of the stubby carronades, the barrel half the length of a cannon, but far thicker and throwing two or three times the weight of shot. At close range these heavy smashers were devastating, but on the gun deck Topaze had conventional twelve-pounders, as big as the biggest cannon ever used by the army in battle. There were thirteen on either side, and these could throw their shot a mile or more. It was a humbling thought that even this fifth-rate ship, too small to serve in the line-of-battle of a great fleet action, could still fire a greater weight of shot than all the field guns of Lord Wellington’s army lined up wheel to wheel.
    Topaze ’s guns were silent at the moment, barrels black and carriages red-brown with recent paint, and it was not really the heavy armament which made a man-of-war so different from a merchant ship or transport. For Williams it was partly the Navy’sdedication to – even obsession with – cleanliness. As they came down from the quarterdeck he saw dozens of sailors crouching, pulling at ropes to drag holystones – heavy blocks of Portland stone several feet in length – to grind the sand sprinkled on the planking of the lower deck, rubbing it smooth. Sparrowhawk holystoned the deck only on Sundays and Thursdays – the noise and sacred respect given to the work made it impossible even for passengers to ignore – and so he guessed Captain Hope must have a different routine on his ship. Everything was neatly stowed, where possible scrubbed, painted or polished until it shone, and there was also an abundance of everything. The ropes on a