A Brig of War (12 page)

He lowered his weight gently onto the moving spar, gradually
transferring his grip. He had hold of the lower jeers block and the movement of the whole thing was alarming now that his life depended on it. Reaching up he took the end of the strop and began to crouch, easing himself down until he was astride the yard, his legs wrapped round it. He let go of the jeers block to have both hands for the strop. His whole body was now transferred to the yard at its alarmingly cockbilled angle. Now the movement was exaggerated, swinging him from side to side with a twitch at the end of each oscillation that threatened to throw him off.

It gave a sudden violent jerk. Drinkwater flung his arms about the spar, retaining sufficient presence of mind not to let go of the strop. For a second the absence of further movement convinced him he was in wild descent.

Then from the deck came a hail: ‘End's secure, sir!' The jerk had been Lestock's men bowsing the lower end down, unable to see their first lieutenant clinging to its upper extremity. Drink-water passed the strop round the spar, pulled it tight through its own part and held it up. Stokeley grabbed it and, as Drinkwater scrambled back into the top, secured the block to it. Tregembo had rove the rope through the block and secured one end round the topmast. All that remained to do was to reeve the hauling part through another vacant block. Tregembo had brought a buntline block and shackled it to give a clear lead to the deck and it was the work of only a few minutes to prepare their extempore double whip.

Mr Quilhampton reappeared. ‘Mr Rogers has secured the starboard piece, sir.'

‘Right. All go below. I'll remain here. Have Mr Lestock man the jeers and be to lower handsomely on them. Desire him also to take the weight on this manila inch. Make sure he has caught a turn with it.'

‘Aye, aye, sir.'

Drinkwater watched them go, leaning back against the topmast doubling, feeling hot and mad as the gale howled about him. His mouth was dry and he knew he would start shaking from the reaction from his exertions. Thank God they had a good man at the helm, the ship had not slewed from her course once. He must remember to find out who it was; the fellow was deserving of praise.

‘Ready masthead there!' came the shout from below.

‘Set tight the whip!' he bawled back, lowering himself onto his belly to watch progress. The strop drew tight.

‘Ee-ease the jeers!'

The platform beneath him trembled. As
Hellebore
pitched forward and scended the yard moved down a foot, forward six inches. As the wave passed under her the bowsprit stabbed at the sky and the spar swung aft, hitting the mast with a judder. Damn! He should have thought of that! They needed a downhaul.

‘Belay there! ‘Vast lowering!' He peered down while the yard swung forward and back. Again the jarring thump shot through his body. Then he had it. He reached down. One of the clew garnet lead blocks had a trailing rope through it. If he could just reach it . . .

His fingers missed it by an inch. He thought of getting the hands to haul upon the whip but that might put too great a load on it. He wriggled over the top, turning so that his legs dangled over the edge. With one leg he hooked a trailing end of the line over his foot, bent his leg and, reaching down with one hand grabbed it, heaving himself back into the top. Quickly he fashioned a figure of eight knot in its end and let it go.

‘Mr Lestock! Get the starboard clew garnet, it's trailing round the fiferail, pull it tight and lead it forward to the cathead. Use it as a downhaul to keep the yard off the mast!'

‘Aye, aye!'

There was an interminable pause while Lestock sorted out the tangle of ropes. Then a shout that all was ready. Drinkwater peered once more over the edge of the top. His knot had drawn tight against the block and the rope led downwards.

‘Lower away handsomely and keep the downhaul tight!'

The yard began its descent. The jeers parted, whirling to leeward in a cloud of dust causing confusion as the men on deck, suddenly relieved of the weight, fell over. The oscillations of the yard grew greater as it was lowered but the clew garnet, stretched like a thread, prevented its contact with the mast. As the yard's angle lessened the men at the chess tree slackened their lashings and there was a dull thud as the broken yard's second part finally lay across the deck. As if angry with a wild beast the men leapt upon it and threw lashings round it. Drinkwater climbed wearily down. Scrambling aft he joined the master. ‘Well done Mr Lestock. Whom did you have on the wheel?'

