csf.mrmidshipmanhornblower-第21节

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tier。'
　'Very　appropriate；'　said　Hornblower　cynically；　but　to　himself。　He　had　no　thought　of　laughing　at　Finch's　delusions。
　'The　Devil's　in　the　cable　tier　during　the　dog　watches；'　said　Finch　again　to　no　one　at　all。　'God　stays　in　the　maintop　for　ever。'
　'A　curious　timetable；'　was　Hornblower's　sotto　voce　ment。
　From　down　on　the　deck　below　came　the　first　strokes　of　eight　bells；　and　at　the　same　moment　the　pipes　of　the　bosun's　mates　began　to　twitter；　and　the　bellow　of　Waldron　the　bos'un　made　itself　heard。
　'Turn　out　the　watch　below！　All　hands　wear　ship！　All　hands！　All　hands！　You；　master…at…arms；　take　the　name　of　the　last　man　up　the　hatchway。　All　hands！'
　The　interval　of　peace；　short　as　it　was；　and　broken　by　Finch's　disturbing　presence；　was　at　an　end。　Hornblower　dived　over　the　barricade　and　gripped　the　futtock　shrouds；　not　for　him　was　the　easy　descent　through　the　lubber's　hole；　not　when　the　first　lieutenant　might　see　him　and　reprimand　him　for　unseamanlike　behaviour。　Finch　waited　for　him　to　quit　the　top；　but　even　with　this　length　start　Hornblower　was　easily　outfaced　in　the　descent　to　the　deck；　for　Finch；　like　the　skilled　seaman　he　was；　ran　down　the　shrouds　as　lightly　as　a　monkey。　Then　the　thought　of　Finch's　curious　illusions　was　temporarily　submerged　in　the　business　of　laying　the　ship　on　her　new　course。
　But　later　in　the　day　Hornblower's　mind　reverted　inevitably　to　the　odd　things　Finch　had　been　saying。　There　could　be　no　doubt　that　Finch　firmly　believed　he　saw　what　he　said　he　saw。　Both　his　words　and　his　expression　made　that　certain。　He　had　spoken　about　God's　beard…it　was　a　pity　that　he　had　not　spared　a　few　words　to　describe　the　Devil　in　the　cable　tier。　Horns；　cloven　hoof；　and　pitchfork？　Hornblower　wondered。　And　why　was　the　Devil　only　loose　in　the　cable　tier　during　the　dog　watches？　Strange　that　he　should　keep　to　a　timetable。　Hornblower　caught　his　breath　as　the　sudden　thought　came　to　him　that　perhaps　there　might　be　some　worldly　explanation。　The　Devil　might　well　be　loose　in　the　cable　tier　in　a　metaphorical　fashion　during　the　dog　watches。　Devil's　work　might　be　going　on　there。　Hornblower　had　to　decide　on　what　was　his　duty；　and　he　had　to　decide　further　on　what　was　expedient。　He　could　report　his　suspicions　to　Eccles；　the　first　lieutenant；　but　after　a　year　of　service　Hornblower　was　under　no　illusions　about　what　might　happen　to　a　junior　midshipman　who　worried　a　first　lieutenant　with　unfounded　Suspicions。　It　would　be　better　to　see　for　himself　first；　as　far　as　that　went。　But　he　did　not　know　what　he　would　find…if　he　should　find　anything　at　all…and　he　did　not　know　how　he　should　deal　with　it　if　he　found　anything。　Much　worse　than　that；　he　did　not　know　if　he　would　be　able　to　deal　with　it　in　officer…like　fashion。　He　could　make　a　fool　of　himself。　He　might　mishandle　whatever　situation　he　found；　and　bring　down　obloquy　and　derision　upon　his　head；　and　he　might　imperil　the　discipline　of　the　ship…weaken　the　slender　thread　of　allegiance　that　bound　officers　and　men　together；　the　discipline　which　kept　three　hundred　men　at　the　bidding　of　their　captain　suffering　untold　hardship　without　demur；　which　made　them　ready　to　face　death　at　the　word　of　mand。　When　eight　bells　told　the　end　of　the　afternoon　watch　and　the　beginning　of　the　first　dog　watch　it　was　with　trepidation　that　Hornblower　went　below　to　put　a　candle　in　a　lantern　and　make　his　way　forward　to　the　cable　tier。
