'It would seem that an excess of salt spray also draws the moisture from a man,' observed Appleby archly.
'Aye, Mr Appleby, and over-early pickles the brain,' retorted Trussel.
Day succeeded day as the trades blew and the internal life of the brig followed its routine as well as its daily variations. Daily, after quarters, the hands skylarked for an hour before the hammocks were piped down. The flying fish leapt from their track and fanned out on either bow. Breakfasts were often spiced by their flesh, fried trout-like and delicious. During the day dolphins played under the bowsprit defying efforts to catch them. The sea at night was phosphorescent and mysterious, the dolphins' tracks sub-aqueous rocket trails of pale fire, the brig's wake a magical bubbling of light. They reeled off the knots, hoisting royals and studding sails when the wind fell light. Even as they reached the latitude of the Cape Verdes and the trades left them, the fluky wind kept a chuckle of water under the forefoot.
It was utterly delightful. Drinkwater threw off the last of his depression and wallowed in the satisfying comfort of naval routine. There was always enough to occupy a sea-officer, yet there was time to read and write his journal, and the problems that came inevitably to a first lieutenant were all sweetly soluble. But he knew it could not last, it never did. The very fact of their passage through the trade-wind belt was an indication of that. At last the winds died away and the rain fell. They filled their water casks while Griffiths had the sweeps out for two hours a daylight watch and Hellebore was hauled manually across the ocean in search of wind.
'Duw, I cannot abide a calm hereabouts,' Griffiths growled at Drinkwater, staring eastward to where, unseen below the horizon, the Gambia coast lay.
'I remember the smell, bach. Terrible, terrible.' For a second Drinkwater could not understand, then he remembered Griffiths's slaving past. 'The Gambia, sir?' he asked quietly.
'Indeed yes… the rivers, green and slow, and the stockades full of them; the chiefs and half-breed traders and the Arabs… and us,' he ended on a lower note. 'Christ, but it was terrible…' It was the first time he had ever disclosed more than the slightest detail of that time of his life. They had often discussed the technicalities of slaving ships, their speed and their distant loveliness, but though there was a growing revulsion to the trade in Britain neither he nor Griffiths had ever voiced the matter as a moral problem. He was tempted to wonder why Griffiths had remained to become chief mate of a slaver when the old man answered his unasked question.
'And yet I stayed to become mate. You are asking yourself that now, aren't you?' He did not wait for a reply but plunged on, like a man in the confessional, too far to regret his repentance. 'But I was young, duw, I was young. There was money there, money and private trading and women, bach, such women the like of which you'd never dream of, coal black and lissom, pliant and young, opening like green leaves in spring,' he sighed, 'they would do anything to get out of that stinking 'tween deck… anything.'
Drinkwater left the old man to his silence and his memories. He was still at the rail when Lestock came on deck at eight bells.
In the morning a breeze had sprung up.
Chapter Four
Shadows of Clouds
'I want him flogged, Drinkwater!'
Drinkwater looked up from his breakfast of burgoo at the angry face of Lieutenant Rogers. 'It is not for you to decide the punishment,' he said coldly.
'I know Tregembo's your damned toady, Drinkwater, and that you and the captain are close, but damn it, I threatened him with a flogging and a flogging he shall have!'
'I shall present the facts to the captain and…'
'Oh, devil take the facts man, and devil take your sanctimonious cant…'
'Have a care what you say, Mr Rogers.' Drinkwater stressed the title and resisted the impulse to stand and swing his hand across Roger's choleric face. The restraint was not appreciated.
'Flog him, Drinkwater, or by Christ I'll bring charges against you for failure to maintain good order…'
'You'll do no such damned thing, sir,' snapped Drinkwater. 'You will sit down and be silent while we examine precisely what happened. And, by God, you'll address me as mister.'
'You fail to intimidate me Mister Drinkwater. Your commission predates mine by two weeks. That ain't seniority enough to cut much ice in the right quarters…'
Drinkwater sprang to his feet and leaned across the intervening table. 'Another word, sir, and I'll clap you in irons upon the instant, d'you hear? By God you've gone too far! Two weeks is sufficient to hang you!'
Their faces were inches apart and for a long moment they remained so; then Rogers subsided, answering Drinkwater's questions in resentful monosyllables.
It appeared that during the middle watch Midshipman Dalziell, proceeding forward on routine rounds had stumbled over the feet of Tregembo. The Cornishman had been sleeping on deck. With the three watch system in operation and the brig in the tropics the berth space became intolerable and a number of men slept on deck. There had been an exchange between the midshipman and the able seaman which had resulted in Dalziell bringing Tregembo aft to Rogers. From what Drinkwater had seen of Dalziell he was not surprised at Tregembo's reaction. Drinkwater did not entirely support Earl St Vincent's contention that the men should be made to respect a midshipman's coat. He qualified it by requiring that the midshipman within was at least partially deserving of that respect. He doubted that Mr Dalziell answered the case at all. Besides Drinkwater was damned if Tregembo, or anyone else for that matter, was going to have his back laid open for such a trivial matter.
'Thank you, Mr Rogers.'
'I want the whoreson flogged, d'you hear?' Rogers flung over his shoulder as he withdrew to his cabin. Drinkwater sat in the gunroom alone, sunlight from the skylight sliding in six parallelograms back and forth across the table. He knew Griffiths would not hesitate to flog if necessary. Insolence was not to be tolerated. But had Tregembo been insolent? Drinkwater was by no means certain and he had seen the man flogged before. Griffiths, who had slung his hammock above the guns on the lower deck of a seventy-four understood the mentality of the men. There were always those who would challenge authority if they thought they could get away with it, and he knew many seamen who approved of flogging. Life below decks was foul enough without suffering the molestations of the petty thieves, the queers, the cheats and liars, never mind the drunks who could knock you from a yard in the middle of the night. No, swift retribution was welcomed by both sides.
But only if it was just.
'Mr Lestock, Mr Appleby, you are sitting on a tribunal to determine the precise nature of an incident occurring in the middle watch last night during which the captain of the main top, Able Seaman Tregembo, is alleged to have used abuse against Mr Midshipman Dalziell.'
The two warrant officers nodded, Lestock fidgetting since he had had to be relieved on deck by Trussel and was anxious about observing the meridian altitude of the sun at noon. Appleby was splendidly portentous but, for the moment, silent.