‘Gregory, sir.'

‘Give him my compliments for keeping the ship so steady. When all the gear is secure you may send the watches below. What time is it?'

‘Two bells in the middle watch.'

‘Good God, I'd no idea . . .'

Their exertions had taken three hours. If he had been asked Drinkwater would have imagined no more than an hour had elapsed. Wearily he went below to find Appleby sitting in the gunroom, a baleful look upon his face and a jug of blackstrap before him.

‘Couldn't you sleep, Harry? Did we poor jacks make too much noise banging about aloft?' His tone was ironic for he was too tired for sarcasm. ‘If that's blackstrap for God's sake give me some. Harry? What's the matter?'

Appleby looked up at Drinkwater as though seeing him for the first time.

‘Women,' he said in a low voice. ‘We've got a festering bitch of a woman on board.'

Closing his mind to one problem Drinkwater was unwilling to face another. He was very tired and the implications of Appleby's remark took several seconds to penetrate his brain. The black-strap coiled round his belly and radiated its warmth through him so that stiff muscles relaxed. But it stimulated his mind and he turned to Appleby. ‘Woman? What the devil d'you mean? We landed ‘em all at the Cape.'

Appleby shook his head, his jowls flapping lugubriously. ‘You thought you did.'

Drinkwater swung his legs round and put both elbows on the table. ‘Look man, I saw the bloody boat away from the ship's side. Big Meg actually smiled at me and I footed a bow at Miss Mary. Your wench was already in the boat when I reached the rail.'

‘Exactly! Did she look up?'

‘No. Why should she? She wasn't exactly undergoing a pleasure cruise, I daresay they put gyves on ‘em as soon as they got ashore.'

‘I don't doubt it, cully, but that is not the point. Who wrote out the receipt?'

‘I did,' said Drinkwater rising to reach down the ship's letter book. He flicked over the pages. ‘There!' He spun the book to face Appleby. The pasted in receipt bore the words ‘Three convicts, ex
Mistress Shore
, Government Transport, female.'

‘So?'

‘Oh, for God's sake Harry, quit hazing me. If you've a woman on board let's see her.' But Appleby, angry and dismayed by the turn of events would not yet produce his evidence.

‘That proves nothing, any fool can squiggle a signature and pretend it's that of a garrison subaltern. All one does is draw up a second one and throw it overboard on the way back to the ship.'

‘But that indicates a conspiracy. Damn it, Griffiths would have reported three female convicts to the Governor; Torrington or his men knew there were three of'em. Come on bring the woman in, I'm tired of fencing with words.' He swallowed the blackstrap.

‘Look, Nat, I don't suppose Torrington gave it a second thought and I daresay the soldiers were a party to it. As for the
Governor, who knows what our captain said to him? The Old Man was already feverish and we know His Excellency was annoyed that Griffiths had not called immediately upon arrival . . . who knows what either of them remembered to say during or after their interview? I daresay H.E. was obsessed with Griffiths's lack of protocol before worrying about whether he had reported two or three convicts. We sailed the following day . . . but one last question. Who took the boat ashore to see those trollops off?'

Drinkwater's argument was merely a sympton of his fatigue. Both of them knew Appleby was not lying but Drinkwater was trying to delay the inevitable with logic. It was a spurious argument. ‘Rogers,' he said resignedly.

‘Huh! Now, to reward your exemplary patience I will produce the evidence.' Appleby rose and left the gunroom. Drinkwater emptied the jug of blackstrap into his mug. The door opened and Appleby returned. Drinkwater looked up. Leaning against the closed door was Catherine Best. Her pinched face was almost attractive, half shadowed in the swaying lantern light. An insolent half-smile curled her mouth while a provocative hip was thrust out in allurement.

Drinkwater closed his mouth, aware that he had flushed. He was aware too that she knew well the hold she had over them all. It was not difficult to imagine a conspiracy among the hands, an easy woman amongst them would seem like the answer to a seaman's prayer.

