Swift’s idea, apparently, was that now there were only light airs, every one of them should be made to work for the ship. What this really meant was that he wanted the men to work. If the devil truly made work for idle hands, Captain Swift was making damned sure there were no idle hands.
Dead ones maybe; but not idle ones.
He stood upon the quarterdeck, under an awning, and watched the sea like a hawk. He lifted his great nose at every air, however light, and studied every catspaw, however faint. At each and every one, he gave orders to the master or the boatswain. These were passed to the boatswain’s mates, then to the men. Canes whistled and thwacked, tired, aching, sweating men jumped to sheets and braces. Hour after hour the performance went on. The yards were braced this way and that, sheets were eased and hauled in, headsails were backed, filled, and changed. The Welfare lay sluggish in the blazing calm, rarely moving. When Swift was tired of it, he would hand over to Hagan, or Plumduff, or Higgins. Then he would sit under the awning, in his silken shirtsleeves, drinking lemonade.
The yards were so hot, so slippery with sweat, that it was a miracle no one died. Swift ordered almost as many sail changes as he did manoeuvres. New sails were brought up from below, yards were lowered and the canvas replaced with lighter, the yards were swayed up again. Stunsails were repositioned, new methods of sheeting were devised. The topmen, dizzy with heat and fatigue, clenched the slimy, burning spars with their bellies. Some were ruptured, as many, even, as in heavy weather. Then they would be helped below to be fitted with a truss. Mr Adamson, mercifully enough, did not follow the practice of some of his fellow naval surgeons and hang hernia victims by their heels to ease the swelling.
‘The bastard will kill us all,’ Matthews said to Jesse, as they lay across the fore topgallant yard one morning.
‘Yes,’ said Broad, dully. ‘Do you know, Matthews, I truly think he will.’
No time for any more, no time for thoughts. They were howled to the next task, slipping carelessly among the rigging with leaden limbs, clumsy fingers. Perhaps he would have welcomed the idea of death, had he been able to think clearly. But he was too tired.
William Bentley and the other midshipmen entered into the spirit of the new regime with great gusto. They had discussed it the morning after the dinner, when the worst of their hangovers had evaporated, and agreed that the captain was right. What the people needed was a bit of grit, a bit of fizz, a bit of bounce.
Jack Evans looked at the faces of his friends carefully as if he were going to say something of great importance.
‘Can I trust you lads?’ he asked, shiftily. ‘I do not want to end up on the fore yardarm in a hemp collar for this!’ James Finch was excited.
‘Are you planning a mutiny, Jack?’ he said.
‘Hush!’ said William. Mutiny was an uncomfortable word. A disturbing word. It was a word that only a silly child would utter except in the deepest seriousness. Finch went scarlet.
‘You are a foolish baby,’ Evans said, in as stern a manner as his shrill voice would allow. ‘No, but listen, lads, I must admit I thought the owner was going a little far at first.’
‘Over the matter of the marine?’ asked Simon Allen. ‘Aye, that certainly. I thought the fire-eater was coming it very hot. Why, to suggest the fellow was shirking!’
‘He looked desperate ill to me,’ put in Finch, glancing anxiously at them to make sure he wasn’t being silly again. ‘And after all, he did die!’
Evans and Allen laughed. But William put in darkly: ‘It is amazing, to quote my Uncle Daniel, the lengths to which some people will go.’
‘Aye,’ said Evans. ‘I did not catch his meaning on that at first. But he is right, of course.’
‘You mean it is a plot?’ asked Finch incredulously. ‘How can that be, though? A man cannot die deliberately.’
‘The matter of the burial will cause trouble enough,’ said Simon Allen. ‘It could almost be seen as an excuse. A way for the damned dogs to start barking and showing their teeth.’
Jimmy shook his head.
‘I still cannot get it,’ he confessed. ‘Jack, you said the owner went too far. Are you now saying—’
‘I said “at first”. I said I thought “at first” he went too far. Of course he did not. He has the measure of this scum.’
‘But surely…’
‘Oh stow it, Jimmy,’ Evans said. ‘You are too much of a child. What you cannot understand, for God’s sake keep your mouth shut on.’
William had a sneaking sympathy for Finch’s position, because he wasn’t too sure of it all himself. Could the marine’s death really have been such a mystery? Judging by the confusion of the way they were discussing it, the others were as flummoxed as he was. Sometimes he felt they were all useless, stupid, himself as well. Mere snotty boys, as the people thought them. It embarrassed him, shamed him horribly. He went for the broad principle, to make the argument less a fatuous mess.
‘What I say,’ he told them, ‘is that Uncle Daniel is right. He knows his men better than anyone. It is uncanny. He sees right into the minds of these people. And he is right.’
There was a chorus of relief. Whatever the ins and outs of it, the overall position was clear. They nodded eagerly, expecting him to drop more words of wisdom. William obliged.
‘What my uncle said, when all’s done, is that we have been too soft on them. The sunshine and the pleasant breezes have put us in a holiday mood. We have been failing in our duty.’
‘Not just us alone, Will,’ added Evans, ‘but the lieutenants and the warrants and petty officers too.’
‘No excuse, no excuse,’ said William. ‘Just because others have failed, does not make our failure better. Why, I freely admit my own lapses. I have seen men slacking and let it pass, when all I had to do was lift a finger and have a boatswain’s mate start them.’
Another chorus, of confessions this time. All the mids had let men off in similar situations. They shook their heads in shame.
‘What have we done, indeed, to aid the discipline on board?’ asked William. ‘Tormented one old schoolmaster, and let the real villains run free. It is very bad in us, very bad.’
A chorus of agreement. Then a long and detailed discussion as to how they could win back their self-respect. They decided that nothing should escape them from now on, not a dropped ropeyarn, not a raised eyebrow. They would show the people that they were young gentlemen, and officers born. They would sweep and scour the ship like a cleansing fire. They would provide the iron in the soul that Captain Swift said was what the Welfare lacked.
After the simple burial of the soldier, each of them provided a list to the master-at-arms of men and marines whose attitudes during the service had conveyed anything that smacked of discontent. There were several floggings on their behalf, and Captain Swift thanked them handsomely for their vigilance. On the decks the four became terrible, ranging and watching for the slightest lapse. And it was William himself who suggested to his uncle, some days later, a new way of keeping the people busy.
When it was first announced, Jesse Broad, who had been standing in the shade of the foremast awaiting the next unnecessary sail order, could hardly believe it. But it was true. Hands were being told off to the boats. He himself, singled out as an experienced and powerful oarsman, was detailed as stroke in one of the cutters.
It was a long and exhausting business getting the bigger boats cleared away and into the water. Tackles were rigged to get them from their positions on the skids and over the side. In the water they leaked alarmingly from the shrinkage in the planks caused by the sunshine. Extra boys with bailing cans were put on board, then heavy warps were coiled into the sternsheets.