“Five dead,” said another voice. “Pay all bets of evens or better.”
Hornblower plunged forward. Part of the cable had been coiled down to make a rat pit ten feet across in which knelt Styles with dead and living rats about his knees. Partridge squatted beside the ring with a sandglass — used for timing the casting of the log — in front of him.
“Six dead,” protected someone. “that ‘un’s dead.”
“No, he ain’t.”
“‘Is back’s broken. ‘E’s a dead ‘un.”
“‘E ain’t a dead ‘un,” said Partridge.
The man who had protested looked up at that moment and caught sight of Hornblower, and his words died away unspoken; at his silence the others followed his glance and stiffened into rigidity, and Hornblower stepped forward. He was still wondering what he should do; he was still fighting down the nausea excited by the horrible things he had seen. Desperately he mastered his horror, and, thinking fast, took his stand on discipline.
“Who’s in charge here?” he demanded.
He ran his eye round the circle. Petty officers and secondclass warrant officers, mainly; bosun’s mates, carpenter’s mates. Muggridge, the surgeon’s mate — his presence explained much. But his own position was not easy. A midshipman of scant service depended for his authority on board largely on the force of his own personality. He was only a warrant officer himself; when all was said and done a midshipman was not nearly as important to the ship’s economy — and was far more easily replaced — than, say, Washburn, the cooper’s mate over there, who knew all about the making and storage of the ship’s water barrels.
“Who’s in charge here?” he demanded again, and once more received no direct reply.
“We ain’t on watch,” said a voice in the background.
Hornblower by now had mastered his horror; his indignation still flared within him, but he could appear outwardly calm.
“No, you’re not on watch,” he said coldly. “You’re gambling.”
Muggridge took up the defence at that.
“Gambling, Mr Hornblower?” he said. “That’s a very serious charge. Just a gentlemanly competition. You’ll find it hard to sub — substantiate any charges of gambling.”
Muggridge had been drinking, quite obviously, following perhaps the example of the head of his department. There was always brandy to be got in the medical stores. A surge of wrath made Hornblower tremble; the effort necessary to keep himself standing stock still was almost too much for him. But the rise in internal pressure brought him inspiration.
“Mr Muggridge,” he said icily, “I advise you not to say too much. There are other charges possible, Mr Muggridge. A member of His Majesty’s forces can be charged with rendering himself unfit for service, Mr Muggridge. And similarly there might be charges of aiding and abetting which might include you. I should consult the Articles of War if I were you, Mr Muggridge. The punishment for such an offence is flogging round the fleet I believe.”
Hornblower pointed to Styles, with the blood streaming from his bitten face, and gave more force to his argument by the gesture. He had met the men’s arguments with a more effective one along the same lines; they had taken up a legalistic defence and he had legalistically beaten it down. He had the upper hand now and could give vent to his moral indignation.
“I could bring charges against every one of you,” he roared. “You could be court martialled — disrated — flogged — every man Jack of you. By God, one more look like that from you, Partridge, and I’ll do it. You’d all be in irons five minutes after I spoke to Mr Eccles. I’ll have no more of these filthy games. Let those rats loose, there you, Oldroyd, and you, Lewis. Styles, get your face plastered up again. You, Partridge, take these men and coil this cable down properly again before Mr Waldron sees it. I’ll keep my eye on all of you in future. The next hint I have of misbehaviour and you’ll all be at the gratings. I’ve said it, and by God I mean it!”
Hornblower was surprised both at his own volubility and at his self possession. He had not known himself capable of carrying off matters with such a high hand. He sought about in his mind for a final salvo with which to make his retirement dignified, and it came to him as he turned away so that he turned back to deliver it.