by Max Hennessy
‘That’s fucked it,’ someone said.
His face pink with shame, Kelly bowed to the furious signals of the figure on the deck wearing three gold stripes and a heavy frown and moved ahead to the ship’s derrick. The wreckage of the accommodation ladder was lowered none too gently to the roof of the pinnace’s cabin and the commander shouted down in a voice that rasped like a file across the corner of an anvil.
‘That ought to trim you up a bit, young feller-me-lad. Ask your commander to return it to us when it’s repaired. And, while you’re at it, I would suggest also that you report to your sub-lieutenant for six of the best for shoving your nose in where it isn’t wanted.’
His eyes down, and silent with self-disgust, Kelly put the boat astern, the foredeck cluttered with the remains of the gangway. There would be a highly dramatic arrival aboard Huguenot, he knew, with reports of what had happened preceding him at full speed. By this time, he was certain that Verschoyle, who’d been several times to the flagship that morning, had been well aware of the conditions and had encouraged him deliberately. But that wouldn’t let him off six of the best with his leave probably stopped for donkey’s years into the bargain. His mind full of the horrors of the next few weeks, he was barely aware of what was happening and, in his desire to get away from the scene of his disgrace, he forgot to look astern.
‘Oh, Christ!’ the stern sheetsman said and, swinging round, with the hull quivering and shaking as the engine turned at full power in his efforts to back away from his crime, he realised he was heading stern-first right across the blue and white bows of the admiral’s barge which was heading at speed for the starboard ladder. For one ghastly second, he caught a glimpse of the shining brass and paintwork and rigidly-held boathooks covered with tiddly cordwork, and of the tall figure of the admiral just stepping from the cabin to climb aboard his ship as his boat came alongside. The look of fury he received, the startled stare of the sailors, and beyond them Verschoyle’s gleeful grin, would remain, he felt certain, in his mind until his last breath.
A bluejacket leapt to the bow of the barge with a heavy cork and coir fender, while another made a despairing jab with one of the magnificent boathooks, missed and scored a deep groove all the way down the side of the pinnace; then the barge banged hard into the beam of the pinnace with a thump like the crack of doom. The fender had been dropped into place just in time, but the speed of the barge as it headed in at a brisk canter across the waves to the flagship burst it like a bomb. Kelly saw the admiral stagger off-balance and sit down heavily, then he was being showered with ground cork that scattered all over the pinnace, the barge, and the whole surface of the sea like confetti at a wedding.
Both boats had come to a standstill, grinding against each other in the lop of the sea, the spray leaping up between them like fountains gone mad. A livid face lifted above the canopy, eyebrows working, gold-encrusted cap lopsided over one eye, and a furious voice bellowed out.
‘Report to my cabin at once!’
Sick with shame, humiliation and dread, convinced that his naval career had come to an end even before it had properly started, Kelly backed off to allow the admiral’s barge to proceed. The admiral, his beak of a nose in the air, his face dark with anger, sailed past and Kelly saw him stamping up the steps of the newly-replaced starboard ladder to the deck. The twitter of bosun’s pipes sounded like the moaning of banshees.
For a long time not one of the bobbing boats moved. It seemed as if they were all petrified with horror.
‘Made a right cock of that one, sir,’ the bowman observed quietly as Kelly, red-faced and miserable, went ahead again. Verschoyle appeared alongside, grinning.
‘I think you’ve just blighted your career for ever, old boy,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re good at market gardening because after today I suspect that’s what you’ll end up doing.’
There were grins from Verschoyle’s crew and, keeping his eyes ahead, trying hard not to look anyone in the face, Kelly was aware of sailors lining the decks of the flagship to stare down at him, awestruck by what had happened, and the shocked looks of the men on the boom. As they edged into place, a rope was thrown and Kelly stepped aboard.
‘Take it easy, youngster,’ a pink-faced lieutenant advised quietly as he passed. ‘The old boy’s got a kind heart even if he’s also got a very short fuse.’
