God, what a train of gloomy thoughts chased each other through his weary mind! Would Moncrieff never have his infernal marines fallen in? And where the deuce was Metcalfe? Christ Almighty, what a burden he was turning out to be!
Why the hell had their Lordships saddled the ship with such a nonentity? He had asked for Fraser, but Fraser, his old first luff, had been ill, and Metcalfe had survived from the last commission when he had served as second lieutenant. It was true he was a good shot, but that did not make him a good officer.
'May I ask ... ?'
'No, you may not!' Drinkwater snapped as the first lieutenant materialized in the disturbingly insinuating way he had. Metcalfe fell back a pace and Drinkwater, meanly gratified at the small humiliation thus inflicted, roused himself and stepped forward. In doing so he appeared to drive the first lieutenant downhill, a sight at once mildly comic, but also threatening. The ship's company, whatever the seductions of Thurston's republican polemic, were more certain of Captain Drinkwater's mettle than he was himself.
'Off hats, Mr Metcalfe,' he said quietly, and Metcalfe's voice cracked with sudden nervous anticipation as he shouted the command.
Drinkwater stared at the ship's company and the ship's company stared back. Some of them were shivering in the cold; some eyed him darkly, well knowing why they had been summoned; others wore the look of blank incomprehension and this was chiefly true of the officers, though one or two made a gallant attempt at pretending they knew why the lower deck had been cleared at so ungodly an hour.
Despite the rising howl of the wind, the hiss of the sea and the creaks and groans of the ship, the waist of the Patrician was silent. Drinkwater withdrew the small book from beneath his cloak, cleared his throat and began to read in a loud voice.
'If any person in or belonging to the Fleet shall make or endeavour to make any mutinous assembly upon any pretence whatsoever, every person offending herein, and being convicted thereof, shall suffer death: And if any person shall utter any words of sedition or mutiny he shall suffer death…'
The words were familiar to them all, for on the fourth Sunday of every month, in place of the liturgy of the Anglican Church, the Articles of War were read to every ship's company in commission by their commanding officer. But this morning was not the fourth Sunday in the month, not did Drinkwater read them all. He excised some of the legal provisos of Articles Nineteen and Twenty, and cut them to their essential bone; he laid heavy emphasis on certain words and punctuated his sentences with pauses and glares at his disaffected flock. He read with peculiar and deliberate slowness, eschewing the normal mumbling run-through to which even the most punctilious captain had succumbed by the end of the routinely morbid catechism.
'If any person shall conceal any traitorous or mutinous practice or design, he shall suffer death ... or shall conceal any traitorous or mutinous words spoken by any to the prejudice of His Majesty or Government, or any words, practice or design, tending to the hindrance of the service, and shall not forthwith reveal the same to the commanding officer, or being present at any mutiny or sedition, shall not use his utmost endeavours to suppress the same, he shall be punished…'
Drinkwater closed the book with a snap. 'That is all, Mr Metcalfe. You may carry on and dismiss the hands.' As Drinkwater stepped towards the companionway Moncrieff called his men to attention and, with some difficulty on the plunging deck, had them present arms.
Drinkwater must remember to thank Moncrieff for that salute; it was quick-witted of him to invest the departure of Captain Drinkwater from the quarterdeck with the full panoply of ceremony. Drinkwater devoutly hoped its effect would not be lost on the men, aware of the theatricality of his own performance. All those who had listened to Thurston's able and seductive sermon would, he believed, now be pricked by individual guilt and, as he found himself in the shadows of the gun deck, he wondered how many would report the seditious proceedings.
Not many, he found himself privately hoping. He did not yet wish for the dissolution of his crew. Only an honourable peace could permit that.
'Sir, has something occurred?'
Drinkwater laid down his pen and looked up at Metcalfe. For once the man was flustered, unsure of himself. This was a side of his first lieutenant Drinkwater had not yet observed.
'A very great deal, Mr Metcalfe.'
'But when, sir?'
'When you were asleep, or perhaps taking wine in the wardroom, I imagine.' A slight mockery in the captain's voice alarmed Metcalfe.
'But what, sir?' asked Metcalfe desperately and Drinkwater admitted to a certain malicious amusement at his expense.
'Tut-tut, Mr Metcalfe, can you not guess? Surely the Articles I read out were explicit enough. What does the scuttlebutt in the wardroom suggest?'
The question further confused Metcalfe, for the opinion in the wardroom, expressed fully by every officer, was that the captain, perceptive though he was, had got wind of the gaming combination, mistaken it for some sort of mutinous meeting and misconstrued the whole affair. In this conclusion, the debating officers were chiefly concerned to unhorse their overbearing mess-president, and they had succeeded, for a covert conference had been observed between Metcalfe and Midshipman Porter, after which torn pages of a note-book had been seen floating astern. Thoroughly alarmed, Metcalfe had sought this unsuccessful interview with the captain.
'Sir, I must request, as first lieutenant, you take me into your confidence.'
'That I am not prepared to do, Mr Metcalfe,' Drinkwater said carefully, aware that he felt no confidence in the man and could not bare his soul. To admit to his second-in-command that he had discovered a seditious meeting would be an admission to Metcalfe of something he wished to remain between himself and those at whom he had aimed this morning's exercise in intimidation. Besides, strictly speaking, he should report the matter to their Lordships, and to inform Metcalfe of the circumstances and subsequently do nothing would be to lay himself open to charges of dereliction of duty. He would have to tell Metcalfe something, of course.
But his refusal to confide in Metcalfe had struck his subordinate's conscience and, unbeknown to Drinkwater, no further explanation was necessary. Metcalfe assumed the worst as far as he, a self-interested man, was concerned. In his guilty retreat he gave up both his chance of a clue that it was not his malpractice of betting on the crew's wrestling which had caused the morning's drama, as well as Captain Drinkwater's rather ingenious explanation of why he had acted so extraordinarily.
It was to Gordon that he spoke about Thurston. The memory of the Quaker Derrick had brought its own solution; what had been done once might be done again. 'The man is in your division and seems a likely character, a man of some education and no seaman.'
'I’m afraid I know little about him, sir,' Gordon admitted.
'You should,' Drinkwater said curtly. 'Anyway, to the point. I have no clerk, and want a writer. You may send him aft at eight bells.'
As for an explanation of the morning's events digestible enough for the officers, it was Frey to whom he revealed his fabricated motive.
'It was necessary,' he afterwards told Frey as they paced the quarterdeck together that afternoon when a watery sunshine marked the passing of the gale, 'because as we approach the American coast, I wish to dissuade the men from any thoughts of desertion.'
'But you spoke only of mutiny or sedition, sir,' commented the shrewd Frey.
'I intend to spring the Articles on desertion upon another occasion. This was but a preamble.'
They exchanged glances. Frey was undeceived, and for reasons of his own he passed on this intelligence only to those whom he knew to dislike the unfortunate Metcalfe.