The Bomb Vessel (7 page)

‘Things went well for a while. I continued to gamble and, with modest lodgings and Pascale to keep me company, managed to cut a dash. Then my luck changed. For no apparent reason. I began to lose. It was uncanny. I lost confidence, friends, everything.

‘Nathaniel, I have twenty pounds between me and penury.
Pascale threatens to leave me since she has received an offer to better herself . . .' He fell silent.

‘As another man's mistress?'

Edward's silence was eloquent.

‘I see.' Drinkwater felt a low anger building up in him. It was not enough that he should have spent a great deal of money in fitting out His Britannic bloody Majesty's bomb tender
Virago
. It was not enough that the exigencies of the service demanded his constant presence on board until sailing, but that this good-for-nothing killbuck of a brother must turn up to prey on his better nature.

‘How much do you want?'

‘Five hundred would . . .'

‘Five hundred! God's bones, Edward, where in the name of Almighty God d'you think I can lay my hands on five hundred pounds?'

‘I heard you did well from prize money . . .'

‘Prize money? God, Ned, but you've a damned nerve. D'you know how many scars I've got for that damned prize money, how many sleepless nights, hours of worry . . .? No, of course you don't. You've been cutting a dash, gaming and whoring like the rest of this country's so called gentry while your sea-officers and seamen are rotting in their wooden coffins. God damn it, Ned, but I've a wife and family to be looked to first.' His temper began to ebb. Without looking up Edward muttered:

‘I heard too, that you received a bequest.'

‘Where the hell d'you learn that?' A low fury came into his voice.

‘Oh, I learned it in Petersfield.' That would not be difficult. There were enough gossips in any town to know the business of others. It was true that he had received a sizeable bequest from the estate of his former captain, Madoc Griffiths. ‘They say it was three thousand pounds.'

‘They may say what the hell they like. It is no longer mine. Most is in trust for my children, the remainder made over to my wife.' He paused again and Edward looked up, disappointed yet irritatingly unrepentant.

It suddenly occurred to Drinkwater that the expenses incurred in the fitting out of a ship, even a minor one like
Virago
, were inconceivable to Edward. He began to repent of his unbrotherly temper; to hold himself mean, still reproved in his conscience for
the trick he had played on Jex, no matter how many barrels of sauerkraut it had bought.

‘Listen, Ned, I am more than two hundred pounds out of pocket in fitting out my ship. That is why we receive prize money, that and for the wounds we endure in an uncaring country's service. You talk of fencing lessons but you've never known what it is to cut a man down before he kills you. You regard my uniform as some talisman opening the salons of the
ton
to me when I am nothing but a dog of a sailor, lieutenant or not. Why, Ned, I am not fit to crawl beneath the bootsoles of a twelve-year-old ensign of horse whose commission costs him two thousand pounds.' All the bitterness of his profession rose to the surface, replacing his anger with the gall of experience.

Edward remained silent, pouring them both another drink. After several moments Nathaniel rose and went to a small table. From the tail pocket of his coat he drew a small tablet and a pencil. He began to write, calling for wax and a candle.

After sealing the letter he handed it to his brother. ‘That is all I can, in all conscience, manage.'

Then he left, picking up his hat without another word, leaving Edward to wonder over the amount and without waiting for thanks.

He was too preoccupied to notice Mr Jex drinking in the taproom as he made his way through to the street.

Drinkwater raised the speaking trumpet. ‘A trifle more in on that foretack, if you please Mr Matchett.' He transferred his attention to the waist where the master attended the main braces. ‘You may belay the main braces Mr Easton.'

‘Aye, aye, sir.'

Virago
slid downstream leaving the dockyard to starboard and the ships laid up in ordinary to larboard. ‘Full and bye.'

‘Full an' bye, zur.' Tregembo answered from the tiller. Drinkwater, short of men still, had rated the Cornishman quartermaster.

They cleared the end of the trot, slipping beneath the wooded hill at Upnor.

