About the middle of July the squadron left Wei-hai-wei to visit Chemulpo and Seoul. John was now attached to the Engine-room staff. He kept no more watches on the Upper Deck, attended no lectures, and ran no boats. His connection with the executive branch was limited to the writing up of his log-book, the taking and working out of sights, and to certain gunnery duties of which more shall be said. The executive officers, who objected strongly to the system under which midshipmen were withdrawn periodically from the Upper Deck, and by which they were thus deprived of a full complement of messengers, boat-runners, cocoa-makers, and general assistants, had contrived on this occasion that no more than two, John and Driss, should go below. This arrangement, which John had at first welcomed, was soon found to be less advantageous than he had supposed.

The control of engineering midshipmen had passed into the hands of Aggett. He disliked all midshipmen trained under the New Scheme with the instinctive dislike of a small-minded man for those who, in their education and upbringing, have been more fortunate than he. He objected to these “young gentlemen”—the phrase sounded unusually venomous and scornful as he pronounced it—he objected to their very presence in his Engine-room. They were intruders. At heart they were executive officers. Their interest—if, indeed, this Lynwood had interest in anything but his stuffy books—was in Gunnery, Torpedo, and Seamanship. It was more than likely that, in their own Mess, they referred to engineers as “greasers.” Damned insolence! he thought. Damned insolence! He’d teach them.... To them, of course, the Engine-room was attractive only as a shelter from the fury of the Commander, a place in which they might smoke on duty. Aggett was under no delusion on that point. They thought they could loaf while they were engineers, and get ashore more often in harbour because they would have no boats to run. Not one in twenty of the New Scheme midshipmen was keen on engineering. They looked down upon it, they dared to turn up their noses at his profession. Aggett had an uncomfortable feeling that they despised him—that they gave him salutes which were somehow less respectful than those they accorded to officers of his rank on the Upper Deck.

Moreover, Hartington pampered the little pigs. Midshipmen ought to be flogged; flogging, sound and frequent, was the only way to break them. This, in Aggett, was not mere brutality but an article of faith. He saw in the Pathshire’s midshipmen, several of whom seemed likely in any case to be strangely hindered by temperament from conforming easily to his ideal, young men handicapped by faulty training. He did not believe that a sound officer could be produced unless in his days of apprenticeship he was broken in.

He remembered how he had asked Hartington, early in the commission, for an introduction to Little Benjamin, this being the name given to the stick kept by most Subs for the flogging of midshipmen. Little Benjamin, our Ruler, it was customarily called by midshipmen themselves, or, with familiar affection, Benjy. Within Aggett’s experience Subs had been proud of this implement. They chose it with care, fed it with oil, put whipping on its end to prevent it from splitting, and exhibited to all comers its balance, flexibility, and other attributes. Aggett had seen a tea-party of lady visitors excited to gurgling laughter by one Sub’s scientific application of Benjy to a dusty armchair, and by the historical anecdotes with which he had coloured his performance. One lady had collaborated by providing with her own shrill voice the cries of the imaginary victim. And the other ladies, somewhat shocked perhaps by this uproariousness, had smiled, nevertheless, behind the teacups above the handles of which they crooked such genteel white fingers. It had amused them to think that the young men, ranging in age from eighteen to twenty, who came into the Gunroom now and then and went out quickly that they might not interrupt the Sub’s party, were treated as the dusty armchair was being treated then. They had seemed to think it right, Aggett reflected, and they were thoroughly respectable women.

Aggett had asked to see Hartington’s Benjy, intending only to offer advice as to its treatment and care. Besides, as a point of politeness, one asked to see a Sub’s Benjy just as one asked to see a woman’s last-born babe. And Hartington had said curtly: “I haven’t got one.”

“Then what do you beat the young gents with?”

“I don’t beat them.”

“Never?”

“Never yet.”

“Why not?”

Hartington had wanted to say, “Because it makes me feel sick,” but, realizing in time how odd Aggett could make such an answer seem in the Wardroom, he substituted, “Because I have seen no need for it.”

