The Corvette nd-5 Page 7

  The revival of Leek had also stimulated a sudden religious fervour, for the topman claimed he had died and seen God. While Singleton's attitude to his own medical abilities was purely professional, the theologian in him was intrigued. This circumstance seemed to make Germaney's distress the more acute.

  A second bottle shattered and, a few minutes later, Mount dismissed his men. The Marine officer crossed the deck and removed his sword belt, sash, gorget and scarlet coat, laying them over the breech of the quarterdeck carronade next to Germaney. He doffed his hat and held it out.

  'Be a good fellow, Germaney…' Germaney took the hat.

  'What the deuce are you up to?'

  Mount smiled and bent down to rummage in a canvas bag. He pulled a padded plastron over his shirt, produced a gauntlet, foil and mask and made mock obeisance.

  'I go, fair one, to joust with the captain. Wilt thou not grant me a favour?'

  'Good God.' Germaney was in no mood for Mount's humour but Mount was not to be so easily suppressed.

  'See where he comes,' he whispered.

  Commander Drinkwater had emerged on deck in his shirt sleeves and plastron. Germaney could see the extent of the rumoured wound. The right shoulder sagged appreciably and the reason for the cock of his head, that Germaney had dismissed as a peculiarity of the man, now became clear.

  Drinkwater ignored the frank curiosity of the idlers amidships, whipped his foil experimentally, donned his mask and strode across the deck. He flicked a salute at his opponent.

  'Best of seven, sir?' asked Mount, hooking the mask over his head.

  'Very well, Mr Mount, best of seven.' Drinkwater lowered his mask and saluted.

  Mount dropped his mask and came on guard. Both men called 'Ready' to Quilhampton, who was presiding, and the bout commenced.

  The two men advanced and retreated cautiously, feeling their opponent by an occasional change of line, the click of the blades inaudible above the hiss of the sea and the thrum of the wind in the rigging.

  There was a sudden movement. Mount's lunge was parried but the marine was too quick for Drinkwater, springing backwards then extending as the captain came forward to riposte.

  Drinkwater conceded the hit. They came on guard again. Mount came forward, beat Drinkwater's blade and was about to extend and hit Drinkwater's plastron when the captain whirled his blade in a circular parry, stepped forward and his blade bowed against Mount's breast.

  They came on guard again and circled each other. Mount dropped his left hand and threw himself to the deck, intending to extend under Drinkwater's guard but the captain pulled back his pelvis, then leaned forward, over Mount's sword and dropped his point onto the Marine officer's back.

  'Oh very good, sir!' There was a brief round of applause from the knot of officers assembled about the contest.

  Mount scored two more points in quick succession before a hiatus in which each contender circled warily, seeking an opening without exposing himself. The click of the blades could be heard now as they slammed together with greater fury. Mount's next attack scored and he became more confident, getting a fifth hit off the captain.

  Mount came in to feint and lunge for the sixth point. Drinkwater realised the younger man was quicker than Quilhampton and he was himself running short of breath. But he was ready for it. He advanced boldly, bringing his forte down hard against Mount's blade and executing a croise, twisting his wrist and pulling his elbow back so that his sword point scratched against Mount's belly. He leaned forward and the blade curved. Mount straightened and stepped back to concede the point. The second he came on guard again Drinkwater lunged. It would have gratified M. Bescond. Mount had not moved and Drinkwater had another point to his credit.

  The muscles in Drinkwater's shoulder were hurting now, but the two quick hits had sharpened him. He caught Mount's next extension in a bind and landed an equalising hit. The atmosphere on the quarterdeck was now electric and the quartermaster called the helmsmen to their duty.

  Drinkwater whirled a molinello but Mount parried quinte. There was a gasp as the onlookers watched Mount drop his blade to attack Drinkwater's unguarded gut, stepping forward as he did so.

  But Drinkwater executed a brilliant low parry. The two blades met an instant before they collided corps-à-corps. They separated and came on guard again.

  'A guinea on Mount,' muttered Rispin.

  'Done!' said Hill, remembering the slithering deck of the Draaken one dull October afternoon off Camperdown.

