We Saw The Sea by John Winton Page A

sir. Going to go round again,” said the Navigating Officer.
    “I can see that . But why?”
    A telephone rang at the back of the bridge. Andrew Bowles answered it.
    “From the First Lieutenant, sir, suggest we make a signal to Hiram J. Salt , Matthew, eleven, three, sir.”
    “What’s that? I don’t know the reference.”
    Andrew Bowles consulted the telephone.
    “The First Lieutenant says it’s ‘And said unto him, Art thou he that should come, or do we look for another?’ sir.”
    The whole bridge exploded into laughter, as though The Bodger’s suggestion had put Hiram J. Salt’s antics back into perspective again.
    “Right,” said the Captain, “make that to our friend right away.”
    “Aye aye, sir.”
    The Navigating Officer put up his glasses. “Hiram’s signalling, sir. Can you read that, Signalman?”
    “Just getting it, sir. Message is . . . Sorry . . . Quartermaster . . . has toothache . . . here . . . I . . . come . . . again. Sorry, quartermaster has toothache here I come again, sir.”
    “Very good.”
    Hiram J. Salt approached for the second time at almost half the speed, so slowly that the Captain grew impatient.
    “Come on, man, we can’t stop here all day.”
    As Hiram J. Salt crept up to Carousel ’s side, The Bodger held up his thumb. A hand behind a scuttle in the bridge superstructure acknowledged the gesture. Hiram J. Salt plunged and swooped at her slower speed and was at the extent of a roll when Carousel ’s upperdeck loudspeakers burst into raucous music.
    “One for the money! “
    Wilbur lifted his head from the voice-pipe.
    “Two for the show!”
    Wilbur cocked his head enquiringly at his First Lieutenant.
    “Three to be ready and go cat go! ”
    Hiram J. Salt swung nearer Carousel and her bow rose and fell sharply.
    “Rock! Rock ! ROCK EVERYBODY! “ roared Carousel ’s loudspeakers. “Roll! Roll ! ROLL EVERYBODY!”
    Wilbur handed his cap to his First Lieutenant and did an impromptu dance on the wing of his bridge. The music faded as the two ships came level.
    The crack of the line-throwing rifle was like a race starting-gun. The spidery white line soared out over the water. The distance line was hauled in and passed forward to the destroyer’s fo’c’sle. The telephone was connected and Ordinary Seaman Darnay, the telephone rating, began to test communications. Meanwhile Hiram J. Salt ’s sailors, led by the negro cook, hauled in the hoseline, Carousel ’s sailors eddied to and fro, the Chief Bos’n’s Mate barked sharply, the crane-driver swore monotonously, and The Bodger grew purple in the face.
    Hiram J. Salt were having trouble. Twice they attempted to haul away the hoseline at the run and twice they were brought up short. Wilbur leaned over the bridge rail and shouted at the negro cook through a megaphone.
    “Satchmo, is you is or is you ain’t a cook?”
    “Will you say again all after ‘Goddam limeys,’ please,” said Ordinary Seaman Darnay.
    “Roll on my --- twelve,” said the crane-driver fervently.
    “Just as I thought,” said the Commander. “A guinea a minute.”
     
    Apart from his duties as First Lieutenant The Bodger was also Defence Officer and responsible for the ship’s damage control. He had organized a few minor exercises but he had discovered that the only ratings taking part were one watch of stokers and E.R.A.s, and the shipwrights; the rest of the ship’s company were unaffected and uninterested. The Bodger resolved to remedy that and, with the Captain’s permission, organized a full-scale exercise while the ship was at sea.
    Michael’s action station was on the Gun Direction Position, but when the Captain saw him there with the rest of the G.D.P. crew he objected to the crowd.
    “Too many bloody people up here,” the Captain said. “Hobbes, go down to one of the section bases and see what’s going on. It won’t do you any harm to see how the other half lives.”
    Michael made his way down the ladders to the