“Easy enough to find a need, ain’t it?”

“Perhaps.”

“Well, why don’t you? It does ’em good. You’re not doin’ your duty by them.”

“Thanks.”

“But,” Aggett had persisted, unable to restrain the curiosity which the discovery of so eccentric a Sub had aroused in him, “but suppose the officer of the watch or the Commander sends a snotty down to you to have a dozen—what then?”

“It hasn’t happened yet.”

“But it licks ’em into shape,” Aggett had suggested good-humouredly, believing what he said. “Spare the rod and spoil the child, you know.”

“I disagree absolutely.... Besides, they are not children. They are out in the world. My help is scarcely needed in the hurting of them.”

Once again, in a scene that has already been recorded, Aggett had returned to the attack, frankly amazed that any attack should be needed. Couldn’t this fellow Hartington see for himself that what midshipmen needed was firm treatment? It seemed so obvious.... And now the engineering midshipmen had been placed under Aggett’s control. Lynwood, Hartington’s friend, and Driss—that chin-tilting Irishman—were his to train. He’d train ’em! He’d show ’em! And if they weren’t more tractable when he’d done with ’em, well——

So John and Driss were ordered, while at sea, “to keep watch and watch, the Afternoon kept”—that is, they were to be on duty in alternate watches day and night, with this relief, that in the afternoon, from noon to 4 p.m., neither went below. In these circumstances, to suit their own convenience, and to vary the rotation of labour, they regarded the two Dog Watches as a single watch of four hours. By Service custom they were excused early morning physical drill, one being on watch at the time and the other not having come off watch until 4 a.m.

They made out a table of their watches for forty-eight hours thus obtaining a graphic representation of a routine which, while they were at sea, repeated itself every two days.

“Keeping the First and Morning,” said Driss, “will be hell.”

“After all,” John said, to encourage himself, “it means only twenty hours on duty in forty-eight. Average of ten in twenty-four. Not so bad.”

Driss smiled. “Now let’s make a summary. First, how many hours are we going to get in our hammocks? Don’t forget that one has to have a bath to get the filth off after every watch. Follow through your case on the timetable from 8 a.m. on the 14th. After your first watch you come off at midnight, turn in at twelve-thirty, and sleep till you are called at ten-to-four—three hours and twenty minutes. On the 15th you finish the Dogs at eight p.m.; dinner at eight-thirty; asleep, with luck, at ten-thirty; sleep till ten minutes before midnight—one hour and twenty minutes. On the 16th you finish your Middle at four a.m.; asleep by four-thirty; sleep till hammocks are made up at seven-fifteen—two hours and forty-five minutes.”

They added together the three periods of sleep, and wrote down as a beginning of their summary:

They stared at that.

Then John said, rather hopelessly, “Oh, well, it’s getting on for four hours’ sleep a day. I believe some K.C.’s, when the House and the Courts are sitting, do with less than that.”

“But when they are on duty they are not in an engine-room or a boiler-room—not in that temperature—not standing all the time.”

“No.... I dare say we shall get some sleep in between—in the Smoking Casemate or on the Gunroom settee. I can sleep through any noise.”

Ten hours of watch-keeping in twenty-four seems not terrible, but two facts throw light upon its meaning. First: the Service, which does not pamper, allotted eight hours in twenty-four to stokers—trained men, inured to the task. Second: “Watch and watch”—twelve hours in twenty-four—was ordered as a severe punishment to midshipmen on the Upper Deck in harbour, not in the Engine-room depths at sea.

Moreover, ten hours of watch-keeping did not mean only ten hours of work. The engineering midshipman not on watch at the time attended Divisions and Quarters. He took charge of the stokers during Dog Watch Evolutions. He wrote up his log-book, a slight task; worked sights from time to time; and each week completed an Engineering sketch.

Aggett was careful that the sketches should not be too easy. He demanded scale-drawings of machines in pen and ink, coloured, and with dimensions. Perfect accuracy was essential. It was necessary to know every detail of construction and working, and to be prepared to support Aggett’s searching cross-examination. John’s first weekly sketch occupied thirty-two of his spare hours.

