A Brig of War by Richard Woodman Read Free Book Online Page B

Tregembo aft to Rogers. From what Drinkwater had seen of Dalziell he was not surprised at Tregembo’s reaction. Drinkwater did not entirely support Earl St Vincent’s contention that the men should be made to respect a midshipman’s coat. He qualified it by requiring that the midshipman within was at least partially deserving of that respect. He doubted that Mr Dalziell answered the case at all. Besides Drinkwater was damned if Tregembo, or anyone else for that matter, was going to have his back laid open for such a trivial matter.
    â€˜Thank you, Mr Rogers.’
    â€˜I want the whoreson flogged, d’you hear?’ Rogers flung over his shoulder as he withdrew to his cabin. Drinkwater sat in the gunroom alone, sunlight from the skylight sliding in six parallelograms back and forth across the table. He knew Griffiths would not hesitate to flog if necessary. Insolence was not to be tolerated. But had Tregembo been insolent? Drinkwater was by no means certain and he had seen the man flogged before. Griffiths, who had slung his hammock above the guns on the lower deck of a seventy-four understood the mentality of the men. There were always those who would challenge authority if they thought they could get away with it, and he knew many seamen who approved of flogging. Life below decks was foul enough without suffering the molestations of the petty thieves, the queers, the cheats and liars, never mind the drunks who could knock you from a yard in the middle of the night. No, swift retribution was welcomed by both sides.
    But only if it was just.
    â€˜Mr Lestock, Mr Appleby, you are sitting on a tribunal to determine the precise nature of an incident occurring in the middle watch last night during which the captain of the main top, Able seaman Tregembo, is alleged to have used abuse against Mr Midshipman Dalziell.’
    The two warrant officers nodded, Lestock fidgetting since he had had to be relieved on deck by Trussel and was anxious about observing the meridian altitude of the sun at noon. Appleby was splendidly portentous but, for the moment, silent.
    â€˜Lieutenant Rogers,’ Drinkwater inclined his head to the second lieutenant sitting opposite with one leg dangling over the arm of his chair, contemptuously examining his nails, ‘is in the nature of the accusing officer.’ He raised his voice, ‘Mr Q!’
    The door opened. ‘Sir?’
    â€˜Pass word for Mr Dalziell and then have Tregembo wait outside to be called.’
    â€˜Aye, aye, sir,’ replied the boy casting a frightened look round the interior of the gunroom which had changed its normal prefectural atmosphere to one of chilly formality. Dalziell knocked and entered. He had not had the sense to put on full uniform.
    â€˜Now Mr Dalziell, this is an inquiry to establish the facts of the incident that occurred this morning . . .’ Drinkwater went laboriously through the formal processes and listened to Dalziell’s carefully stated account.
    He had gone forward on the rounds that were performed by either a master’s mate or a midshipman at hourly intervals. He had found the man Tregembo asleep under the fo’c’s’le with his legs obstructing the ladder and had stumbled over them. The man had woken and there had been an exchange. As a consequence Dalziell had ordered him below. There had been a further exchange after which Dalziell had brought Tregembo aft to the officer of the watch. ‘And Lieutenant Rogers said he would see the man flogged for his insolence, sir.’ It was all very plausible, almost too plausible, and the malice in that last sentence set a query against the whole.
    They called Tregembo. ‘What did you say to Mr Dalziell when he stumbled against you?’ asked Drinkwater, careful to keep his voice and expression rigidly formal.
    Tregembo shrugged. ‘I’d been awakened zur, I thought it was one of my mates,’ he growled.
    â€˜Were you