Trying to pluck up courage, Kelly glanced miserably behind him, quite certain that he’d forgotten to see the picket boat moored properly so that at that moment it was more than likely drifting astern, probably even unmanned. The rain was beginning to come down in sheets now, so that oilskins had begun to appear to add to the general gloom. In a short career full of disaster, nothing like this had ever happened to Kelly Maguire and he found himself looking forward to returning home to a future containing nothing more dramatic than falling regularly off the horses his mother provided for him to ride. What lay ahead seemed as empty as the inside of a drum, and the dreams he’d nurtured of becoming another Nelson disappeared in a puff of sea mist as he saw himself with all his bags and baggage being put firmly ashore at Portsmouth without even a by-your-leave or a word of thanks for past services.
He was still wondering what he could do with his life and whether he really ought to go in for market gardening or put an end to it quickly with a rifle borrowed from a Marine, when he heard shouts and sounds of alarm. A seaman on the boom had lost his balance and, even in his misery, Kelly became aware of the sudden appearance of disaster. The sailor, a squarely-built youngster with red hair like himself, had made a wild grab at the life line, missed and was falling with whirling arms and legs. His head hit the boom and, as he splashed into the grey sea, the man nearest the lifebelt stood gaping as if he’d been bereft of reason. Below, the boats trying to cast off were only getting in each other’s way as they endeavoured to manoeuvre, and the young seaman, swept astern on the tide, seemed to have been overlooked in the stern business of boat handling difficulties.
Snatching at his jacket and cap, Kelly ran for the side. In his misery, the disaster seemed to be something that had arrived fortuitously to distract all the staring eyes that had been resting on him. He took the rail at a jump and the cold and shock of hitting the water took his breath away. As he came to the surface, spluttering and gasping, he saw a pair of arms flailing wildly nearby in an attempt to keep afloat.
The boats, all adrift at the same time, were lying in a confusion of different angles and the drowning man was being carried past them at speed. Kelly set off after him in a strong, awkward stroke. As he reached him, the sailor was going down for the last time, still frantically beating with his arms at the sea, and, grabbing him by his hair as he disappeared, Kelly hoisted him up, treading water, to be immediately grasped round the neck as the sailor panicked.
‘Let go, you ass!’ The frightened yelp came out like the hiccup of a pup. ‘You’ll drown me as well!’
A flailing fist caught him on the nose, making him see stars and bringing tears to his eyes, then he felt himself being dragged down once more. Spitting out sea water and drawing his arm back, he thumped the sailor at the side of the head and felt his grasp loosen.
‘Now do as I tell you,’ he shouted furiously above the drenching crash of the waves which, now that he was among them, sounded twice as loud as they had from the picket boat. ‘Just lie still.’
Manoeuvring the sailor on to his back, he grabbed him by the shoulders and began to kick his way back to the side of the flagship. But the sailor was bigger than Kelly was, and he wasn’t sure he was going to make it because most of the time his head was under water and he was convinced they were going to drown together.
Swallowing another mouthful of water that made him choke and cough, he had just decided that the picket boats, which a moment before, had seemed to be in the area in dozens, were deliberately letting him sink because of his lack of value to the Navy, when a lifebelt dropped
on his head, half-stunning him. With one hand he grabbed at it, still hanging on to the sailor’s oilskin collar with the other. Then he heard the thump of an engine and a great fist covered with tattoos reached down to grab him.
Dragged into a boat, more dead than alive, he sprawled on the bottom boards, and a second later the man he’d saved landed on top of him. A booted foot stood on his fingers and someone said ‘It’s that little bastard who knocked the admiral for six,’ and then he remembered why he was there and pretended to be unconscious so that he wouldn’t have to sit up and face people.
‘I think the little bugger’s dead,’ a gruff voice observed, and an irritable snarl gave a testy reply. ‘Then give him artificial respiration, man, and look slippy.’
Heavy hands landed on Kelly’s ribs so that he felt every bit of breath in his body was being squeezed out.
‘Let go, please,’ he moaned, wriggling away, the only thought in his mind the feeling that the ordeal of meeting the admiral was likely to be infinitely worse if he was going to have to meet him wet through. There were a few curious stares as he struggled to a sitting position, but no one said anything and, as the boat bumped against the gangway, someone hoisted him upright.
