An Eye of the Fleet by Richard Woodman Page A

their affair, but they could be relied upon to return to their ship. The navy’s fear of desertion prevented any liberty and resulted in the drunken orgy at present in progress between decks. If the old sailing master could do nothing to alter the crazy logic of Admiralty he was damned if he would have the upper deck marred by the presence of a whore.
    Drinkwater approached the girl. In her preoccupation she did not hear him. He coughed and she turned, only to blench at his uniform. She drew back against the coils of hemp imagining Morris’s threat of a flogging about to be carried out.
    â€˜Excuse me ma’am,’ began Drinkwater, unsure of himself. The woman was obviously distressed. ‘The Master’s compliments and would you please to go below . . .’
    She looked at him uncomprehending.
    â€˜Please ma’am,’ the midshipman pleaded, ‘None of you, er, ladies are permitted above decks.’ She began to perceive his meaning and his embarrassment. Her courage rallied. Here was one she could answer back.
    â€˜D’you think I’m one of them ’arlots?’ she asked indignantly. Drinkwater stepped back and the girl gained more spirit from his discomfiture.
    â€˜I’m a proper wife,
Mrs
Sharples to the likes o’you, and I journeyed a week to see my ’usband Tom . . .’ she hesitated and Drinkwater tried to placate her.
    â€˜Then, please ma’am, will ye go to Sharples and bide with him.’
    She rose in scorn. ‘Aye willingly, Mister Officer, if ye’ll return him to me but he’s out there . . . ,’ she waved over the side, ‘off in a boat, an’ me with child and a week on the road only to find ’im beat and, and . . .’ here she could not bring herself to say more and her courage failed her. She stepped forward and fainted into the arms of a confused Drinkwater. Then in an intuitive flash he realised she knew of her husband’s humiliation.
    He called aft for Appleby and the surgeon puffed up along the gangway. A glance took in the lady’s condition and her nervous state. Appleby chafed her wrists and sent Drinkwater off for sal volatile from his chest. A few minutes later the girl recovered consciousness. Blackmore had come up and demanded an explanation. Having made an enquiry on passing through the gun deck en route to the surgeon’s chest, Drinkwater was able to tell the master that Sharples had gone off in the launch with Morris. ‘But the man’s not in the launch crew.’
    â€˜I know, Mr Blackmore,’ replied Drinkwater.
    â€˜Did Morris single him out?’
    â€˜It appears so, sir.’ Drinkwater shrugged and bit his lip.
    â€˜D’ye have any idea why?’ asked Blackmore, shrewdly noticing the midshipman’s face shadowed by doubtful knowledge. Drinkwater hesitated. It was more eloquent than words.
    â€˜Come on now, young shaver, if ye know, let’s have it out.’
    The midshipman swallowed hard. He looked at the distressed girl, golden curls fell about a comely face and she looked like a damsel in distress. Drinkwater burnt his boats.
    â€˜Morris has been buggering her husband,’ he said in a low voice.
    â€˜And Sharples?’ enquired Blackmore.
    â€˜He was forced, sir . . .’
    Blackmore gave Drinkwater another hard look. He did not have to ask more. Long experience had taught him what had occurred. Morris would have bullied Drinkwater, may even have offered him physical violence or worse. The old man was filled with a loathing for this navy that ran on brutality.
    â€˜Let the lady get some air,’ said Blackmore abruptly andturned aft for the quarterdeck.
    When the launch returned Sharples was reunited with his wife. He had endured three hours of abuse and ridicule from Morris and his boat’s crew.
    Having delivered the Admiral’s orders Morris made his way to the cockpit.
    Drinkwater