The Cruel Sea (1951) Read Online Free PDF Page B

tried to steer him away from the emotional aspect. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I don’t believe it’s even necessary for you to get permission for this sort of thing. They can’t possibly stop your wife coming up here. Ask the Captain about it.’
    ‘But even if she were here, Bennett could stop me going to Glasgow to see her.’
    ‘Not on your days off duty.’
    ‘I bet he could.’
    Lockhart nodded. ‘Yes, I bet he could too. He’d find some way, especially if you asked the Captain after being refused permission.’ He smiled at Ferraby across the wardroom table. ‘Better forget it, as that bastard said. There’ll be other chances later.’

    When the duty petty officer appeared in the wardroom doorway, cap in hand, to say that Compass Rose was ‘ready for Rounds’, Lockhart, who was Officer-of-the-Day, stood up, and followed him out of the wardroom and up the ladder towards the fo’c’sle, and the last job of his 24-hour turn of duty. Evening Rounds were part of the daily routine which, established stage by stage, was already changing Compass Rose from a shipyard item into a working ship-of-war.
    In establishing this routine, Petty Officer Tallow, as coxswain, had had a great deal to do: more, indeed, than he would normally have needed to take on with a First Lieutenant who knew his job properly. But, seeing that the First Lieutenant was Bennett, there were a number of gaps which someone else had to fill if the ship were to function properly: unobtrusively, by a hint here and there or by direct action, Tallow saw that they were accounted for.
    The Officer-of-the-Day’s Rounds every evening, a short tour through the mess decks and along the upper decks to check the mooring wires and see that the ship was properly darkened, marked the end of a daily programme which covered every phase of the ship’s life in harbour. The hands fell in at 6.30 every morning, and washed down the upper deck – a cold job in winter, with daylight barely established: Colours were hoisted at eight, then there was breakfast, and then the day’s work proper began – mostly, at this stage, cleaning, and stowing stores. At 10.30 Stand-Easy and Up-Spirits – the issue of a tot of rum to every man on board. After that, work continued until four, when liberty men went ashore and the duty watch settled down to their evening on board. Letters came down to the wardroom for censoring soon after dinner: Rounds were at nine o’clock, and Pipe Down at ten. The men who had all-night leave could stay ashore till 6.30 next morning.
    The coxswain’s particular responsibility, the ship’s canteen, where duty-free cigarettes and tobacco were on sale, had already been established: Tallow ran it from his own minute cabin aft, being practically crowded through the porthole in the process. His other special duty, the rounding up of defaulters, was also under way, beginning with an odd breach of decorum which caused Ferraby, who happened to be Officer-of-the-Day, a good deal of embarrassment. He was routed out of the wardroom at nine o’clock one evening, after noises from the upper deck had warned him that one of the returning liberty men was making a considerable disturbance. At the top of the ladder he found Petty Officer Tallow, and by his side a sullen-looking stoker swaying slightly on his feet.
    ‘Stoker Grey, sir,’ began Tallow grimly: and then, to the culprit: ‘Tenshun! Off caps! Stoker Grey, sir. Urinating on the upper deck.’
    ‘What!’ exclaimed Ferraby, genuinely shocked.
    ‘Urinating on the upper deck, sir,’ repeated Tallow. ‘Just came back on board. The quartermaster reported him.’
    Ferraby swallowed. He was inclined to be out of his depth, and it was his first defaulter as well.
    ‘What have you got to say?’ he asked after a moment.
    Stoker Grey swayed forward, and back again, and muttered something.
    ‘Speak up!’ barked Tallow.
    Grey tried again. ‘Must have had a few drinks, sir.’
    ‘It’s absolutely