Free The Devil's Own Luck by David Donachie Page A

keep me from such an event.”
    The boy’s mouth worked silently as he sought some response. No words came. Instead he clapped his hat back on his head, turned and fled towards the poop.
    “Harry. You are not seriously suggesting that we attend a dinner to celebrate the sinking of our ship?”
    “I am.”
    “In God’s name why?”
    “Because he does not want us to attend. That invitation was meant as an insult, and we were meant to react by an angry refusal. Pity that poor child for having to deliver it. But he has miscalculated. We shall most certainly attend his dinner. And just as certainly, the sight of me happily consuming his food is likely to bring on an apoplexy. At the very least it will entirely spoil the enjoyment of his meal.”
    “It is more likely that the food will be ours,” sighed James gloomily. “He stripped our stores out of the Medusa before he sank her.”

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    HARRY AND JAMES, having checked with the quarterdeck that it would not be an imposition, had a look round the ship. To James it was rediscovering something that he had seen as a child, a dim recollection. It had seemed enormous to a child’s eye. Now it seemed small and rather cramped. The smell was that of any ship, made up of salt, tar, wood, and numerous unwashed bodies. They had descended from the quarterdeck to the upper deck, a long clear space full of working parties with its rows of twenty-four-pounder guns bowsed tightly against the top of the gunports. They walked the length of the deck, from the wardroom door to galley stove and larder under the forecastle, then they made their way down to the gundeck.
    Harry, paying great attention to the massive thirty-two-pounder guns, was reliving part of his past. The sights, the sounds and the smells were all familiar, yet so very different to a man who had spent the last few years in flush-deck ships. To him it all seemed very spacious. That is, until you counted the number of people aboard. Above, men were working at various tasks, under the direction of petty officers. Here on the gundeck the mess tables were down for the watch off duty. Home to five hundred men, the hammocks were now stowed in the netting along the ship’s side and the deck was clear from one end to the other. How different it would be at night.
    Regulations allowed fourteen inches for each man to sling his hammock. In truth, this was usually twenty-eight inches, as there was always a watch on deck, but that still made for a cramped mass of humanity in the available space. Normally a fairly noisy place, the gundeck seemed quiet. There seemed to be a listless quality about these men who were, after all, at their leisure. Already, having observed the other hands at work, Harry had remarked that the Magnanime was not a happy ship. The dull behaviour of these men below decks only served to confirm that view.
    “I am aware that you are familiar with the ship. But can you say that with certainty after such a short acquaintance with the crew?”
    “This is my world, James. Or was,” replied Harry. “I am sure that you can walk into a drawing-room full of strangers, and within minutes you will have noticed the atmosphere. A ship is no different.”
    “I don’t doubt you in any way. As I remarked to you earlier, dinner yesterday was a very unpleasant affair. If the hands are as glum as the officers at table, then this will indeed be an unhappy ship.”
    “No skylarking. The midshipmen and the ship’s boys. On a happy ship, however taut the discipline, the boys have fun. And the hands. The men don’t joke here.” Harry stopped and looked at the deck behind one of the great guns. They were beside a mess table, and though he looked at the hands sitting there and smiled, the men did not respond. They walked on.
    “I have been told that flogging is very common. Almost a daily occurrence. Odd that. I don’t remember Carter being over fond of flogging when he was a premier.” Harry was speaking