Black August (27 page)

Brisket turned a contemptuous eye on her. ‘Speak when yer spoken to, Skinny Lizzie—unless you want ter get my fist in yer ugly mug.'

‘I'm the Bloke on this ship now,' Crowder added as he moved towards the door. ‘Most of the officers is dead and the rest soon will be. Come on, Brisket.'

‘'Arf a mo'—what's the ‘urry.' The soldier put down his steel helmet on the table, and with a sudden movement reached out, his fingers closing on Ann's breast.

‘Oh!' She gave a little cry of pain and jerking herself away knocked up his arm.

He stood there leering. ‘Might ‘ave a bit more on yer. I likes 'em plump meself—but you'll do. D'yer know where ter find the Chief's cabin?'

Her eyes blazed at him but she did not reply.

‘If yer don't I'll show yer. Might as well start as we mean to go on, eh? You'd best get along there an' tidy up; make it all nice and comfy fer yer new lord an' master, then wait till I got time to come an' attend ter yer.'

Ann swallowed hard. She was nearly choking with revulsion and loathing for this shallow-skulled, red-faced burly brute whose quick eyes were stripping her clothing from her body as he spoke. The knuckles of her hands stood out white and hard as she gripped the edge of the table behind her for support.

‘Don't you go gettin' sullen now.' A threatening note crept into Brisket's voice. ‘You'll find me easy enough ter live wiv if yer take it pleasant without no fuss, but wiv wimen oo's uppish I sez treat 'em rough, an' if yer starts puttin' on any of the la-di-da stuff, you'll get a darn good ‘iding—see?'

‘Come on,' said Crowder impatiently, ‘you'll have plenty o' time to amuse yourself when we've scuppered the rest of the bunch.'

‘If you are the Captain, I appeal to you,' cried Veronica. ‘For God's sake use your authority—stop this man insulting Miss Croome and take him out of here.'

Crowder lurched back from the door and faced her; hands on hips, his enormous biceps standing out like cannon balls beneath his grimy skin.

‘See here,' he said thickly, ‘we're running this ship now, an' my right ‘and man's entitled to 'is pleasure if 'e wants it. The officers have had their innings I'll be bound, an' we mean to have our turn—make up yer mind to that. You may be skinny, but I like yer spirit so I'll attend to you meself later on. In the meantime there's work to be done on deck. Come on, Brisket.'

‘Righto, Capting. I'll be with yer, but we might as well sample the goods.'

As Crowder left the wardroom Brisket seized Ann round the
waist and flung her back across the table, forcing her down beneath him while he sought to press his lips on hers.

She screamed and struggled, twisting in his grip and beating wildly at his face with her clenched fists, but he only gave a guffaw of laughter and his hot mouth fastened greedily upon the soft flesh of her neck.

Veronica snatched up the decanter, with the idea of smashing Brisket over the head, but Ann was jerking her face from side to side with such rapidity as she strove to free herself from the soldier that Veronica feared to hit her by mistake; slamming it down again she dashed out of the room.

Ann gasping and shuddering still endeavoured to fight Brisket off. An awful nausea seized her as she felt the sharp bristles of his chin rasp against her flesh, and the smell of his pungent breath in her nostrils, but her eyes were staring wide with blazing anger, and with a sudden snap her sharp teeth met, as she bit viciously into his ear.

With an obscene curse he jerked his head away and struck her savagely in the ribs.

‘You ruddy bitch—I'll learn you.' Then as she cowered away he raised his fist to strike her in the face.

‘Stop that you!—d'you hear!' roared a new voice, and Fanshawe came bounding into the room. He had recovered consciousness more than an hour before but remained, bound, gagged, and seething with rage, in the pantry until Veronica had the inspiration to release him.

‘Gawd! it's the Capting,' Brisket leapt away from Ann and stooped to snatch his rifle from the floor.

‘Drop that, you little swine.' The Lieutenant-Commander gripped a wine bottle by the neck and his blue eyes were cold with fury as he made a terrific swipe at the crouching soldier's head.

‘Blast yer—yer murdering devil!' Brisket jerked his head aside but the bottle caught him on the upper arm just as he lunged at the officer with his rifle. The bayonet slipped past Fanshawe's ribs and buried its point with a thud in the panelling of the wardroom.

