Free Baltic Mission by Richard Woodman

we . . . that is the old Melusines, we was volunteers, sir, back in the year three. Now we’re all shipped with pressed men an’ quota-men, men that ain’t prime seamen, no, nor don’t take no shame from that fact, sir; and the length of the commission and there bein’ no pay last time at the Nore, sir, and the men beginning to run . . .’ His voice faded miserably.
    â€˜Personal discontent is not a crime, Mr Comley. I too should like to go home, but we have not yet destroyed our enemies . . . Be that as it may, you have not answered my question. Why did you not report it?’
    Drinkwater could see a gathering of pale and expectant faces staring aft, waiting to be dismissed from the tasks they had been called on deck to carry out. All hands were witness to Mr Comley’s talk with the captain.
    â€˜I don’t want no trouble, sir . . . that’s all . . .’
    â€˜I understand that, Mr Comley . . .’ Drinkwater saw Comley’s eyes slide across to the figure of the first lieutenant whom, he realised with a sharp feeling of guilt, he had not noticed on deck until that moment. Comley’s predicament was obvious. He was supposed to report all misdemeanours direct to Rogers, but Rogers had not been on deck. No doubt Comley, if he really had intended to report the four men, would have let the matter blow over, since the first lieutenant had failed to answer the call for all hands. Rogers’s strictness was well known and in that game of each trying to catch out the other, first lieutenant and crew had developed a subtlety of play that Drinkwater was only just beginning to grasp. Even now Comley’s stuttering excuses, although they might be understood as the genuine, if ill-expressed, discontent of the best and oldest hands on board, were evidence of a game that became increasingly deadly with every round.
    Drinkwater thrust his own culpability out of his mind for a moment or two. Although Rogers’s absence had compromised Comley in the strict line of his duty, it had given a round to the hands. That much was obvious to all of them as they stood there in the twilight watching. And now Rogers was compromising Drinkwater, for it was clear that the first lieutenant was the worse for drink. In a second Drinkwater would be compelled to take very public notice of Rogers’s condition; and at the moment he wanted to avoid that. He affected not to have noticed Rogers.
    â€˜Mr Comley,’ he said with every appearance of ferocity, ‘I’ll not have the ship go to the devil for any reason. D’you clearly understand me?’
    His tone diverted Comley’s eyes from the person of Rogers to himself.
    â€˜Aye, aye, sir.’
    â€˜I hold you personally responsible. It’s your duty to report such things, and if you can’t I’ll turn you forrard and find someone who can!’ He paused, just long enough to let the words sink in. ‘Now have those four men confined in the bilboes overnight and pipe down the watches below.’
    â€˜Aye, aye, sir.’
    Drinkwater left the deck as Comley put the silver call to his mouth. The captain was raging inwardly, furious with Rogers and himself, himself most of all for his self-delusion that all was well on board. The marine sentry held himself upright at what passed for attention on the heeling deck as Drinkwater stalked past him.
    â€˜Pass word for the first lieutenant and the marine officer!’ he snapped, banging the door behind him.
    Mullender was fussing about in the cabin. ‘Why aren’t you on deck, Mullender? Eh? Ain’t the call at every hatchway enough for you? Don’t you hear properly, damn it? The call was for
all
hands, Mullender!’
    â€˜But, sir, the first lieut . . .’
    â€˜Get out!’ It was no good Drinkwater making Mullender the surrogate for his anger. The unfortunate steward fled,