They found, too, that in addition to their engineering duties they were required to attend the guns. The four midshipmen remaining on the Upper Deck were not enough, the executive officers declared. So, whenever “General Quarters” was sounded—and at that time it was sounded once and sometimes twice a day—John or Driss, whichever was not in the Engine-room, went to a gun for the long hours of the gun-practices. Time after time the hours which were theirs for rest or sketching were occupied in this manner; they standing—and they seemed now always to be standing—not in the Engine-room but on the sighting platform.

In the Engine-room from breakfast to lunch; at his gun from lunch to tea; Quarters and Evolution from four to nearly five; Engineering sketch from five to seven; dinner from seven to seven forty-five, when he put on dirty clothes; in the Engine-room from eight to midnight, and again from four to eight—that was an example of such a day as came to John three days in six while the ship was at sea. On the alternate days he was less below and more at his gun. There was little difference in effect.

The effect was dull, unspeaking misery; eyelids that closed, and, being forced open, closed again; limbs gnawed by weariness; a weakness of control that brought hysterical tears and laughter very near. The mind strayed back to childhood and leapt out in jagged flashes towards licentiousness. Aggett could do what he liked with them. No insult could provoke now any desire to protest. They obeyed like whipped curs. “Yes, sir.... No, sir.... I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s taming ’em,” said Aggett.

Nervous exhaustion, so potent to produce obsessions, urged John to the reading of books in snatches and Driss to interminable calculations of minutes. Driss analyzed his day with pitiless accuracy. He would confront John with pieces of paper on which he had written in his neat round-hand the number of minutes he spent in sleep, in watch-keeping, in standing by his gun, in drawing his sketch, in eating his meals. And John, seeing from these tables that there was no time for reading, became, for that reason, the more determined to read. He read at meals until Hartington, who, when he was present, insisted that the Gunroom should observe at least some of the conventions, told him to put his book away.

“It’s the only time I can read,” John exclaimed. “You know it is the only time I have.”

“I’m sorry,” Hartington answered; “but I’m not responsible for your routine. I can’t have reading at Mess.”

And John, made unreasonably angry by this excellent rule, read at odd moments for five or ten minutes at a time, crouching on his sea-chest when he came off watch at midnight, wasting the precious interval before he went below again at 4 a.m. He read, too, between breakfast and Divisions, between tea and Quarters, between Sunday Divisions and Church. He turned to his book with almost fierce devotion on occasions when no one else would have thought it worth while to open covers that would so soon have to be closed again. And he wrote—wild blank verse. The scansion missed sometimes, but he did not care. He would write no lyrics now; his indignation would not pause for rhymes. Never had his mind been so full of themes demanding expression; never had words come to him like this unsummoned. Tremendous phrases woke him in the night, so that he lay in his hammock, his head a little raised, listening. He heard nothing but the engine’s throbbing and the far-away clashing of the revolution-telegraph. And he would lie down again and hide his face, wondering how, even for a moment, he had been amazed and excited by a phrase which, as he considered it, he saw to be without shape or meaning.

It was not safe, he knew, to take any book he was reading into the Engine-room. Its cover would betray him to the Warrant Officer who kept the watch, to the stokers who worked near him, and to Aggett should he enter suddenly. It was impossible to read on watch.... But he found that he could write with impunity. He took with him a small, marble-covered notebook of the pattern customarily used by midshipmen for rough engineering sketches—diagrams of the lead of pipes, plans of the boiler-rooms showing the feed system, and the like. To make these sketches during the idle stretches of a watch was regarded, not as an offence, but as a sign of laudable enthusiasm. So long as the usual pattern of notebook was used everyone assumed that only professional matter was entered in it; and John encouraged this belief when he was writing by moving his position from time to time, by stooping with an air of curiosity and interest over auxiliary engines that his eyes scarcely saw, and by gazing upward occasionally in the direction of the pipes that he might have been sketching.

