Here at least he felt almost remote from the rest of the ship, his comfortable chair placed barely feet from the ship’s stern. The sea noises were indistinct and muffled, and even the regular bugle-calls were far off and impersonal. Royston-Jones scowled as if to dismiss the hint of sentiment, and Holroyd, a bald, worried little man, hap.. pening to glance at his captain at that particular moment, wilted accordingly.
Royston-Jones let his pale eyes drift towards one of the cabin’s gleaming brass scuttles. The deep blue of the horizon line mounted the circular scuttle, paused, and then receded with the same patient slowness, while the hidden sun played across the sea’s numberless mirrors and threw a dancing pattern across the cabin’s low deckhead, where a wide-bladed fan revolved to give an impression of coolness.
An original oil-painting of King George made a tasteful patch of colour against the white bulkhead, and beyond a nearby door the Captain knew that MacKay, his personal steward, would be hovering and waiting for the bell. It was getting near time for a sherry. A quiet lunch, and then-Royston-Jones looked up irritated again as Holroyd gave his nervous cough and handed some papers across for signature.
`All complete, sir.’ The little man blinked and watched anxiously as the Captain began to read. He never signed anything without reading it at least twice, and this fact did little to help the Paymaster’s fading confidence.
`This war will be bogged down with paper before long!’ Royston-Jones reached for his pen which stood exactly upright in a silver inkstand fashioned in the shape of a dolphin. On the stand’s base a well-polished inscription stated : `Presented to Sub-Lieutenant Lionel RoystonJones, H.M.S. Jury 1893, Singapore Fleet Regatta.’
The private thoughts of sherry and seclusion vanished as Royston-Jones suddenly remembered that Commander Godden was waiting to see him. He toyed with the idea of keeping him waiting a little longer, but then decided against it. Almost savagely he wrote his signature on six documents and replaced the pen. Holroyd scrambled to his feet, his face filled with obvious relief. Royston-Jones almost smiled when he imagined what the Paymaster would think or say if he knew that his captain was so short-sighted that most of the documents were a meaningless blur. For reading Royston-Jones wore a pair of narrow, steel-rimmed glasses, but few had seen them. Mac.Kay, his steward, was used to finding his master in the privacy of the day-cabin, glasses perched on nose, a favourite book of Shakespeare plays on his crossed legs. MacKay kept the secret well. For that reason he had been with the Captain for many years.
Royston-jones jabbed the pantry bell, and added as an afterthought, `Some of those victualling returns look a bit casual, Holroyd.’ He watched the panic mounting with cold satisfaction. `Check them again yourself.’
`Aye, aye, sir.’ The wretched man almost bowed himself out of the cabin.
MacKay appeared with a tiny silver tray. On it was a decanter, one glass and a dog-like arrowroot biscuit.
Royston-Jones sighed. `Get another glass, and ask the Commander to step in.’
What was wrong this time? he wondered. Some wretched nonsense about a split awning, or a petty officer sick with piles. What a small man Godden seemed to carry about inside that great body. Royston-Jones detested unnecessary size, and overweight officers were a particular hate of his. Perhaps that was why he never had got off to a good start with Godden. He knew it was more than that but even so…
Godden entered the cabin and waited in silence until MacKay had glided back to his pantry.
Royston-Jones felt his foot beginning to tap. Sharply he said, `Put your cap down and have a sherry.’
`If you don’t mind, sir,’ Godden looked grim, `this is rather serious.’
`Yes, I do mind.’ Royston-Jones sipped at his sherry and then banged the glass down. It was all spoilt. `Well, spit it out, man!’
`I think we have a court martial on our hands, sir.’ He swallowed. ‘Sub-Lieutenant Pringle has been assaulted!’
The Captain said slowly, `And the rating responsible?’,
‘It was an officer, sir. Midshipman Chesnaye !’
Royston-Jones stood up and walked to the nearest scuttle. For a moment longer he watched the handful of white gulls which still followed the ship’s slow course.
Wheeling and dipping they added to the impression that the Saracen was unmoving.