‘Up helm!'
Virago
swung, turning slowly before the wind. Drinkwater nodded to Rogers. ‘Square the yards.' Rogers bawled at the men at the braces as
Virago
brought the wind astern, speeding downstream with the ebb tide under her, her forecourse, three topsails and foretopmast staysail set. The latter flapped now, masked by the forecourse.

They swung south east out of Cockham Reach, the river widening, its north bank falling astern, displaced by the low line of Hoo Island. They passed the line of prison hulks, disfigured old ships, broken, black and sinister. The hands swung the yards as the ship made each turn in the channel, the officers attentive during this first passage of the elderly vessel. They rounded the fort on Darnetness.

‘Give her the main course, Mr Rogers.'

‘Aye, aye, sir. Main yard there! Let fall! Let fall! Mind tacks and sheets there, you blasted lubbers! Look lively there! Watch, God damn it, there's a kink in the starboard clew garnet! It'll snag in the lead block, Mr Quil-bloody-hampton!'

Virago
gathered speed, the tide giving Drinkwater a brief illusion of commanding something other than a tub of a ship. He smiled to himself. Though slow,
Virago
was heavy enough to carry her way and would probably handle well enough in a seaway. She had a ponderous certainty about her that might become an
endearing quality, Drinkwater thought. He swung her down Kethole Reach and Rogers braced the yards up again as the wind veered a point towards the north. To the west the sky was clearing and almost horizontal beams of sunlight began to slant through the overcast, shining ahead of them to where the fort at Garrison Point and the Sheerness Dockyard gleamed dully against the monotones of marsh and islands.

‘Clew up the courses as we square away in Saltpan Reach, Mr Rogers.' He levelled his glass ahead. Half a dozen squat hulled shapes were riding at anchor off Deadman's Island, a mile up stream from Sheerness. They were bomb vessels anchored close to the powder hulks at Blackstakes.

A chattering had broken out amidships. ‘Silence there!' snapped Rogers. Drinkwater watched the line of bombs grow larger. ‘Up courses if you please.'

Rogers bawled, Quilhampton piped and Matchett shouted. The heavy flog of resisting canvas rose above Drinkwater's head as he studied the bombs through his glass, selecting a place to bring
Virago
to her anchor.

They were abeam the upstream vessel, a knot of curious officers visible on her deck. There was a gap between the fourth and fifth bomb vessel, sufficient for
Virago
to swing. Drinkwater felt a thrill of pure excitement. He could go downstream and anchor in perfect safety at the seaward end of the line; but that gap beckoned.

‘Stand by the braces, Mr Rogers! Down helm!'

‘Down helm, zur!'
Virago
turned to starboard, her yards creaking round in their parrels, the forestaysail filling with a crack.

‘Brace sharp up there, damn it!' he snapped, then to the helm, ‘Full and bye!'

‘Full an' bye, zur.' replied the impassive Tregembo.

Drinkwater sailed
Virago
as close to the wind as possible as the ebb pushed her remorselessly downstream. If he made a misjudgement he would crash on board the bomb vessel next astern. He could see a group of people forward on her, no doubt equally alerted to the possibility. He watched the relative bearing of the other vessel's foremast. It drew slowly astern: he could do it.

‘Anchor's ready, sir,' muttered Rogers.

‘Very well.' They were suddenly level with the bow of the other ship.

‘Down helm!'
Virago
turned to starboard again, her sails about to shiver, then to flog. She carried her way, the water chuckling under her bow as she crept over the tide, leaving the anxious watchers astern and edging up on the ship next ahead.

Drinkwater watched the shore, saw its motion cease. ‘All aback now! Let go!'

He felt the hull buck as the anchor fell from the cathead and watched the cable rumble along the deck, saw it catch an inexperienced landsman on the ankle and fling him down while the seamen laughed.

‘Give her sixty fathoms, Mr Matchett, and bring her up to it.'

He nodded to Rogers. ‘Clew up and stow.'

