Read Online To Glory We Steer by Alexander Kent - Free Book Online

world appeared even more dangerous than the privations afloat.
    Allday looked round as a hunched figure rose over the table’s edge and threw himself across his arms amongst the litter of food. Bryan Ferguson had been in a continuous torment of seasickness and fear from the very moment Vibart’s figure had appeared on that coast road. In Falmouth he had been a clerk working at a local boatyard. Physically he was not a strong man, and now in the swinging lantern’s feeble light his face looked as grey as death itself.
    His thin body was bruised in many places, both from falling against unfamiliar shipboard objects and not least from the angry canes of the bosun’s mates and petty officers as the latter sought to drive the new men into the mysteries of seamanship and sail drill.
    Day after day it had continued. Harried and chased from one part of the ship to the next with neither let-up nor mercy. Quivering with terror Ferguson had dragged his way up the swooping shrouds and out along the yards, until he could see the creaming water leaping below him as if to claw at his very feet. The first time he had clung sobbing to the mast, incapable of either moving out along the yard or even down towards the safety of the deck.
    Josling, a bosun’s mate, had screamed up at him, “Move out, you bugger, or I’ll have the hide off you!”
    At that particular moment Ferguson’s tortured mind had almost broken. With each eager thrust of the frigate’s stem, and with every passing hour, Ferguson’s home fell further and further astern. And with it went his wife, sinking into the wave-tossed distance like a memory.
    Over and over again he had pictured her pale, anxious face as he had last seen her. When the Phalarope had been sighted heading for Falmouth Bay most of the young townsmen had headed for the hills. Ferguson’s wife had been ill for three years, and he had seen her get more frail and delicate, and on that day she had been more than unwell and he had begged to stay with her. But gravely she had insisted.
    â€œYou go with the others, Bryan. I’ll be all right. And I’m not wanting the press to find you here!”
    The nightmare became worse when he considered that if he had stayed with her he would still be safe and able to protect and help her.
    Allday said quietly, “Here, take some food.” He pushed a plate of dark meat across the boards. “You’ve not eaten for days, man.”
    Ferguson dragged his head from his forearms and stared glass-ily at the relaxed looking seaman. Unbeknown to Allday, Ferguson had almost jumped from the swaying main-yard rather than face another hour of torture. But Allday had run inboard along the yard, his feet splayed and balanced, one hand held out towards the gasping Ferguson. “Here, mate! Just follow me an’ don’t look down.” There had been a quiet force in his tone, like that of a man who expected to be obeyed. He had added harshly, “Don’t give that bugger Josling a chance to beat you. The bastard enjoys making you jump.”
    He stared now at the man’s dark features, at the scar on his cheek, and at his calm, level eyes. Allday had been accepted immediately by the frigate’s seamen, whereas the other newly pressed men were still kept at arm’s length, as if on trial, until their merits or shortcomings could be properly measured. Perhaps it was because Allday was already hardened to a life at sea. Or maybe it came from the fact he never showed his bitterness at being pressed, or boasted about his life ashore like some of the others.
    Ferguson swallowed hard to bite back the rising nausea. “I can’t eat it!” He peered wretchedly at the meat. “It’s swill!”
    Allday grinned. “You’ll get used to it!”
    Pochin sneered. “You make me spew! I suppose you used to take your wife up to the ’eadland and go moist-eyed at the sight of a