`I see.’ Over his shoulder he asked, `And what have you done about it, may I ask?’
`I have sent Chesnaye to his quarters. Pringle is outside. I would have brought him earlier, sir, but his lip was still bleeding.’
jHalf to himself Royston-Jones said coldly, `I would have guessed that Pringle’s mouth would be implicated!’ He swung round. `This is very serious, you realise that, don’t you?’ He waited, the absurdity. and at the same time the danger of the situation making his cheeks burn with two small spots of colour. `Well?’ He saw Godden ump as his voice echoed round the cabin. `Is that all?’
`I thought you should know, sir-‘ Godden’s face looked shiny with sweat.
`You did, did you?’ The long-pent-up anger was coursing through Royston-Jones like fire. For a little while longer he would give way to it. `If there had been no war, Commander, you would have been happier, I expect? The usual sickening round of events, regattas, fleet balls, admiral’s inspections which end in a sea of gin and broken reputations. I can just imagine it!’
‘That’s not fair, sir !’ Godden was quivering with sudden rage.
`Don’t you dare to interrupt ! It’s a pity you can’t show the same energy for your duty as you display in righteous indignation!’ He took a few quick paces. `The Commander’s work in a ship is to present that ship as a working concern to his captain. You are not even near that standard. You are a passenger and almost a liability!’
Godden’s face was white. `Now look here, sir ! How could I have prevented this trouble?’
The Captain’s eyes glittered in a shaft of yellow sunlight. `This trouble ! I have carried you through trouble of one sort or another since you came aboard ! I have your measure now ! You want me to act over this socalled assault so that you can sink back into your old role of jovial dependability, the friendly buffer between the downtrodden wardroom and the tyrannical captain, right?’ He screwed up his face to watch Godden’s reactions. `I am telling you now, I am sick of your sidestepping ! And I will not tolerate it!’
Godden did not speak, but looked as if he was going to be sick.
Almost as calmly Royston-Jones said : `This is war. Nothing like it has ever struck the Royal Navy before. We have been unchallenged, untouched, for over a hundred years, and now the battle is joined. All of us have been trained for war by men who have known only peace and frivolous security.’ He waved his hand with sudden bitterness. `Take this ship, my ship. She is entirely new, a fresh weapon in a strange war. And why do you suppose I got command, eh? I will tell. you. Because some pompous popinjays at the Admiralty are afraid that the Saracen will be a white elephant, a failure. So they must have a scapegoat, just in case!’ He tapped his breast. ‘Me! A good captain with a blameless record, so that the ship can be given every chance of success. But also a man without connections or influence, one who is expendable.’ He gave a small smile. `Your expression has changed, Commander ! From guilt to anger, and from anger to shocked disbelief. Well, I’ll not continue along these lines. There is work to be done.’ He fixed Godden with a cold stare, unwinking and devoid of pity. `But I can assure you that I intend this ship to succeed if I have to run her ashore to prove her worth!’
Weakly Godden said, `And Chesnaye, Sir?’
Completely controlled and calm, Royston-Jones turned the arrowroot biscuit between his neat fingers. ‘Ah yes, Chesnaye.’ Very quietly, `What do you suggest?’
Shocked and miserable at the assault, Godden’s words tumbled out in a confused heap. `Well, Sir, Pringle’s a bit of a bully, I know that. But Chesnaye struck him, and there was one seaman at least who witnessed it!’ One word. `Who?’
`Able Seaman Wellard.’
/>
‘Ah, that bearded oaf.’ He nodded, the man’s face registering like a faded photograph. `Good boxer. Won a cup for the ship, I believe?’
`Yes, Sir.’
`And you think that Pringle’s majesty should be upheld?’
`Well, I’m sorry for the midshipman, sir, but we all had to go through it in our time.’
`That doesn’t make it right, Commander. However, it must be stopped, you are correct there at least. Find out the reason for the assault .’
Godden interrupted quickly, ‘Pringle made some remark about Chesnaye s father!’
‘What?’ Royston.-Jones stared at Godden with amazement. `Why didn’t you say so?’
