Pride and the Anguish (31 page)

Corbett said in the same tight voice, “Mr. Tweedie will place charges for demolition at daybreak. You can carry on now. You'll need some sleep after today.”

“You can't do it, sir!” Trewin watched Corbett's upright figure, waiting for some sign of emotion. “Not
this
ship!”

“I have my orders, Trewin. I have always tried to obey them in the past, and I expect you to understand that!”

“Have you told the ship's company, sir?”

“Yes. I have sent the Chinese crew members ashore already.” His shoulders sagged. “They didn't want to go. I hope they understood.”

Trewin said quietly, “Is that all, sir?”

“Yes.” It sounded final. “I didn't think you'd come back, Trewin. I wouldn't have blamed you this time.”

Trewin moved towards the ladder. “I would have blamed myself.”

As he climbed down towards the deck he saw Corbett grip the screen with both hands. As if he was holding on to his ship for the last time.

Somewhere on the far side of the town the sky lit up to one more violent explosion. It looked like an ammunition dump. Now that a decision had been made it seemed as if the abyss was already opening.

He walked to his cabin and threw himself across his bunk. But when he tried to think of tomorrow he could find nothing. Nothing at all.

W
HEN THE SUN LIFTED
itself above the placid sea it was greeted by so much smoke from the burning city that it was more like dusk than dawn.

Trewin stepped on deck and leaned heavily on the guardrail. For some seconds he watched the drifting curtain of ashes while he waited for his mind to clear. Sleep had been impossible, and it was almost a relief to be on his feet again. He realised that the continuous mutter of artillery was lulled and the listless morning air was only occasionally troubled by infrequent and vague explosions which hung on the ear like echoes. In a way it was worse than the original sounds of conflict. It seemed to herald the final shots which would mean the end of Singapore and its exhausted defenders. Even now, senior British officers might be sitting across a table from Yamashita, the Japanese general, listening to his demands and enduring the first shock of humiliation and defeat.

Trewin looked up at the bridge but it seemed to be deserted. No doubt Corbett was sitting at his desk and waiting for the moment to destroy his ship and the remnants of his own life.

From the corner of his eye he saw some figures moving on the quarterdeck, and as he walked aft he realised that there were about half a dozen men gathered by the ensign staff, their heads together in discussion. Then he realised that all the chief and petty officers were present, neatly dressed and freshly shaved, as if this meeting was by arrangement.

They looked round as he approached, their expressions both guarded and determined.

Trewin asked, “What's this then? Are you having a conference?”

Unwin, the coxswain, licked his lips and glanced at the others. “Well, I'm the senior, so I'd better speak for the rest, sir.” He
looked awkward, even unhappy about his task as spokesman. “We know it's not our job to question orders, sir, but we think we ought to make a go at getting out of here.”

Trewin tried to keep his face impassive. These men were the backbone of the ship. Of any ship. They were the professionals who were all too often taken for granted. A man like Unwin who had given all his life to the Service would not find it easy to speak up in defiance of tradition and hard discipline.

“I'm listening, Swain.”

Unwin said quickly, “We sat up most of the night discussing it, sir. I think we might have a shot at fixing the rudders.”

Nimmo interrupted, “He's speaking for us all, sir.” The engineer gestured over the rail. “I went in the drink meself at first light. If we could have got on the slipway I reckon I could have done the repairs in my workshop, and never mind the bloody dockyard workers!”

Trewin was conscious of the tension amongst the watching men. At first he had imagined that they wanted permission to leave the ship and try to escape individually in one of the abandoned harbour boats. Any such craft would have been useless, but he knew that to a sailor even a raft represented something better and more reliable than the land.

Nimmo continued in his gruff, matter-of-fact voice, “It would be a temporary job of course, but at least we would have tried.” He fell silent and watched Trewin's face expectantly.

Unwin nodded. “That's about it, sir.”

The other petty officers murmured in agreement. Then Dancy added, “We can't use the slipway any more.” He pointed outboard. “But we
could
take the anchor away in the motor boat and kedge the old girl over yonder. There's a good sandbar not fifty yards away. If she dried out on that the chief and the rest of us could get down on the mud and have a crack at repairing the steering.”