　It　was　dark　down　here；　stuffy；　odorous；　and　as　the　ship　heaved　and　rolled　he　found　himself　stumbling　over　the　various　obstacles　that　impeded　his　progress。　Yet　forward　there　was　a　faint　light；　a　murmur　of　voices。　Hornblower　choked　down　his　fear　that　perhaps　mutiny　was　being　planned。　He　put　his　hand　over　the　horn　window　of　the　lantern；　so　as　to　obscure　its　light；　and　crept　forward。　Two　lanterns　swung　from　the　low　deck…beams；　and　crouching　under　them　were　a　score　or　more　of　men…more　than　that；　even…and　the　buzz　of　their　talk　came　loudly　but　indistinguishably　to　Hornblower's　ears。　Then　the　buzz　increased　to　a　roar；　and　someone　in　the　centre　of　the　circle　rose　suddenly　to　as　near　his　full　height　as　the　deck…beams　allowed。　He　was　shaking　himself　violently　from　side　to　side　for　no　apparent　reason；　his　face　was　away　from　Hornblower；　who　saw　with　a　gasp　that　his　hands　were　tied　behind　him。　The　men　roared　again；　like　spectators　at　a　prizefight；　and　the　man　with　his　hands　tied　swung　round　so　that　Hornblower　could　see　his　face。　It　was　Styles；　the　man　who　suffered　from　boils；　Hornblower　knew　him　at　once。　But　that　was　not　what　made　the　most　impression　on　Hornblower。　Clinging　to　the　man's　face；　weird　in　the　shifting　meagre　light；　was　a　grey　writhing　shape；　and　it　was　to　shake　this　off　that　Styles　was　flinging　himself　about　so　violently。　It　was　a　rat；　Hornblower's　stomach　turned　over　with　horror。
　With　a　wild　jerk　of　his　head　Styles　broke　the　grip　of　the　rat's　teeth　and　flung　the　creature　down；　and　then　instantly　pinged　down　on　his　knees；　with　his　hands　still　bound　behind　him；　to　pursue　it　with　his　own　teeth。
　'Time！'　roared　a　voice　at　that　moment…the　voice　of　Partridge；　bosun's　mate。　Hornblower　had　been　roused　by　it　often　enough　to　recognize　it　at　once。
　'Five　dead；'　said　another　voice。　'Pay　all　bets　of　evens　or　better。'
　Hornblower　plunged　forward。　Part　of　the　cable　had　been　coiled　down　to　make　a　rat　pit　ten　feet　across　in　which　knelt　Styles　with　dead　and　living　rats　about　his　knees。　Partridge　squatted　beside　the　ring　with　a　sandglass…used　for　timing　the　casting　of　the　log…in　front　of　him。
　'Six　dead；'　protected　someone。　'that　'un's　dead。'
　'No；　he　ain't。'
　''Is　back's　broken。　'E's　a　dead　'un。'
　''E　ain't　a　dead　'un；'　said　Partridge。
　The　man　who　had　protested　looked　up　at　that　moment　and　caught　sight　of　Hornblower；　and　his　words　died　away　unspoken；　at　his　silence　the　others　followed　his　glance　and　stiffened　into　rigidity；　and　Hornblower　stepped　forward。　He　was　still　wondering　what　he　should　do；　he　was　still　fighting　down　the　nausea　excited　by　the　horrible　things　he　had　seen。　Desperately　he　mastered　his　horror；　and；　thinking　fast；　took　his　stand　on　discipline。
　'Who's　in　charge　here？'　he　demanded。