He went up the steps with dragging feet and, watching the man he’d saved being carried below, he decided he’d better see if he was still alive.
In the sick bay, he found the sailor sitting on a bench, looking green, a thickset youngster with a face like a potato.
‘Ordinary Seaman Rumbelo, sir,’ he mumbled between heaves of nausea. ‘You saved my life.’
‘It was nothing,’ Kelly said.
‘It wasn’t nothing to me, sir. I can’t swim, so it was a hell of a lot.’
Still soaked and shivering, Kelly became aware of an officer standing alongside him.
‘Admiral says you’re to report to him at once,’ he was told. ‘And I think he means “at once.”’ The officer grinned. ‘But, take it easy, he’s got a soft spot for the young. Greatgrandfather was Archbishop of Canterbury or something and he believes in suffer little children.’
Stumbling below, aware of his shoes squelching a long trail of dark drips along the corridor to ruin the carpet with salt water, Kelly heard a harsh, resonant voice shout.
‘No further, boy! You’re dribbling all over my furnishings!’
Miserably, his face peaked with anxiety and blue with cold, Kelly stiffened to attention.
‘Name?’
‘Maguire, sir.’
‘There can’t be so many people with such a bloody silly name!’ The admiral was stooping to peer at him under thick eyebrows. ‘You Teddy Maguire’s boy?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You’re obviously as stupid as he was. Do you realise you smashed up my barge and sent me on my backside, boy? And what was all that damned flotsam you were carrying round on your bows?’
Kelly gulped. ‘It was the starboard ladder, sir.’
‘Whose starboard ladder?’
‘Yours, sir.’
The admiral stared. ‘Was it, by God? How did it come to be there?’
‘I’m afraid I smashed it, sir. I was taking it back to Huguenot to be repaired. That’s why I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was a bit upset.’
As he stiffened for the monumental ticking off he guessed was coming, Kelly became aware of the admiral straightening up. He was a very tall, broad-shouldered man, his face hidden by a heavy beard, and he seemed to be smothered in gold braid and medal ribbons. The deep voice boomed again at Kelly.
‘They tell me you’ve just been in the water. Saved a man’s life while everybody else was flapping around like wet hens wondering what to do.’
‘It was nothing, sir.’
The admiral’s voice rose. ‘Of course it wasn’t “nothing,” you little prig! If you do something brave, admit it like a man. All this bloody nonsense about modesty! Lot of rubbish! Stiff upper lip, straight back, clear eye, honour to the flag! Tripe! And onions! Did a bit of life saving meself once.’ The tone changed abruptly. ‘Where the devil were you? They were looking all over the ship for you.’
Kelly drew a deep breath, ‘I was in the sick bay, sir. I went to see if the man I fished out was all right.’
The admiral peered at him with narrowed eyes. ‘Well, that’s no bad thing, he admitted. ‘Shows the right attitude. After all if we didn’t have sailors we shouldn’t have officers, should we, and if we didn’t have officers we shouldn’t have admirals – and then where would I be? You’re Irish, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Got a bit of Irish blood meself, I’ve heard. The Irish usually manage to bring a breath of fresh air into stuffy corners.’
There was a long silence while Kelly waited, still dripping water in a pool at his feet. The admiral stared at it petulantly then he turned, his hands behind his back, and spoke over his shoulder. ‘If you do something like this, Mr Maguire, every time you’re up for a reprimand by a senior officer, you should have no difficulty whatsoever in ending up as an admiral.’
Suddenly aware of a change of tone and atmosphere, Kelly’s eyes lifted and he was conscious that the rock-hard sternness of the admiral’s face had softened a little.
