It wasn’t unexpected. After all, he’d been commanding a ship and crew in the most difficult and dispiriting conditions, and as the summer wore on the weather got even hotter, so keeping morale up among his young sailors must have been difficult.
With the daily grind being just that – a relentless and tedious round of mostly domestic drudgery – it was easy to forget the other spectre which still hung over the Amethyst: the fresh memories, there to stumble upon every time any of us passed over the quarterdeck – of the blood that had been shed and the lives that had been lost – of the friends we would never see again.
In the meantime, the game of what the captain had called ‘cat and mouse’ with the garrison commander, Kang, was still showing no signs of being resolved. I didn’t know which was which – who was the cat and who was the rodent? I hoped we weren’t the latter – but it was obvious that the repeated to-ings and fro-ings, to attend yet more lengthy and up to now largely pointless-sounding meetings, were beginning to try the captain’s patience to the utmost.
Either that, or he was doing what Jack had predicted we all might do before long, if we were stuck here much longer, and already ‘losing his marbles’. I wasn’t sure quite what that meant – couldn’t even begin to guess at it – but, judging by Jack’s expression when he’d said it, I suspected it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.
Perhaps Captain Kerans had already lost them. Whenever it was warm and dry (an extremely rare and welcome combination) I had lately taken to returning to one of my old favourite high places – the glass-topped magnetic compass and gyro up on the bridge, which had miraculously survived the shelling unscathed. It was here, one afternoon a couple of days later, that I was to witness first hand evidence that Captain Kerans’ ‘marbles’ might have already deserted him.
‘I need a detail of men mustered to deal with the blackout,’ he was telling Frank.
It was mid-July now, unbelievably. We’d been stuck here a whole two and a half months.
‘The blackout?’ Frank answered. He looked confused.
‘Yes, it’s not nearly good enough. Lights showing everywhere. We never seem sufficiently darkened at night. Something needs to be done about it.’
Petty Officer Frank adjusted his face into a configuration I recognised. One that said, ‘Really, sir? You’re sure, sir?’ but without letting on.
‘The blackout, sir,’ he said. ‘Something needs to be done?’ Captain Kerans flapped a hand. ‘Yes, it does. We need more blackout tarpaulins made. Particularly aft. Stern to amidships. Have a group of men run some up. Lots of them.’
Frank’s expression must have registered with Captain Kerans as well. Even with the oil, the power was still off by dusk. The nights couldn’t be darker. He cleared his throat. ‘We need to keep the men busy, Frank. All this heat and lassitude is doing morale no good at all.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Frank. ‘Excellent idea for the morale, sir.’ He bent his head to make a note of the instruction in his book.
‘And we need to reduce topweight. The ship’s very unstable. We need to strip down anything we can from the decks, particularly the upper decks – including removing some of the masts.’ He stopped then, perhaps noticing Frank’s look of increasing consternation. ‘They can be stored below,’ he added. ‘Again, it’s all work that will keep the men busy, Frank – stop them thinking quite so much about their empty stomachs.’
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ said Frank, once again scribbling furiously.
‘And another thing,’ said the captain. ‘The anchor.’
‘Sir? The anchor?’
‘The anchor, sir?’ echoed an equally bemused-looking Lieutenant Hett, who’d just joined them.
‘Yes, specifically the anchor chain,’ Captain Kerans repeated, looking like a man not to be messed with. ‘It needs a ruddy good greasing. Clangs about all the time – specially on these high tides. Makes one hell of a racket. Driving me mad, it is. And it’s only going to get worse if that typhoon comes along.’
He was talking about Typhoon Gloria, a storm that had been building, that Jack had already told me might be headed our way. I’d never seen a typhoon before but felt strangely unafraid of it. With so much on our plates already – not least so much to be afraid of – a typhoon, sent by Mother Nature, seemed quite a benign thing. At least it might help stir things up a bit.
‘The anchor chain, sir,’ Frank repeated, scribbling again. ‘Have it greased.’
‘Yes, a good quantity of grease and soft soap,’ the captain said. ‘That should do the job, I think. Oh, and while they’re at it, have them wrap it well in bedding. Decent amount of blankets. That should do it. Stop the ruddy thing clanking away and getting on my nerves.’
Lieutenant Hett said nothing this time, but I caught him raising his eyebrows while the captain wasn’t looking, his attention still on the errant anchor chain.
‘That’s all, sir?’ asked Frank.
‘For the moment,’ said the captain. ‘And as soon as possible,’ he added. ‘Okay, Frank? That’ll be all. As you were.’
Captain Kerans stood and watched Hett and Frank walk away and down the ladder to the quarterdeck. He was looking very thin, and I wondered if he was eating his rations. Since I’d got to know him, I’d come to realise the sort of man he was, and I wouldn’t have put it past him to have his own food distributed elsewhere.
And it was then that he looked up and saw me. ‘Ah, there you are, Able Seacat Simon!’ he said, grinning up at me. Then he tapped his nose. ‘Ah,’ he said, mysteriously. ‘Walls have ears, Simon, my lad. That’s the thing you must remember. Walls have ears.’
I stared back down at him, every bit as confused as his officers. Walls had ears? Perhaps Jack had been right about the marbles.
Chapter 17
The 30th July 1949, a day that would prove to be unlike any other, dawned hot and humid, as per usual. The only difference to be seen and felt was the effect of Typhoon Gloria. Though she’d not quite made a visit, she had come pretty close, the result of which was a high tide and fast-flowing current, and flooding on both banks of the river.
Gloria had certainly made herself felt over the previous week, and in our already difficult straits had added another set of problems. The top of the ship had to be stripped of anything that might be blown away – all the canvas the men had been busy assembling and hanging at the captain’s orders, plus the covers over the guns, and all the other awnings. Then it was simply a case of waiting and hoping. As the wind rose and rose, most of us huddled under some sort of cover – at least grateful for the marked dip in temperature – till the worst of it blew itself out.
Not that it had all been doom and gloom. And, as I’d suspected, it had certainly stirred things up a bit. Just after the worst of the wind passed, there was suddenly a great commotion – Peggy, who I’d thought had been dozing in Petty Officer Griffiths’ cabin, was out on deck, barking herself hoarse.
We all went out to find out what was going on, gathering at the guardrails, to see a haystack floating past the Amethyst, with a dog standing on top of it, barking back. Peggy was beside herself, understandably. Was this the first fellow canine she’d seen in a year? Probably. I wondered if we’d see a cat next.