Stand Into Danger by Alexander Kent

reach beyond the horizon itself. He was calm again, in control of his feelings.
    He said, “Something to tell your father about, Mr Bolitho. It would appeal to him.”
    A seaman tramped past carrying a great coil of rope across his shoulder like a bundle of dead snakes. It was Stockdale. As the captain vanished below he wheezed, “We goin’ to fight that one, sir?”
    Bolitho shrugged. “I—I think so.”
    Stockdale nodded heavily. “I’ll grind an edge on my blade, then.” That was all it apparently meant to him.
    Left alone to his thoughts, Bolitho crossed to the rail and looked down at the men already working to free the launch from the other boats on the tier. Did Slade, he wondered, yet realize what might become of him? If the wind rose after they had dropped the launch, Slade could be driven miles off course. It would be harder than finding a pin in a haystack.
    Jury came on deck, and after some hesitation joined him by the rail.
    Bolitho stared at him. “I thought you were sent aft to do poor Lockyer’s work?”
    Jury met his gaze. “I asked the first lieutenant if he would send Mr Midshipman Ingrave instead.” Some of his composure collapsed under Bolitho’s gaze. “I’d prefer to stay in your watch, sir.”
    Bolitho clapped him on the shoulder. “On your head be it.” But he felt pleased all the same.
    The boatswain’s mates hurried from hatchway to hatchway, their silver calls trilling in between their hoarse cries for the watch below to assist in swaying out the launch.
    Jury listened to the shrill whistles and said, “The Spithead nightingales are in full cry this evening, sir.”
    Bolitho hid a smile. Jury spoke like an old sailor, a real sea-dog.
    He faced him gravely, “You’d better go and see what is being done about the lanterns. Otherwise Mr Palliser will have the both of us in full cry, I’m thinking.”
    As dusk came down to conceal their preparations the masthead lookout reported that the other sail was still in sight.
    Palliser touched his hat as the captain came on deck. “All ready, sir.”
    â€œVery well.” Dumaresq’s eyes shone in the reflected glare from the array of lanterns. “Shorten sail and stand by to lower the boat.” He looked up as the main-topsail filled and boomed sullenly from its yard. “After that, every stitch she can carry. If that ferret back there is a friend, and merely seeking our protection on the high seas, we shall know it. If not, Mr Palliser, he shall know that, I promise you!”
    An anonymous voice whispered, “Cap’n’s comin’ up, sir!”
    Palliser turned and waited for Dumaresq to join him by the quarterdeck rail.
    Gulliver’s shadow moved through the gloom. “South by east, sir. Full and bye.”
    Dumaresq gave a grunt. “You were right about the clouds, Mr Gulliver, though the wind’s fresher than I expected.”
    Bolitho stood with Rhodes and three midshipmen at the lee side of the quarterdeck ready to execute any sudden order. More to the point, they were able to share the drama and the tension. Dumaresq’s comment had sounded as if he blamed the master for the wind.
    He looked up and shivered. Destiny, after thrashing and beating her way to windward for what had seemed like an eternity, had come about as Dumaresq had planned. With a stiff wind sweeping over the larboard quarter she was plunging across a procession of breaking white-horses, the spray rising above the weather rigging and sweeping on to the crouching seamen like tropical rain.
    Destiny had been stripped down to her topsails and jib with her big forecourse holding two reefs in readiness for a swift change of tack.
    Rhodes murmured, “That other vessel is out there somewhere, Dick.”
    Bolitho nodded and tried not to think of the launch as it had vanished into a deepening darkness, the lanterns making a lively show