Free The Bombay Marines by Porter Hill Page B

must not be brought to no go-down. I told everybody that it’s only proper for Captain sahib to be in his private cabin. Mr Tin Hammer says I am right. I helped bring you here with Mr Tin Hammer.’
    ‘Tandimmer,’ corrected Horne.
    Jingee bowed. ‘Lieutenant Pilkington, too.’
    ‘Jingee, you can say Pilkington. So say – Tandimmer.’
    ‘Tod –’
    ‘No. Tan – dim – mer.’
    ‘Tad – diu –’
    Horne paused. ‘Tell me about Pilkington, Jingee.’
    ‘Lieutenant Pilkington has all the men out in the sunshine, Captain sahib. He calls for “all hands on deck”.’
    Horne was pleased that Pilkington was pursuing his orders to mix the new men with the crew.
    Listening again to the voices on deck, he stretched his arms and yawned. ‘I’ll go and make an appearance on deck. Let everybody see I’m still kicking.’
    ‘Still “kicking”, Captain sahib?’
    ‘Still alive.’ Horne had not felt so rested for as long as he could remember. And perhaps had he found someone to replace Geoff Wheeler, his last steward?
    ‘Captain sahib. You eat. You rest. You get more well.’
    Horne ignored Jingee. He was listening to the men’s voices growing louder on deck.
    Realising he was hearing the sounds of men fighting, he shoved aside the food tray and sprang from the bed. He threw open the top of his sea chest and grabbed the first pair of trousers he found. Then he pulled open the cabin door, dashed up the companionway, and pushed his way through the crush of shouting men at the base of the mainmast.
    The men surrounded two fighters, the sound of striking fists coming from inside the circle.
    Lieutenant Pilkington and Sergeant Rajit were trying to impose order on the men, swinging cudgels and the butts of their flintlocks. Pilkington grabbed a half-naked man by his bare shoulder but dropped his hand when he realised the identity of the man.
    ‘Captain Horne!’
    ‘Lieutenant, what’s going on here?’
    By now Sergeant Rajit had also noticed Horne, half-naked and bare-footed, standing on deck. Gradually more men saw Home amongst them and the circle opened, exposing the fighters.
    Horne espied Tom Gibbons, the ginger-whiskered boatswain, with a puffed eye and cut jaw. The prisoner KevinMcFiddich stood next to Gibbons, his lip bleeding and one eye badly cut.
    A voice shouted, ‘Those prison rats started it, Captain!’
    ‘Lying coward!’ shouted a prisoner.
    Another seaman bellowed, ‘Go back to the hole you crawled out of!’
    As the men began hurling insults at one another, Gibbons and McFiddich flung themselves back into their fight, and the circle tightened back around them. Horne’s demand for order was lost in the shouts. Pushing into the crowd, he shoved them aside to reach the middle of the circle, catching a fist on his chin and blows on the arm, back and shoulders, before he reached the centre. He shoved Gibbons to one side and stopped McFiddich with a fist.
    McFiddich held the bridge of his nose and glared at Horne. ‘Why hit me? Protecting your favourites?’
    Horne’s fist flew at him again.
    As McFiddich stumbled back on the deck, the crew cheered.
    Horne turned on his men. ‘What kind of bloody animals are you?’
    Looking towards Pilkington, he shouted, ‘Lieutenant, I want an explanation for this behaviour.’
    Pilkington stepped forward. ‘Sir, we were pulling down the netting for drills when –’
    A voice interrupted. ‘These pigs want us to do their work for them.’
    Horne spun around and saw the Spanish prisoner, Fernando Vega. He grabbed the Spaniard by the bicep and slapped him across the face. ‘Never interrupt me.’
    He pushed Vega back towards the crowd and, facing the men, shouted, ‘Nobody fights unless I say “fight”! Understand?’
    He thumbed his chest. ‘If you want to pick a fight with somebody, pick it with me.’
    He stepped towards McFiddich who was hunched on deck. ‘You want to fight, McFiddich?’
    McFiddich did not raise his head.
    Horne kicked at him.