Hollow Sea (15 page)

'Aw, for Christ's sake,' Williams said, 'money's no good to them. No damn good. I've said it once and I'll say it again. And you know it, you fat ape. Half them will be in queer street before Sunday. What you telling me, anyhow? The patriotic stunt. Hell! Nobody gives a hang in this ship. I know. I've seen as much of it as you, Mr. Walters. Ever been on a "bleeder"? Try one. Us fellers for'ard shut our eyes to lots of things see? We say nothing. Nothing about the mouldy chuck these fellers get. And the stinking tea and the bloody old bully, bully and jam, and pink potatoes, and a few raisins floating in hot water called pudding. You can't kid us. How much of the stores d'you keep back to sell to dagoes at Salonika? You know who I mean. Those fellers who call themselves soldiers. The Italianos. You goddam twister, and here you are – all soul and sanctity, begrudging us the chance of getting a few shekels together. You get twenty-four quid a month and sleep well on it. We get nine and sleep if we can. Be fair. So far as I'm concerned you can sell muck to them, but don't you interfere with us. You report us to the bridge. We'll do likewise. One fox is as good as another, Mr. Walters, but in your case I should say it was very sharp breeding. You've a nose that shines whenever it smells money. Ssh! There's that kid again. Now, just listen to that! Why do they have such kids going to the Dardanelles? Daft I call it. Quite daft.' They were silent. Williams said again, 'Ssh! listen. Did you hear that, then?'

He turned and pointed to a low bunk on the starboard side of the lower deck, hard against the bulkhead. It was in complete darkness, that row of bunks excluded from the light by the steel pillar.

'It's that kid. That's two nights I've heard him weeping. He isn't sea-sick, either. They've all done their duty there.'

'Crying for his mammy,' Vesuvius said.

'Look here! Are you men going to get up that ladder or not? D'you want me to call an officer down here?' Mr. Walters's inner rage had lost its punch and sting. He was feeling wretched, almost defeated, and how in the name of the devil had these two fellers got wind of his hopes for the future? Somebody had been talking. Who? Only that fool Hump. The silly damn fool.

'Don't you get yourself all worked up, Mr. Walters. It isn't good for a man as fat as you. No! We're not going up. At eight bells we're going because we have to then. It's our watch on. One of these blokes here promised me a swell pair of boots tonight, and now I'm beggared if I can remember his name or even what he looks like. Louis something it was. Young feller from Kent, and now I wouldn't know him from a turnip. There are so many of them, and somehow they all seem to look alike. It's the uniform, I suppose. It's the face, Mr. Walters; I suppose I'll bump into him again some time before we land.'

'Hear that,' Vesuvius said.

'Come on, now, Williams, that's your name, I suppose,' Mr. Walters interrupted.

'Yes, and his real name isn't Vesuvius, Mr. Walters. They call him that on account of those pimples. They're always threatening to burst. His name's Charlie Herring, isn't it, Charlie,' he said, laughing low in his throat.

Vesuvius went away to empty his bladder then.

'Come, now,' Walters went on. 'I understand more than you think I do. Williams, I'm
no
fool. Be sensible, man. Go on up and go quickly. Just supposing you were found here like this? There'd be trouble. And you wouldn't be able to blame me. Come along now, we'll call it quits. Mum's the word.'

He began pushing Williams towards the ladder. Williams became truculent.

'Here! Keep your fat paws off me, will you! You're in the same bloody boat as we are, Mr. Walters, and don't you forget it. And you've been caught napping see? We're no mugs. What you've got to do is to shut your gob, and say nowt. Mind you, Mr. Walters, you're selling rotten food, we're not. All we are doing is joining in the fun down below. You see if it came to the point, well you'd be in a mess, wouldn't you? But while you're here it might be as well to ask you to let us fellers for'ard have a bit more grub. And decent grub. You've got piles in that storeroom and you can't eat it all yourself, can you?'

He smiled at Walters, whose misery was now complete. They had made a fool of him. And he was powerless, helpless. There was nothing he could do. Those sleeping men wardered him, as they wardered the two disguised sailors, held them prisoners, chained his rage, smothered the hot word and the sly word in his very mouth.

