The captain had been standing by watching this orderly progress of this ship’s routine. Now he raised his voice.
“Mr Buckland!”
“Sir!”
The captain mounted a couple of steps of the quarterdeck ladder so that he might be clearly seen, and raised his voice so that as many as possible could hear his words.
“Rope‑yarn Sunday today.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“And double rum for these good men.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Buckland did his best to keep the discontent out of his voice. Coming on top of the captain’s previous speech this was almost too much. A rope‑yarn Sunday meant that the men would spend the rest of the day in idleness. Double rum in that case most certainly meant fights and quarrels among the men. Bush, coming aft along the maindeck, was well aware of the disorder that was spreading among the crew, pampered by their captain. It was impossible to maintain discipline when every adverse report made by the officers was ignored by the captain. Bad characters and idlers were going unpunished; the willing hands were beginning to sulk, while the unruly ones were growing openly restless. “These good men,” the captain had said. The men knew well enough how bad their record had been during the last week. If the captain called them ‘good men’ after that, worse still could be expected next week. And besides all this the men most certainly knew about the captain’s treatment of his lieutenants, of the brutal reprimands dealt out to them, the savage punishments. ‘Today’s wardroom joint is tomorrow’s lower‑deck stew,’ said the proverb, meaning that whatever went on aft was soon being discussed in a garbled form forward; the men could not be expected to be obedient to officers whom they knew to be treated with contempt by the captain. Bush was worried as he mounted the quarterdeck.
The captain had gone in under the half‑deck to his cabin; Buckland and Roberts were standing by the hammock nettings deep in conversation, and Bush joined them.
“These articles apply to my officers,” said Buckland as he approached.
“Rope‑yarn Sunday and double rum,” added Roberts. “All for these good men.”
Buckland shot a furtive glance round the deck before he spoke next. It was pitiful to see the first lieutenant of a ship of the line taking precautions lest what he should say should be overheard. But Hornblower and Wellard were on the other side of the wheel. On the poop the master was assembling the midshipmen’s navigation class with their sextants to take their noon sights.
“He’s mad,” said Buckland in as low a voice as the northeast trade wind would allow.
“We all know that,” said Roberts.
Bush said nodding. He was too cautious to commit himself at present.
“Clive won’t lift a finger,” said Buckland. “He’s a ninny if there ever was one.”
Clive was the surgeon.
“Have you asked him?” asked Roberts.
“I tried to. But he wouldn’t say a word. He’s afraid.”
“Don’t move from where you are standing, gentlemen,” broke in a loud harsh voice; the well‑remembered voice of the captain, speaking apparently from the level of the deck on which they stood. All three officers started in surprise.
“Every sign of guilt,” blared the voice. “Bear witness to it, Mr Hobbs.”
They looked round them. The skylight of the captain’s fore cabin was open a couple of inches, and through the gap the captain was looking at them; they could see his eyes and his nose. He was a tall man and by standing on anything low, a book or a footstool, he could look from under the skylight over the coaming. Rigid, the officers waited while another pair of eyes appeared under the skylight beside the captain’s. They belonged to Hobbs, the acting‑gunner.
“Wait there until I come to you, gentlemen,” said the captain, with a sneer as he said the word ‘gentlemen’. “Very good, Mr Hobbs.”
The two faces vanished from under the skylight, and the officers had hardly time to exchange despairing glances before the captain came striding up the ladder to them.
“A mutinous assembly, I believe,” he said.
“No, sir,” replied Buckland. Any word that was not a denial would be an admission of guilt, on a charge that could put a rope round his neck.