Everyone was not deceived. After the performance had been repeated through many watches a Warrant Officer said suddenly:

“You’ll be gettin’ the hang o’ them pipes before long, Mr. Lynwood?”

“Yes,” said John. “Just a few sketches in case Aggett asks questions.”

“But always the same pipes?”

“Oh no.”

The Warrant Officer seemed to smile. “Makin’ a speciality like o’ the condenser connections?”

“No. Why?”

“You’ve been payin’ ’em partickler attention these last watches you’ve had with me.”

John wondered how much was known. He went away to feel the crank-head bearings, leaning far over the guard-rail, his hand stretched out so that the warm, revolving brasses swept against his fingers. As his eyes stared down into the crank-pit, where a dark liquid slushed to and fro with the rolling of the ship, he wondered how many men, engaged as he now was, had slipped, lost their hold on the guard-rail, and fallen below the crank to be mashed instantly to death. Would a man so falling have time to cry out? The engines would be stopped, not because the stopping of them was of any use, but because some drastic unusual action is demanded by the sudden entry of death. There would be momentary commotion. Stokers would stare, their shiny, sweating faces lurid beneath the electric light; and, as they recovered from stupefaction, a wave of pity would pass over them all as they stood transfixed among the steel. The auxiliary engines would rattle more loudly in the main engines’ silence. Water would trickle down the gleaming rods from the piston glands. And presently the engines, with a little hiss and groan, would start again, and the blood be pumped out with the bilge.

Overpowered by this dreadful vision, John screwed up his eyes as if to shut it out. He walked towards the Warrant Officer, intending to ask if ever in his experience this thing had happened.

“Have you ever——” he began; but the roar of engines drowned his words, so that the Warrant Officer did not know he had spoken.

“How’s the poitry progressin’, Mr. Lynwood?”

“Poetry?”

“That you writes down here.”

With a queer wrench John established the connection with their previous conversation, but his mind was now so full of what he had seen in the crank-pit that he cared not how much had been discovered.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I do write poetry down here. What are you going to do about it?”

“Do?” The Warrant Officer regarded the defiance in the weary, drawn face raised to his—a face, he reflected, almost comically like those of the half-starved urchins in the back streets of Portsmouth who had looked up at him often enough with just this expression of defiance that was a thin cloak for a spirit near to breaking. “Do? What d’you think I’m goin’ to do? Go to Aggett and give him another chance to have at you?” His voice dropped to as confidential a tone as the noise allowed. John felt his breath upon his cheek. “I served my time on the Lower Deck as a youngster, Mr. Lynwood, an’ I knows how it is with midshipmen. The Lower Deck sees a lot that the Gold Lace don’t care to see. And it ain’t against midshipmen. Them that suffer ain’t against them that suffer. And—if I may say so, by the way—don’t you forget that when you get to the Wardroom. It’s the men who don’t forget that the hands’ll run for.... And as for our Mr. Aggett,” he went on, “as good an engineer he is as I’ve ever known—smart as they make ’em—but not a nice man, not a gentlemanly man, to my way o’ thinkin’. I wouldn’t deliver a midshipman into ’is ’ands, nor any human bein’—not a puppy, even. No, Mr. Lynwood, you needn’t have fear o’ me. You write your poitry and so long as your job’s done an’ you enters up the log at the end o’ the watch there won’t be no complaints from me. But don’t let the stokers catch on. An’ don’t you let Mr. Aggett find you at it.”

John gave indistinct thanks.

“Are you feelin’ poorly?” the Warrant Officer asked.

“N—no.”

“Well you looks precious bad, an’ Mr. Driss too. It’s a shame this watch an’ watch. We in the Warrant Officers’ Mess wouldn’t stand it—unless the Service had special need. The stokers wouldn’t stand it; they’d be fallin’ in before the Captain in two ranks. Only the midshipmen stand it. He wouldn’t try it on with no one else. Last night we was sayin’ at Mess we wondered the midshipmen didn’t take it before the Captain.”

