Evans went into the mates’ cabin. Both were asleep. He shook Bervick, who was in the top bunk.
“Lunch. You’d better get up.” Bervick groaned and Martin rolled out of the lower bunk.
“You take over,” Evans said, speaking to Martin. “You can eat when I get back. I’ll take part of your watch for you.” He went below.
The crew was using the galley table. The officers and passengers used one of the salon tables. The three passengers were walking about aimlessly.
“All ready for some of our wonderful hash?” Evans spoke the words gaily, but even to his own ears they sounded flat. He did not have Martin’s light touch with words.
“I feel quite hungry,” said the Major, rubbing his hands together briskly.
“I seem to have no appetite,” said the Chaplain sadly. They sat down at the table. The Major on Evans’ right, the Chaplain on his left. Hodges sat next to Duval, who had come up from the engine room.
“Engines running smoothly, Chief?” Evans asked.
Duval beamed, “They’ve never been better. Were making good time.”
“Good.” Evans helped himself to the hash. It looked pale and unnourishing. The Major frowned.