He said, ‘She seems to have a list to starboard.’
The coxswain grinned. “S’right, sir. I’m told she nearly always has had. One of the old hands said she got a biff in some typhoon afore the war an’ never got over it like.’
Lindsay frowned. He had not realised he had spoken his thoughts aloud. A slight list to starboard. And he was not’ even aboard her yet.
Again he sensed the chill of anxiety. He forced himself to go over the facts in his mind. Six six-inch guns, two hundred and fifty officers and ratings, most of whom were straight from the training depots.
The first lieutenant’s name was Goss. John Goss.
The hull towered right over him now, and he saw the accommodation ladder stretching away endlessly towards several peeringfaces at the guardrail. How many passengers had swarmed up and down this ladder? Souvenirs, dirty postcards from Aden, a brass bowl for an aunt in Eastbourne.
Stop. Must stop right now.
He stood upright in the pitching boat as the bowman hooked on with studied ease.
As Lindsay jumped on to the grating the boat’s mechanic hissed, ‘Woes ‘e like, Bob?’
The coxswain watched Lindsay’s slim figure hurrying up the side and replied through his teeth, ‘Straightringer. A regular. Not like the last skipper.’
The mechanic groaned. ‘Either’e’s blotted ‘is copybook an’ is no bleedin’ good for nuthin’ else, or we’re bein’ given some special, bloody-awful job! Either way it’s no bloody use, is it?’
The coxswain listened to the squeal of pipes from the top of the ladder and said unfeelingly, ‘Looks that way, so grab them bags and jump about.’
The other man muttered, ‘Roll on my bleedin’ twelve, and bugger all cox’ns!’
The coxswain tried to recall if there was a film on in the fleet canteen tonight. Probably full before he got ashore anyway. He glared at the dull sky and the rain. Bloody Scapa, he thought.
Lindsay looked at the assembled side party, anonymous in their glistening oilskins. After the jetty and the boat, it seemed strangely sheltered here. The entry port was situated beneath the promenade and boat decks, and with the wind blowing across the opposite bow it was suddenly quiet.
‘Welcome aboard, sir.’ A tall, heavily built officer stepped forward and saluted. ‘I’m Goss.’
Lindsay knew that Goss was forty-five, but he looked fifteen years older. He.had a heavy fowled, unsmiling face, and in his oilskin he seemed to tower head and shoulders over everyone else.
Lindsay held out his hand. ‘Thank you, Number One.’
Goss had not blinked or dropped his eyes. ‘I’ve got one watch and the second part of port watch ashore on store parties, sir. We ammunitioned at Leith before we came here.’ He moved his eyes for the first time and said almost fiercely, ‘You’ll not need to worry about this ship, sir.’
Something in his tone, the hint of challenge or aggressiveness, made Lindsay reply coldly, ‘We shall have to see, eh?’
Goss turned away, his mouth hardening slightly. ‘This is Lieutenant Barker, sir. Paymaster and supply officer. He’s got the books ready for your inspection.’
Lindsay got a brief impression of a toothy smile, pale eyes behind hornrimmed glasses, and nodded. ‘Good.’
Goss seemed very ill at ease. Angry, resentful, evenn hostile
It had been a bad beginning. What the hell was the matter? Lindsay blamed himself. They were all probably more worried about their new captain than he had properly realised.
He tried again. ‘Sailing orders will be coming aboard in the first dog watch.’ He paused. ‘So there’ll be no-libertymen, I’m afraid, until I know what’s happening.’
Surprisingly, Goss smiled. It was more like a grimace. He said harshly, ‘Good. Most of the hands are more intent on looking like sailors than doing anything useful. Bloody shower of civvies and layabouts!’
Lindsay glanced at his watch. It had stopped, and he remembered angrily that he had been looking at the clock on St. Magnus cathedral in Kirkwall to set the correct time when the Wren had arrived with her car.
Goss saw the quick frown. ‘I’m afraid lunch has been cleared away, sir.’ He hesitated. ‘Of course I could call the cook and…..’