“We couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t?” said the Warrant Officer, not realizing that John had meant “wouldn’t.” “Why there’s not a man or boy in this ship that hasn’t a legal right to take his complaints to the Captain. Couldn’t? How d’you mean?”

“It can’t be done in our case.”

“Well, I agree in part; I don’t hold with officers comin’ up with complaints. It’s bad for discipline.... But there is a limit to what any man can stand. This very mornin’, when I came down here at 4 a.m., I found Mr. Driss goin’ to keep the watch with me. ‘When did you come off your last watch?’ I asks. ‘I kept the First,’ says he. ‘I turned in at twenty-five minutes after midnight. I’ve been asleep for three hours and twenty-five minutes’—all spoken cold and thin, like someone sleep-walkin’. It ain’t natural, Mr. Lynwood. I don’t like to see him—or you—white as ghosts, ready to drop, stumblin’ half blind round an’ round my Engine-room. It makes me feel a brute for keepin’ you here. But if I sent you up, the first thing Aggett would say, if he came down, would be, ‘Where’s the midshipman o’ the watch?’”

He paused dramatically.

“It’s too much,” he said, “to keep eight hours below between eight in the evenin’ and eight in the mornin’. An’ you at your guns when you are off watch. The Captain wouldn’t have it, if he knew.”

Looking at John’s hollow cheeks, he thought, “There’ll be an end to it soon.”

But before the end came disaster. Two days later, John, in a corner by the evaporators, was writing in that marble-covered book. The mood in which he wrote held him captive. He was conscious neither of the engines’ beat nor of the ringing of the telegraph. He saw with intense vision, only the scene he described.

“Makin’ notes?”

Aggett, with low waistcoat and bulging shirt-front, stood there, his hands thrust in his pockets, his chin pushed forward over a choker collar. He must have come down as soon as dinner was finished and the wine passed.

“Gettin’ keen on engineerin’? Let’s see.”

He held out a hand into which, without hesitation, John put his book. There was a long pause.

“Often write this balderdash on watch?”

“Two books full, sir, and what you see.”

“Why?”

“I get an idea and I write it down, sir.”

This was Aggett’s chance. At last he had caught one of them committing a really serious offence. Officers were required when on watch to give continuous attention to duty. Hartington could not get out of this, Aggett reflected. He tore out a blank sheet from the notebook.

“Pencil,” he said, stretching out his hand.

He wrote on, and folded, the paper.

“Take this to Hartington. When he’s finished with you, report down here again. I’ll wait.”

John climbed the steel-runged ladder and, passing through the great heat above the cylinders, scrambled on to the grating which the windows of the Engineers’ Office overlooked. In the Chest Flat he found Driss beginning to undress before turning in.

“Do you know where Hartington is?”

“In his cabin, I think. Aggett’s below, isn’t he?”

“Yes. He has just bowled me out writing verse on watch. Sent me up with this chit for Hartington.”

“To be beaten?”

“I suppose so. Good-night.”

“Good-night.... I say, Lynwood, it’s rotten luck. Come to my hammock before you go below again and tell me what happens. Will you?”

“All right. Personally, I don’t care very much what happens.”

John went to his chest, changed his boiler suit and dirty shoes for a monkey-jacket, a scarf, and pumps. While he was thus engaged Driss reappeared.

“Hartington hasn’t beaten any of us yet,” he said hopefully.

“No; but he must this time.”

“I suppose so. I should put some padding in, if I were you, Lynwood.”

John smiled. “It isn’t the pain I care for,” he said. “Besides, I’ve made up my mind.”

“Made up your mind?”

But John offered no explanation. With a towel thrown over his arm he was already on his way to the bathroom to wash his hands. Presently he was tapping at Hartington’s door.

“Hullo! I thought you were keeping the First below?”

“I am. Aggett has sent me up with this message for you.”

Hartington unfolded the paper and read:

“Why did you give him this chance?” Hartington asked. “It’s what he has been waiting for, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” John said.