Trewin replied, “I take it you've been swimming, too!” They laughed, but he was aware of something very tense and brittle
in the sound. He could feel it in his own body, too. It was stupid to encourage this sort of pitiful hope, and yet… “Do you
really
believe we could fix it?”

Nimmo licked his lips. “Well, sir, it's hard to say.” He looked at the others. Then he nodded sharply. “Yes, I do.”

Trewin breathed out slowly. “I'll talk with the captain. Right now.”

As he turned he almost collided with Tweedie who was carrying a canvas bag and a roll of fuse. Trewin said quietly, “Hold up the demolition, Guns. Nimmo seems to think we can fix the rudder.” He waited, watching the dull expression in Tweedie's red-rimmed eyes. “What do you think?”

Tweedie did not answer immediately. He stood looking around the ship, as if realising for the first time what the demolition would mean. Then he said thickly, “I'd try any-thin'.” He placed the bag on the deck. “I don't want to die 'ere!”

“Right then. I'll tell the captain.”

But when he knocked on Corbett's door it was some time before he heard any movement. Then with a start he realised that Corbett was having to unlock the door, and he received a further shock when he saw the captain's face around the edge. He was unshaven and his shirt was crumpled and stained with sweat.

“What do you want?” Corbett stayed behind the door, his eyes shadowed with strain, his fingers gripping the varnished wood like a claw.

“The hands will be falling in directly, sir.” Through the narrow gap Trewin could see the empty bottle on the desk, the papers scattered across chairs and desk alike. “Can I speak to you a minute?”

Corbett stepped back and allowed him to enter. Then he walked to the scuttle and threw it open. The lights were all burning, and apart from the one scuttle the whole cabin was sealed as for the night.

Trewin began carefully. “I have been talking with the chief and other P.O.s. We might try and do the rudder repairs
ourselves, sir.” He waited for some change of expression but Corbett remained staring at the scuttle. He continued quietly, “We can kedge her on a sandspit. The rest will depend on what we can do there.”

Corbett said emptily, “You're a fool, Trewin.”

Stubbornly Trewin said, “Nimmo thinks he could do it.”

“Then he's a fool, too!” Corbett swung round. “You know my orders. There's no point in adding to the men's agony because of some crackpot scheme which would never work, even if we had the time for it!”

Trewin noticed that both photographs had vanished from the desk, and then his eye fell on a sealed envelope which was propped against the silver inkstand. He felt suddenly cold, as if he was standing in a chill breeze.

He said, “You told me once about responsibility, sir. To the ship and all that she represents.”

Corbett slammed his hand on the back of a chair. “My God, Trewin! Don't you think I've thought of all this?”

Trewin continued, “Well, what about responsibility to your people, sir?” He saw Corbett's lip tremble and persisted, “Young Hammond, for instance. His father could have got him away long ago. But he stayed with the ship, because he thought it was his duty.” He took another step towards the desk. “And Tweedie, what has he done to be left to rot in some prison camp? He's given his whole life to the Navy!” He was speaking quickly now, if only to prevent a rebuttal. “They're all good men! They
deserve
a chance!”

Corbett replied slowly, “I'll not prevent their leaving. I wish to God I had told them to go with
Prawn
.”

Trewin leaned on the desk, his eyes fixed on the captain's drawn face. “They don't
want
that, can't you see? They're not running away like the others! They want to go as a company, as
your
ship's company! God in heaven, don't take away their pride now!”

He dropped his eyes briefly and saw that the envelope was
addressed in Corbett's scrawling hand to his wife.

Corbett stared at the carpet. In a small voice he said, “You mean well, but you don't understand what you're suggesting.”

“Yes, I do. I've been thinking. At first I thought as you do. But if it is only a chance, we will have tried, and that's what matters now.” He shot Corbett a quick glance. “We could make for Batavia in Java, sir. We're bound to find some of the fleet there.”