‘Where have you been living?'

‘She's been in the cable tier,' volunteered Appleby.

‘That is Lestock's province.'

‘He delegates his rounds of the hold to one of his mates.'

‘But I myself was there yesterday . . . no, no, the day before . . .'

‘Efficient though you are, Nathaniel, you are an officer of regular habits. It is easy enough to give warning of your coming.'

Drinkwater nodded. It was all too true, a dreadful nightmare. He looked again at the woman and was suddenly furious. ‘I shall have you flogged!' he snapped vindictively. ‘Turn Dalziell out of his cabin again and lock this trollop in for the night!' Appleby turned to take the woman out. She remained for a moment, resisting the hand upon her arm, looking fixedly at Drinkwater. He felt again the colour mounting to his cheeks.

‘Get out, damn you!' he roared, angry at his own weakness.
As usual Drinkwater had the morning watch, from four until eight a.m. He woke with the realisation that something was very wrong and the bare two hours sleep that he had enjoyed left him in a foul temper when he reached the deck and realised the nature of his problems. Quilhampton brought him coffee but it did nothing to lighten his mood. The men avoided him, all knowing the mad scheme to carry their own doxy had been discovered by the surgeon and Mr Drinkwater.

Whilst the watch below melted away and the unhappy culprits in Mr Drinkwater's watch busied themselves about the decks, the first lieutenant paced up and down. An hour passed before he realised that daylight was upon them, that the sun was above the horizon, revealing a grey-white sea, furrowed and torn by the ferocity of the gale the night before. The wave crests, half a mile apart were already losing their anger as the gale abated, to turn them slowly from breaking seas to crested swells.

He swept his glance over the shambles of the deck. Luck had been with them again last night. Later he hoped he would find Griffiths surfacing for a lucid moment and could tell him what they had been through. But then he would also have to tell him about the woman Catherine Best, and he was not looking forward to that. He swore to himself. He could not flog the woman alone since all were guilty, all these sheepish seamen who crept round the deck pretending to check the lashings on the pieces of yard. Tregembo passed him and Drinkwater was struck by a feeling of abandonment.

‘Tregembo!'

‘Zur?'

‘Did you know about this woman?' he asked in a low voice.

‘Aye zur.'

‘And you didn't tell me?'

Tregembo looked up agonised. ‘I couldn't zur, couldn't welsh on my mates . . . besides, zur, there was officers involved.'

Drinkwater bit his lip. Tregembo could no more pass tittle-tattle than he could have favoured Tregembo over the ridiculous flogging business. Nevertheless the apparent disloyalty hurt. ‘Have you lain with her?'

‘No, zur!' Tregembo answered indignantly. ‘I've my Susan, zur.'

‘Of course . . . I'm sorry.'

‘It's all right, zur . . . you've a right to be angry, zur, if you'll
pardon me for so saying.' He made to move away. Drinkwater detained him.

‘Just tell me by whom I was deceived?'

‘Zur?'

‘Who dressed as the jade in the boat at the Cape?'

‘Why Mr Dalziell, zur.'

Drinkwater closed his gaping mouth. ‘How very interesting,' he said at last in an icy tone that brought an inner joy to Tregembo. ‘Thank you Tregembo, you may carry on.'

Tregembo touched his forehead and moved aft, passing the wheel.

‘What was he asking you?' growled the quartermaster apprehensively.

‘Only who was tarted up like the woman at the Cape, Josh. And I reckon the buggers'll see the sparks fly now. He's got his dander up.'

Drinkwater took two more turns up and down the deck then he spun on his heel. ‘Mr Quilhampton! Pipe all hands!'

That would do for a start. The middle watch would be deeply asleep now, damn them, and the members of the first watch had been a-bed too long. If they thought they could pull the wool over the eyes of Nathaniel Drinkwater they were going to have to learn a lesson; and if he could not flog them all then he would work them until sunset.