the litter of food. Bryan Ferguson had been in a continuous torment of seasickness and fear from the very moment Vibart's figure had appeared on that coast road. In Falmouth he had been a clerk working at a local boatyard. Physically he was not a strong man, and now in the swinging lantern's feeble light his face looked as gray as death itself.
His thin body was bruised in many places, both from falling against unfamiliar shipboard objects and not least from the angry canes of the bosun's mates and petty officers as the latter sought to drive the new men into the mysteries of seamanship and sail drill.
Day after day it had continued. Harried and chased -from one part of the ship to the next with neither let-up nor mercy. Quivering with terror Ferguson had dragged his way up the swooping shrouds and out along the yards, until he could see the creaming water leaping below him as if to claw at his very feet. The first time he had clung sobbing to the mast, incapable of either moving out along the yard or even down towards the safety of the deck.
Josling, a bosun's mate, had screamed up at him, `Move out, you bugger, or I'll have the hide off you!'
At that particular moment Ferguson 's tortured mind had almost broken. With each eager thrust of the frigate's stem, and with every passing hour, Ferguson 's home fell further and further astern. And with it went his wife, sinking into the wave-tossed distance like a memory.
Over and over again he had pictured her pale, anxious face as he had last seen her. When the Phalarope had been sighted heading for Falmouth Bay most of the young townsmen had headed for the hills. Ferguson 's wife had been ill for three years, and he had seen her get more frail and delicate, and on that day she had been more than unwell and he had begged to stay with her. But gravely she had insisted.
`You go with the others, Bryan. I'll be all right. And I'm not wanting the press to find you here!'
The nightmare became worse when he considered that if he had stayed with her he would still be safe and able to protect and help her.
Allday saidd quietly, `Here, take some food.' He pushed a plate of dark meat across the boards. `You've not eaten for days, man.'
Ferguson dragged his head from his forearms and stared glassily at the relaxed looking seaman. Unbeknown to Allday, Ferguson had almost jumped from the swaying mainyard rather than face another hour of torture. But Allday had rown inboard along the yard, his feet splayed and balanced, one hand held out towards the gasping Ferguson. `Here, mate! Just follow me an' don't look down.' There had been a quiet force in his. tone, like that of a man who expected to be obeyed. He had added harshly, `Don't give that bugger Josling a chance to beat you. The bastard enjoys making you jump!'
He stared now at the man's dark features, at the scar on his cheek, and at his calm, level eyes. Allday had been accepted immediately by the frigate's seamen, whereas the other newly pressed men were still kept at arm's length, as if on trial, until their merits or shortcomings could be properly measured. Perhaps it was because Allday was already hardened to a life at sea. Or maybe it came from the fact he never showed his bitterness at being pressed, or boasted about his life ashore like some of the others.
Ferguson swallowed hard to bite back the rising nausea. `I can't eat it!' He peered wretchedly at the meat. `It's swill!'
Allday grinned. `You'll get used to it!'
Pochin sneered. `You make me spew! I suppose you used to take your wife up to the 'eadland and go moist- eyed at the sight of a King's ship! I'll bet you used to feel so holy, so almighty proud as the ships sailed safely past!'
Ferguson stared at the man's angry face, mesmerised by his hate.
Pochin glared across the canting deck where the other crowded` seamen had fallen silent at his outburst. `You never had a thought for the poor buggers who manned 'em, nor what they was doin'!' He turned back to Ferguson with sud,den malice. `Well, your precious woman'll be out on the 'eadland now with some other pretty boy, I shouldn't wonder.' He made an obscene gesture. `Let's 'ope she finds the time to be proud of you!'
Ferguson staggered to his feet, his eyes wide with a kind of madness. 'I'll kill you for that!'
He swung his fist, but Allday caught his wrist in mid-air. `Save it!' Allday glared at Pochin's grinning face. `His wife is sick, Pochin! Give him some rest!'
Old Ben Strachan said vaguely, `I 'ad a wife once.' He scratched his shaggy,grey head. `Blessed if I can remember 'er name now!'
Some of the men laughed, and Allday hissed fiercely, `Get a grip, Bryan! You can't beat men like Pochin. He envies you, that's all!'
Ferguson hardly heard the friendly warning in Allday's voice. Pochin's goading tone had opened the misery in his heart with renewed force, so that he could see his wife propped in her bed by the window as clearly as if he had just entered the room. That day, when the press gang had pushed him down the hillside, she would have been sitting there, waiting for his return. Now he was never going back. Would never see her again.
He staggered to his feet and threw the plate of meat down on the deck. 'I can't!' He was screaming. 'I won't!'
A horse-faced fo'c's'leman named Betts jumped to his feet as if shaken from a deep sleep. `Don't jeer at 'im, mates!' He stood swaying below one of the lanterns. `He's 'ad enough for a bit.'
Pochin groaned. `Lord save us!' He rolled his eyes in mock concern.
Betts snarled, `Jesus Christ! What do you have to suffer before you understand? This man is sick with fear for his wife, and others here have equal troubles. Yet all some of you can do is scoff at 'em!'
Allday shifted in his seat. Ferguson 's sudden despair had touched some hidden spring in the men's emotions. Weeks, and in some cases years at sea without ever putting a foot on dry land were beginning to take a cruel toll. But this was dangerous and blind. He held up his hand and said calmly, `Easy, lads. Easy.'
Betts glared down at him,- his salt-reddened eyes only half focusing on Allday's face. `How can you interfere?' His voice was slurred. `We live like animals, on food that was rotten even afore it was put in casks!' He pulled his knife from his belt and drove it into the table. `While those pigs down aft live like kings!' He peered round for support. `Well, ain't I right? That bastard Evans is as sleek as a churchyard rat on what he stole from our food!'
`Well, now. Did I hear my name mentioned?'
The berth deck froze into silence as Evans, the purser, moved into a patch of lamplight.
With his long coat buttoned to his throat and his hair pulled back severely above his narrow face he looked for all the world like a ferret on the attack. He put his head on one side. `Well, I'm waiting!'
Allday watched him narrowly. There was something evil and frightening about the little Welsh purser. All the more so because any one of the men grouped around him could have ended his life with a single blow.
Then Evans' eye fell on the meat beside the table. He
sucked his teeth and asked sadly, `And who did this, then?' No one spoke, and once more the angry roar of the sea and
wind enclosed the staggering berth deck with noise.
Ferguson looked up, his eyes bright and feverish. `I did it.' Evans leaned his narrow shoulders against the massive trunk of the foremast which ran right through both decks and said, ` 'I did it, sir.' '
Ferguson mumbled something and then added, `I am sorry, sir:
Allday said coldly, `It was an accident, Mr. Evans. Just an accident.'
`Food is food.' Evans' Welsh accent became more pronounced as his face became angrier. `I cannot hope to keep you men in good health if you waste such excellent meat, now can I?'
Those grouped around the table stared down at the shapeless hunk of rancid beef as it lay gleaming in a patch of
lamplight.
Evans added sharply, `Now, you, whatever your bloody name is, eat it!' -
Ferguson stared down at the meat, his mind swimming in nausea. The deck was discoloured with water and stained with droppings from the tilting table. There was vomit too, perhaps his own.
Evans said gently, `I am waiting, boyo. One more minute and I'll take you aft. A touch of the cat might teach you some appreciation!'
Ferguson dropped to his knees and picked up the meat. As he lifted it to his mouth Betts pushed forward and tore it from his hands and threw it straight at Evans. `Take it yourself, you bloody devil! Leave him alone!'