“But why did you do it? Why did you take the risk?”

Feeling dizzy, as if he were about to fall, John said: “Do you mind if I sit down?” and, without waiting for an answer, fell heavily into a chair. Leaning across the table, he let his head fall on his arms. Then, fearful lest Hartington should think he was acting in order to win sympathy, he overcame his exhaustion with an effort that sent a tremor through his body, and sat up. “I don’t think I can argue it. I’d rather you got it over. We can talk about it some time—some time later.”

“May I see the book?”

John fetched it from his chest, where it lay in the pocket of his boiler suit, and, having handed it over, waited listlessly. The emotion of the last quarter of an hour had so added to his fatigue that, as if a high fever were upon him, he desired nothing now but to be alone where he could lie down and sleep. He was not thinking of the flogging; it would be a flogging in dream. He was altogether careless of consequences, of the future that seemed so far away, to-morrow morning—beyond the infinite reaches of that night. There were yet two hours of his watch. Twice the slow hand of the Engine-room clock must creep round the dial....

“What is the sequence of this?” Hartington asked.

“There are different tales, jumbled up. A bit of one and a bit of another. I dare say they could be pieced together. But there are gaps in all of them. I write down any scene—just as I see it.”

“Some of it is bad—incoherent.”

“Yes.”

“And some of it is filthy.”

“You needn’t read that. One writes anything—anything that’s vivid enough to swamp the moment.”

“And some of it is——Lynwood, why didn’t you tell me you wrote this? Why haven’t you read it to me? I judged you only by the gentler stuff. And now, here are passages flaming with vision: the speed and pause, the song and shock of blank verse. Do you realize——”

“Yes—yes; I realize.”

“And you didn’t show it me?”

“It was my own; a kind of sanctuary. Peace there ... everyone shut out by flames.”

John was huddled in his chair, his feet drawn up, his eyes gazing out above his knees. Hartington looked at the lines the writing of which had been interrupted by Aggett’s arrival.

“Could you go on from here?” he asked, and read them aloud.

“No; not now. But don’t read them. Aggett’s waiting.”

Hartington stooped over the table and picked up a pen.

“Take that to Aggett.”

“You are not going to beat me?”

“No.”

John delivered this reply, and Aggett immediately left the Engine-room. He jerked back the curtain of Hartington’s cabin so that the rings clashed on the rod.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“Surely the meaning is clear.”

“You won’t beat him?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“My reasons are my own.”

“You’ll be made to give them.”

“Oh!”

“By the Commander.”

“You intended to take this to the Commander?”

“Certainly I do; and a pretty fool you’ll look, young man. This obviously is an offence that can’t be passed over. There’s nothing for it but beatin’. The Commander will send you his orders.... Wouldn’t it be easier to give way now than then?”

“I shall not give way then.”

“Refuse to obey the Commander’s orders?”

“In this case—yes.”

“On what grounds?”

“That depends. If it is to be in any way a personal matter I have my explanation. If the Commander makes it a Service point—strictly a question of discipline—his definite orders refused: well then, Aggett, I take it to the Captain.”

“A real sea-lawyer, eh?” said Aggett. “It’s pig-headed drivel. And, you mark my words—it won’t do any good. If you take that stand you may avoid this beatin’, but the Commander won’t forget it, and the Captain won’t forget it.”

“As a point of fact,” Hartington said, “this is all heroics. The contingency won’t arise. This matter will not be taken to the Commander.”

Aggett grinned. “Then I send Lynwood to you again?”

“No. That isn’t what I meant. I am not giving way. But I think it’s as well we should understand each other. Sit down, will you?”

“I prefer to stand. And no sort of compromise’ll do for me—see?”

“All right.... Now this is not going to the Commander because you won’t take it to him.”

“That’s all you know!”

