“What’s them?”
“A summary of crimes committed aboard Her Majesty’s ships—and their punishments. It’s the custom to read them to the defaulter before the death sentence is carried out.”
Float’s face was as white as a sheet now. “Sod you,” he said again through clenched teeth. “You won’t do it!”
Halfhyde didn’t argue further. He moved from the cabin doorway and the seamen came in. Their faces were set, as white as Float’s. Float looked at them in mounting fear: they, at any rate, looked convinced. Looked as if they didn’t like what they were going to have to see. Float shook, had to be dragged to his feet. His unshaven cheeks were a dirty grey now, rather than white. He was taken up on deck, and the procession made its way for’ard. Float hung back at the foremast shrouds. He looked up; it was a long, long way to the royal yard. A long drop.
“Climb,” Halfhyde said, “or you’ll be flogged up. With a cat o’nine tails, Float. I shall send for it if necessary.”
Float gave a whimper and climbed. He was shaking so badly that he had to use the lubber’s hole rather than scale the futtock shrouds to the foretop. There was a formal grimness about Halfhyde that was terrifying, and belief was fast settling into Float’s mind. He clung on, stuck fast, feeling faint.
“Climb,” Halfhyde said behind him.
Float climbed on again. He was halted at the heel of the royal mast, and the noose was placed about his neck; he felt the bulk of the hangman’s knot as it fell against his chest.
“Climb,” Halfhyde said grimly. “Not far now, Float.”
Float reached the royal yard and clung desperately to the narrow mast.
“Out along the yard to starboard.”
Float whimpered and looked down. He met Halfhyde’s eye, saw the men below him. Tears streamed down his face. He said, “God, you bloody mean it! You bloody mean it, don’t you!” He clung to the mast’s safety, grovelling now. “Christ, take me down, I’ll tell you what I know, just take me down!”
GRAVES LOOKED at Halfhyde in some awe; the face was still formidable. Graves asked, “Tell me, Halfhyde: would you have done it?”
Halfhyde laughed. “Not unless I’d wished for a court-martial, to which even a half-pay officer is still liable! That’s the truth of it—now. Up to the time he broke, I meant it. I had to mean it in order to convince.” He shrugged. “If it had come to the point…I wonder!”
“I think you may have been in danger of convincing yourself and could not have drawn back in time.” Graves was himself in a sweat of relief; as Master, he had been in some danger himself and wondered now if he would have stopped the terrible charade in time by a shout aloft. He mopped at his face. “However, it appears to have worked, I gather. Where’s the landing place to be?”
Halfhyde said, “A look at the chart, sir, if you please.”
“Of course. Was I right?”
“Not entirely, sir. Cantlow’s bound for Queensland, but not as far north as the Gemini Channel.” Halfhyde smiled as he followed Graves to the chart-room. “As it is, we have the landfall very precisely now.”
BULLOCK CAME out of both his bunk and his cabin at the rate of knots. The scream had been desperate, terrified. It was no alarm resulting from an encounter with a ship’s rat, a tailed and four-footed one…Bullock was in time to see the passenger running from the girl’s cabin, his clothing awry. At the same time McRafferty came down the ladder from the poop, his face furious in the light of the lantern coming from the open saloon door.
“What’s all this, Mr Bullock?” Then McRafferty saw Jesson. Nothing more needed to be said. The clothing told its own story. “Go to my daughter, Mr Bullock, see that she’s cared for. I’ll be in directly.”
“Sir, I—”
“Do as you’re told, Mr Bullock, and don’t delay. I shall see to this man.”
Bullock pushed past. McRafferty and the passenger faced each other. Both were breathing heavily. McRafferty said, “You will stay where you are, and wait.” He turned towards his cabin but was halted by Jesson’s harsh voice.
“She wanted it, you fool. You can’t keep a young girl in purdah like the—”
“Shut your mouth!” McRafferty’s face suffused with blood, and he took a pace forward. “You—scum! You filthy scum, to say a thing like that.” Once again he turned away for his cabin, moving fast. Jesson followed, a little unsteady on his feet, banging into the alleyway bulkheads on either side as he went. As he reached the Master’s cabin door, he had his revolver in his hand. Hearing his entry, McRafferty swung round, bringing something from his safe: his own revolver, as carried by all shipmasters at sea for the ultimate preservation of discipline and authority. He saw the revolver in Jesson’s hand and fired on the instant, taking the passenger before he could react. The bullet smacked into the heavy metal of the revolver, tearing it from Jesson’s hand. Jesson stared at pouring blood, then looked up at McRafferty. “All right,” he said softly. “You’ve asked for it. Now you’re going to get it.”
He advanced into the cabin, disregarding the gun in the Captain’s hand. McRafferty took aim. At that moment Bullock came into the cabin, took it all in, and grabbed Jesson round the body, pinioning his arms. He spoke to McRafferty. “It’s all right. She’s fine. Nothing happened.” He lurched about as Jesson struggled in his arms. “She got the best of it. Let’s just leave it be. There’s been enough men lost for one reason or another.”
McRafferty stared back at Bullock and Jesson. In a tired voice he said, “All right, Mr Bullock.” He laid the revolver aside, then walked up to Jesson. Lifting a fist, he hit with all his strength at Jesson’s jaw. The head sagged and blood ran down the face. Breathing hard, McRafferty
