Hollow Sea (48 page)

'Now, Bosun.'

He stood as close to Mr. Tyrer as was possible without danger of pushing the little man headlong into the front row and exclaimed savagely under his breath:

'Now, Bosun. For Christ's sake do something so that we can both get down. Those men down there are determined we shall sing a duet and a duet we must sing. I know the particular thing they want us to do. Do
you
?
'

Mr. Tyrer heard these words distinctly, and he replied almost as savagely: 'No. Don't I keep telling you I don't know no bloody "Home, Home to the Mountains."
 
'

Disgusted he turned away from the steward.

Then follow me, and just hum, or haw or whatever you like. There's so much damn noise that it doesn't really matter what you sing. Now! Are you ready?'

He raised his arm, held up a finger, as though to signal to the now milling audience that they were beginning.

'All right, let her go. Damn me, I'm sorry I volunteered at all. I could've sung a song or two all right. I know one or two good songs, but hang me, Mr. Walters, you seem to've put a bloody ju-ju or something on this concert. Well, never mind. Soon's you open your mouth I'll open mine and we'll get through somehow. And a mere tot of rum won't satisfy me either, Mr. Walters, if I may say so. Begin.'

'When the hell you going to start?' came a voice.

'Yes, you pair of silly cows. Like a couple of Judies showing their legs for the first time or something. Or maybe you're thinking of something, like that stink below. Come on you two good men. Start.'

Everybody took up the cry. 'Start,
START
,
S
-
T
-
A
-
R
-
T
.' They spelt the word.

The duet had begun. And it had not got very far before the whole saloon rang with the loudest laughter any man present had ever heard.

Mr. Walters and Mr. Tyrer went bravely on, though the bosun did blush, a flush on his round fat face as red as a beetroot, but it was only Mr. Walters at whom they were laughing, and at a particular part of his anatomy, which rose and fell with his singing, shook and shivered under the ordeal, and Williams suddenly remembering Rajah's remark on the night of sailing, cried out a 'Go it. Go to it, man. That'll take the nice curve off your belly, man. Go it, go it.'

The laughter increased. The duet of a kind went on, laboriously, tenaciously, bravely, Mr. Walters now cooing like a dove, his mouth shaped into a perfect O, whilst Mr. Tyrer, head lowered on his breast and chin well down, indulged in a sort of basso-profundo, a stream of hummings and murmurings and grunts, sweat running down his face, a terrific desire to leap into that gesticulating, tormenting, laughing and jeering crowd, a desire to hurl himself amongst them and shout as only he could shout when driven to it:

Down below there, you lot of sods. Down into the bloody stink-house with you and check up numbers and names of damn good men. Down below, you bastards.'

In true oratorio style he raged, he melted and he burned, but Mr. Walters went blithely on, and only for one strange reason, and that bordering on the miraculous, for the fat steward had never in his life sung to anybody, and now realized that his wasn't a bad voice after all. It was in a way a triumph for him, and though his eye from time to time caught sight of another and what seemed more powerful eye, set in a face that made the strangest expressions, he took little notice, and did not realize the meaning of those gestures, those gestures from Mr. O'Grady, who was now feeling sorry he had not volunteered at first. For he was certain he could sing the whole lot of them off the face of the earth, and, confound it, he knew 'Home, Home to the Mountains,'
 
'or whatever the hell you call it,' and might well have sung the duet with Walters.

Mr. Tyrer wondered, stared distractedly at the deck-head, lowered his head again, made curious sepulchral sounds, wondered again as to how many more verses there were in 'this confounded bloody jewit,' and wondered in vain for Mr. Walters went on and on as though this song, 'this jewit' was, like Vesuvius's cigar, everlasting.

Oddly enough a silence had descended upon the assembly, much to the discomfort of Mr. Tyrer, who realized he was caught like a rat in a trap. And with this realization he acted.

He shut his mouth like a trap, raised his head and stared fiercely before him, leaving Mr. Walters trebling it into stuffy air, leaving him and the 'bloody silly jewit' for better or worse, for good and all as he resolutely stepped forward and jumped down from the platform.

He even scowled, much to everybody's amusement, as he ploughed his way through arms and legs and bodies and at last reached haven.