‘You, Mr Maguire,’ he was saying, ‘are wet through, and I have a bruised behind because you cut across my bows – something you should never do with a feller’s bows, especially if he’s an admiral and you’re only a snotty. For knocking your admiral on his backside and reducing his flagship to matchwood, I’m inclined to think you must be a bloody fool. But it’s also quite clear that you’re a quick-thinking bloody fool and also even a brave bloody fool. I shall therefore recommend you for the Royal Humane Society’s medal for saying life at sea. But–’ the heavy voice deepened – ‘so that you shall not completely undermine the discipline of the fleet, you will return to your ship and request the sub-lieutenant in charge of the gunroom to give you six of the best with a dirk scabbard for breaking my flagship and discommoding me. And now, steward, you’d better give him a sherry to warm him up. He looks frozen. And then, for God’s sake get rid of him before he completely ruins my carpet.’
Three
‘I say, Kelly! How ripping! A medal before you’re even a sub-lieutenant!
Kelly shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. ‘It’s only a tidgy one,’ he said. ‘Nobody in Huguenot seems very impressed.’
If the reaction of his own messmates in the gunroom had varied from the frank incredulity of Kimister to the disgusted cynicism of Verschoyle, however, there was no doubting the genuine enthusiasm of Charlotte Upfold. Her eyes shone and her excitement was intense. Even her elder sister, Mabel, absorbed as she was with parties, hair styles, dresses and the attentions of the young Guards subalterns who were forever on the doorstep, found time to congratulate him.
‘Tell me again!’ Charley said, bouncing up and down on the settee in her eagerness. ‘Tell me what you did!’
Kelly grinned. ‘I knocked the admiral on his backside.’
‘I say!’ Charley’s large blue eyes opened wide. ‘What did they do to you?’
‘Ordered me six of the best, watch and watch about until both the boat and the ladder were repaired, and stopped my shore leave for seven years. But the surgeon persuaded the captain to cut the punishment, and the seven years’ stoppage came to an end because they found I was using it to dodge compulsory cross-country runs ashore.’
Charley drew the deep satisfied breath of an everlasting admirer. ‘It was jolly brave of you,’ she said. ‘I think it’s absolutely spiffing. When will you be able to wear it?’
‘You don’t wear medals. They clank too much and put the admiral off. You wear a bit of ribbon. You ought to know that.’
‘I thought it might be different in the Navy. All our lot are Army. Can I sew it on for you?’
‘I didn’t know you could sew.’
Charley blushed, ‘Well, I can’t. My stitches look as though they were intended for a horse blanket. But I’d be very careful.’ She looked daring, ‘I think we ought to wet its head, don’t you?’
‘What with?’
‘We could have a go at the sherry wine.’
‘What’ll your father say?’
‘He’s with mother at the theatre. But if he knew I think he’d agree.’
Kelly didn’t argue. While the sherry at Balmero House, the home of the Maguires, was always the cheapest possible brand, it was well known that General Upfold kept a good cellar. It was proving profitable being at Greenwich for his examinations, because he was often hungry and had to meet his mess bills and all his expenses out of a mere pittance. Only the occasional postal orders from elderly aunts and the generosity of an Indian prince who was on the same course and could always be openly and unashamedly wangled into providing a dinner ashore made a break in the habit of constant retrenchment, and it was useful to have the Upfolds’ town house at 17, Bessborough Terrace as a pied-à-terre.
Charley poured out two glasses and offered him one. ‘I think it’s absolutely terrific,’ she said. ‘I shall tell all my friends about it.’
‘It’s only a teeny little thing really,’ Kelly insisted. ‘And in any case I got six of the best afterwards. They call me Six-of-the-Best Maguire now. I’m jolly lucky really, ain’t I? If that chap Rumbelo hadn’t decided to use that moment to fall in the sea, all I’d have got would have been a reprimand. As it happened, I didn’t really get a reprimand and I did get a medal.’
Charley gazed at him with shining eyes. From the first day she could remember she had adored Kelly. Notwithstanding his red hair and blunt homely features, to Charley he had always been a Burne-Jones knight in shining armour and she’d never had much difficulty understanding the appeal of people like Sir Galahad and other leftovers from Victorian emotionalism. Yet there was no sentiment about her regard. It was factual, straightforward and no-nonsense. She could think of no better future than to grow into an adult and marry him.