  Drinkwater scored again as Mount slipped on the deck then lost a point to the marine with an ineffectual parry. They came on guard for the last time. There was a conversazione of blades then Mount's suddenly licked out as he lunged low. Drinkwater stepped back to cutover but Mount seemed to coil up his rear leg and thrust himself bodily forward. His blade curved triumphantly against the captain's breast.

  The fencers removed their masks, smiling and panting. They shook their left hands.

  'By God you pressed me damned hard, sir.'

  'You were too fast for me, Mr Mount.' Drinkwater wiped the sweat from his brow.

  'You owe me a guinea, Mr Hill.'

  'I shall win it back again, Mr Rispin, without a doubt.'

  Drinkwater returned below, nodding acknowledgement to the marine sentry's salute as he entered the cabin. Tregembo had the tub of salt water ready in the centre of the cabin and Drinkwater immersed himself in it.

  'I've settled all your things now, zur, but we have too many chairs.'

  'Strike Palgrave's down into the hold. Get the sailmaker to wrap some old canvas round them.'

  'I hope the pictures are to your liking, zur.'

  He looked at the portraits by Bruilhac and nodded. Sluicing the icy water over his head he rose and took the towel from Tregembo.

  'Don't cluck like an old hen, Tregembo. Don't forget I'm short of good topmen.'

  'Aye, zur, I doubt you'll take to Cap'n Palgrave's lackey,' replied Tregembo familiarly, brushing Drinkwater's undress coat, 'but I'll exchange willingly, zur, I'm not too old yet.'

  'D'you think I could stand Susan's reproaches if I sent you aloft again?' Drinkwater stepped out of the bath-tub. 'Where's Germaney put Palgrave's man?'

  'He is mincing about the gunroom, sir,' replied Tregembo with a touch of ire and added under his breath, 'and 'tis the best bloody place for 'im.'

  The Cornishman picked up the tub and sluiced its contents down the quarter gallery privy.

  Dressing, Drinkwater sent for Mr Midshipman the Lord Walmsley. Donning his coat he sat behind his desk and awaited the appearance of his lordship. A glance out of the stern window showed the tail of the convoy. The sea was a dazzling blue and the wind still steady from the north of west, blowing fluffy cumulus clouds to leeward. It was more reminiscent of the Mediterranean than the North Sea: too good to last.

  'Come in!' Lord Walmsley entered the cabin, his uniform immaculate, his hose silk. Drinkwater could imagine that he and his servant were popular in the confines of the cockpit.

  'You sent for me, sir.'

  'I did. The man Leek fell from the fore t'gallant yard yesterday, a consequence of skylarking didn't you say.'

  Walmsley nodded. 'That is so, sir.'

  'Skylarking upon the yards is irresponsible when it leads to losing men…'

  'But sir, it was only high spirits, why Sir James…'

  'Damn Sir James, Mr Walmsley,' Drinkwater said quietly. 'I command here and I intend to flog Leek this morning.' He paused. 'I see that disturbs you. Do you have a weak stomach, or a feeling of solicitude for Leek? Eh?' Drinkwater suppressed the smile that threatened to crack his face as he watched perplexity cross his lordship's face. 'Do you have any feeling for Leek?'

  'Why… I, er… yes, er…'

  'Is he a good seaman?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Then I rely upon you to intercede for him. Do you understand? When I call for someone to speak for him. Now, kindly tell the first lieutenant to pipe all hands aft to witness punishment
and to rig the gratings.'

  Drinkwater gave way to suppressed mirth as Walmsley retreated, his face a picture of confusion. The lesson would be better learned this way.

  Half a minute elapsed before the marine drummer began to beat the tattoo. Drinkwater heard the pipes at the hatchways and the thump of marines' boots and the muffled slap of bare feet. He rose, hitched his sword and tucked his hat under his arm. He picked up the slim brown book that gave him the right to do what he was about to.

  Germaney's head came round the door. 'Ship's company mustered to witness punishment, sir. Lord Walmsley tells me it's Leek.'

