Free Watery Grave by Bruce Alexander Page B

to return to my cabin. This has, as you may suppose, been most trying.”
    “You are dismissed with my thanks, Lieutenant Hartsell.”
    Saying nothing to Sir John, Hartsell saluted the admiral smartly and made for the poop deck, avoiding Mr. Grimsby and myself by choosing to ascend the port ladder.
    “Jeremy? ” Sir John called out.” Would you come down here a moment? And Mr. Grimsby, if you vill remain where you are.”
    And so it was. Mr. Grimsby, a friendly sort by any measure, gave me a pat on the back and a “Good fortune for you, ” as I left down the ladder. Sir John awaited me, somewhat apart from the admiral. I went to him, and he pulled me close.
    “Jeremy,” said he to me, “I wishyou to position yourself behind the helm and tell me if you can see all or any part of iMr. Grimsby.”
    “The helm, sir?”
    “The great wheel with which the ship is steered.”
    “Ah, yes.”
    There was no missing the helm once he had described it to me. The thing stood, unattended, just away from the wall of the poop deck. I stepped behind it and looked up to my right. There was Mr. Grimsby, or most of him — cut off at the knees he was. He saw me as I saw him and gave me a mock salute. I returned to Sir John and gave my report. As was so often his way, he merely thanked me, giving me no idea what the significance of this might be.
    Vice-Admiral Sir Robert summoned us then and took us through a short corridor. As he pounded stoutly on the door, I looked about me and realized that Lieutenant Hartsell was only a few steps away in the captain’s cabin. Strange place a ship such as this one was, wherein accuser and accused resided in such proximity. Indeed it was not even locked from the outside. Lieutenant Landon had nothing but his word of honor to keep him prisoner there.
    The door opened, and he was revealed to us, a young man not yet twenty-five I should say, spare of build and lean of face. His dark hair he wore long. The dark expression in his eyes brightened only a bit when he recognized his visitor.
    “Sir Robert,” said he, “kind of you to look in on me again. Come in, all of you, and please seat yourselves.”
    His manner struck me as quite informal, considering his situation. He was introduced to Sir John, told of his qualifications, and the reason for this visit. Yet as he eased himself down into a chair and put aside the Bible he had been reading, the light seemed to fade from his eyes, as it merely to discuss the charges against him with others were to remind him that his case was quite hopeless. He seemed almost to accept his state. He gave the impression of a man already condemned, one simply awaiting his appointment with the hangman.
    Had he been present during Sir John’s interrogation of Hartsell he would not be in such a state, I told myself. Had he heard him trip up the acting captain with his own words he would have taken heart. Of that I was sure certain.
    Nevertheless, as they began to converse on the matter, he talked as listless as he looked. When Sir John asked him if he was on the poop deck with Captain Markman at the time the captain went overboard, he agreed that he was and added that he was there on the orders of Lieutenant Hartsell.
    “Would you describe for me the action that led to the captain going into the sea?”
    “We, the captain and myself, came up top,” said Lieutenant Landon, “and I looked for Lieutenant Hartsell on the poop, where he had been. He had specifically told me to bring him there, yet he was then on the quarterdeck. I struggled to assist the captain in the direction of the starboard ladder, yet then we laid along hard to starboard, quite flattened against the sea we were. I thought it likely we would be swamped and sink. The captain flew out of my grasp and against the taffrail, and I saw him lose the deck with his feet and begin to slide over the side. I grasped at him first at his coat, then at his feet as he went. There was no holding him. I was left with