A cluster of sleepy-eyed figures clambering up from the mess-decks caught his eye and gave him the opportunity he had been waiting for.
‘Come along now. Step lively,’ he growled. ‘Six bells struck five minutes ago. Fall in ’ere and tow a line.’
The half-dozen seamen and stokers, clad in overalls, put out their pipes and stumbled into some semblance of a line as the remainder of ‘123’s’ crew appeared from their various lairs and joined the unhappy company. The E.R.A.’s carried on down to the boat to commence the day’s labours, carefully picking their way between the demons wielding brooms and the hose brandishers who were performing the early morning task of ‘scrub decks.’
‘Show a little life now,’ snapped the coxswain to his shivering subordinates. ‘Form two deep. ’Shun. Right dress. Eyes front. Stan’-at-ease. Are ye all ’ere?’ he continued, checking off the number on his fingers. ‘No, we’re one short.’
‘Jevons ain’t ’ere,’ volunteered the second coxswain, inwardly cursing the able seamen who kept him shivering in the rain.
‘I’m ’ere,’ cried a dishevelled figure hastily taking its place at the end of the rear rank.
The coxswain surveyed him with a baleful glance.
‘A little more from you, my lad, and you’ll be spoke to. You turn out late once more an’ I takes you before the first lieutenant. I’ve ’ad me eye on you for some time.’
The seaman swallowed heavily. It was unwise to argue with the coxswain in the still hours of the morning. Also his roving eye caught sight of Seagrave, who was coming forward clad in oilskins and sea-boots and pulling on a long pair of engine-room gloves.
‘T.’s crew, ’shun!’ cried the coxswain. ‘All present, sir.’