apprehensively at his officer.
'Ah, Simpkins,' Barnard drawled. 'Mr. Hoare here is from the port admiral. He has some questions to ask you. Answer them, and truthfully, mind. Now, sir, I'll be about my own affairs, if you please. We sail tomorrow morning, on the flood.'
Before Barnard could turn away, Hoare recalled him. He did not care for the other's attitude toward his visitor-or, for that matter, his top-lofty way towards his shipmates. He would give him a taste of his own medicine.
'Be so kind as to clear the cockpit of its present occupants and have the others you named assemble outside it-outside, mind. If I need to question Simpkins' men, I will have him muster them. Thank you; that will be all for now.'
Now it was Hoare who turned away dismissively. He could almost smell Barnard fuming at being ordered about by this whispering admiral's poppet and hugged himself in secret glee. He knew he was being unfair to a harried fellow officer, but he could not help envying the man. With his ship, Barnard was preparing to go in harm's way, and perhaps fame's way with it, while he, Bartholomew Hoare, had to hang about ashore, mutely hauling smelly corpses about. It was not fair.
'Yes, sir?' Simpkins was waiting. He looked much afraid.
'You cox the leave boat, I'm told.'
'Aye, sir, I did, but we're disbanded now; preparin' fer sea, ye know. All shore leave stopped, all hands aboard.'
'Of course. And you row eight oars?'
'Aye, sir.'
'How do you handle them while you're ashore?'
'Handle 'em, sir?' Simpkins asked. 'Beggin' yer parding, sir, but I don't handle 'em at all. I don't get yer drift.'
'Which men do you keep within sight, and which ones do you let off now and then for-shall we say-a spot of refreshment?' Hoare was sure he knew the answer, but the question must be asked.
'In this ship, sir? Nary a man gets further away from the boat than to ease 'imself in case of need. Never. There's them as 'ud take advantage of me like an' drink 'emselves pukin' before I could wink. Or even run. An' if I lost one of me crew… oh my God, sir, not in this ship.'
'Then your men were within eyesight at all times whenever you had them in charge ashore?'
'Aye, sir. Bless my soul, yes.' Simpkins could not have looked more sincere.
He was scared green of his first lieutenant, Hoare thought, and none of his oarsmen would have had the wherewithal to bribe him.
'An' me, too, sir,' Simpkins added hastily before Hoare could ask him. 'I was always in their sight, I mean. Oh my God yes, sir.'
'Very good, Simpkins. Thank you. Now show me to the cockpit, if you please.'
Simpkins started as if no officer had ever said 'please' to him before, but took Hoare below to the orlop, where he left him at the foot of a ladder. Before the low entrance to Severn's cockpit several men, including one in the scarlet and gold of a marine officer, loitered. The news was out, then.
'Thank you for waiting, gentlemen,' Hoare whispered. Without preamble, he took out the peculiar purse.
'Do any of you recognize this?'
'It's the master's, sir,' said one of the midshipmen. 'It held a bull's bollocks. He was used to say that what was in it now meant just as much to him as those bollocks meant to the bull that once owned it.'
'Mr. Barnard has told me that all of you were ashore in the last few days, either on ship's business or your own. I wish to speak with each of you privately.'
A portly, blotched, soft-looking man spoke up. 'Perhaps my shipmates would let me precede them, sir, so that I may return to my duties.'
'You would be Mr. Gamage?' Hoare asked.
'Ernest Gamage, sir, at your service.'
'Very good, Mr. Gamage. After you, if you please.' Hoare ushered him into the cockpit.
Hoare's own first quarters at sea had been crannies like this-sometimes smaller, sometimes larger, but always fetid, always cluttered, always dark. Four narrow, shuttered berths and as many hammocks crowded the space. Some of the occupants' sea chests served as seats, others as a table. In action, Hoare knew, the latter would be cleared for Grimes the surgeon and the loblolly boys who would hold down the patients and cart away the lopped-off limbs and their former owners. Now the makeshift table was littered with the surgeon's tools-probes, retractors, saws, a peculiar object that resembled a thumbscrew but Hoare knew was a trephine, a few scalpels. A compact chest sat empty on one corner. Apparently Mr. Grimes had been interrupted in a last-minute inventory of his equipment.
Hoare shoved the instruments to one side. They were filthy, unsightly, and he did not want them under his eye. He needed no distractions now; once again he was-figuratively speaking-at sea. Once again he wished he had withstood the call of curiosity last night and left Dr. Dunworthy in the dark to shout his lungs out.
'I understand, sir,' he whispered, 'that you were ashore lately and that you returned aboard only last night. Pray tell me where you went, whom you saw, and what you did while there.'
According to Mr. Gamage, his run ashore had been humdrum. He had arranged to have a supply of slops put aboard Severn so he could replace crew's clothing that might have worn beyond repair or simply gone adrift. For selling in the wardroom he had arranged for a small supply of better-grade tobacco, some soft soap, and some Bohea tea.
On his first night Gamage had made a fourth at whist in the home of a reputable ship's chandler. He had dossed down in a corner of his host's parlor. His second day had been much the same as the first.
'And the Saturday night?'
Mr. Gamage's glance strayed into the dim corners of the cockpit.
'I entertained myself in a private manner, sir.'
Hoare pressed him.
'If 'twas your last night ashore, sir, what would you have done?' The purser winked broadly. 'Need I said more to a fellow officer?'
Obviously Mr. Gamage had enjoyed a last orgy of a dignified sort at some such establishment as the One More Round-one that served all sexual tastes and hence would be favored by the naval establishment's older members. Given his name, Hoare was sensitive to matters of sexual impropriety, so he let the matter pass.
Gamage was quite sure that it was his first night ashore that he had encountered Mr. Blenkiron and Mr. Fallowes. All hands had been more than half seas over. No, Mr. Gamage had not acknowledged the young gentlemen; they were mere children, after all, and he was happy to leave them to their own filth.
This interested Hoare, and he demanded details. He sensed that the purser merely wanted the chance to tattle.
'I cannot feel that their-er-behavior in-ah-private matters is in keeping with the traditions of the service,' Mr. Gamage said.
'Kindly be more specific, sir,' Hoare whispered.
'I refer to the sin of Onan, sir. And-worse-to that other abomination, the one mentioned in the Articles of War.'
Hoare suspected that Mr. Gamage might be displeased less by the amatory activities of Severn's mids as by his own nonparticipation in them. He was about to dismiss the purser when a further question came to mind. It might be useful; heaven knew nothing else seemed to be.
'What sort of a man was Mr. Tregallen?' he asked.
Mr. Gamage hesitated.
'A good seaman, sir-none better. As good a navigator as our captain; in fact, he was the officer who taught our young gentlemen, and a hard taskmaster he was, I heard them say. A prudent sailor, too, he was, generally ready to take in sail before the other officers thought it needful. Or so I heard. Self-educated I'm sure, for I know he sailed before the mast in the seventies.'
'And as a man?'
Again the purser hesitated.
