He smiled unexpectedly, one of his dazzling open smiles.
‘Please drink,’ he said. Everybody did, gratefully. ‘As to the people,’ Swift said suddenly, with a new, harsh note, ‘they are, of course, the scum of the earth. They are blasted, bastard, buggering scum.’
Lieutenant Hall, taken off guard, choked on his fine wine. There was complete silence except for his coughing. His face blazed during the long pause. At last he caught his breath and mumbled apologies, which were waved away.
‘The scum of Portsmouth, of Plymouth, of God knows where else. Nay, the scum of the deepest countryside ratholes, for there are damn few seamen among them. They are gutter scrapings, gentlemen, and they must serve us. In short, they must be raised from the level of animals to be fit to work this ship. We have a fine boatswain, as you know, with sturdy mates. He and they know their men, and they know their orders. Rope’s ends or rattan canes, depending on the personal preference of each, but they have been told to start each and every tar who moves slower than his fastest. No man will walk upon this ship, no man will shamble or play the calf. Each order will be offered in a voice of brass, and carried out like thunder and lightning. Mr Allgood has that clear. His mates have that clear. Let me be sure that my officers and gentlemen have it clear in their turn.’
No one moved. Swift’s face was flushed, his pale eyes strangely bright. His great bony nose moved in the air like a sickle.
‘As to more formal punishments,’ he went on, ‘they will be made full use of. Every punishment allowed by the Articles of War, and by usage, will play its part in raising our people from their present disgraceful level. Each punishment will be logged, but none will be shirked. He who transgresses shall be brought to book. He who deserves the lash shall be lashed till the bones of his back are bare and the breath shrieks in his lungs. Do I make myself clear? Are there questions? Anything?’
His voice had risen, but at the last it fell to a quiet urbanity. No man spoke, but William wished he could have proposed a toast to his uncle. The blood raced through his veins, he was enriched, renewed.
And the method! Revealed this time was why Lieutenant Hall had been asked to remain. He had heard Captain Swift’s bitterness at the scum he had as crew; he had heard the determination to raise them to a degree of discipline and competence; he had heard the officers’ silent assent at both diagnosis and proposed cure. If anything went wrong, if even a superhuman commander like his Uncle Daniel met with troubles too vague to be defined, there could never be any doubt but that he knew his men, and he knew his officers, and he had taken the only course possible with their full knowledge and consent. It was masterly.
Captain Swift stood up, as did the whole company. ‘Lieutenant Hagan, I will address the people after breakfast tomorrow. Half an hour after that we sail. Pass the necessary orders, if you please. And now I must beg your pardons, I have much to address myself to. Lieutenant Higgins, would you be so good as to convey Lieutenant Hall to his launch?’
He bowed briefly at the young man, who was red and rather shaken.
‘It has been a pleasure, Lieutenant,’ he said. ‘I wish you a pleasant sail to Portsmouth. My compliments to your uncle.’
When the others had left the cabin, William, who had remained at a sign, was invited to sit. Swift reached for the decanter and poured them each a full glass.
‘Well,’ he said, almost gaily. ‘Looking forward to it, my boy? This time tomorrow and we will be well down Channel, God willing. To sea at last. It’s been a damn long time.’
‘Indeed I am, sir,’ said William. ‘In fact I cannot say how anxious I am to see some action, of any sort, the hotter the better. I have high hopes that once we are at sea—’
Swift raised a hand, and William fell silent. His uncle turned the pale eyes full on him, and stared sombrely into his.
‘I will not beat about the bush, William,’ he said queerly. ‘I have a task to put to you. It is a secret one, perhaps a dangerous. I think you can well undertake it.’
A flush of pleasure rose in William’s cheek, much against his wishes.
‘We have a long voyage ahead of us, my boy, and I fear a very hard one. The people as I said are all damned scum, and the officers—’ He stopped, took a mouthful of wine and swilled it around his mouth. ‘Nay, enough to say this – I trust no one on this ship, my boy, except you and I. One flesh, one blood; and perhaps one brain…
‘The captain on a ship of war, William, is in a position of great power – and great liability. I can see everything, do anything, in a manner more befitting God than a mere mortal. But in another way I am blind.’
William took his meaning. As captain, Uncle Daniel must live in isolation. Splendid, true, but almost complete.
‘Therefore, my boy, hear this. I want you to be my eyes and ears. Among the people, among the young gentlemen, among the officers. You must be secret and you must trust no one. Except me. Do you understand me? Will you agree?’
William felt dizzy with pride. His voice trembled as he gave his assent. The honour was a dazzling one. My God, if only he could tell Jack Evans and the others! But he couldn’t, and in a way that made it even better. True trust, that – to be the captain’s eyes and ears, and never to be suspected.
Swift smiled at him, a queerly crooked smile.
‘Thank you, my boy,’ he said. ‘My sister’s child. I knew I could count on you.’
It was a rare moment of emotion. William left the cabin in a glow of happiness. A pity, he reflected, that the world could not see Swift as he had seen him. Surely a misunderstood man. Strict he might be. But for the common good, only for the common good.
On deck the pile of gear unloaded from the launch was rapidly dwindling as it was transferred and stowed. One last item was being hauled on board, and it must have been an unusual one, judging by the string of seamen who crowded the rail to watch.
He strained his eyes in the gathering gloom. Slowly a small, odd-shaped object appeared above the line of heads at the ship’s side. A ragged cheer went up, and the seamen leaned outwards, trying to catch at something that rose steadily on the tackle.
The odd-shaped object was a bagpipe. As he gaped, an arm came into view below it, holding it on high. Below the arm, as the men on the tackle swayed up again, a pale, thin face. Then an emaciated body, wrapped in a brown cloak or blanket, clinging to the falls with its other arm.
Another cheer, and the body was seized and hauled over the bulwarks. An order from the boatswain, and it dropped gently to the deck.
The blind piper put out his arms and took a step forward. The dark sockets of his eyes seemed to range over all; the deck, the masts, the men.
William Bentley shuddered.
Seven
Rumour travels fast on a ship, and in any case the visit by the launch, the arrival of fresh vegetables and the blind musician, left little room for doubt. The wind was in the east and blowing fresh and steady, Captain Swift had received his orders, the tension in the air could almost be smelt. On any other ship, as was the custom, they might even have been paid, to clinch the matter. With Swift, though, no man expected that.
As darkness fell many eyes were turned towards the glimmering lights of Portsmouth, that could be seen perhaps for the last time.
The last time for months at the very least. The last time for years more than likely. The last time – the very last time – quite possibly. A sombre, quiet mood gripped the ship. Not one man who did not well know the city or another seaport like it. A place of warmth and liquor and friendly doxies who would ease you of ills, miseries, and money.
Not many of them had been ashore in the time that they had lain at anchor within sight. Only a few trusted men, like Bentley’s recruiting party, and discreetly guarded by armed midshipmen or officers. But the very presence of the port and all it represented had a powerful effect on their mood now that they were to lose it. At least it could still be seen, its lights at any rate. Tomorrow it would be gone. It was a bleak time.