The precious seat from which he had so willingly risen in order to do honour to the occasion, the net result of which could now be seen in everybody's face, measured in their skitting, jeering, laughter, their ferocious grumblings, and tittering at the back and front, even to the end of that saloon, where in order to relieve the monotony of gaiety a soldier had begun to cough, to cough louder and louder, and finally issuing a sort of half smothering, half gobbling sound from his throat.

Mr. Tyrer no sooner sat down than there were loud cries of, 'Cheese it. For God's sake come off and let somebody else have a chance.'

'Pull him off. He'll stand there singing half the night.'

There then began a general chorus. 'Come off it. Come off it.'

Vesuvius leaped to his feet, rushed to the platform, mounted it, and completely ignoring the presence of the chief steward, took up a dramatic pose and began.

'Friends, mates, fellow-workers and all the bloody rest of it, I announce the next item which will be a dramatic recitation by myself of "The Devil and Dan McGrew." All objecting raise hands, and when you've done that, sit quiet, 'cos I'm going to do my stuff whatever happens. Mr. Walters.'

He turned towards the steward, smiling, and cxclaimed, 'And three cheers for Mr. Walters, thanking you, sir, for a most splendid jewit if I may say so. Three cheers for Mr. Walters. Hip-pip—'

'Hip-pip-hurrah.'

Mr. Walters stepped down from the platform, and seemed to shoot out of sight below stairs.

Vesuvius now walked up and down the length of platform, hands in his pockets. He seemed to be taking the measure of his audience. He was so intent on this that he did not notice the door open, though he heard the cry that followed it.

'Shut that bloody, blasted door. Want us blown to hell or something? What you bin told about them doors, goddam fool?'

All heads turned as one towards the port doorway.

A sailor was standing there, looking in on them, seemingly undecided as to whether to come right in and close the door, one hand rattling the brass ring through the knob. He seemed to be looking round for a seat, but nobody made any attempt to offer him one.

Then he banged the door and made his way into the saloon. Vesuvius saw him too. He knew the fellow. Quiet chap, belonged to the starboard watch. He roared out at him.

'Hey, you there, hurry up and sit down. Can't you see we're in the middle of a concert?'

'Middle of the ocean, too, I reckon,' the man replied.

'Where the hell is Mr. Walters?' the crowd began to cry.

The new-comer now seemed to be searching for somebody. And at last he found him, and moreover a seat also. The man now leaned over and spoke to his mate. It was Turner.

'Heard about Marvel?' he said in a thick voice. 'Heard it?'

'Heard what. Oh shut it. Come on for hell's sake, Vesuvius. When you going to begin? And you, Williams. I thought you two were going to recite.'

O'Grady stood up, looked round the saloon, cupped his hands, cried out, 'Friends, mates and all the rest of the old stuff, is this concert to go on or not?'

'Yes. No. Sure. Come on there, you pimply-faced swine. Do your stuff.'

'I say. You heard about that steward chap?'

The man began gently poking O'Grady in the back. 'I just heard that—'

'Aw! Shut it. Can't you see I'm trying to get Williams up on that stage? Hey there, bosun, can't you let him have it in the grand style? You know. Come on now, Williams, you Welsh rabbit, can't you see Vesuvius waiting up there?'

Vesuvius began clapping his hands for order. 'Order,' he cried. '
ORDER
!'

Mr. Walters's cap could be seen, and then he himself gradually appeared. He had been sitting on the grand stairway thinking of many things, including 'this farcical do,' and he gathered by a glance at his watch that it was nearly over now, thank heavens. And would he ever forget Hump for doing what he did, this very night? No. Never. He would
never
forget it. He looked up at the sailor on the platform.

The concert was all to hell. The accordionist had not even had a chance to prove his mettle, nor had the two comedians shown up. But there was the repulsive looking sailor, and he surely was one of the two he had had the rows with about selling those sandwiches to the troops.

Of course. He'd know that ugly mug anywhere. Yes, and there was his mate, the garrulous, talkative chap with a swear in every breath he took, there he was looking up at his friend on the platform and just grinning at him. At least he could do that one thing perfectly. Grin.

