“How so?”
“Talks to himself.”
“During watch?”
“Yes. Halifax did it too, but nobody seemed to mind that. Pimples does an impression of Billings—well, I shouldn’t say.”
It still seemed possible to Lenox that the rolled shot had been intended for Billings, then—or, equally plausibly, Mitchell. He was no closer. “You must respect these men, nonetheless,” said Lenox.
“Oh, yes,” said Teddy, more dutifully than earnestly. “I say, before I go could I have one more cup of tea? We don’t get nearly such nice milk, and as for white sugar, I haven’t seen a teaspoonful since I went into the gun room.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
At noon, just before the men received their rations, Martin delivered a short speech to the entire Lucy.
“I have sailed with some of you for ten years,” he said. “Others of you for six or eight. Nearly all of you were in the Indies with me. I take it as a great compliment that you have all chosen to sail with me again on this voyage.
“Nevertheless, it would appear that one of your number, I doubt more than one, is unhappy. This person is a cancer within us, which I plan to excise as surely as Mr. Tradescant would excise a tumor from any of you. Whatever corrupted soul killed Mr. Halifax, whoever rolled shot down the deck of the Lucy—the Lucy, gentlemen, our ship!—when we find him he shall be hanged, and that right quick.
“For the rest of you, I won’t insult you by believing for a moment that you would ever dream of revolting against me. I know that you know it would be akin to slapping our Queen in the face, may God bless her. And the man who wants to do that doesn’t belong on a ship we’ve worked hard to make the finest in Her Majesty’s navy!”
There was a fat moment of silence, and then a slow ripple of applause that with great deliberation mounted and mounted into a full roar of spontaneous approval at the captain’s words. Soon the men were whistling and crying out “Three cheers for the Lucy!”
Then Martin did something ingenious. “There, quiet, thank you,” he said. “I’m glad to see you agree. Now, Mr. Pettegree—please issue a double ration of grog to each man here.”
If appealing to their patriotism or their sense of duty had won them over, this announcement made the sailors almost delirious with happiness, and the applause commenced again, sprinkled with ecstatic shouts and yells.
Martin smiled to himself. “And finally,” he said, “it’s not been a week, but I suppose we should have a game tonight.”
The crowd hushed.
“Seven this evening. Each mess to nominate one chap. Follow the Leader,” he said.
This roar was the most deafening of all. Lenox looked over to Teddy inquisitively but saw that the boy didn’t know what “Follow the Leader” might be either. They would have to wait and see.
Martin, the man of the hour, shook hands with his officers, accepted the measurements they gave him for his log, and went below deck, while all around the main deck long lines formed for rations, the sailors talking excitedly amongst themselves. Pettegree looked red with exertion. The officers themselves seemed happy too, even Mitchell grinning. The ship belonged to them again, it would seem.
He noticed that only Carrow still looked unhappy, unmoved, after witnessing the effect the captain’s speech had had on the sailors. It was a small thing, but Lenox filed it in his mind to ponder later.
Now he sought out Pettegree, who was overseeing the boisterous reception of double grog by each bluejacket. A small cupful of his soul seemed to pour out with each extra ration that was disbursed, and his agonized chatter—“Not so much, that’s easily double, don’t give them triple, man!”—made clear the cause of his turmoil.
Though Lenox had been planning to ask the purser about his inventory of the stores, and whether anything had been missing, he decided to wait. Instead he went below deck and knocked on the captain’s door.
Martin was writing in his log again, and once he had offered Lenox a drink ordered his steward out to begin making him something to eat.
“Is this about the case?”
“It is, but I can’t say that I have anything concrete to tell you.”
Martin threw down his pen. “I don’t know why I asked for food—I’ve no desire to eat.” He sighed. “Well, tell me of your progress.”
Lenox described his various conversations, told the captain of the medallion and the penknife, and began to wonder aloud about the plausibility of each officer as the suspect.
Martin cut him off. “You believe an officer did it, then?”
“I think it most likely.”
“Hellfire.”
“Who would you have suspected among them?’
“That’s not a game I like.”
Lenox waited, silent.
“I suppose I know Lee the least of them all. Mitchell has the hottest temper. But honestly I cannot believe it was either of them. Lee’s record in the navy is unimpeachable, and Mitchell has been a fine lieutenant.”
“If it were a sailor—while the men were asleep in their messes, how easily might one of them have slipped away from his hammock without drawing attention to himself, do you think?”
“I would call it next to impossible.”
“We should speak to the mess captains then, to see if any of their messmates absented themselves for a while without explanation on that first night of the voyage.”
“It’s a good idea—I should have thought of it myself. The difficulty is that men regularly leave their hammocks to attend to their—well, their various bodily functions, or even just for air. It gets very close, stifling at times, where they sleep.”
“You’ll speak to the mess captains? For obvious reasons I would prefer that the officers themselves not do it.”
Reluctantly, Martin nodded. “Very well. Mind you, a sailor hates nothing more than tattling.”
“That might be less of a problem if one of their number doesn’t quite fit in—someone perhaps who is even a suspect. They all liked Halifax, I’ve been told.”
“Yes, true.”
The steward returned with a plate full of sandwiches. At the captain’s prompting Lenox took one. Martin himself took one up and then, having nearly taken a bite, tossed it through an open porthole.
“I keep thinking of that service, for Halifax. He was a fine chap. Would have made a fine captain, if he had a strict first lieutenant to keep the men in line.”
“Have you written to his parents?”
“I’ve tried.” He gestured his helplessness. “Difficult to know what to say until you’ve done your job.”
“My job,” Lenox said.
“Yes.”
He considered this reproach for a moment in silence, then said, “Hopefully it won’t be long, anyhow. Some sort of idea is forming in my mind. I just don’t know what it is yet.”
“Be as quick as you can.”
“Nothing you say can hasten me, Captain. I did like Halifax—you’ll recall, perhaps, that I met him twice.”
“I had forgotten.”
Lenox rose. “Incidentally, what is Follow the Leader?”
Martin smiled, some incipient anger gone. “I suggest you be on deck at half-past six, if you want a seat for the start at seven. You’ll see then. It’s a treat, I can promise you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The sun was still in the sky, though sinking, at around the time Lenox came up on deck. It had been a beautiful day, mild, clear, and warm enough that the gentle breeze had felt welcome upon the skin. Now the sails were slack, the ship all but still, as overhead a calm, whitish blue filled the sky. The constant sound of the water seemed to lessen slightly, and the rock of the ship became gentle.