Watery Grave (16 page)

“I love the Navy greatly. I gave it my sight, but I love it still. Yet I know that it is not without faults. This one, which you have now experienced at first hand, is probably its greatest. I make no excuses For the practice. I only thank God you managed to evade the press.”

Donald MacNaughton was a Scotsman, and he shared with a good many of his countrymen that habit of mind which busies itself making endless distinctions, raising objections, and arguing points For the sake of argument. I myself have found them to be a contrary people, much given to needless controversy. And just so was Mr. MacNaughton, one whose very physical being seemed to display these qualities. Lean he was and tall, near six Feet above the ground; and though his mouth was downturned and his brow Furrowed more often than not in a Frown, his eyes glinted bright each time he Felt he had won some small intellectual victory — thus his eyes seemed always to be smiling.

As had been agreed, Mr. Byner brought Mr. MacNaughton into the dining room of the inn, which, though not empty, was not near so Full as it might have been. (Those who drink the clock around next day have a tendency to sleep the clock around.) Sir John and I came first, ate a good and proper English breakFast oFporridge, hen’s eggs, and smoked fish, which was more than either of us might have eaten at home; yet this was halFa holiday to Sir John and more than halFto me. Sir Robert came stumbling in near an hour later, much the worse For his adventures on the road, the bottle oFbrandy he had drunk and the nightmare he had had in the coach. I wondered iF he had had more bad dreams during the night; iFso, he did not speak oFthem. In Fact, he spoke very little at all and ate even less. He ordered coFFee For our table (For which I blessed him since I had come to love the drink) and sat sullenly waiting for his lieutenant and the ship’s surgeon, who at last made their appearance well after ten by the clock perched on the fireplace mantel. Sir Robert called for more coffee.

After introducing the surgeon to the admiral and the magistrate, Mr. Byner announced cheerfully that in their discussion of the matter of the captain’s death on the
Adventure
, Mr. MacNaughton had convinced him during their voyage across the harbor that he had nothing to contribute.

“Well, I wouldna’ say that exactly,” said Mr. MacNaughton.” Not perhaps nothing but very, very little.”

“Why not let us be the judge of that, Mr. MacNaughton?” said Sir John.

“That is your right, sir, since, as I understand, you are the judge. Yet who, better than me, knows my own mind?”

“What little —very, very little, as you have said —do you have to contribute on this matter?”

“Well, there’s no denyin’ I was aboard the ship at the time.”

“During the storm?”

“You may call it a storm, sir, but I call it an act of God. I have never experienced the like of it.” Then he checked himself: “Well, perhaps once five years ago in the Caribbee.”

“And were you on deck at any time during the storm?”

“Never once, ” said he, which seemed to me the first unqualified statement he had made.

“And where did you choose to ride the storm out?”

“Most of the time in my quarters, praying to the Blessed Virgin Mary that I might be delivered from that terrible storm.”

“You are of the Roman Church then?”

“I am from Aberdeen, sir” —as if that settled the matter.

“You say you were in your quarters ‘most of the time,’ implying you were elsewhere part of the time. Where were you that rest of the time?”

“In the cockpit, attending to my surgery.”

“Oh? There were casualties in the course of the storm then? Only Captain Markham had been mentioned to me.”

“They were recorded in the ship’s log by Mr. Hartsell, ” said Sir Robert.

“Ah, yes, Bobbie,” said Sir John “We must discuss the contents of the log.”

“I have not yet concluded my reading of it, Jack.”

“Very well,” said Sir John. Then turning back to Mr. MacNaughton: “Do you recall who you treated and for what?”

“I do no’ recall the names, sir, only the disorders.”

“And what were they?’

“Two seamen with broken arms, which I set. Another with a broken leg, which was so badly broke, with splintered bone sticking through the skin, that I was forced to amputate, for it could not be set so. His name I do recall, Bartle it was, for he took it ill that he was to lose his leg at the knee. He made a great fuss, he did, and had to be held down.” He paused in his inventory.” And, ah yes, there was another who was lost early, a topman who fell to the deck. His mates saw him still breathing and carried him down to me. Unknown to them, he had broken his neck, and the trip down to the cockpit was what killed him. Yet I could hae done little to save him. His was the first death caused by the storm.”

“And the other was Captain Markham?”