Vesuvius came back again. All were silent, one with the sleeping troops. The lower deck seemed larger, more cavernous than ever, and somehow for the first time they appeared really conscious of their surroundings and the life around them. The still forms, the lines of up-turned faces, quietened and softened to innocence by sleep, conscious of the breathing, whilst they held their own, as though to listen to the vast body of breathing that floated in air, touched the farthest corner of the hold. They were disarmed; each was separated from the other, lost in the world of his own thoughts and feelings. Only the ceaseless throb of the engines, the communicating point to Reality.

Vesuvius spat on a hatch-cover, dug his hands into his pockets and spoke: Well, what was Walters going to do about it? He'd better hurry up and say. They had nothing against him. Being a chief steward didn't worry them. He was only a man after all. And he was in the same boat as themselves. Was he going to prevent them coming down again? Did he intend to report it and not report the cook in the troops' galley who had nearly poisoned him with a cup of tea from the tank? And did these fellers really care about anything after all? In two days they would have forgotten their little voyage. It was only a bit of fun. Did he begrudge them a few bob, the price of a short time in Salonika, or whatever confounded place this bum-ship was really making for? Well? He, Charlie Herring, would like to know.

Williams fingered the pile of silver coins in his pocket, looked at the folded Crown and Anchor board sticking out of the pocket of his tunic, a tunic that was soaked with history like Vesuvius's own, and looked at one and then at the other.

'Don't be all bloody night making up your mind, Mr. Walters. We've got work to do aboard this ship. If she were holed we would sink together.'

'Listen! I know what's at him. It's not the gambling,' Vesuvius was whispering. 'It's those two fellers selling sandwiches from the slops. Isn't that it, Mr. Walters?' He smiled at Mr. Walters. He was stroke oar in their boat. If he liked he could upset the whole bloody apple-cart. So they argued, over the heads of sleeping men.

'Come along, now,' Mr. Walters said. 'Be a sensible chap. I shut my eyes to lots of things. You be as sensible and we'll get on very well together! There! The bell's gone.'

Williams did not move. Vesuvius was already climbing the ladder.

'Let's get this straight, Mr. Walters,' Williams said. 'You bring that fellow down from the bridge. That's the best way to settle the whole matter. I told you I don't give a goddam, gambling's no harm to anybody, and I tell you money's no bloody use to them. But selling grub is another matter. What you aim to do? I tell you what. You sell your grub and I'll retain full rights over my board. How's that? And we won't say another word about it.'

For answer Mr. Walters walked quietly away and was lost in the distance.

Vesuvius was half-way down the ladder. He called under his breath, 'Come up, dafty! Bosun's looking for you. Hurry if you don't want to get necked.'

Williams swore to himself. 'Blast that damned fox,' he said.

'Ssh! There's that thing again. D'you hear it?' Vesuvius said, hanging from the ladder.

Williams began to go up. He punched the man on the behind. 'Yes, I can hear it! D'you think my ears are plugged? It's that fellow crying again. Got the bloody jim-jams I reckon! What a war!'

As soon as they put their feet on the decks the out-coming watch from the fo'c'sle surrounded them. 'How much did you fellers win tonight?'

'Oh, never mind talking about that now,' Williams said, and he crossed over to the bosun. 'What's the job tonight?' he asked. 'Scuppers again?'

The bosun could see nothing but the face. It was black darkness everywhere. And then the face vanished for Williams had rushed away to join Vesuvius in the lavatory where he was already getting out of the Buffs uniform. They folded the bundles up and sneaked back to the fo'c'sle. They opened the chain-locker door and hung the bundles on a nail. Then they rejoined the watch – Williams singing
sotto voce
: 'Where
are
we going to – we don't know! – we don't know.'

'Stop that damn row below there.' A ghostly voice spoke from the bridge.

'Christ! D'you ever see such decks?' O'Grady said. 'You'd think ten thousand kids had been playing on it, 'stead of fourteen hundred grown men on the way to serious business.'

They started work. The whole watch was spent clearing up after the troops. The bosun had gone aft to talk to the quartermaster in the wheel-house. Williams and Vesuvius, like inseparable twins, worked together. They carried a huge trough to the lee side and emptied it. The other men were still sweeping up papers, tins, tobacco, boxes, derelict nose wipers, cigarette butts, string, matches, slops.

'What do they care, anyhow?' said O'Grady joining them. He helped them drag back the trough ready for filling again.

