Billy Budd Page #3

devious plan for me?

- Some night when there's no moon.

- Don't be a fool.

That's a very good plan indeed.

A plan worthy of pigs like you.

You'll soon feel better, Jenkins.

Just keep your hate for me alive

until that time.

Damn his flaming soul.

I can't stand it no more.

What are you gonna do about it, mate?

Stick him. Stick him

one of these nights like he said.

He's waiting for it.

Don't do nothing foolish, mate. You can

get hung for no more than an angry look.

Oh, I'm sick of the taste of blood, boy-o.

Why is he so friendly to me?

It was I who spilled the food.

Don't you believe it.

It was him lurched into you. I saw it.

I'll ask him why.

No, you don't, Billy.

Not a word, you hear?

Just thank your stars he's still

smiling at you, lad, and leave it at that.

He never did smile at me. Never.

Not even the first day.

It's all right for you to give advice,

you've had your food. I'm hungry.

That don't mean much.

I ate mine, I'm hungry too.

I'll ask him when I get a chance.

I will.

You recommend Budd

for a post of more responsibility...

...yet here's his name

on ship's report again.

These are just misdemeanors.

Nothing serious.

An infraction of any rule is serious.

- Mr. Ratcliffe.

- Sir.

You took him off that merchant ship.

When he cried out:

"Goodbye, old Rights of Man,"

what did you take it he meant?

At the time, sir, I wasn't sure.

Now I'm sure he meant nothing.

He knew of the shameful mutinies

at the Nore and at Spithead.

It was common gossip

aboard that merchantman.

I charged him to keep

the knowledge to himself.

As far as I can ascertain,

he's kept his secret well.

- Must be a hard one to keep.

- Yes.

He was the only man I dared impress,

if you remember, sir.

The boy has a quality of trust.

Thank you, Ratcliffe, that'll be all.

- Claggart. What does he recommend?

- I've not discussed it with him, sir.

- Well, why not, pray? The boy has sworn...

- With your permission, sir.

In this matter,

I didn't think it necessary.

What do you know about Claggart?

Before he came aboard this ship,

I mean.

Not much, sir. Nobody does.

- There are rumors.

- Rumors?

- But then there always are in any ship.

- What rumors?

That he was once arraigned

at the King's Bench...

...on some mysterious charge...

...then volunteered with the king's navy

as payment.

How flattering for us.

Too much of the navy

is made up of debtors...

...murderers and drunkards without

the steady legs to escape impressment.

If it were not true in his case...

...then why would a man of his intellect

have accepted life aboard ship...

...on such a lowly station?

- Aye. Aye.

He's a good master-at-arms, mark you.

He's the best I've ever sailed with.

The ship is yours, sir.

- The choice of men to man her too.

- Choice.

What master-at-arms

is ever loved by the crew?

Loved?

They hate him, sir.

That may be better than indifference,

Seymour. Who knows?

The fact that I command

does not relieve me from doubts.

On the contrary, it magnifies them.

A man-of-war does not come to life

until it's in action.

Will we acquit ourselves well...

...or badly?

What kind of a weapon

have we forged?

Or when the time comes,

will I know how to use it?

Claggart is a force for order, Mr. Seymour.

A force for order I must have.

Sir...

...if he should be opposed

to Budd's promotion...

You know, Seymour, there are some men

who cannot stand too much perfection.

They see it as a disease...

...which must be stamped out

at its first rash showing.

I will think over

the matter of Budd's promotion.

- What's the matter with him?

- What is it, mate?

Oh, it's no good, boy-o. I feel sick.

Sick and dizzy.

- Come on, let's get aloft.

- No, wait.

Get him down below.

Where are you taking him?

Sick berth.

This sickness

begins to grow tedious, Jenkins.

How does it strike you?

In the head?

In the limbs?

Maybe in the gut.

Does it exist at all?

- Can't you see?

- We're undermanned.

- Get aloft.

- You can't let a sick man...

...hang from a spar like that.

He'll fall, sure.

We're in French waters.

Orders are a man on every spar.

Now, get aloft.

- You think I'm shirking?

- Yes, I do.

Then be damned to you.

I'll stand my watch.

- At least let the ship's doctor...

- I said I'll stand my watch.

French waters...

...undermanned.

That's not why you're sending me aloft,

Mr. Claggart.

A sail one mile off the starboard bow.

A Frenchman. Beat to quarters.

Clear for action.

Beat to quarters! Clear for action!

Mr. Seymour, sir.

Here, get ahold of that!

Go on, you lazy landlubbers there!

Go on, get ahold of this.

- Move on there, move on.

- Keep moving!

Battle stations fully manned, sir.

- Set more sail and give chase.

- We'll never catch her, sir.

- She may not have seen us.

- Aye, aye, sir.

- Set more sail, Mr. Leverett.

- Set more sail, Mr. Seymour.

- Steer close to the wind, sir?

- Aye.

- Quartermaster, steer by the wind.

- By the wind it is, sir.

Why is that man leaving his post?

Who is it?

- Budd, sir.

- Budd?

For the love of God, Billy...

...look to yourself.

Claggart!

Damn your bloody eyes!

The man is dead, Mr. Ratcliffe.

- Take the body below.

- Aye, sir.

You, you. Thompson, Ridley.

Bear him below.

- The Frenchman's drawing ahead, sir.

- Commence firing, Mr. Seymour.

- But, sir, it's hopeless. It's out of range.

- Yes, Mr. Seymour.

- We can attract other enemy ships...

- I know your objection.

We can't sink the Frenchman. All I can do

is to lessen the tension aboard my ship.

Commence firing, Mr. Seymour.

- Starboard battery, open fire!

- Open fire, sir.

- Fire at will.

- Fire at will!

Fire at will.

- Fire at will!

- What are we firing at?

Don't question the commands,

obey them! Fire!

Look out!

- Mr. Seymour.

- Sir.

Officers will wear swords all the time

from now on.

We've lost her, sir.

- Give up the chase, Mr. Seymour.

- Aye, aye, sir.

What else do you expect me

to tell you?

Hand in your arms.

Oh, Kincaid.

You're under ship's arrest.

Take him below.

Hand in your arms.

Hand in your arms.

What's the matter, master-at-arms?

These dogs are out of temper, sir.

- Why?

- I don't know, sir.

What is this about?

You will come to attention

when I address you!

May I remind you

that this ship is at war?

This is a wartime cruise.

We sail under the Articles of War.

Volunteer or impressed man,

veteran, seaman, or recruit...

...you are no longer civilians but sailors.

A crew that I shall mold into a weapon.

One lawless act...

...one spurt of rebel temper

from any one of you...

...high or low...

...I shall pay you out

in coin you know of.

You have only two duties here:

To fight and to obey.

And I will bend

each contumacious spirit...

...each stiff-neck,

prideful soul of you...

...or crush you...

...if I must.

Abide by the Articles of War

and my commands...

...or they will cut you down.

Now choose.

Kincaid, you shouted. Why?

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