An Eye of the Fleet

On the last Sunday in March, instead of the Anglican service, Captain Hope had read the Articles of War. Drinkwater stood with the other midshipmen as Hope intoned the grim catechism of Admiralty. He felt himself flush, ashamed at his own weakness as Hope read the 29th Article: 'If any person in the Fleet shall commit the unnatural and detestable crime of buggery or sodomy with man or beast he shall be punished with death…'

He bit his lip and with an effort mastered the visceral fear he felt, but he still avoided the eyes of those he knew were staring at him.

After the solemnly oppressive reminder of the Captain's power the hands had been made to witness punishment. In the recent bad weather two men had been persistent offenders. Hope was not a vicious commander and Devaux, with a simple aristocratic faith in being obeyed, never pressed for strict action, infinitely preferring the indolence of inaction. He was content that the bosun's mates kept Cyclops's people at their duty. But these two men had developed a vendetta and neither captain nor first lieutenant could afford to stand for that.

A drum rolled and the marines stamped to attention as a grating was triced up in the main rigging. A man was called out. Before passing sentence Hope had endeavoured to discover the source of the trouble but to no avail. The lower deck kept its own counsel and guarded its own secrets. The man came forward to where two bosun's mates grabbed him and lashed his wrists to the grating. A piece of leather was jammed into his mouth to prevent him from biting through his own tongue. It was Tregembo.

The drum rolled and a third bosun's mate wielded the supple cat o'nine tails and laid on the first dozen. He was relieved for the second and his relief for the third. After a bucket of water had been thrown over the wretched prisoner's body he was cut down.

With difficulty Tregembo staggered back to his place among the sullen hands. The second man was led out. Threddle's powerful back testified to previous punishment but he bore his three dozen as bravely as Tregembo. When he too was cut down he stood unsupported, his eyes glittering with tears and fierce hatred. He looked directly at Drinkwater.

The midshipman had become inured to the brutality of these public floggings; in some curious way the spectacle affected him far less than the sonorous intonation of that 29th Article of War.

Like many of the officers and men he managed to think of something else, to concentrate on the way the row of fire buckets, each with its elaborately painted royal cipher, swung to the motion of the ship. He found the device reassuring, helping him to master himself after the disquiet of that uncompromising sentence. It was thus disarmed that Threddle caught his eye.

Drinkwater felt the occult force of loathing hit him with near physical impact. The midshipman was certain that he was in some strange way connected with the animosity that existed between these two men that had broken out in persistent and disruptive fighting. It was only with difficulty that Drinkwater prevented himself from fainting. One seaman did. It was the handsome young topman who had been Morris's pathic.

Later in the day Drinkwater passed close to Tregembo as the man worked painfully at a splice.

'I am sorry you were flogged, Tregembo,' he said quietly.

The man looked up. Beads of sweat stood out on his brow, evidence of the agony of working with a back lashed to a bloody ruin.

'You don' have to worry, zur,' he replied. Then he added as an afterthought, 'It shouldn't have to come to that…' Drinkwater passed on, musing on the man's last, incomprehensible remark.

Later that night the wind freshened. At 4 a.m. Drinkwater was called to go on watch. Stumbling forward to the companionway he was aware that once more Cyclops was pitching and tossing. 'They'll shorten sail soon,' he muttered to himself struggling into his tarpaulin as he emerged on deck. The night was black and chilly. A patter of spray came aboard, stinging his face. He relieved Beale who gave him a friendly grin.

At a quarter after four the order came to double reef the topsails. Drinkwater went aloft. He thought little of it now, nimbly working his way out to the place of honour at the yardarm. After ten minutes the huge sail was reduced and the men were making their way to the backstays, disappearing into the darkness as they returned to the deck. As he came in from the yardarm and transferred his weight to a backstay a hand gripped his wrist.

'What the hell…?' He nearly fell. Then a face appeared out of the windtorn blackness. It was the good-looking topman from the main top and there was a wild appeal in his eyes.