Lindsay looked away. ‘No. A sandwich will do.’
He could not even recall when he had last eaten properly.. He had to break this contact. Find some privacy to reassemble himself and his mind.
‘Then if you’ll follow me, sir.’ Goss gestured towards a ladder. ‘The captain’s quarters are below the bridge deck. Nothing’s changed there yet.’
jLindsay followed him in silence. Changed? What did he mean? He saw several seamen working about the decks but avoided their eyes. It was too soon for quick udgements. Unlike Goss, who apparently despised men because they were ‘civvies’. The Navy would be in a damn poor way without them. What did he expect for a worn old ship like this?
Aloud he asked, ‘What about this list to starboard?’
Goss was already climbing the ladder. He did not turn round. ‘Always had it’ — pause — ‘Sir,’ was all he said.
The captain’s quarters were certainly spacious and ran the whole breadth of the bridge. There was a ladder which led directly above to the chart room and W/T office, the navigation bridge and compass platform, and from it the occupant could see most of the boat deck and forward to the bows as well.
Goss opened the door, his eyes watchful as Lindsay walked into the day cabin.
After the Vengeur it was another world. A green fitted carpet and wood panelling. Good furniture, and some chintz curtains at each brightly polished scuttle. Above an oak sideboard was a coloured photograph of the Benbecula as she had once been. Shining green hull and pale buff funnel. Her old line, the Aberdeen and Pacific Steam Navigation Company, was also present in the shape of the company’s crest and a small glass box containing the launching mallet used at her birth.
Goss said quietly, ‘There are, were five ships in the company, sir.’ He took off his oilskin and folded it carefully on his arm. He had the interwoven gold lace of a lieutenant-commander in the Royal Naval Reserve on his reefer. ‘Good ships, and I’ve served in all but one of them.’
Lindsay looked at him gravely. ‘Always with the one company?’
‘Aye. Since I was fourteen. Would have been Master by now, but for the war.’
‘I see.’
Lindsay walked to the nearest scuttle and looked at the swirling water far below. Goss’s comment was part of the reason for his attitude, he thought. Would have been Master. Of this ship perhaps?
He turned and saw the books lined along a polished desk awaiting his scrutiny and signature. Neat and tidy like the oilskin on Goss’s beefy arm.
He asked, ‘Was this your last ship, Number One?’
Goss nodded curtly. ‘I was Chief Officer. But when we stopped trooping and the Admiralty took over I stayed on with her. Being a reservist, they couldn’t very well object.’
‘Why should they object?’
Goss flushed. ‘Not happy unless. they’re moving everyone about.’
‘You may be right.’ He turned away. ‘Now if you’ll arrange a sandwich I’ll settle in while I’m reading these books.’
Goss hesitated. ‘I hear you were in hospital, sir.’ His eyes flickered. ‘Lost your ship, I believe.’
‘Yes.’
Goss seemed satisfied. ‘I’ll leave you then. Anything you want you can ring on those handsets or press the steward’s bell, sir.’
The door closed silently and Lindsay sat down behind the desk. Not good, but it might have been a worse beginning. A whole lot worse. He leafed through the neat pages. Apart from Goss and himself there were seventeen officers aboard, including a doctor, and for some obscure reason, a lieutenant of marines. Most of the officers were hostilities-only. He smiled in spite of his taut nerves. Civvies, as Goss would have described them. A few, like Goss, including the engineer officers, Lieutenant Barker whom he had briefly met, and a Mr. Tobey, the boatswain, were Royal Naval Reserve. Professional seamen and well used to ships like Benbecula. That was something. The only regulars appeared to be the gunnery officer, a Lieutenant Maxwell, and two pensioners called back from retirement; Baldock, the gunner, and Emerson, a warrant-engineer. He paused at the foot of the page. And one solitary midshipman named Kemp. What an appointment for a midshipman, he thought bitterly. He saw himself in the bulkhead mirror and shuddered. Or Commander Andrew Lindsay for that matter.