“You won’t take it to him because you know that, if you do, I force it to the Captain. And that brings me to the other point. I don’t pretend to minimize Lynwood’s offence. He is altogether wrong to do what he has done on watch. And I don’t wish to argue with you about the life snotties lead under your orders: that’s your affair, not mine. But I do refuse definitely to be your accomplice in producing their misery. They are ill; they are overworked to a degree you dare not make public; it is preying on their minds. If they don’t collapse physically and go on the sick list they will go mad.”

“It’s not for you to interfere in my routine.”

“I know. That is why—although I think it’s an open question whether a Sub, who is in some measure responsible for the snotties, ought not to interfere in these circumstances—that is why I have kept my mouth shut hitherto. But beating is within my province——”

“I’ve a damned good mind to beat him myself.”

“If you try that I go straight to the Captain.”

Aggett shrugged his shoulders. “You’re an obstinate mule, aren’t you?” Then he allowed his anger to take charge of him. “You’re an obstinate mule, aren’t you?” he shouted. “Don’t you see that what I’m doin’ is bein’ done for the boy’s good?”

“That’s for you to judge. I judge about beating. If you take this matter to the Commander, I take everything—everything, remember—to the Captain. If the snotties were being treated reasonably I should have beaten Lynwood for this—much as I dislike beating my friends.”

“You admit the crime, and you won’t punish it. I didn’t think you were a fool.”

Hartington drew his finger across his chin. “Why don’t you mete out a Service punishment yourself?”

“Beatin’ is the proper punishment for this kind of trash.”

“Trash? The poetry? It’s not that, Aggett.”

“That be as it may. I don’t care if he’s writin’ bloody Keats. What I care about is that a snotty should be a scribbler at all. The sooner he’s broken o’ that, the better for himself and everyone else.”

“You and I seem likely to disagree on every subject,” Hartington said. “But you haven’t answered my question: why not a Service punishment?”

“What?”

“Well, on the Upper Deck we give more watch-keeping.”

“They are keepin’ watch and watch already, as near as may be; you know that.”

“Yes,” said Hartington, “I knew that. It is difficult to punish them more than they are being punished already.”

“If I chose that they should keep watch and watch,” Aggett cried, perceiving that Hartington was amused, “it’s none o’ your business. This goes to the Commander.” And he went out of the cabin, purposely leaving the curtain undrawn.

Hartington rose and drew it quietly. He undressed, curled himself up in his wicker chair, and began to read the marble-covered notebook.

The Commander heard nothing officially of John’s behaviour. Ordith’s advice was sought.

“My dear Aggett.” Ordith said, when the situation had been explained to him, “you will forgive my saying that you have made an ass of yourself.”

“I asked you what I should do.”

“You seem to be somewhat disarmed. Why not stop his shore leave?”

“Then he’ll sit on board and write more drivel. Besides, the punishment is inadequate.”

Ordith spread out his hands. “It is all you have left.”

So the leave which John might have had when the ship reached harbour was stopped indefinitely. Ordith promised himself that he would make a pretty story of the occasion of the stoppage when next he met Margaret. It would be good to make Lynwood and his poetry appear ridiculous.

Then, partly in generosity, and partly with a desire to irritate Aggett, Ordith said one day to John:

“If you want a quiet place to write in, and Hartington is using his cabin, you can sit in mine, Lynwood, any time I’m not there.”

II

The end to Aggett’s persecution, which the Warrant Officer had said must soon come, came unexpectedly. The ship was out of sight of land. Divisions and Prayers were over, and, there being no Gunnery that day, the hands had been told off for their forenoon duties. Driss, who had kept the First Watch and the Morning, came up from the Gunroom at about ten o’clock. He stood on the quarter-deck, drinking in the fresh air, and wondering how many minutes he might thus spend away from the Engineering drawing which he had deserted. Because he was very tired and thought himself unobserved he was unseamanlike enough to lean on the quarter-deck rails.

“Mr. Driss!”

He turned to see the Captain standing a few yards away from him. He sprang to attention, and saluted.

“Have you nothing to do this forenoon except lean on the quarter-deck rails?”