“And then there were the four in the boat launched at Mr. Hartsell’s orders to save the captain.”

“Oh? I had not heard of that.”

“It is mentioned in the log, Jack, ” said the admiral.

“Very’ well, but even by Lieutenant Hartsell’s account, at the time the captain went overboard, there would have been no hope of retrieving him. Launching a boat? Was that not excessive zeal on the part of Lieutenant Hartsell?”

It was unclear whether Sir John had directed the question at Mr. MacNaughton or Sir Robert Redmond. Therefore an awkward silence followed.

“Some members of the crew thought it excessive.” oome :

“All to whom I talked. It was a general complaint, sir. All except… ‘

“All except who?” asked Sir John.

“All except the officers, of course —neither Mr. Landon, nor Mr. Grimsby, nor Mr. Highet.”

“Who is Mr. Highet?”

“He uuui the fourth officer, sir. He fell in battle against the Dutch pnvsiteer Haarlem a year later. Quite young, good young lad, a pity and a shame it was.”

“It always is.”

“You mentioned the opinion of Lieutenant Landon as regards Lieutenant Hartsell’s action in launching a boat. You must then have talked to him about the incident —Captain Markman’s fall into the sea, et cetera. When was that? What did he say? ‘

“Why, he was quite distraught when we spoke the night after the storm, when things ha’ calmed down. Blamed himself he did, but I wouldna’ say he telt guilt.”

“You are making a distinction which I do not quite follow.”

“Well, I think it plain enough,” said Mr. MacNaughton, a bit loftily.” In any mishap, him who tries to give aid or remedy may feel afterward he should have done more or different. As ship’s surgeon I feel it full many a time. In this way, you blame yourself, still knowing you were not the cause of it all. To feel true guilt, it seems to me, you must indeed feel you yourself were the cause. And so I say iMr. Landon blamed himself, but I wouldna’ say he felt guilt.”

“I accept your distinction,” said Sir John.” Do you remember what he said?”

“No.” Yet having said no, he reconsidered.” Well, perhaps …”

“Perhaps? Please, sir, we must hear. We have traveled down to Portsmouth to glean what we can otyour knowledge of this matter. We deserve better than perhaps. Mr. Landon deserves better than perhaps. ‘

“Aye,” he agreed.” Well, the first thing he said was of little importance, something to the effect that if he had grasped Captain Markham by the belt of his britches he might have saved him —the sort ol: thing we always tell ourselves as we look back on such situations. ‘ Mr. MacNaughton laughed abruptly and rather inappropriately at that point.” I recall tellin’ this to Tobias Trindle, what Lieutenant Landon said. Tobias is a proper old salt who was at the helm that terrible day, and he saw it all. When he heard that about grabbin’ the captain by the belt of his britches, he said, ‘Had Mr. Landon done that, he would hae wound up with the captain’s pantaloons in his hand, ‘stead of his shoe. There was no savin’ him.’ Or so said Tobias.”

“Would you repeat that, please?”

“What Lieutenant Landon said?”

“No, what Tobias Trindle said.”

Donald MacNaughton repeated it, as requested, realizing as he did that what he had said was of some significance. His eyes glinted shrewdly, and in him seemed to kindle, for the first time, the beginning of respect for Sir John.

“Now,” said his interrogator, “you indicated that something else said by Mr. Landon was of greater importance. What was that?”

“He said that the captain should not have been up on the poop deck in any case. He was Far too 111. Mr. Landon said he had returned to Lieutenant Hartsell and told him that, but that Mr. Hartsell ha’ simply repeated his order to bring him forth.”

“When I talked to Lieutenant Landon—when was that, Bobbie? — but three days ago, he indicated that you would be the best source to reveal the nature of the captain’s illness. Did Captain Markman consult you? Did you treat him?”

Mr. MacNaughton let out a sigh and for the first time showed some degree of discomfort at a particular area of questioning. He hesitated long and said at last: “Yes, he consulted me early in the voyage.”

“And what was the nature of his complaint?”

“He ha’ a swelling in his innards that gave him pain.”

“What was your diagnosis? A tumor?”

“In my opinion, no. It was his liver was swollen. I advised him to give up drink. He … He did not take my advice.”

“Am I to take it that Captain Markham was something of a tippler?”

