“Send them to me when they do. And see they know how to behave themselves before they come into my cabin. Understand?” The others then gave their names in turn. “Very well,” the Commander went on, “clear out now. I dare say I shall learn your names as soon as you care for. Go on—out of it!”
The last command was shouted at them. It rang in their ears as they walked towards the Gunroom.
“I wonder if he’s always like that?”
“Lots of Commanders are half mad with over-work,” Cunwell said. “They chase everyone—lower deck, snotties, Wardroom—everyone.”
“But have you ever heard anything so absolutely without cause?” asked Lynwood; “a screaming rage all about nothing.”
“It’s part of the system, I suppose,” said Fane-Herbert, “and all for the good of the Service. It’s no good to take it too seriously.”
II
When the midshipmen had left his cabin the Commander picked up his pen and stooped once more over the letter he was writing to his wife.
“... Means more drive,” he wrote. “All one’s life is an amazing drive. The R.A. never tires. He must be made of iron. It is his affectation—” The Commander crossed out the sentence and wrote: “He considers it necessary to be entirely unsparing of himself and others. It’s like running a mile race at a hundred yards’ pace. He acts as if there were going to be a war to-morrow. Of course, we all act similarly—and that means a smart ship. But if you knew how I should like to relax the pressure on the men—even for one day! But what the R.A. does we must all do. I have that promotion to think of that you and I are waiting for.
“When you met the R.A. you thought him charming, didn’t you? And so he was. You should see him in the ship. And I hope you think me even more charming than the R.A.? You should see me in the ship. I wonder if the men think I am always like this. I’m sure the snotties do. I’ve just cursed some new ones till they fled, and I suppose they think—and I don’t wonder—that I’m an inhuman beast. What’s more, I’m afraid they won’t ever have much cause to think otherwise. I shall curse them and drive them whenever I see them—just as the Admiral, a bit more politely, drives me. (It doesn’t hurt me, because I can see through it all.) It must be done. It really is necessary. Probably the R.A. excuses himself to his wife on the grounds that the Vice-Admiral drives him, and so on up to My Lords Commissioners at Whitehall, who would put the responsibility on the Germans, and they return it. It is a circle!