A Brig of War

Chapter One The Convoy Escort

 February-June 1798

A low mist hung in the valley of the Meon where the pale winter sunshine had yet to reach. Beneath the dripping branches of the apple trees Lieutenant Nathaniel Drinkwater paced slowly up and down, shivering slightly in the frosty air. He had not slept well, waking from a dream that had been full of fitful images of faces he had done with now that he had come home. The nocturnal silence of the cottage was still disturbingly unfamiliar even after two months leave of absence from the creaking hull of the cutter Kestrel. It compelled him to rise early lest his restlessness woke his wife beside him. Now, pacing the path of the tiny garden, the chill made the wound in his right arm ache, bringing his mind full circle to where the dream had dislodged it from repose.

It had been Edouard Santhonax who had inflicted the wound and of whom he had dreamed. But as he came to his senses he recollected that Santhonax was now safely mewed up, a prisoner. As for his paramour, the bewitching Hortense Montholon, she was in France begging for her bread, devil take her! He felt the sun penetrate the mist, warm upon his back, finally dispelling the fears of the night. The recent gales had gone, giving way to sharp frosty mornings of bright sunshine. The click of a door latch reminded him he was in happier circumstances.

The dark hair fell about Elizabeth's face and her brown eyes were full of concern. 'Are you not well, my dear?' she asked gently, putting a hand on his arm. 'Did you not hear the knock at the street door?'

'I am quite well, Bess. Who was at the door?'

'Mr Jackson at the Post Office sent young Will up from Petersfield with letters for you. They are on the table.'

'I am indebted to Mr Jackson's kindness.' He moved to pass inside the cottage but she stopped him. 'Nathaniel, what troubles you?' Then, in a lower voice, 'You have not been disappointed in me?'

He caught her up and kissed her, then they went in to read the letters. He broke the one with the Admiralty seal first: Sir, you are required and directed that upon receipt of these instructions you proceed... He was appointed first lieutenant of the brig-sloop Hellebore under Commander Griffiths. In silence he handed the letter to Elizabeth who caught her lower lip in her teeth as she read. Drinkwater picked up the second letter, recognising the shaky but still bravely flowing script.

My Dear Nathaniel,

You will doubtless be in receipt of their L'dships' Instructions to join the Brig under my Command. She is a new Vessel and lying at Deptford. Do not hasten. I am already on board and doing duty for you, the end of the month will suffice. Our Complement is almost augmented as I was able to draft the Kestrels entire. We sail upon Convoy duty. Convey my felicitations to your wife,

I remain, etc

Madoc Griffiths

P.S. I received News but yesterday that M. Santhonax Escaped Custody and has been at Liberty for a month now.

Drinkwater stood stunned, the oppression of the night returned to him. Elizabeth was watching, her eyes large with tears. 'So soon, my darling…'

He smiled ruefully at her. 'Madoc has extended my leave a little.' He passed the second letter over. 'Dear Madoc,' she said, brushing her eyes.

'Aye, he does duty for me now. He has nowhere else to go.' He slipped his arm around her waist and they kissed again.

'Come we have time to complete the purchase of the house at Petersfield and your cook should arrive by the end of the week. You will be quite the grande dame.'

'Will you take Tregembo with you?'

He laughed. 'I doubt that I have the power to stop him.' They fell silent, Elizabeth thinking of the coming months of loneliness, Drinkwater disloyally of the new brig. 'Hellebore,' he said aloud, 'ain't that a flower or something? Elizabeth? What the devil are you laughing at?'

Lieutenant Richard White had the morning watch aboard Victory. Flying the flag of Earl St Vincent the great three decker stood north west under easy sail, the rest of the blockading squadron in line ahead and astern of her. To the east the mole and lighthouse of Cadiz were pale in the sunshine but White's glass was trained ahead to where a cutter was flying the signal for sails in sight to the north.

A small midshipman ran up to him. 'Looks like the convoy, sir.'

'Thank you, Mr Lee. Have the kindness to inform His Lordship and the Captain.' Mr Lee was ten years old and had endeared himself to Lieutenant White by being the only officer aboard Victory shorter than himself. Instinctively White looked round the deck, checking that every rope was in its place, every man at his station and every sail drawing to perfection before St Vincent's eagle eye drew his attention to it.

'Good morning, my lord,' said White, vacating the windward side of the deck and doffing his hat as the admiral ascended to the poop for a better view of the newcomers. 'Good morning sir,' responded the admiral with the unfailing courtesy that made his blasts of admonition the more terrible.

Captain Grey and Sir Robert Calder, Captain of the Fleet also came on deck, followed by Victory's first lieutenant and several other officers, for any arrival from England brought news; letters and gossip to break the tedium of blockade.

They could see the convoy now, six storeships under the escort of a brig from whose masthead a string of bunting broke out. In White's ear Mr Lee squeaked the numerals followed by a pause while he hunted in the lists. 'Brig-sloop Hellebore, sir, but newly commissioned under Commander Griffiths.'

'Thank you, Mr Lee. Brig Hellebore, Captain Griffiths, my lord, with convoy'

'Thank you, Mr White, have the goodness to desire him to send a boat with an officer.'

'Aye, aye, my lord.' He turned to Lee who was already chalking the signal on his slate and calling the flag numbers to his yeoman.

White, who had given the commander his courtesy title when addressing the punctilious St Vincent, was wondering where he had heard the name before. It was not long before he had his answer.

When the brig's boat hooked on to Victory's chains he recognised the figure who came in at the entry.

'Nathaniel! My dear fellow, so you're still with Griffiths, eh? How capital to see you! And you've been made.' White indicated the gilt-buttoned lieutenant's cuff that he was vigorously pumping up and down in welcome. 'Damn me but I'm delighted, delighted, but come, St Vincent will not tolerate our gossiping.'

Drinkwater followed his old friend apprehensively. It was many years since he had 'trod such a flagship's deck and the ordered precision of Victory combined with her size to show Admiral Duncan's smaller, weathered and worn-out Venerable in a poor light. Drinkwater uncovered and made a small and, he hoped, elegant bow as White introduced him to the earl. He felt himself under the keenest scrutiny by a pair of shrewd old eyes that shone from a face that any moment might slip from approbation to castigation. Lord St Vincent studied the man before him. Drinkwater's intelligent gaze met that of the admiral. He was thirty-four, lean and of middle height. His face was weathered and creased about the grey eyes and mouth, with the thin line of an old scar puckering down the left cheek. There were some small blue powder burns about the eyes, like random inkspots. Drinkwater's hair, uncovered by the doffed hat, was still a rich brown, clubbed in a long queue behind the head. Not, the admiral concluded, a flagship officer, but well enough, judging by the firm, full mouth and steady eyes. The mouth was not unlike Nelson's, St Vincent thought with wry affection, and Nelson had been a damned pain until he had hoisted his own flag.

'Are you married sir?' St Vincent asked sharply.

'Er, yes, my lord,' replied Drinkwater, taken aback.

'A pity, sir, a pity. A married officer is frequently lost to the service. Come let us descend to my cabin and