“A good deal more than that, I fear. He seemed to me to be in the last stages of alcohol addiction. Probably he was wise not to follow my advice and give up drink. Had he done so, the shock to his system would no doubt hae killed him. He was past saving. The death he got was probably the best one he could hope for.”

“Again you make a distinction. What would be the difference be-tween frequent drunkenness and what you call alcohol addiction?”

“One of degree, I suppose —but more important, the condition of the body. His color was yellowish. His liver, as I said, was swollen and painful. I observed him at the officers’ mess, and he did not take food, used it only as an occasion to take wine. He could be depended upon to down two bottles each meal. Soon he gave up the pretense of eating. He simply kept to his cabin and drank his brandy. I wouldna’ hae given him six months. I canno’ understand how he could have been given a command in his condition.”

Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Redmond coughed loudly at that as a warning to Mr. MacNaughton that he would countenance no criticism from him of the Fleet’s decisions.

“This must have put a great strain upon the other officers,” said Sir John.

“Aye, oh aye! And on Lieutenant Hartsell most specially. Him it was who charted the course, kept the ship’s log, and stood double watches on deck. He took his duties serious, oh, a bit too serious, it seemed to me.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, perhaps not so. After all, he’d had command in the French War, as I understand. He knew probably better than any of us what was required.”

“What are you trying to say, man?” For the first time Sir John showed some slight exasperation with the surgeon.

“Simply that as we sailed down the coast of Africa, Lieutenant Hartsell took it upon himself to stand near every watch, every day. He complained that on those rare opportunities when he might allow himself to sleep, he was unable to do so. He’d become a proper insomniac.”

“What in God’s name is an in-som-ni-ac?”

“It’s a medical term,” said Mr. MacNaughton, with a quick upward movement of his eyebrows and a flash of his eyes.” An insomniac is one who finds it difficult to sleep.”

“But you had already said that. I understood you quite well. Why should it be necessary to — ” Sir John broke off, gained control of himself, and began again: “I take it that he sought help from you?”

“Of course. To whom would he go but me? I offered to administer him sleeping drafts. He found that inconvenient, since his chances to sleep came at odd hours. He thought it better if he had the contents at hand. And so I gae him a quantity of the seeds of the poppy I had carried with me from India, and I instructed him in how he might make a tea from them.”

“And did that solve his problem?”

“Aye, it must have done, for he never had occasion to ask me for more. In fact, sir, his sleeplessness seemed to vanish once the captain was overboard.”

“Did it indeed? How remarkable.”

“He became more dependent upon his brother officers —Landon, Grimsby, and Highet. They supported him well.”

There was a pause then of near a minute. The silence became a bit awkward —then somewhat unnerving to Mr. MacNaughton. He looked to the others at the table —the admiral, Mr. Byner, and even briefly at me, as if to ask. Has he done with me? Then, with a great phlegmy rumble. Sir John cleared his throat and spoke up once again:

“What is your opinion of Lieutenant Hartsell?”

“A good officer,” said Mr. MacNaughton, “somewhat strict, but a first-rate sailor and steady in battle.”

“And as a man?”

“Well, you know what the Good Book says.”

“What is that? It says many things.”

“Judge not that ye be not judged.”

“Nevertheless,” said Sir John, “it falls to some of us to judge —to me, for instance, when I am on the bench. And to you, sir, when asked the question I have just put to you. ‘

Again an awkward pause. Mr. MacNaughton’s eyes glinted no more. They were downcast as he shifted in his seat and squirmed a bit. Yet who but Sir Robert should come to his rescue?

“Jack,” said he, “I must remind you that Lieutenant Hartsell is not the issue here. It is not the condemnation of the accuser but the defense of the accused that concerns us.”

Sir John glowered. I thought certainly he would speak out in anger, yet he did not. He spoke with great control:

“Then if that is the case, tell me, Mr. MacNaughton, what is your opinion of Lieutenant Landon?”

“William Landon is the finest officer and Christian gentleman I have met in my fifteen years as ship’s surgeon with the Royal Navy. It is my deepest conviction that he could never hae committed the act he is accused of.”

Sir John’s anger flashed out at last: “Is that, sir, why you turned tail and ran like a frightened rabbit for a berth in Portsmouth the moment the
Adventure
anchored in the Thames? So that you would not be called upon to testify in behalf of this finest officer and Christian gentleman at his court-martial?”