Nelson: The Poisoned River (10 page)

‘Potatoes
and
kale,’
he
said.
‘Fit
for
a
king.
Good
Christ,
who
gives
a
man
such
poltroons
as
Charlie
Raven
to
have
on
board
their
ship?
How
dare
their
lordships
force
such
bastards
on
me?
It
would
try
the
patience
of
a
greater
saint
that
me!’

Despite
himself,
Daniel
Swift
caught
Lieutenant
Bullen’s
eye.
Taking
the
youth
on
board
had
been
Maxwell’s
own
choice,
a
fact
known
well
to
both
of
them.
It
serves
you
damn
well
right,
thought
Swift,
but
it
is
your
place
and
pleasure
now
to
knock
him
into
shape,
so
stop
your
griping,
man.

‘It
is
indeed
a
trial
for
you,
sir,’
he
said.
‘I
know
he
is
your
family,
but
surely…
Well,
before
God,
no
man
can
choose
his
relatives;
and
that
is
more
the
pity.’

The
look
on
Bullen’s
face
became
more
complex.
You
are
a
stuck-up
prig,
thought
Swift.
I
think
that
I
must
watch
you,
like
a
hawk.

‘I
think
that
he
is
rather
young,
sir,’
Bullen
said.
‘Perhaps
it
is
a
pity
the
service
takes
them
in
so
tender.
But
he
will
surely
rise
under
your
tutelage.
He
is
from
your
stock,
sir.
Depend
on
it,
he
will
turn
out
a
seaman
born.’

The
first
lieutenant,
Stewart,
belched
gently
once
again,
which
seemed
to
Swift
to
hide
a
sneer.
The
captain
jammed
more
meat
into
his
mouth
and
chewed.

‘If
one
sick
craven
is
the
worst
I
bear
today,
I
suppose
the
case
is
not
so
bad,’
he
said.
‘We
are
well
down
Channel,
and
may
come
upon
those
Frogs
within
not
very
long.
Please
God
we
fall
on
them
as
a
great
surprise,
like
wolves
on
a
pen
of
bleating
lambs.
It
is
time
the
dear
Lord
smiled
on
me.
The
bugger’s
not
dished
out
much
luck
so
far.’

Even
Swift
felt
a
tremor
of
discomfort
at
this
speech.
They
needed
all
the
luck
that
they
could
get
to
bring
this
expedition
off
in
the
time
intelligence
had
said
that
they
might
have,
and
Maxwell’s
casual
blasphemy
was
an
awful
hostage
to
on
high.
He
made
a
noise
in
his
throat.
A
non-committal
noise.

Lieutenant
Bullen
went
further.

‘In
terms
of
wind,’
he
said,
‘His
mercy
in
the
last
two
days
has
been
extreme.
Easterly,
and
strong,
and
steady,
and
a
blessed
boon.
I
cannot
see
we
could
have
made
it
in
this
time
without
such
smiling
providence.’

‘Aye,’
muttered
Stewart,
into
his
chin.
‘But
will
it
last,
that’s
all?’

Did
he
know
something?
Did
he
feel
a
change
of
movement
in
the
flying
hull?
For
within
two
minutes,
the
sailing
master
put
his
head
into
the
cabin,
without
even
a
knock.
Nobody
else,
perhaps,
would
have
dared.

‘Beg
pardon,
sir,’
he
told
Hector
Maxwell.
‘Unless
I’m
very
much
mistook
this
wind
is
falling
light.
It
is
dying,
sir,
and
fastish.
Perhaps
you’d
care
to
come
and
have
a
look?’

Three
stomachs
round
the
table
fell.
To
catch
and
kill
these
Frenchmen
was
a
make
or
break
for
Captain
Maxwell.
It
was
a
prize
he
had
to
win,
and
every
last
minute
to
do
it
in
was
precious.

He
stood
and
left
the
stateroom
without
another
word.