But where did he, Mr. Walters, come in now? Nowhere at all, it seemed. He was of no account, and yet if he liked to exercise his authority, why, he could empty that whole saloon in a brace of shakes. And why didn't he? Because he was not the sort of man to begrudge them a concert, a bit of a 'do,' after what they had been through. No one should ever say that Mr. Walters put a spoke in the wheel of their enjoyment. He had only put the spoke in the wheel of two men's greed. There they were now, practically running the show. Should he get on to the platform, or should he stay where he was and let them go to it?

By the time he had made his decision it was too late. Williams had joined his bosom-pal on the platform, a sudden silence came over everybody, all were waiting for them to begin. All except the new-comer at the back who again poked O'Grady in the ribs and repeated in the same awed tone of voice, 'Heard what happened to that steward?'

O'Grady swung round as though stung. 'Well, what did happen? Say quick, and for God's sake stop poking me in the back will you? What goddam steward are you talking about? What have I got to do with a glass-back, anyhow? Why keep moidering me? Blast it, man, sit quiet and listen to the concert.'

Vesuvius and Williams had already begun a kind of duologue, and it was obvious that they had rehearsed it pretty well. For nearly three-quarters of an hour the saloon had surrendered to bedlam. Now all was changed, one could have heard a pin drop. It even made Mr. Walters and the bosun feel ashamed of themselves.

Mr. Tyrer glared at the two sailors, but showed no signs of interest. Twice he had decided to get up and clear out. He had seen Walters disappear for about five minutes and had no doubt at all that he had gone below for a drink. Then why the devil hadn't he followed in the chief's wake? He would have had a drink too. Still he was a free man, he could clear out now, join the steward on the stairway, ask for a drink. He had done his turn. And then his attention was drawn to O'Grady who had begun shouting in the face of the man behind him.

'Well, what about it?' he shouted. 'Shut your gob and let people listen.'

'His name was Marvel, he was a decent chap. Only yesterday I was talking to him about what time we might get the Rock Light. But it's a hell of a way off, isn't it?'

The man started to laugh.

'Aw, for Christ's sake,' O'Grady said. 'You've been seeing a bogey-man or something,' and he turned his back deliberately on the other and settled himself down once more.

He hadn't heard a single word of the duologue, and now here was Mr. Walters again. Blasted nuisance. There he was climbing on to the platform. Vesuvius and Williams roared at each other to everybody's amusement.

Mr. Walters cried, '
STOP
, the accordionist will now give you a few tunes.'

'Aye, well if you want to know they found him hanging in the glory-hole, see?'

Will you shut it, goddam you?' O'Grady shouted in the other's face. 'I don't want to hear about anybody hanging hisself. Besides, what a bloody silly thing to do.'

'Shurrup.'

'Cut the cackling there, will you? Mr. Walters is trying to say something.'

'Yes. Throw the swine out, O'Grady. Coming in here and trying to whisper something we can all hear. Chuck him out.'

'Aye. They found him all right. Walters doesn't know nothing.'

The speaker received a thump in the back.

'Will you shut up or d'you want a belt in the jaw?'

'He says a feller hung hisself,' O'Grady said, half turning to the last speaker.

'Silly cow.'

Will you fellers shut talking there? This man's concert can't be heard at all. What the hell is somebody gassing about, anyhow?'

The man behind O'Grady jumped to his feet, shouted wildly. 'Nothing. Only a chap hung himself.'

He paused. 'Hope you're satisfied.'

'Silly beggar.'

'What for, though?'

'How do I know?'

'
STOP
!
STOP
!' Mr. Walters was doing his best to keep up the continuity but it seemed of no avail. The new-comer had definitely put a spoke in the wheel. And somehow, though it appeared hazy to Mr. Walters, he thought he had heard somebody talking about a steward who had hung himself, a steward who had hung himself, 'a steward who had hung himself, had hung himself, hung himself, a steward who had,' and the phrase became sing-song in his head, he kept on repeating it, whilst he stood and called for order, called, '
STOP
!
STOP
!
QUIET
PLEASE
!
ORDER
THERE
WILL
YOU
!' He wanted very much to add, 'You noisy lot of bastards,' but this could not be done. He was entirely at the mercy of these men.