Free Master & Commander by Patrick O’Brian

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       'Maybe your quarters will be a little cramped,' said the first lieutenant, 'but you will have a quiet, restful time of it, I am sure, convoying the trade up and down the Mediterranean.'
       'Well . . .' said James Dillon, unable to find a brisk retort to this possibly well-intentioned kindness. 'Well. . he said with a philosophical shrug. 'You'll let me have a boat, sir? I should like to report as early as I can.'
       'A boat? God rot my soul,' cried the first lieutenant, 'I shall be asked for the barge, next thing I know. Passengers in the Burford wait for a bumboat from shore, Mr Dillon; or else they swim.' He stared at James with cold severity until the quartermaster's chuckle betrayed him; for Mr Coffin was a great wag, a wag even before breakfast.

    'Dillon, sir, reporting for duty, if you please,' said James taking off his hat in the brilliant sun and displaying a blaze of dark red hair.
       'Welcome aboard, Mr Dillon,' said Jack, touching his own, holding out his hand and looking at him with so intense a desire to know what kind of man he was, that his face had an almost forbidding acuity. 'You would be welcome in any case, but even more so this morning: we have a busy day ahead of us. Masthead, there! Any sign of life on the wharf?'
       'Nothing yet, sir.'
       'The wind is exactly where I want it,' said Jack, looking for the hundredth time at the rare white clouds sailing evenly across the perfect sky. 'But with this rising glass there is no trusting to it.'
       'Your coffee's up, sir,' said the steward.
       'Thank you, Killick. What is it, Mr Lamb?'
       'I haven't no ring-bolts anywheres near big enough, sir,' said the carpenter. 'But there's a heap on 'em at the yard, I know. May I send over?'
       'No, Mr Lamb. Don't you go near that yard, to save your life. Double the clench-bolts you have; set up the forge and fashion a serviceable ring. It won't take you half an hour. Now, Mr Dillon, when you have settled in comfortably below, perhaps you will come and drink a cup of coffee with me and I will tell you what I have in mind.'
       James hurried below to the three-cornered booth that he was to live in, whipped out of his reporting uniform into trousers and an old blue coat, reappearing while Jack was still blowing thoughtfully upon his cup. 'Sit down, Mr Dillon, sit down,' he cried. 'Push those papers aside. It's a sad brew, I'm afraid, but at least it is wet, that I can promise you. Sugar?'
       'If you please, sir,' said young Ricketts, 'the Généreux's cutter is alongside with the men who were drafted off for harbour-duty.'
       'All of 'em?'
       'All except two, sir, that have been changed.'
       Still holding his coffee-cup, Jack writhed from behind the table and with a twist of his body out through the door Hooked on to the larboard main-chains there was the Généreux's boat, filled with seamen, looking up, laughing and exchanging witticisms or mere hoots and whistles with their former shipmates The Généreux's midshipman saluted and said, 'Captain Harte's compliments, sir, and he finds the draft can be spared'
       'God bless your heart, dear Molly,' said Jack and aloud, 'My compliments and best thanks to Captain Harte. Be so good as to send them aboard'
       They were not much to look at, he reflected, as the whip from the yardarm hoisted up their meagre belongings: three or four were decidedly simple, and two others had that indefinable air of men of some parts whose cleverness sets them apart from their fellows, but not nearly so far as they imagine. Two of the boobies were quite horribly dirty, and one had managed to exchange his slops for a red garment with remains of tinsel upon it. Still, they all possessed two hands; they could all clap on to a rope; and it would be strange if the bosün and his mates could not induce them to heave.
       'Deck,' hailed the midshipman aloft. 'Deck. There is someone moving about on the wharf.'
       'Very good, Mr Babbington. You