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Updated: June 3, 2025
Moorshed drew out a folded map, cut from a newspaper, of the area of manoeuvres, with the rules that regulate these wonderful things, below. "Well, I suppose I know as much as an average stick-and-string admiral," he said, yawning. "Is our petticoat ready yet, Mr. Pyecroft?" As a preparation for naval manoeuvres these councils seemed inadequate.
The first few I kept tally was all about going to Hell; the next many was about not evolutin' in his company, when there; an' the last all was simply repeatin' the motions in quick time. Knowin' Frankie's groovin' to be badly eroded by age and lack of attention, I didn't much panic; but our Mr. Moorshed, 'e took it a little to heart. Me an' Mr.
Hincheliffe is blasphemious. The tow's sheered off to starboard, Sir. He'll fair pull the stern out of us." Moorshed, invisible, cursed through the megaphone into invisibility. "Aie! yeou little man-o'-war!" The voice butted through the fog with the monotonous insistence of a strayed sheep's. "We don't all like the road you'm takin'. 'Tis no road to Brixham.
At this point I reclined without shame on Mr. Pyecroft's bosom, supported by his quivering arm. "Well?" said Moorshed, scowling into the darkness, as 267's bows snapped at the shore seas of the broader Channel, and we swayed together. "'You'd better go on, says Commander Fassett, 'an' do what you're told to do. I don't envy Hignett if he has to dry-nurse the Gnome's commander.
Slowly and dispassionately the answer drawled long on the night; "Pye, you are without exception the biggest liar in the Service!" "Then what am I to do with the bag, Sir? It's marked with his name." There was a pause till Mr. Moorshed said "Oh!" in a tone which the listener might construe precisely as he pleased. "He was the maniac who wanted to buy a ham and see life was he?
But for the small detail that I was a passenger and a civilian, and might not alter her course, torpedo-boat No. 267 was mine to me all that priceless day. Moorshed, after breakfast frizzled ham and a devil that Pyecroft made out of sardines, anchovies, and French mustard smashed together with a spanner showed me his few and simple navigating tools, and took an observation.
Moorshed?" "All right, if you're insured. Won't you come down?" I descended; Pyecroft, by a silent flank movement, possessing himself of all the provisions, which he bore to some hole forward. "Have you known Mr. Pyecroft long?" said my host. "Met him once, a year ago, at Devonport. What do you think of him?" "What do you think of him?"
Pyecroft, as a black and coal-stained dinghy I did not foresee how well I should come to know her was flung overside by three men. "Havin' bought an 'am, we will now see life." He stepped into the boat and was away. "I say, Podgie!" the speaker was in the last of the line of destroyers, as we thumped astern "aren't you lonely out there?" "Oh, don't rag me!" said Moorshed.
We regained our own craft, cackling like wild geese, and crowded round Moorshed and Hinchcliffe. Behind us the Agatha's boat, returning from her fish-selling cruise, yelled: "Have 'ee done the trick? Have 'ee done the trick?" and we could only shout hoarsely over the stern, guaranteeing them rum by the hold-full.
"Dead, am I? I'll show you whether I'm dead or not, Sir!" "Well, you may be a survivor," said Moorshed ingratiatingly, "though it isn't at all likely." The officer choked for a minute. The midshipman crouched up in stern said, half aloud: "Then I was right last night." "Yesh," I gasped from the dinghy's coal-dust. "Are you member Torquay Yacht Club?"
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