'They don't care any thin',' said Williams. 'That's how men should be I reckon. Not carin' about anything saves you responsibilities.'

'Some people like to have responsibilities,' Vesuvius said.

'Aye! Like that fellow up there. That eye on the bridge looking down. Some people just love it. Give a hand here!' They dragged the trough farther along and lashed it to the bitt. The remainder of the watch, like sheep, had wandered aft. The wheel-house was certainly the ideal place for a smoke. But the bosun always got first go of everything. Williams went aft, too. O'Grady and Vesuvius leaned over the sail, talking. They punctuated the talk with much spitting. Vesuvius kept scratching his head, removing his cap for each operation.

'From below stairs?' enquired O'Grady, laughing.

'No! There are no lice there yet, and no lice'll ever beat the bugs in that fo'c'sle, sir. Maybe in a day or two we'll see them everywhere. They like the heat – these crawling hungry bugs.' He pulled his cap hard down over his head.

'Robson said to me an hour ago that he'd heard that we were going to land these fellers at' – pause then to spit into the sea – 'er.'

'Aw, shut guessin'. Anyhow, there's bald-head calling. Let's go aft.'

'You fellers cleared that rubbish up?' the bosun called as they drew near. He was standing outside the wheel-house door.

'Have a look. – Yes. All cleared.'

'Right! Come this way!' They ascended the ladder to the boat-deck.

'These two boats, five and six, want overhauling and contents checking. Get going.' He turned to Williams. 'See this job done, Williams,' he said. 'I have to go below to see that finicky second. You never can get a proper force of water on this bloody ship.'

'O.K.,' replied Williams.

As soon as Mr. Tyrer turned his back the men climbed into the boats and made themselves comfortable. They could hear the clear measured tread of the officer on the bridge. Port to starboard! Starboard to port! They talked. There seemed little else to do but talk, and exciting possibilities of every kind seemed to loom up from the distant horizon.

'You see, fellers, there's beggar all to do aboard this ship! except clean up slops. Old Tyrer looks on that second as a sort of second
Old Moore's Almanack.
Why, I heard somebody singing.'

They laughed. 'Never mind the bloody singing. Some feller below got a bad dream. Never mind that! Shell out the dibs.' They sat close round Williams.

'Sure!' He pulled a large handful of silver from his pocket. 'Share-out! Sure thing. Only thing is you fellers got to back me up against Walters.'

'Yes. Go ahead! Shell the stuff out,' they said as with one voice.

'How the hell he knew you were down there tonight beats me,' Vesuvius said.

Williams handed money to each man in the watch. 'It's sharp neckin', that's what it is. A damned fox can smell anything. That's what Walters is – a damned fox. Wasn't any trouble wangling a uniform. I can manage that any time. But how'd he know I was down those 'tween-decks tonight? Nobody told him. No. The bastard's been there himself half the evening. Well, I say if he can sell muck to them I reckon I can have a nap hand or a turn at the old sergeant-major. God lumme, you only got to be down there half an hour before you know how rotten it is for them. They like a turn at cards – and having a smack at a fortune on my board. They don't want money. Goddam, I told Walters it's no use to them. They'll never care again what money looks or feels like after they've got off this packet. You fellers know that! No! This beggar Walters he's making his nest whilst the war goes – but he's greedy like any damn fox. Wants it all to himself.'

'Here's the bosun back again,' O'Grady said.

There was a wild scramble to the various jobs as the short fat form of Mr. Tyrer loomed up. He stood watching them go over the tackle.

'You done that job, Williams?' he asked.
 
.
 
.
 
He breathed heavily after his long climb up the engine-room ladder. He saw Williams examining a water-keg.

'Sure!' Williams said. 'And did you find out where this tub's making for? Has old Moore any more prophecies for tomorrow, bos?'

'Yes, she's going to Marseilles right now for a cargo of wood. Plywood. Come on, for Christ's sake. Nearly time to go for'ard again. You're the best crowd I've ever had for years. You really like work.'

The men left the boat. 'Seven bells already,' one man said. 'How bloody time flies.'

As they walked slowly along the port side of the saloon-deck, Vesuvius pulled up, so that all stood and looked at the box he was pointing at.

'Say, bos, what they aim to do with that box there?'

'Box! What box?'

'You know! That box old Rajah used to sit on, you know, bosun.'