my own business.”
Harry was annoyed with himself. He had been too direct. Yet surely Outhwaite’s earlier remarks, let alone what he’d overheard, showed a hint of sympathy. Would they all be like the surgeon? Common sense told him that he could not look for any real support from the commissioned officers of the Magnanime. They might know what Carter had done. They might even be ashamed. But he was a stranger, and this was their ship. Unless Carter was a much worse captain than Harry had heard so far, they would do nothing, individually or collectively. They would examine the events in the light of their own careers and act accordingly.
That was even more true of the standing officers, those who were appointed to the ship by warrant from the various Boards of the Admiralty: pursers, carpenters, and the like, as well as the surgeon. Commissioned officers came and went, but the warrant officers could spend their entire sea-going career in one vessel. To them, Carter was just a passing phase. The name of their ship meant more than any one man’s reputation. Besides, as yet, there was no saying whether the man’s reputation was about to be dented or enhanced.
Nor, regardless of what Outhwaite had just said, could he look with any confidence for assistance from the hands. Never mind their lowly status, which would probably debar their testimony. Sense would tell them to say nothing. They depended on the captain for everything. “A captain is a god on his own quarterdeck” was a well-known expression. And it was true. A certain amount of care had to be taken with the officers, since a means of redress existed for them, should they feel that their captain was going too far. Not so the hands. How could a man on the lower deck go against him, when he alone decided what was a punishable offence, and the level of pain that offence deserved? He couldn’t hang them without a court martial, but short of that, he could do what he liked. Many a man had expired at the grating, to be entered in the ship’s log as having died while receiving punishment.
CHAPTER FOUR
HARRY was not surprised that Carter kept him waiting. He paced back and forth on the quarterdeck before the entrance to the great cabin, in plain view of a fair proportion of the crew. The captain would want everyone to know how little he cared for the comfort of Harry Ludlow. In another man, Harry might have been amused, laughing at the need for such behaviour. Not Carter. He fought to keep his temper in check. To occupy his mind, he looked around the ship, seeing familiar things, in spite of the years. Eventually the signal came, the marine sentry opened the door, and he was ushered in.
Sitting down, behind a polished table covered with papers, it was even more noticeable that the man had grown fat in the eleven years since Harry had last seen him. Then he had been slight and wiry, like whipcord, his face pinched with a permanent expression of dissatisfaction. Now his face and body showed the effects of command, and the sedentary existence that that brought. But the look of utter disdain was still there, not lessened by a fuller face. He was five years older than Harry but looked twenty. His small fat body seemed stuffed into his uniform. His belly, once so flat, was now a great bulge straining his waistcoat. The dust from his newly powdered wig had settled on his shoulders, taking the gloss off his epaulettes. He did not stand up as Harry entered. At his side stood Crevitt, a Bible very obvious in his hand. A young marine officer stood off to one side by the door of one of the captain’s other cabins.
Harry took in the details of the great cabin at a glance. With the ship on a southerly course, the room was in shadow. How shabby it looked compared to the same room when his father had occupied it. Then it had boasted fine carpets from the East; mirrors, paintings and polished furniture; silver had gleamed on the table, even when, as now, it was being used as a
Harry was annoyed with himself. He had been too direct. Yet surely Outhwaite’s earlier remarks, let alone what he’d overheard, showed a hint of sympathy. Would they all be like the surgeon? Common sense told him that he could not look for any real support from the commissioned officers of the Magnanime. They might know what Carter had done. They might even be ashamed. But he was a stranger, and this was their ship. Unless Carter was a much worse captain than Harry had heard so far, they would do nothing, individually or collectively. They would examine the events in the light of their own careers and act accordingly.
That was even more true of the standing officers, those who were appointed to the ship by warrant from the various Boards of the Admiralty: pursers, carpenters, and the like, as well as the surgeon. Commissioned officers came and went, but the warrant officers could spend their entire sea-going career in one vessel. To them, Carter was just a passing phase. The name of their ship meant more than any one man’s reputation. Besides, as yet, there was no saying whether the man’s reputation was about to be dented or enhanced.
Nor, regardless of what Outhwaite had just said, could he look with any confidence for assistance from the hands. Never mind their lowly status, which would probably debar their testimony. Sense would tell them to say nothing. They depended on the captain for everything. “A captain is a god on his own quarterdeck” was a well-known expression. And it was true. A certain amount of care had to be taken with the officers, since a means of redress existed for them, should they feel that their captain was going too far. Not so the hands. How could a man on the lower deck go against him, when he alone decided what was a punishable offence, and the level of pain that offence deserved? He couldn’t hang them without a court martial, but short of that, he could do what he liked. Many a man had expired at the grating, to be entered in the ship’s log as having died while receiving punishment.
CHAPTER FOUR
HARRY was not surprised that Carter kept him waiting. He paced back and forth on the quarterdeck before the entrance to the great cabin, in plain view of a fair proportion of the crew. The captain would want everyone to know how little he cared for the comfort of Harry Ludlow. In another man, Harry might have been amused, laughing at the need for such behaviour. Not Carter. He fought to keep his temper in check. To occupy his mind, he looked around the ship, seeing familiar things, in spite of the years. Eventually the signal came, the marine sentry opened the door, and he was ushered in.
Sitting down, behind a polished table covered with papers, it was even more noticeable that the man had grown fat in the eleven years since Harry had last seen him. Then he had been slight and wiry, like whipcord, his face pinched with a permanent expression of dissatisfaction. Now his face and body showed the effects of command, and the sedentary existence that that brought. But the look of utter disdain was still there, not lessened by a fuller face. He was five years older than Harry but looked twenty. His small fat body seemed stuffed into his uniform. His belly, once so flat, was now a great bulge straining his waistcoat. The dust from his newly powdered wig had settled on his shoulders, taking the gloss off his epaulettes. He did not stand up as Harry entered. At his side stood Crevitt, a Bible very obvious in his hand. A young marine officer stood off to one side by the door of one of the captain’s other cabins.
Harry took in the details of the great cabin at a glance. With the ship on a southerly course, the room was in shadow. How shabby it looked compared to the same room when his father had occupied it. Then it had boasted fine carpets from the East; mirrors, paintings and polished furniture; silver had gleamed on the table, even when, as now, it was being used as a
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