  'That's correct, Mr Germaney'

  'Begging your pardon, sir, but I conceive it my duty to inform you that Sir James encouraged…'

  '… Such rash bravado. I know. Walmsley has already informed me. But, Mr Germaney, I would have you know that I command here now and I would advise you to recollect that Sir James's example is not to be followed too closely.' He was unaware that his remark pierced Germaney to his vitals.

  Drinkwater stepped on deck into the sunshine. Half a mile to leeward the convoy foamed along. Mount's marines glittered across the after end of the quarterdeck and the officers were gathered in uniform with their swords. Forward a sea of faces was mustered. 'Off hats!'

  Drinkwater cleared his throat and read the Thirty-Sixth Article of War.

  'All other crimes not Capital, committed by any Person or Persons in the Fleet, which are not mentioned in this Act, or for which no Punishment is hereby directed to be inflicted, shall be punished according to Laws and Customs in such cases used at Sea.'

  It was colloquially known as the Captain's Cloak, a grim pun which covered every eventuality likely to be encountered in a man-of-war not dealt with by the other thirty-five Articles.

  'Able-Seaman Leek step forward.' The murmur from amidships as Leek stepped out in utter surprise was hostile. 'Silence there! You stand condemned by the provisions of this Article, in that you did skylark in the rigging, causing risk to yourself and to others in your rescue, and that you did delay the passage of His Majesty's sloop Melusine engaged in the urgent convoy of other ships. What have you to say?'

  Leek hung his head and muttered inaudibly. He was bewildered at this unexpected ordeal. He had never been flogged, he was a volunteer, he began to tremble.

  Drinkwater's eye was caught by a movement on his right.

  Singleton was pushing through the midshipmen. Drinkwater turned his head and fixed Singleton with a glare. 'Stand fast there!' Singleton paused.

  'I sentence you to one dozen lashes. Does anyone speak for this man?' He sought out Lord Walmsley. The young man came forward.

  'Well, sir?'

  'I, er… I wish to speak for the man, sir. He is a topman of the first rate and I have previously entertained no apprehensions as to his good behaviour, sir. I should be prepared to stand guarantor against his good conduct.'

  Drinkwater bit his lip. Walmsley's speech was nobly touching and he had played his part to perfection.

  'Very well. I shall overlook the matter on this occasion. But mark me, my lads, we are bound upon a service that will not tolerate the casual loss of good seamen. But for Mr Singleton, Seaman Mullack and Marine Polesworth, Leek, we would be gathered here this morning to send you over the standing part of the foresheet.[2] Do you reflect on that.' He turned to Germaney. 'Dismiss the men and pipe up spirits, Mr Germaney'

  Drinkwater chuckled to himself. Talk at dinner over the mess kids would be about this morning's theatricals. He hoped they would conclude that he would stand no nonsense, that although he might only be a 'job captain', temporarily commanding a post-captain's ship, he was not prepared to tolerate anything but the strictest adherence to duty.

  Chapter Five

  Bressay Sound

  June 1803

  The wind held fair and they raised Sumburgh Head at daylight after a passage of three days from the Spurn Head. By previous agreement the Hudson Bay ships, usually escorted to longitude twenty west, left them off the Fair Isle. Due to the mild weather the convoy had kept together and by the afternoon all the ships had worked into the anchorage in Bressay Sound and lay within sight of the grey town of Lerwick.

  That evening Drinkwater received a deputation of whale-ship masters in his cabin. It consisted of Jaybez Harvey, Abel Sawyers and another captain whose name he did not know. Sawyers introduced him.

  'Captain Waller, Captain Drinkwater. Captain Waller is master of the Conqueror.'

  'Your servant.' Drinkwater remembered him as having sat next to Ellerby at the meeting in Hull. He was surprised that Ellerby was not among the announced deputation. Drinkwater hoped Ellerby realised he was no longer dealing with a man of Palgrave's stamp and had come to his senses. In any event Waller seemed a mild enough character, leaving most of the talking to Sawyers.

  'Well, gentlemen,' Drinkwater said when he had settled them with a glass and placed Palgrave's decanter on the table before them, 'to what do I owe this honour?'