Mr Easton went below to plot their anchorage on the chart and when the vessel was reported brought to her cable Drinkwater joined him. Looking at the chart Drinkwater felt satisifed that neither ship nor crew had let him down.

His satisfaction was short-lived. An hour later he stood before Captain Martin, Master and Commander of His Majesty's bomb vessel
Explosion
, senior officer of the bomb ships assembled at Sheerness. Captain Martin was clearly intolerant of any of his subordinates who showed the least inclination to further their careers by acts of conspicuousness.

‘Not only, lieutenant, was your manoeuvre one that endangered your own ship but it also endangered mine. It was, sir, an act of wanton irresponsibility. Such behaviour is not to be tolerated and speaks volumes on your character. I am surprised you have been entrusted with such a command, Mr Drinkwater. A man responsible for carrying quantities of powder upon a special service must needs be steady, constantly thoughtful, and never, ever hazard his ship.'

Drinkwater felt the blood mounting to his cheeks as Martin went on. ‘Furthermore you have been most dilatory in the matter of commissioning your ship. I had reason to expect you to join the bombs under my command some days ago.'

Martin looked up at Drinkwater from a pair of watery blue eyes that stared out of a thin, parchment coloured face. Drinkwater fought down his sense of injustice and wounded pride. Feeling like a whipped midshipman he applied the resilience of the orlop, learned years ago.

‘If my conduct displeased you I apologise, sir. I had no intention
of causing you any concern. As to the manner of my commissioning I can only say that I exerted every effort to hasten the matter. I was prevented from so doing by the officials of the dockyard.'

‘The dockyard officers have their own job to attend to, Mr Drinkwater, you cannot expect them to give priority to a bomb tender . . .' Aware that he had offended (Martin was probably related to some jobber in the dockyard), Drinkwater could not resist the opening.

‘Precisely my point, sir,' he said drily. Martin's upper lip curled slightly, a mark of obvious displeasure and Drinkwater added hastily, ‘I mean no offence, sir.'

He stared down the commander who eventually said, ‘Now, to your orders for the next week . . .'

‘Your sport was most profitable, Mr Q,' said Drinkwater laying down his knife and fork upon an empty plate.

‘Thank you sir. Did you favour the widgeon or the teal?'

‘I fancy the teal had the edge. Mr Jex, would you convey my appreciation to the cook.'

Jex nodded, his mouth still full. Drinkwater looked round the table. It was a cramped gathering, sharing his small cabin with the officers were the two stern chasers and two 24-pound carronades in the aftermost side ports.

The cloth was drawn and the decanter of blackstrap placed in front of Drinkwater. They drank the loyal toast at their seats then scraped their chairs back. A cigar or two appeared, Trussel brought out a long churchwarden pipe and Willerton slipped a surreptitious quid of tobacco into his mouth. Lettsom took snuff and Drinkwater reflected that apart from himself and Rogers and Mr Quilhampton all those present, which excepted Mr Mason on deck, were well over forty-five, possibly over fifty. The preponderance of warrant officers carried by
Virago
ensured this, but it sometimes made Drinkwater feel old before his time, condemned to spend his life in the society of elderly men. He sighed, remembering the attitude of Captain Martin. Then he remembered something else, something he had been saving for this moment. ‘By the way gentlemen, when I was aboard
Explosion
this morning I learned some news from London that will affect us all. Has anyone else learned of it?'

‘We know that Admiral Ganteaume got out of Brest with seven
of the line,' said Rogers.

‘Aye, these damned easterlies, but I heard that Collingwood's gone in pursuit,' added Matchett. Drinkwater shook his head.

‘You mean, sir, that it is intended to defend the Thames by dropping stone blocks into it?' asked Quilhampton ingenuously.

‘No, young shaver, I do not.' He looked round. No one seemed to have any idea. ‘I mean that Billy Pitt's resigned and that Mr Speaker Addington is to form a new government . . .' Exclamations of surprise and dismay met the news.