But Driss was not afraid of the Captain. “I have nothing to do this forenoon, sir, except an Engineering sketch. I came up for a minute to get some air.”

“No lecture?”

“No, sir. Midshipmen engineering don’t do School. We do the sketch in our own time, sir, working it in as we like.”

“So you came up to get some air?” the Captain said, looking steadily into Driss’s face. “Don’t you feel well?”

But one does not betray anyone to the Captain—not even Aggett.

“Yes, sir,” said Driss in such a tone of surprise as he might have used had his cheeks been rosy.

“Quite well?”

“Quite, sir.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When did you come off watch?”

“Eight bells, sir.”

“You kept the Morning?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And your watch previous to that?”

“The First, sir.”

“First and Morning? Are you making no mistake?”

“No mistake, sir.”

“How many midshipmen are doing Engineering duties?”

“Two, sir.”

“And you keep watch and watch?”

“We both stand off the Afternoon, sir.”

“But haven’t I seen you at a gun in the Afternoon?”

“Yes, sir. The midshipman not on watch attends his gun when there is Gunnery.”

“I see.... Are you undergoing any kind of—er—punishment at present, or is this the customary routine?”

“We are not under punishment, sir.”

“And you feel fit?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And happy?”

Driss, genuinely surprised, looked up at him, and after an instant’s pause answered, “Yes, sir,” in a voice which was somehow not so steady as he could have wished.

“I see. That will do.”

The Captain swung round on his heel and went below to his cabin.

“Messenger!... Tell the Engineer-Commander to speak to me.”

The messenger fled like the wind. He knew the Captain, but failed to recognize this mood. Ordinarily the Captain would have said, “Ask the Engineer-Commander....”

The Engineer-Commander, stirred to unwonted activity by the boy’s breathlessness, came quickly.

“You sent for me, sir?”

“Engineer-Commander, are you personally responsible for the routine of midshipmen performing Engine-room duties?”

“Mr. Aggett is directly responsible, sir—under me, of course.”

“They are keeping watch and watch night and day. Are you aware of that?”

“The Afternoon is regarded as kept, sir.”

“So I am told.... In addition to their watch-keeping they do an Engineering sketch each week?”

“Almost inconsiderable, sir.”

“You forget that they come to me for initials every week. They are elaborate drawings.”

“A few hours, sir....”

“Let that pass.... They attend Divisions and Quarters. They are in charge of the stokers at Upper Deck Evolutions. And they attend their guns. All this in their watch off.”

“I am not responsible for their Upper Deck duties, sir.”

The Captain’s eyes flashed. “That was unnecessary, Engineer-Commander. It is your duty to make your orders conform to circumstances. Have you realized that these young officers get less than eight hours sleep in forty-eight?”

“Surely, sir——”

“I worked it out while I waited. There are the figures.”

“I didn’t think, sir——”

“It is extraordinarily necessary to think when you have young lives in your hands.”

“I will instruct Mr. Aggett at once to make some modification, sir.”

The Captain took back the paper on which his figures were written. “These officers are ill,” he said. “I may as well tell you that I was led to make enquiries entirely by the astonishing appearance of a midshipman I found standing on the quarter-deck. He was whiter than I care to see my midshipmen.”

“I will make a change, sir.”

“Yes.... In future, midshipmen will do duty in three watches, and they will not be below after 10 p.m. or before 5 a.m. That will ensure that they get a night’s sleep every other night.”

“I will give your instructions, sir.”

“And take the control of midshipmen entirely out of Mr. Aggett’s hands. Take charge of them yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That is all then, Engineer-Commander.”

The Engineer-Commander hesitated. Then he gathered courage. “If I might make a suggestion, sir: in the circumstances, you having spoken to a midshipman—probably the Gunroom is talking about it—would it be wise to make this change at once? And from the disciplinary point of view, sir, to take the midshipmen so suddenly out of Mr. Aggett’s hands might look like—like an aspersion, in the circumstances. A little delay, sir?”

The Captain shook his head.

“In the circumstances, Engineer-Commander—no delay.”