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He handed a little paper to Moorshed. "You see, Sir, the trouble was, that Mr. Carteret-Jones bein', so to say, a little new to his duties, 'ad forgot to give 'is gunner his Admiralty orders in writin', but, as I told Commander Fasset, Mr. Jones had been repeatin' 'em to me, nervous-like, most of the way from Portsmouth, so I knew 'em by heart an' better.
Carteret-Jones was your commandin' officer, an' you had your reputation as a second in command for the first time, I says, well knowin' it was his first command of a flotilla, 'what 'ud you do, Sir? That gouged 'is unprotected ends open clear back to the citadel." "What did he say?" Moorshed jerked over is shoulder. "If you were Mr.
Another voice echoed, "Podgie!" and from its note I gathered that Mr. Carteret-Jones had a reputation, but not for independent command. "Who's your sub?" said the first speaker, a shadow on the bridge of the Dirk. "A gunner, at present, Sir. The Stiletto broken down turns over to us." "When did the Stiletto break down?"
"Do you suppose I'll have to manoeuvre with your flo-tilla?" "No, Podgie! I'm pretty sure our commander will see you sifting cinders in Tophet before you come with our flo-tilla." "Thank you! She steers rather wild at high speeds." Two men laughed together. "By the way, who is Mr. Carteret-Jones when he's at home?" I whispered. "I was with him in the Britannia.
Carteret-Jones, it might be disrespect for me to repeat it, Sir." "Go ahead," I heard the boy chuckle. "'Do? 'e says. 'I'd rub the young blighter's nose into it till I made a perishin' man of him, or a perspirin' pillow-case, 'e says, 'which, he adds, 'is forty per cent, more than he is at present.
L. Carteret-Jones, and the sooner he digs out in pursuance of Admiralty orders as received at Portsmouth, the better pleased Commander Fasset will be. But there's a lot more " "Whack her up, Mr. Hinchcliffe! Come on to the bridge. We can settle it as we go. Well?" Mr. Pyecroft drew an important breath, and slid off his cap. "Day an' night private signals of Red Fleet complete, Sir!"
"The Gnome Carteret-Jones from Portsmouth, with orders mm mm Stiletto," Moorshed answered through the megaphone in a high, whining voice, rather like a chaplain's. "Who?" was the answer. "Carter et Jones." "Oh, Lord!" There was a pause; a voice cried to some friend, "It's Podgie, adrift on the high seas in charge of a whole dee-stroyer!"
The Commander, recognisin' in me a man of agility, cautioned me to be a father an' mother to Mr. Carteret-Jones." "Didn't he know you?" I asked, thinking for the moment that there could be no duplicates of Emanuel Pyecroft in the Navy. "What's a torpedo-gunner more or less to a full lootenant commanding six thirty-knot destroyers for the first time?
Carteret-Jones passin' hawsers an' assistin' the impotent in a sea-way might come pretty expensive on the tax-payer. I agreed in a disciplined way. I ain't proud. Gawd knows I ain't proud! But when I'm really diggin' out in the fancy line, I sometimes think that me in a copper punt, single-'anded, 'ud beat a cutter-full of De Rougemongs in a row round the fleet."
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