'Lieutenant Rogers,' Drinkwater inclined his head to the second lieutenant sitting opposite with one leg dangling over the arm of his chair, contemptuously examining his nails, 'is in the nature of the accusing officer.' He raised his voice, 'Mr Q!'
The door opened. 'Sir?'
'Pass word for Mr Dalziell and then have Tregembo wait outside to be called.'
'Aye, aye, sir,' replied the boy casting a frightened look round the interior of the gunroom which had changed its normal prefectural atmosphere to one of chilly formality. Dalziell knocked and entered. He had not had the sense to put on full uniform.
'Now Mr Dalziell, this is an inquiry to establish the facts of the incident that occurred this morning…' Drinkwater went laboriously through the formal process and listened to Dalziell's carefully stated account.
He had gone forward on the rounds that were performed by either a master's mate or a midshipman at hourly intervals. He had found the man Tregembo asleep under the fo'c's'le with his legs obstructing the ladder and had stumbled over them. The man had woken and there had been an exchange. As a consequence Dalziell had ordered him below. There had been a further exchange after which Dalziell had brought Tregembo aft to the officer of the watch. 'And Lieutenant Rogers said he would see the man flogged for his insolence, sir.' It was all very plausible, almost too plausible, and the malice in that last sentence set a query against the whole.
They called Tregembo. 'What did you say to Mr Dalziell when he stumbled against you?' asked Drinkwater, careful to keep his voice and expression rigidly formal.
Tregembo shrugged. 'I'd been awakened zur, I thought it was one of my mates,' he growled.
'Were you abusive?' butted in Lestock, 'come man, we want the truth.'
Tregembo shot a glance at Drinkwater. 'Happen I was short with him, zur,' he conceded but repeated, 'I thought it was one of my mates, zur… I didn't know it was Mr Dalziell, zur.'
'A storm in a tea cup,' muttered Appleby and Rogers flushed. Drinkwater was tempted to leave the matter there, but Lestock persisted to fuss.
'What exactly did you say, man?' he asked testily.
Drinkwater sighed, both Rogers and Dalziell were only holding their peace with difficulty. 'Come Tregembo,' he said resignedly, 'what did you say?'
Tregembo frowned. He knew Drinkwater could not protect him and his head came forward belligerently. 'Why zur, what I'd say to a messmate, that he was a clumsy fucker… zur.'
Drinkwater stifled a grin and he saw both Dalziell and Rogers relax, as though their case was proved.
'That seems to be clear abuse,' said Lestock and Drinkwater suddenly felt angry about the whole stupid business. Without Lestock's tactless interjections he might have ended it then and there, but he now had to take the offensive.
'Now think carefully, Tregembo. What was then said to you? Remember we want the truth, as Mr Lestock says.' Tregembo looked at Dalziell, opening his mouth then closing it again before he caught the intense expression in Drinkwater's eyes. He had known the lieutenant long enough to take encouragement from it.
'He called me an insolent whoreson bastard, zur, and told me to get my pox-ridden arse below decks where it belonged.'
Drinkwater swung his glance swiftly to Dalziell. There was no denial from the midshipman, only a slight flushing of the cheeks. Dalziell blurted. 'And he called me a cocky puppy, damn it!'
'Silence, Mister!' snapped Drinkwater. 'Tregembo, do you mind your tongue in future when you address an officer.' The two exchanged glances and Drinkwater dismissed him. He turned to his two colleagues, suddenly aware that he had closed the case without consultation. 'I am sure you agree with me, gentlemen, that Tregembo's initial remarks were made by mistake under the false assumption that another hand had tripped over him. The manner of Mr Dalziell's subsequent ordering of him below was of such a nature as to disqualify him from receiving the manner of address expected from an able seaman to a midshipman.' There was a sharp indrawn breath from Rogers but Drinkwater was undeterred. 'The midshipmen aboard any ship of which I am first lieutenant will be obliged to behave properly. I will not tolerate the apeing of bloods out whoring which seems the current fashion. It would not be in the interests of the ship to flog Tregembo.'
'Damn you, Drinkwater, damn you to hell.' Rogers leapt from the chair.
'Be silent, sir!' stormed Drinkwater, suddenly furious at Rogers. Then, in a quieter tone he turned to the master and surgeon. 'Well gentlemen, d'you agree?'
'Of course, Nathaniel, damned stupid business if you ask me.' Appleby eyed Rogers disapprovingly.
'Is my character to be disputed by an apology for a pox-doctor…?' he got no further. Emerging from his cabin Commander Griffiths appeared. The five men in the gunroom rose to their feet. He had clearly heard every word through the flimsy bulkhead.
'I approve of your decision, Mr Drinkwater, just as I disapprove of your conduct, Mr Rogers.' Griffiths spoke slowly then paused turning his lugubrious face on Dalziell. His bushy white eyebrows drew together. 'As for you, sir, I can think of only one place where your presence will not infect us all. Proceed to the fore t'gallant masthead.'
The commander passed between Rogers and the scarlet midshipman with ponderous contempt and made for the upper deck.
They had rolled Polaris and the constellations of the far north below the horizon without ceremony. To the south blazed Canopus, Rigel Kentaurus and the Southern Cross, whilst Orion wheeled overhead, astride the equinoctial. They had picked up the south-east Trades in five degrees south latitude and romped southwards. The matter of Dalziell faded from Drinkwater's mind almost as soon as the boy had descended from the mastheading. Ruling all their lives, burying their petty quarrels with its stern and soothing rhythm, the routine of a King's ship proceeded remorselessly. They had avoided all ships in case any were French cruisers. It was unlikely, but only a single mischance could disrupt the delicate strategy of empire. Even a ship of equal force might jeopardise their mission and it was likely that a French cruiser in the South Atlantic would be one of their fast, well-found frigates.
On a morning of alternating sunshine and shadow as an endless stream of fair-weather cumulus scudded before the fresh wind and the large dark petrels and bizarre red-footed boobies swooped about the ship, the matter of Dalziell was revived.
Appearing to take his meridian altitude Mr Quilhampton was found to possess a black eye.
'Where the deuce did you get that from, young shaver?' asked Drinkwater who had of late made a practice of joining Lestock on the tiny poop to help determine the brig's latitude.
'Oh, I banged into my cabin door, sir.' The boy was nearly sobbing and the excuse was clearly fabricated. He failed to catch the sun successfully and it was Dalziell's smirking 'I made my altitude seventy degrees fifty-four minutes, Mr Lestock,' that formed the suspicion in Drinkwater's mind that he might be the cause of Mr Quilhampton's misery. It seemed confirmed by the muffled grunt from the young midshipman as the first lieutenant agreed his own altitude within a minute of Dalziell's. Lestock pursed his lips in disapproval when Quilhampton announced his failure.
'Mr Q has a contused eye, Mr Lestock. Cut along to the surgeon, cully, and get him to look at it.' He watched the boy move away and turned to Mr Dalziell. 'Now what d'you make our latitude?' He knew he was displacing Lestock but noted that Dalziell was suddenly less confident. The sun was chasing them south, would cross the equator in a day or so and the calculation was elementary. A mere matter of addition and subtraction but Dalziell baulked at it. Drinkwater suspected he cribbed frequently from the younger boy who showed a certain aptitude for the mysteries of astronomical navigation.