Next second the two men had crashed to the floor, the bottle shattered and they rolled over and over striving to grab each other by the throat, while Crowder, who had caught the sounds
of the struggle in the passage, came pounding back through the lobby.

The stoker stood hesitant in the doorway of the wardroom, his revolver raised, but fearing to shoot the wrong man in the
mêlée.
Suddenly the officer came out on top. With his left hand he had the soldier by the throat, and with his right was dealing him quick slashing strokes in the ribs and belly. Brisket choked and groaned as every hammer blow descended on his aching body.

‘Stop!' screamed Veronica, ‘stop!' as she flung herself on Crowder, but it was too late. His revolver flashed, there was an ear-splitting report in the confined space of the wardroom, and at the same moment the Lieutenant-Commander sank down on his antagonist, shot through the brain.

Brisket crawled out from beneath him and staggered to his feet. His face was purple, his eyes bloodshot, half-mad with pain and rage he grabbed at Ann again. In quick agonising gasps she had recovered her breath while they had been fighting and now swung the decanter at his head with all her force.

Then without warning came a sudden grinding crash. For a moment the deck of the wardroom seemed to lift and then plunge down again. Brisket was flung off his feet; Ann's blow missed his skull but caught him a glancing blow across his left cheek and eye, then she pitched forward on top of him. Veronica and Crowder struggling together in the doorway fell in a tangled heap.

The ship seemed to hesitate for the fraction of a second and then soughed on again at full speed. Crowder scrambled to his knees and thrusting Veronica from him, stooped to grab the pistol he had dropped, but as he did so there came a heavy thud. With startling suddenness a man dropped into the ward-room from the upper deck through the after ammunition hatch. Swift on his heels another followed.

‘Kenyon,' gasped Ann. ‘Oh, Kenyon,' but he pushed her roughly aside and held the stoker covered with his gun. Petty Officer Sims, who was beside him, gripped the moaning Brisket by the neck.

Crowder was still kneeling on the floor, and had Kenyon arrived a second earlier he would have had him at his mercy. As it was the stoker's revolver was in his hand again and pointed upward at the middle of Kenyon's body. For a moment they
remained, rigid, glaring into the barrels of each other's pistols.

‘Stalemate,' panted Kenyon. ‘If I fire, your gun will go off and get me. If you fire my finger will contract on the trigger and I'll get you—how about it?'

‘You're right.' Crowder came slowly to his full height.

‘Lay your gun on the table and I'll put mine there too,' Kenyon lowered his pistol a fraction to encourage the leader of the mutineers. Then watching each other like cats, the two men put down their weapons, and stood one at either end of the long table.

‘What have we ‘it?' demanded Crowder.

‘We've been slap through a drifter.'

‘Gawd! The poor blighters!'

‘Do you think the ship is damaged?'

‘What, the old hooker! She'd go through a drifter like a slab of butter, but we may have sprung a plate or two.'

‘How can we find that out?'

‘I'd better nip forward with some of the lads and have a looksee.'

In the sudden anxiety that they might be about to sink, both had momentarily allowed the mutiny to take second place, but they were brought back to it by Kenyon saying: ‘Do you realise that the forepart of the ship is in our hands?'

‘I know that—an' I'm wondering how you ever got aft.'

‘Crawled through your men in the dark with Sims here. It was he who put me up to the dodge of coming down the hatch, but how about making certain that the ship
is
all right?'

‘Well, I can't go forward if your people are going to snipe at me, can I? What do you say to a bit of a truce?'

‘Why not?' Kenyon drew himself up. ‘I'm willing and you seem a sensible sort of chap; can't we agree to stop this slaughter altogether?'

‘Yes, if you're prepared to accept me as Captain of the ship.'

‘No, I can't do that. Your men would murder the General if they got hold of him, and I'll be frank with you, I'm scared for the ladies too. Even if you are giving me a straight deal, could you guarantee to protect them from a mutinous crew?'

‘I couldn't, and I wouldn't have time to try.'

‘Well, that's straight, anyway.'

For a moment there was silence while the two men considered the situation.

‘Look here,' said Crowder suddenly, ‘there's more of us nor what there is of you—so I'll get you in the end—won't I?'

