A slight clatter farther aft along the hold — a noise different from the noises of the working of the ship — made them all start. Bush clenched his hairy fists. But they were reassured by a voice calling softly to them.
“Mr Buckland — Mr Hornblower — sir!”
“Wellard, by God!” said Roberts.
They could hear Wellard scrambling towards them.
“The captain, sir!” said Wellard. “He’s coming!”
“Holy God!”
“Which way?” snapped Hornblower.
“By the steerage hatchway. I got to the cockpit and came down from here. He was sending Hobbs —”
“Get for’ard, you three,” said Hornblower, cutting into the explanation. “Get for’ard and scatter when you’re on deck. Quick!”
Nobody stopped to think that Hornblower was giving orders to officers immensely his senior. Every instant of time was of vital importance, and not to be wasted in indecision or in silly blasphemy. That was apparent as soon as he spoke. Bush turned with the others and plunged forward in the darkness, barking his shins painfully as he fell over unseen obstructions. Bush heard Hornblower say, “Come along, Wellard,” as he parted from them in his mad flight with the others beside him.
The cable tier — the ladder — and then the extraordinary safety of the lower gundeck. After the utter blackness of the hold there was enough light here for him to see fairly distinctly. Buckland and Roberts continued to ascend to the maindeck; Bush turned to make his way aft. The watch below had been in their hammocks long enough to be sound asleep; here to the noises of the ship was added the blended snoring of the sleepers as the close‑hung rows of hammocks swayed with the motion of the ship in such a coincidence of timing as to appear like solid masses. Far down between the rows a light was approaching. It was a horn lantern with a lighted purser’s dip inside it, and Hobbs, the acting‑gunner, was carrying it, and two seamen were following him as he hurried along. There was an exchange of glances as Bush met the party. A momentary hesitation on Hobbs’ part betrayed the fact that he would have greatly liked to ask Bush what he was doing on the lower gundeck, but that was something no acting‑warrant officer, even with the captain’s favour behind him, could ask of a lieutenant. And there was annoyance in Hobbs’ expression, too; obviously he was hurrying to secure all the exits from the hold, and was exasperated that Bush had escaped him. The seamen wore expressions of simple bewilderment at these goings on in the middle watch. Hobbs stood aside to let his superior pass, and Bush strode past him with no more than that one glance. It was extraordinary how much more confident he felt now that he was safely out of the hold and disassociated from any mutinous assembly. He decided to head for his cabin; it would not be long before four bells, when by the captain’s orders he had to report again to Buckland. The messenger sent by the officer of the watch to rouse him would find him lying on his cot. But as Bush went on and had progressed as far as the mainmast he arrived in the midst of a scene of bustle which he would most certainly have taken notice of if he had been innocent and which consequently he must (so he told himself) ask about now that he had seen it — he could not possibly walk by without a question or two. This was where the marines were berthed, and they were all of them out of their hammocks hastily equipping themselves — those who had their shirts and trousers on were putting on their crossbelts ready for action.
“What’s all this?” demanded Bush, trying to make his voice sound as it would have sounded if he had no knowledge of anything irregular happening in the ship except this.
“Dunno, sir,” said the private he addressed. “We was just told to turn out — muskets an’ side arms and ball cartridge, sir.”
A sergeant of marines looked out through the screen which divided the non‑commissioned officers’ bay from the rest of the deck.