has to build a dress capable of withstanding the forces aloft in a gale?' This seemed to clinch the superiority of a man-o'-war's sails over a duchess's gown, for though much reputation might ride on the latter, far more might rely on the even strength of those seams when worn aloft in a man-of-war.
Drinkwater smiled and looked forward. On the forecastle a party of men squatted on the deck, plying dark fids of
Idly Drinkwater wondered at the cost of it all in terms of material. If such activity was going on in every one of the ships gathered together in that crowded roadstead, the financial resources behind them must be unimaginable: five, seven, perhaps ten or a dozen millions of sterling!
'Cutter's returning, sir,' the duty quartermaster reported, rescuing Drinkwater from his abstraction. White scrambled up the side and touched his hat-brim to the quarterdeck. 'Message for the captain,' he said, waving a letter, 'be back in a moment.'
White reappeared a few minutes later. 'The Commander-in-Chief wants a status report. Defects, powder, shot, victuals and water. Looks like we at least might be under sailing orders very soon. We've an hour to get it ready. The captain's to wait on Admiral Kempenfelt at nine.'
'I see.' Drinkwater greeted the news with mixed emotions. If they really were going to sea again, he resolved to write to Elizabeth immediately. It was pointless to prevaricate further. If she dismissed his suit he would no longer toss so aimlessly from horn to horn of this confoundedly disturbing dilemma!
As for the other matter,' White rattled on, 'I had a long chat with a young shaver in her launch.' Drinkwater smiled inwardly. The 'young shaver' was probably a year or so younger than White himself who had matured marvellously since the mess bully Morris had been turned out of the ship. Perhaps it was the eleven-year-old that Drinkwater himself had met the other day. Apparently she
'Did your young shaver venture an opinion as to how the ship's people felt about that?'
White frowned at the question. 'Well, he said that in his opinion the dockyard officers were a laggardly pair of old hens, but the ship was the finest in the Service. I considered challenging him on that, but declined on grounds of his youthful inexperience!'
'Very wise of you, Mr White,' Drinkwater observed drily. 'Besides, to maintain the honour of our thirty-six guns against his hundred-and-something would be to push matters to extreme measures.' Drinkwater stared across the water at the distant flagship which he could see in the interval between two third-rates. 'Your informant's opinion of the dockyard officers sounds like the repetition of someone else's, though. I've heard the ship is decayed, though what proportion is rumour and what is rot, is rather hard to judge.'
'Ah, but that's not all, sir,' said White, enjoying being the bearer of scuttlebutt. 'Yesterday evening the
'What's that, d'ye say?' The master came on deck to catch part of their discussion. A leaking inlet valve, eh? Where d'ye say? Starboard side? If it ain't enough to be pressed for another damned inventory of stores at short notice ...'
'Morning, Mr Blackmore,' Drinkwater greeted the protesting master as he sought to tuck his unruly white locks under his hat. 'Rest easy. We were talking of the
'Well,' replied Blackmore, glancing at the flagship with relief, 'at the best it means the grommet sealing the valve's flange has become porous, but at worst the spirketting may be rotten, in which case the compression of the bolts will be ineffective and she'll leak.'
'Then she'll
Blackmore shook his head. 'I doubt the inlet is more than half a fathom below the waterline. If we're in so confounded a hurry to sail, it's my guess they'll careen her. Now, I've work to do. If you've nothing better for this young imp, Mr Drinkwater, I've a host of errands for him!'
Drinkwater grinned at the expression of despair on White's face. It was the lot of a midshipman to tread the deck of a flagship one moment and rummage in the stygian gloom of a frigate's hold the next. 'You may have him, Mr Blackmore, and with my compliments.'
'Obliged, Drinkwater. Now, young shaver, you come with me ...'
Smiling, Drinkwater watched the two of them go below. White's breakfast remained in doubt.
Lieutenant Wallace relieved Drinkwater at eight bells and he hurried below after colours. Lieutenant Devaux was lingering over his coffee and poured Drinkwater a cup as the messman brought in some toast and devilled kidneys.
'Compliments of the first lieutenant, sir,' the man mumbled in his ear.
'Thank you, sir,' said Drinkwater, catching Devaux's eye. His mouth watered in anticipation as he fisted knife and fork. 'This is a surprise. I thought I smelt something tasty, but I couldn't identify it and in any case assumed it to be for Captain Hope's table.'
'The single joy of our situation, Nathaniel, is the occasional amelioration of our tedious diet. Sometimes I think it worth it, but at others I do not. This morning is no exception, for the kidneys come with ...', Devaux paused to sip his coffee, 'well, you will know about it.'
'The stores inventory?'
'I wish to God that's all it was, but dear old Kempenfelt wants to know how many musket balls the esteemed Wheeler has. 'Enough', replies Wheeler, 'to kill every Frenchman to be found in Spithead!'' Devaux paused, laying down his empty cup and refilling it. 'In the absence of any true wit, one is constrained to laugh,' he added.
Drinkwater smiled as he chewed the kidneys. 'I had better lend a hand then. I gather Captain Hope has to see the admiral at nine, so there is little time.'
'Indeed not, but you had better shave and dress your hair. You must go with the captain.'
'I must?' Drinkwater asked, his mouth full.
'I shall not tempt fate, Nathaniel, but consider how you might clear a foul hawse, or send down the t'gallants, or get the mainyard a-port-last.'
'I am to be examined?' Drinkwater asked in astonishment, his eyes wide.
'You cannot expect a proficiency with that damned French skewer of yours to entitle you automatically to a commission in His Majesty's navy'
'No, I suppose not.'
'So good luck. Eat up all those kidneys and prove yourself a devil to boot!' Devaux rose, smiling at his own wit, took his hat from the peg by the gunroom door and turned, suddenly serious. 'Don't forget to take your journals.' The door closed behind him and Drinkwater was abandoned to a lather of anxiety.
By a quarter to nine on the morning of 29 August 1782, Spithead was already crowded with the movement of boats and small craft. Among them coasting vessels worked through the congested roadstead. One of them, the fifty-ton