‘Well, Sir, I mean-it was true what he said
`I can imagine.’ The Captain turned back to the quiet sea beyond the scuttle. `I knew Chesnaye’s father. He was a good officer. Perhaps he was a scapegoat too. But that does not alter the fact that young Chesnaye is now the only officer with battle experience of spotting ashore.’ I•Ie laughed sharply and without- humour. `Laughable, isn’t it? A young midshipman, a mere boy, and a valuable asset already!’ He rubbed his palms together. `And as for Wellard seeing the incident, I will leave him to you. But this war is getting to be a complex and serious affair. I will not jeopardise the use and safety of my ship because Able Seaman Wellard has had his illusions shattered. I doubt very much if he has ever respected a piece of gold lace!’
`I see, sir.’ Godden’s voice sounded strangled. `And Chesnaye?’
`I will see both officers separately. In the Dog Watches sometime today. You arrange it. It will give them time to fret a little!’
`Anything more, sir?’
Royston-Jones picked up the glass and rolled its slender stem between his fingers. `Oh, one thing, yes. We have been ordered to carry out a landing and a bombardment, south of the Anzac beaches.’
`Who are we supporting, sir?’
Royston-Jones waited a little longer. `We will be alone, Commander!’ He turned to watch the effect of his words. `Quite alone. It seems that one or more U-boats have been making their way through the Mediterranean in this direction for some time. Their Lordships in all their wisdom have decided to withdraw the battleship Queen Elizabeth and certain other units as soon as the Germans get -too near.’ He allowed the sherry to moisten his lower lip. `So everybody else can apparently go hang!’
Lieutenant Hogarth, the Gunnery Officer, lifted his powerful night glasses and took a long look across the Saracen’s blunt bows. From the upper bridge he had an uninterrupted view of the whole ship, and although it was well past midnight, with the Middle Watch settled and composed at their stations, the sky seemed to lack depth, so that it merged with the sea in a transparent, vaporous obscurity. Untroubled by wind, the sea’s surface around the labouring ship was flat and glittering in long oily swells, whilst around the monitor’s rounded stern only a hint of froth broke the pattern and betrayed the power of the thrashing screws below.
Hogarth ran his eye quickly around the bridge to ensure that the lookouts were indeed doing their job. Somewhere on the maindeck Sub-Lieutenant Pringle, his assistant, was doing his rounds and would soon join him, his restlessness breaking the quiet of the watch.
He stiffened as a figure detached itself from the chartroom and glided to the front of the bridge. It was not the Captain, but Travis, the Navigator. Hogarth relaxed.
`Can’t you sleep, Pilot?’
`Just checking my charts.’
They both spoke in a semi-whisper, their voices merging with the creaking of steel and spars. At night the ship always seemed to be more powerful, more overbearing.
Hogarth yawned elaborately. `Ship’s company all tucked up for the night. Just the poor bloody watchkeepers alive!’ He peered at his companion. `We’ll be up to the coast before dawn then?’
`Running, or rather crawling to schedule!’ Travis sounded bitter. `I’ll be glad when we get started.’
Hogarth nodded, and adjusted his meticulous mind to the problems the next day would offer him. `A quick bombardment, rush in the landing parties, and then rapid fire on the enemy’s flank. Sounds easy, eh?’
`I’m sick of it all!’ Travis gripped the screen with frusi tration. `The whole operation is going rotten on us!’
`Well, I would rather be in the old Keppel’s Head in Pompey naturally, but as we are involved I don’t see wha we can do about it!’ Hogarth shifted uneasily. Travi was too much of a thinker. That was bad.
Travis shrugged. `It’s better for you. You are so wrappec up with your damned gunnery you don’t have time tc contemplate the rest of the business. I on the other hanc have had to sit and listen at every conference the Ol~’, Man has attended. God ! The people at Whitehall must, be raving mad!’
`How d’you mean?’ Hogarth did not really care, but ht was interested in Travis’s sudden display of emotion.
