Free A Watery Grave by Joan Druett

while the junior midshipmen slept on the orlop deck, even farther down in the bowels of the ship. Accordingly, George found it quite a novelty that the Swallow seamen should not have just a dormitory of their own but be supplied with permanent berths as well. He wondered if they appreciated the luxury. And having never served on a ship as small as the Swallow, he had blithely assumed that the social situation on board this little brig—just ninety-two-feet long and with a complement of just seventeen (including Wiki and Astronomer Stanton)—would be a lot more democratic than on a frigate.
    Never had he been so utterly mistaken, George meditated. The only place where the brig’s officers mingled with the foremast hands was on deck, and that was just to give them orders. The captain’s cabin, with its chart desk and settee and curtained berth in the starboard quarter, was right in the stern, the whole blessed length of the ship away from the forecastle. Forward of this cabin was the saloon, with its big table built aft of the foot of the mainmast, the doors of the pantry and the two officers’ staterooms running off to either side. Rochester, as captain, ate his meals in this saloon, with just Astronomer Stanton for company—that is, when Stanton deigned to join him, instead of eating from a tray in his stateroom. Erskine, who was in charge of the deck when the captain was below, ate his meals after George had finished.
    Wiki, by contrast, took his mug and plate to the foredeck in fine weather or perched on his sea chest in the forecastle when it rained, and ate in the company of seamen. And Rochester—who on the spur of the moment had decided to join Wiki on the maintop platform, a third of the way up the mainmast, after glimpsing his friend up there while he was parading the quarterdeck in solitary splendor—envied him greatly. Mealtimes in the saloon, he announced to Wiki as he arrived over the futtock shrouds, were an unmitigated bore. Instead of sharing maritime anecdotes and jokes with his old comrade he was forced to try to be polite to Astronomer Stanton, a man he’d decided he disliked intensely.
    â€œHe’s arrogant beyond belief and confounded tedious in the bargain,” he complained, after making himself comfortable on a folded spare trysail. “Most of the time he stays sequestered in his cabin, and when he does condescend to eat at the table he has naught to say but lunars and declinations, just as though a captain don’t deal with calculations ad infinitum already, in the way of navigating the ship. He’s obsessed with astronomics; they’re the whole of his blessed conversation, I swear! And the rest of the time he’s downright discourteous. Instead of listening when a fellow has something to say, he interrupts or reads a book. I doubt he’s looked me in the eye like a decent man even once. I’d never have believed he’d be such poor company.”
    Wiki said, “Because of that banquet?”
    â€œWhat banquet? The one at the Pierce place?”
    â€œAye, I thought you said he kept the whole table enthralled.”
    â€œI told you, old boy, he was the very life and soul of the party! Garrulous on the subject of poor Thomas ap Catesby Jones. A story of frustration, I vow!—and one that is highly discreditable to the navy and those who directed its councils. First, there was talk of using the new Macedonian as the flagship, but then that fine little craft was taken away from him—it’s no blessed wonder he resigned from the command of the discovery fleet in a fury of disgust or that the expedition doesn’t kindle the enthusiasm throughout the nation that it deserves!”
    â€œSo Stanton seemed angry when he was telling these tales?”
    â€œNot at all! In fact, Stanton seemed uncommon cheerful—altogether different to the person he is now. It was like he had something to