Corbett shook his head. “It's impossible. Even if the first part of your plan proved likely, I don't think you understand what you're asking. Five hundred and fifty miles through waters patrolled and dominated by the enemy. Our supporting ships have pulled back by now. We'd be quite alone. A crippled ship, too.” His voice shook with emotion. “Gunboats are designed for rivers and inshore waters. Even
Prawn
will have great difficulty in getting away, in spite of leaving earlier.” He controlled himself with obvious effort. “No, Trewin, it would be madness to give our people false hope and endanger their lives to no purpose.”

Trewin stepped around the desk and swept some papers on to the deck. Shining coldly on the blotting pad was a cocked and loaded revolver. He said harshly, “Isn't
this
madness, too?” He saw Corbett's jaw drop open as he added, “What good do you think it will do the ship and the rest of us by killing yourself?”

He expected anger or another controlled attack, but Corbett seemed to collapse into the chair, as if the muscles and sinews of his body had at last given out.

Trewin said gently, “I'm sorry, sir. But I couldn't just stand here and let you…”

Corbett's head was hanging over his hands. “It's no
use,
Trewin. I can't go on. You don't understand. I tried to do my duty as I saw it. I thought I was getting a second chance.” His shoulders shook. “My wife was right after all. She always told me that I was a failure, but I didn't care then. I had the ship, and Martin.” His voice trailed away, then he said, “And there's something else I
didn't
tell you.”

Trewin replied quietly, “Your eyes?” He could hardly bear to
watch the astonishment on Corbett's face as he stared up at him. “Yes, I knew all about them, sir. Dr. Massey told me.”

Corbett spoke with real difficulty. “And you stayed quiet about it?”

“I had a lot of time to think. Time to remember. Like the time you ran the ship aground when we were entering the Talang Inlet. You knew there was a danger of grounding in the dark, but you were too stubborn and too…” Trewin sought for the right word, “too
honest
to allow me to take the ship in. You knew that if anything went wrong I would be blamed. And your sense of justice would not allow that, even at the expense of this ship!”

Corbett stood up and walked back across the cabin, so that his head and shoulders were framed in the scuttle in silhouette. “I'm going blind, Trewin!” The words seemed to break from his lips. “It's been coming for months. There's nothing I can do.” He spread his arms. “I'm finished! But I will write you some fresh orders.
You
take the ship. I'll not try and stop you this time!”

There was a tap at the door, and Trewin thrust the pistol into a drawer before calling, “Enter!”

It was Tweedie, his face set and apprehensive. “Any orders, sir?”

Trewin stepped in front of Corbett and replied, “Prepare to lay out an anchor for kedging ship, Guns. The tide's on the turn, so we've not much time.”

Tweedie swallowed hard and peered towards the captain. “Really?”

Trewin repeated, “Lay out an anchor.” He stood quite still until Tweedie had left. Then he turned and said, “We may make a hash of it, sir, but at least we'll have had a bloody good try!”

Corbett was looking at him, his face in deep shadow. “The amateurs have become the real professionals.” His voice was shaking badly. “If you are sure, then I…” He broke off as a wave of cheering echoed along the
Porcupine
's upperdeck.

Trewin tried to grin. “
They
think you can do it, sir. I think that is your answer.”

Corbett sat down again, his head on one side as the cheering continued. “They don't know what they're asking!”

Trewin moved towards the door. “I think they do.” He turned away, feeling guilty at sharing Corbett's private grief. “You tell us what to do, and we'll get the old
Porcupine
to Java, or bloody Australia if necessary!”

He stepped out on to the bridge wing and into the smoky sunlight, and looked down at the busy figures on the gunboat's deck. Then with a deep breath he climbed down the ladder where Unwin and the others were waiting for him.

The coxswain said gruffly, “Well done, sir. You must have put a good case to the captain.”

Trewin felt the infectious excitement all around him. “Well, let's hope the idea works!” He thought of Corbett's pistol and the sudden enormity of the responsibility which lay ahead. Then he said harshly, “We sail tonight. Or not at all. So let's get to it!”