‘The odds are certainly in your favour.'

‘Well, when I have, the hooker'll be mine, won't it?'

‘What's left of it; we may be damaged now.'

‘Then I'm game to meet you ‘alf-way. We're makin' 'Arwich so I'll let you have a boat an' all the gear and you can 'op it for the nearest spot of mud.'

‘All of us?' asked Kenyon quickly.

‘Yes, all of you. An' to be honest I'd a sight sooner have the women out of it. If we kill your lot off there'll only be trouble among the men as to who gets at 'em first.'

‘What about the badly wounded who've been fighting on our side?'

‘Any who's not fit to be moved I'll take care of and put ashore later—they'll be treated same as those who've copped it in our bunch.'

‘You'll give us food and drink, and let us take our arms, ammunition, and Lewis guns?'

‘Yes, them's the terms; I've no love o' killing for killin's sake, an' if you clear out it'll save life on both sides.'

Kenyon eyed his man for a moment. ‘No tricks?'

‘No, I'm a man o' me word.'

‘All right. I agree to your terms.'

Crowder nodded, and picking up his pistol stuffed it in his belt. ‘It'll be a bit o' time yet before we make ‘Arwich, would you like to join your crowd on the fo'c's'le—or will I send them down here?'

‘A heavy spray was coming over the fo'c's'le when I came down,' said Kenyon slowly, ‘so I think the ladies had better remain here and I prefer not to leave them again. Perhaps it would be best if you took Sims forward to explain to Mr. Harker what we have arranged, then he can come down or stay there as he likes. You'll accept Stoker Crowder's word that it's all right, won't you, Sims?'

‘Ay, ay, sir,' the Petty Officer agreed. ‘I'll just close down this hatch though before I leave you in case someone takes a fancy to have a pot at you from the deck while we're away.'

‘I'll shoot the first man wot tries any monkey tricks,' said
Crowder gruffly. ‘Come on, Sims, let's put a stop to that scrapping; they're still at it on the for'ard deck.

‘If Mr. Harker elects to stay up there you might ask him to send me down a couple of men, will you?' Kenyon added. ‘I'd like some help to clear up this.'

Fanshawe's dead body lay on the deck and a puddle of blood had trickled from his head. Brisket was crouching in a corner whimpering and groaning as he rocked to and fro, his hand clasped to his injured eye. The stoker pulled him to his feet and half-led, half-carried him out, throwing over his shoulder to Kenyon: ‘I'll send a couple o' your chaps unless the lot comes down.'

Sims, having secured the hatch, followed him from the ward-room and Kenyon was left alone with the two girls. Ann had sunk down on the settee and was weeping pitifully upon Veronica's shoulder. She had kept her nerve through the ordeal with Brisket but now that it was over all restraint had left her. She clutched the elder girl desperately while large tears welled from under her eyelids and coursed silently down her cheeks. Her small body shook with the stress of her emotion.

Kenyon, who knew his sister more intimately than most of her closest friends, was well aware that her cynical irreverent humour was only an outer armour against the world, but even he was amazed by the soft natural phrases she used to soothe Ann's terror and distress.

A few moments later Rudd and his satellite the Greyshirt, Bob, appeared. The former grinned at Kenyon.

‘Mr. ‘Arker's compliments, sir, an' 'e sends 'is congrats on the Peace Treaty. An' there ain't no serious damage to the ship. Bein' 'is size ‘e'd be certain to float all right, 'e sez, but 'e always did ‘ate water.'

Between them they removed the Lieutenant-Commander's body and cleaned up the wardroom. Rudd produced a bottle of brandy from the pantry and Ann was given a strong tot, after which her sobbing ceased and she lay with closed eyes against Veronica's shoulder.

For a seemingly interminable time the ship raced on into the darkness, while they sat, silent and disconsolate, weighed down with the horror and futility of the bloodshed which had taken place that night.

At last Crowder reappeared and told them to come on deck.
They filed up the ladder for the last time, the stoker leading with his revolver drawn, and as they made their way forward the mutineers on the deck shambled aside to let them pass with sullen gances. In the bows they found Gregory propped up against the capstan.

‘How is your Majesty?' Veronica inquired. She could not resist the gentle sarcasm.