　He　ran　his　eye　round　the　circle。　Petty　officers　and　secondclass　warrant　officers；　mainly；　bosun's　mates；　carpenter's　mates。　Muggridge；　the　surgeon's　mate…his　presence　explained　much。　But　his　own　position　was　not　easy。　A　midshipman　of　scant　service　depended　for　his　authority　on　board　largely　on　the　force　of　his　own　personality。　He　was　only　a　warrant　officer　himself；　when　all　was　said　and　done　a　midshipman　was　not　nearly　as　important　to　the　ship's　economy…and　was　far　more　easily　replaced…than；　say；　Washburn；　the　cooper's　mate　over　there；　who　knew　all　about　the　making　and　storage　of　the　ship's　water　barrels。
　'Who's　in　charge　here？'　he　demanded　again；　and　once　more　received　no　direct　reply。
　'We　ain't　on　watch；'　said　a　voice　in　the　background。
　Hornblower　by　now　had　mastered　his　horror；　his　indignation　still　flared　within　him；　but　he　could　appear　outwardly　calm。
　'No；　you're　not　on　watch；'　he　said　coldly。　'You're　gambling。'
　Muggridge　took　up　the　defence　at　that。
　'Gambling；　Mr　Hornblower？'　he　said。　'That's　a　very　serious　charge。　Just　a　gentlemanly　petition。　You'll　find　it　hard　to　sub…substantiate　any　charges　of　gambling。'
　Muggridge　had　been　drinking；　quite　obviously；　following　perhaps　the　example　of　the　head　of　his　department。　There　was　always　brandy　to　be　got　in　the　medical　stores。　A　surge　of　wrath　made　Hornblower　tremble；　the　effort　necessary　to　keep　himself　standing　stock　still　was　almost　too　much　for　him。　But　the　rise　in　internal　pressure　brought　him　inspiration。
　'Mr　Muggridge；'　he　said　icily；　'I　advise　you　not　to　say　too　much。　There　are　other　charges　possible；　Mr　Muggridge。　A　member　of　His　Majesty's　forces　can　be　charged　with　rendering　himself　unfit　for　service；　Mr　Muggridge。　And　similarly　there　might　be　charges　of　aiding　and　abetting　which　might　include　you。　I　should　consult　the　Articles　of　War　if　I　were　you；　Mr　Muggridge。　The　punishment　for　such　an　offence　is　flogging　round　the　fleet　I　believe。'
　Hornblower　pointed　to　Styles；　with　the　blood　streaming　from　his　bitten　face；　and　gave　more　force　to　his　argument　by　the　gesture。　He　had　met　the　men's　arguments　with　a　more　effective　one　along　the　same　lines；　they　had　taken　up　a　legalistic　defence　and　he　had　legalistically　beaten　it　down。　He　had　the　upper　hand　now　and　could　give　vent　to　his　moral　indignation。
　'I　could　bring　charges　against　every　one　of　you；'　he　roared。　'You　could　be　court　martialled…disrated…flogged…every　man　Jack　of　you。　By　God；　one　more　look　like　that　from　you；　Partridge；　and　I'll　do　it。　You'd　all　be　in　irons　five　minutes　after　I　spoke　to　Mr　Eccles。　I'll　have　no　more　of　these　filthy　games。　Let　those　rats　loose；　there　you；　Oldroyd；　and　you；　Lewis。　Styles；　get　your　face　plastered　up　again。　You；　Partridge；　take　these　men　and　coil　this　cable　down　properly　again　before　Mr　Waldron　sees　it。　I'll　keep　my　eye　on　all　of　you　in　future。　The　next　hint　I　have　of　misbehaviour　and　you'll　all　be　at　the　gratings。　I've　said　it；　and　by　God　I　mean　it！'
　Hornblower　was　surprised　both　at　his　own　volubility　and　at　his　self　possession。　He　had　not　known　himself　capable　of　carrying　off　matters　with　such　a　high　hand。　He　sought　about　in