  'As thou knowest, Captain Drinkwater, since we cast anchor we have been taking water and augmenting our crews. The islanders are as eager as ourselves to avoid delay, the season already being far advanced. It is therefore hoped that within these twenty-four hours thou also wilt be ready to weigh.'

  'I see no reason for thinking otherwise.'

  'Very well. We have therefore to decide upon the procedures to be adopted when we reach the fishing grounds. Know therefore that we have agreed to consider ourselves free to pursue whales once we cross the seventy-second parallel. Opinion is divided, as to the most advantageous grounds, the mysticetus…'

  'Mysticetus?' broke in Drinkwater frowning.

  'Baleana Mysticetus, the Greenland Right Whale…' Drinkwater nodded as Sawyers continued, 'has become wary of the approach of man in recent years. There are those who advocate his pursuit upon the coast of Spitzbergen, those who are more disposed to favour a more westerly longitude, along the extremity of the ice.'

  'I gather you favour this latter option?' Sawyers nodded while a silent shake of the head indicated that Waller did not. 'I see, please go on.'

  'I do not think this late arrival on the grounds will inconvenience us greatly. It was our practice to spend the first month in the Greenland Sea in sealing, waiting for the ice to open up and spending the first days of continuous daylight in the hunting of seal, walrus and bear. However, those of us that have, of late, pursued mysticetus into the drift ice, have been rewarded by a haul as high as ten or even a dozen fish in a season, which amply satisfies us.'

  It was clear that Harvey and Sawyers were of one mind in the matter. But if the whale-fleet dispersed his own task became impossible.

  'Would you be kind enough to indicate the degree to which these options are supported by the other masters?' The three men consulted together while Drinkwater rose and pulled out a chart of the Greenland Sea. Seven hundred miles to the north-north-west of Bressay Sound lay the island of Jan Mayen. His present company, he knew, still referred to it as Trinity Island, after their own corporation.

  'I think, sir,' said Harvey in his broad accent, 'that a few favour the Spitzbergen grounds while the majority will try the ice-edge.'

  'Very well.' Drinkwater paused to think. He could not cover both areas so which was the better post to take up with the Melusine? During the last war Danish privateers had operated out of the fiords of Norway. Would these hardy men attempt to entrap British whaleships on the coast of Spitzbergen? The battle of Copenhagen and Britain's new alliance with Russia must surely persuade Denmark that she had nothing to gain by provoking Britain from her Norwegian territories. Drinkwater cleared his mind of these diplomatic preoccupations. His own responsibilities were to the whalers and he conceived the greater threat, as indicated at the Admiralty, to come from French privateers. Long experience of French corsairs had led Drinkwater to admire their energy. He did not share the contempt of many of his contemporaries for French abilities. The Republican Navy had given the Roya
l Navy a bloody nose from time to time, he recalled, thinking that even the great Sir Edward Berry, one of Nelson's Band of Brothers, had nearly caught a tartar in the Guillaume Tell off Malta in 1800. And the corsairs were of greater resource than the Republican Navy. What of those Breton ships that had sailed north? Where were they now?

  He looked at the chart. The huge area of the Greenland Sea was imperfectly surveyed. Hill had added every scrap of detail he could glean but it was little enough. Drinkwater concentrated on the problem from the French point of view. If the intention of the privateers was to harass British whalers then they would probably hide in the fiords of Iceland or around Cape Farewell. The former, ice free on its southern and eastern coasts would threaten the Greenland fishery whilst the less hospitable coast of Greenland would permit a descent upon the trade in the Davis Strait. Either station would give the ships a favourable cast well to the windward of British cruisers in the Western Approaches and a clear passage back to the French coast where they had only to run the British blockade to reach safety. And given the fact that they were unlikely to be making for the great French naval arsenals this would be relatively simple. It was clear that if the Hull ships were determined to fish in the Greenland Sea he must conceive the greater threat, if it existed at all, would come from Iceland and that he should support the whalers on the ice-edge.

  'I shall make known to you that I shall cruise upon the ice-edge in company with the majority of ships. I would ask you therefore that you appoint one of your number to consult and advise me as to your intentions, that we may not be at cross-purposes.'