`Well, you know that Fisher has resigned from First Set, Lord?’ He did not wait for a reply. - `And Churchill i being hauled over the coals about the hold-ups and disasters out here?’
`What of it?’
`It means in simple language that the powers-that-be have lost interest in a quick victory. For all we know they may have written off the whole operation already !’
`Oh for God’s sake!’ Hogarth broke off as a telephone buzzed in the darkness by his elbow. In a strained voice h said into the mouthpiece, `Upper bridge, Officer of th Watch speaking.’
Far below Pringle’s voice replied : `Rounds completed All correct, sir.’
`Very well.’ He dropped the handset and said absently: ‘I think this assault business is much more serious.’
Travis turned away. `You would!’
`There’s no need to be like that, old man.’
Travis moved closer and tried again. `Look, just thinl. about what I’ve been saying. If the Gallipoli landings have been a waste of time, we should know about it. You can’t just leave a whole army to rot away and do nothing .1’
`I have always done my duty and nothing more,’ Hogarth answered stiffly.
He sounded so hurt and pompous that Travis laughed,’ his teeth white against his beard. `Well done, Guns! Spoken like a true gentleman!’
Hogarth did not smile. `No, seriously, I feel very strongly about that. We must maintain our standards even n war. I think the Captain was wrong to ignore Chesnaye’s )ehaviour, even if Pringle is a fool.’
`He’s that, all right!’
`But he must be upheld. The Commander is quite right n his resentment.’
`Oh, has he spoken to you about it, then?’ Travis ounded interested.
`A little He’s pretty fed-up, actually.’
`Too bad. But in the meantime we’ve got a very nasty ob on our hands at daybreak.’
`Oh that !’ Hogarth sounded scornful. `We’ll manage he bloody Turks well enough, you see!’
Pringle appeared in the gloom and moved to one side of he bridge.
Travis said quietly but unfeelingly, `How’s your jaw, iub?’
`I’d rather not talk about it.’ Pringle sounded furious. `Well, I think you asked for it!’ Travis turned his back.
I’m going to snatch an hour’s sleep, Guns. Call me if the ship capsizes!’
He disappeared from the bridge and Hogarth was left ,with his thoughts. Travis was probably right, he thought. Few campaigns ever succeeded unless they got off to a good start. It was true that the more modern and useful ;hips were being withdrawn with unseemly haste, and even the Saracen’s future role was uncertain. Still, very soon they would be too occupied for conjecture. At first light his big guns would be needed again, and Major De L’Isle’s mad marines would be hitting the shore for the first time. It would be quite a party. But suppose Travis was right too about Whitehall? To be killed in battle was one thing. To die for no purpose was another entirely.
Sub-Lieutenant Pringle, on the other hand, was not thinking of battle or the shortcomings of this campaign. He could still hardly believe the deliberate cruel
ty of the Captain’s words when he had seen him in his cabin. Pringle had been so sure of his ground, so outraged at the deliberate affront to his position, that he had almost expected Royston-Jones to compliment him on his self
control. Instead, the Captain had gathered force and momentum like a small hurricane, his words stripping away Pringle’s composure like the skin from his bones. He still felt the echoes of the little man’s last words ringing in his’ ears.
`Remember this, Pringle! In war the demands will soon’ outgrow the supplies. Young and junior regular officers’ will be worth their weight in gold. Even this ship will have to take on Reserve officers and untrained ratings as soon as we return to Base, and every professional, no matter how inferior in rank and ability, will have his work cut out to make the simplest routine run smoothly!’ The Captain had paused to run his cold eyes over the sweating officer. `Even you will probably have a command of some sort within a couple of years, i f you are careful ! But I , will not have you behaving is this irresponsible manner, do you hear? You insulted this midshipman and he reacted in the only way he knew at that time. He has lived under strain and in no little danger for some weeks, doing a job for which a much more responsible officer had been selected. I will not tolerate any such behaviour in future !’
Pringle still cursed himself for his own inability to’ justify himself. He had only managed a throaty and servile, `I’m sorry, sir.’
HMS Saracen Page 12