'Sir! For Christ's sake help me!' Drinkwater, swaying a hundred feet above Cyclops's heaving deck, yet felt revulsion at the man's touch. But even in the gloom he saw the tears in the other's eyes. He tried to withdraw his hand but his precarious situation prevented it.

'I'm not one of them, sir, honest. They make me do it… they force me into it, sir. If I don't they… kick me, sir…'

Drinkwater felt the nausea subside. 'Kick you? What d'ye mean?' he could hardly hear the man now as the wind whipped the shouted confidences away to leeward.

'The bollocks, sir…' he sobbed, 'For Christ's sake help me…'

The grip relaxed. Drinkwater tore himself away and descended to the deck. For the remainder of the watch as dawn lit the east and daylight spread over the sea he pondered the problem. He could see no solution. If he told an officer about Morris would he be believed? And it was a serious allegation. Had he not heard Captain Hope read the 29th Article of War? For the crime of sodomy the punishment was death… it was a serious, a terrible allegation to make against a man and Drinkwater quailed from the possibility of being instrumental in having a man hanged… and Morris was evil, of that he was certain, evil beyond his own perversion, for Morris was allied to the huge physical bulk of Able-Seaman Threddle and what would Threddle not stop at?

Drinkwater remained in an agony of fear for himself and helplessness at his inability to aid the topman. He felt he was failing his first test as an officer… Who could he turn to?

Then he remembered Tregembo's remark. What was it he had said? He dredged the sentence out of the recesses of his memory: 'It shouldn't have to come to that.' To what? What had Tregembo said before his final remark…

'You don't have to worry.' That was it.

Meaning that he, Drinkwater, did not have to worry. But another doubt seized him. He had only expressed regret that the seaman had been flogged for fighting. Then he realised the truth. Tregembo had been flogged for fighting Threddle and had said the midshipman did not have to worry. Tregembo must therefore know something of what had gone on. 'It' should not have to come to Drinkwater himself worrying? Would the lower deck carry out its own rough justice? Had it already passed sentence on and executed Humphries?

Then Drinkwater realised that he had known all along. Threddle's eyes had blamed his flogging on Nathaniel and subconsciously Drinkwater had acknowledged his responsibility for Tregembo's pain.

He resolved that he would consult Tregembo…

It was the second dog watch before he got Tregembo to one side on the pretext of overhauling the log for Mr Blackmore.

'Tregembo,' he began cautiously, 'why did you fight Threddle?' Tregembo was silent for a while. Then he sighed and said, 'Now why would you'm be axing that, zur?'

Drinkwater took a deep breath. 'Because if it was over what I believe it to have been then it touches the midshipmen as well as the lower deck…' He watched Tregembo's puzzled frown smooth out in comprehension.

'I know, zur,' he said quietly and, looking directly at Drinkwater, added 'I saw what they'm did to you in Gib, zur…' It was Tregembo's turn to be embarrassed.

'I kind of took to 'ee, zur,' he flushed, then resumed with a candid simplicity, 'that's why I did fur 'Umphries.'

Drinkwater was shocked. 'You murdered Humphries?'

'E slipped and I 'elped 'im a bit.' Tregembo shrugged. 'Off'n the jibboom, zur. 'E ent the fust,' he said to alleviate Drinkwater's obvious horror. The midshipman absorbed the knowledge slowly. The burden he had borne was doubled, not halved as he had hoped. The respect for the law engendered by his upbringing was suffering a further assault. Tregembo's lawless, smuggling, devil-may-care attitude was a phenomenon new to him. His face betrayed his concern.

'Doan ye worry yerself, Mr Drinkwater. We're used to buggers and their ways. Most ships 'ave 'em but we doan like it when they doan keep it to 'emselves…' He indicated the handsome seaman coiling a rope amidships. He looked up at them. There was appeal and desperation in his eyes, as though he knew the substance of a