The Cruel Sea (1951) by Nicholas Monsarrat Read Free Book Online Page A

Conduct Sheet – would mean, in a ship the size of Compass Rose, endless trouble and endless waste of energy before it was brought under control.
    ‘I want to send a signal about our leaving,’ Ericson began. ‘Take this down, and send it off by telephone from the dock office.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ said Wells. He prepared to write.
    ‘”To Flag-Officer-in-Charge, Glasgow”,’ the Captain dictated, ‘”from Compass Rose. Sailed in accordance with your 0945 stroke twenty-three stroke twelve. Estimated time of arrival at Greenock, sixteen hundred hours”.’
    Wells read the signal back when he had written it down, and then said: ‘Should we repeat it to Flag-Officer, Greenock, sir? They’ll have to give us an anchor berth as soon as we arrive.’
    ‘Yes,’ agreed Ericson, conscious, as happened quite often nowadays, that his memory of naval procedure was rusty and needed constant prodding. ‘You’d better do that . . . We’ll fly our pendant numbers going downriver, of course.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ said Wells. ‘Pendant numbers, pilot flag, and Under Tow signal. I’ll see to all that, sir.’
    When the Leading-Signalman withdrew, Ericson sat on in his cabin, waiting for the First Lieutenant. By the normal routine, Bennett should report the ship ‘Ready to proceed’, just as the Chief E.R.A. had reported that his engines were ready to move; but though it was already past their sailing time, Ericson did not want to issue a reminder until it was absolutely necessary. He was by now aware that in Bennett he had got a bad bargain, a lazy and largely ignorant young man who should never have been given his present appointment; but he had not yet made up his mind whether to ask for a replacement, or whether Bennett could be trained to do his job properly, and he wished to give him every chance. The added complication – that Bennett bullied Ferraby constantly, and was in a state of imminent collision with Lockhart – was another thing that time might or might not solve. He did not want to step in unless the efficiency and well-being of the ship were seriously threatened; and it had not got to that point yet.
    At ten minutes past their appointed sailing time, he pressed the bridge bell, and was answered by the signalman of the watch.
    ‘Bridge, sir!’
    ‘Is the First Lieutenant there?’
    ‘He’s on the fo’c’sle, sir, talking to Mr Lockhart.’
    ‘Ask him to come to my cabin.’
    ‘Aye, aye, sir.’
    Presently Bennett knocked on the door, and came in. He was wearing a bridge coat, with the collar turned up in a vaguely dramatic manner.
    ‘You wanted me, sir?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Ericson. ‘Are we ready to move, Number One?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ said Bennett cheerfully. ‘Any time you like.’
    ‘You should come and tell me. I can’t guess at it, you know.’
    ‘Oh . . . Sorry, sir.’
    ‘Are all the hands on board?’
    ‘Er—I reckon so, sir.’
    A singularly cold blue eye regarded him. ‘Well, are they or aren’t they? Didn’t you have it reported to you?’
    ‘There was only the postman, sir. I know he’s aboard.’
    ‘What about the mess caterers? What about the Leading-Steward? – he went shopping for me. What about the berthing party?’
    Bennett looked as nearly crestfallen as Ericson had yet seen him. It was a cheering sight. ‘I’ll check up, sir.’
    Ericson rose, and reached for his cap and binoculars. ‘Find out, and come and tell me on the bridge. And next time, remember that you report to me that the ship’s ready to sail, with all the crew on board, at the proper time. That’s part of your job.’
    Bennett recovered swiftly. ‘I’d better detail Ferraby to—’
    ‘You won’t detail anybody,’ said Ericson, as brusquely as he had ever spoken so far, ‘unless you want to change jobs with them.’
    He left the cabin without another word, leaving Bennett to make what he liked of this substantial warning for the future. It might be what was needed to pull him up short; in any