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Updated: June 3, 2025
"Catch a Brixham trawler letting go of a free tow in a fog," said Moorshed listening. "But what in the world do you want him for?" I asked. "Oh, he'll came in handy later." "Was that your first collision?" "Yes." I shook hands with him in silence, and our tow hailed us. "Aie! yeou little man-o'-war!" The voice rose muffled and wailing. "After us've upped trawl, us'll be glad of a tow.
"Any luck?" said Moorshed politely. "Not till we met yeou," was the answer. "The Lard he saved us from they big ships to be spitted by the little wan. Where be'e gwine tu with our fine new bobstay?" "Yah! You've had time to splice it by now," said Pyecroft with contempt. "Aie; but we'm all crushed to port like aigs. You was runnin' twenty-seven knots, us reckoned it. Didn't us, Albert?"
Pyecroft whispered this in my ear as Moorshed moved toward a group at the stern. "None of us who ain't built that way can be destroyers, but we can look as near it as we can. Let me explain to you, Sir, that the stern of a Thorneycroft boat, which we are not, comes out in a pretty bulge, totally different from the Yarrow mark, which again we are not.
"Yes, I think so," said Moorshed, and passed out behind the captain. We followed at a respectful interval, waiting till they had ascended the ladder. Said the sentry, rigid as the naked barometer behind him: "For Gawd's sake! 'Ere, come 'ere! For Gawd's sake! What's 'appened? Oh! come 'ere an' tell." "Tell? You?" said Pyecroft.
I can see the captain's whisker all gilt at the edges! We took 'ee for the Bournemouth steamer. Three cheers for the real man-o'-war!" That cry came from under the Devolution's stern. Pyecroft held something in his teeth, for I heard him mumble, "Our Mister Moorshed!" Said a boy's voice above us, just as we dodged a jet of hot water from some valve: "I don't half like that cheer.
War's declared! They're off!" said Moorshed. He swung 267's head round to get a better view. A few miles to our right the low horizon was spangled with small balls of fire, while nearer ran a procession of tiny cigar ends. "Red hot! Set 'em alight," said Mr. Pyecroft. "That's the second destroyer flotilla diggin' out for Commander Fassett's reputation."
"Mr. Moorshed goes forward, lookin' unusual 'appy, even for him. The Marines was enjoyin' a committee-meetin' in their own flat. "After that, it fell dark, with just a little streaky, oily light on the sea an' any thin' more chronic than the Archimandrite I'd trouble you to behold. She looked like a fancy bazaar and a auction-room yes, she almost looked like a passenger-steamer.
Moorshed cast aside his cigarette, looked over the stern, and fell into his subordinate's arms. I heard the guggle of engines, the rattle of a little anchor going over not a hundred yards away, a cough, and Morgan's subdued hail. ... So far as I remember, it was Laughton whom I hugged; but the men who hugged me most were Pyecroft and Moorshed, adrift among the fishy nets.
"If I die o' joy," said Pyecroft behind his hand, "remember I died forgivin' Morgan from the bottom of my 'eart, because, like Martha, we 'ave scoffed the better part. You'd better try to come to attention, Sir." Moorshed ran his eye voluptuously over the upper deck battery, the huge beam, and the immaculate perspective of power.
I'd take 'e in for another bottle and wan for my nevvy; but I reckon yeou'm shart-allowanced for rum. That's nivver no Navy rum yeou'm give me. Knowed 'ee by the smack tu un. Anchor now!" I was between Pyecroft and Moorshed on the bridge, and heard them spring to vibrating attention at my side.
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