A Brig of War

matters. 'Santhonax is taking native craft, perhaps to use as transports to India, perhaps to prevent the transfer of the faithful from the Hejaz across the Red Sea to Kosseir. These 'Meccan' reinforcements have been told that they have but to shake a Frenchman to dislodge the gold dust from his clothes. They are flocking to join Murad Bey by way of the caravan route to Qena. Murad,' he added with the same condescension as had been used to explain Tippoo Sahib to the uninitiated, 'is a Circassian who commands the Mameluke forces in Upper Egypt. Now, although Desaix has beaten him and scattered his forces, Murad is, in reality, undefeated. To bring him to his knees Desaix must strangle his reinforcements from Arabia either by taking the dhows at sea, or by taking Kosseir. If this is done then additional tariffs will be levied on trade from Arabia, as Bon is already doing at Suez on the trade from Yambo and Jeddah. Bonaparte's government in Cairo is already said to be much pressed for cash and driven to all manner of expedients to raise it.'

'And do you think Santhonax and Desaix could concert their actions to the necessary degree?' asked Rainier at last, disquieted despite himself by the turn the conversation had taken.

'Indeed, sir. Men have done such things. Egypt is ungovernable, of course. It may well be that the French will push on to India. That would be more prestigious for them than ultimate retreat.'

'Do you think prestige would outweigh military sense?' sneered Adams.

'In France,' retorted Wrinch coolly, 'they have just undergone a revolution caused by inferiors revolting that they may be equal. Equals, like Bonaparte and Desaix, Captain Adams, revolt in order that they may be superior. Such is the state of mind that creates, and is created by, revolutions.'

'That is sophistry, sir,' bridled the commander flushing.

'That is Aristotle, sir,' replied Wrinch icily.

An uncomfortable silence fell on the table. Then Wrinch went on.

'By June the wind in the Red Sea will be predominantly from the north. Often this northerly wind reaches as far south as Perim and lasts until August. A sambuk goes excellent well down wind, a baghala could carry a battery of horse artillery or three companies of infantry. In the Arabian Sea from May to September the monsoon is favourable for a fast passage, if an uncomfortable one.'

'Ah,' interjected Adams, at last able to put a technical obstacle in front of Wrinch, 'but you cannot land at Bombay or on the Malabar coast during the south-west monsoon.'

Wrinch raised an eyebrow. 'Even a Frenchman may round Cape Comorin, Captain. They may still have friends in Pondicherry and it is not many miles from there to Mysore.'

Rainier had had enough. He rose. 'We sail in two days, gentlemen.'

'Am I to join you, sir?' asked Griffiths.

'No, Griffiths. Do you stay here and wait for Blankett. You are possessed of all the facts and can best acquaint the admiral of 'em. Your orders from Nelson were explicit. You have managed to convince me that perhaps I must look a little further into the matter, damn you.'

So Hellebore continued to wait. Having, as Appleby put it, sped with the wings of Hermes half way round the world, they had now to acquire the patience of Job. Griffiths spent less time ashore, apparently happier now that Rainier had gone north. But it was not only this that had relaxed the man. The true reason was revealed one night over a more frugal and less formal meal than that enjoyed aboard Centurion. In the cabin of Hellebore the brig's officers dined off mutton, of which there was a good supply in Mocha, and drank their madeira with dark coffee and sweet dates, listening to the reason for Griffiths's change.

'To be without pain, gentlemen, is like a rebirth. Mr Strangford Wrinch is a man of many parts. You have seen only one side of him; that of a gossiping coffee merchant who keeps a kind of court in Mocha. In fact he is much more than that. He has journeyed into the interior and tells of mysterious cities long deserted by their inhabitants. He is a hadji who has twice been where it is not permitted for an infidel to go. He has fought in three Arab wars, is an expert in mathematics, astronomy and Arab literature, writes verses in Arabic and keeps a flight of sakers worthy of a prince…' He paused and Drinkwater heard Rogers mutter a reference to boys. If Griffiths heard it he ignored it, fixing Appleby with a stare. 'And he has some medical knowledge.'

As if on cue Appleby snorted. 'You are going to tell me he knows a few nostrums, sir,' the surgeon said archly.

'Indeed not. I am going to tell you he knows a great deal. That he can cauterize a wound with hot oil, or sear the back with hot irons to cure rheumatism. Furthermore for open wounds an application of rancid butter or cow dung…'

'Cow dung?' Appleby's head shot up in disbelief, his chins quivering. Rogers was laughing silently as if this revelation proved his private theory that Griffiths was mad. Griffiths ignored him, obviously enjoying Appleby's scepticism.

'Just so, Mr Appleby. An application of cow dung, see, possesses certain properties which enable a wound to heal cleanly.'

Behind his hand Rogers muttered, 'No wonder there are so many flies… god-damned cow shit, for Christ's sake.' Mr Dalziell began to giggle and even the loyal Quilhampton found it impossible to resist. The sniggers spread to uncontrollable open laughter to which Appleby succumbed.

Drinkwater coughed loudly, mindful of a first lieutenant's duty. 'And this cure for your pain, sir, was that one of these, h'hm extreme and, er… h'hm unusual remedies?'

Griffiths turned towards Drinkwater, a mildly benevolent smile on his face. He shook his head, his eyes twinkling beneath their bushy eyebrows. 'For the gout, Mr Drinkwater, an affliction long considered by the best English brains as incurable, Mr Wrinch prescribed crocus bulbs and seeds…'

'Crocus bulbs…!' guffawed Rogers whose mirth was past rational control. The tears streamed down the faces of the midshipmen and even Appleby was too stunned to offer resistance to this challenge to English medicine.

'And you are quite without pain?' asked Drinkwater, controlling himself with difficulty.

'Quite, my dear Nathaniel. Fit enough to finish the task that brought us here.'

At the beginning of May Blankett arrived at Mocha having exchanged his flag into the Leopard, newly arrived from England. He had with him Daedalus and Fox. They had swept the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden without discovering Santhonax. Off Guardafui Blankett had transferred into Leopard and sent the fourth-rates home. He was disinclined to listen to the dire warnings of Griffiths, not admitting the argument that he had not only failed to find the French but had missed Rainier. Annoyed, Griffiths returned to Hellebore and fumed like Achilles in his tent. Then, a week later Rainier returned. He had penetrated as far as Suez and bombarded the place. Although the French army was there no ships were to be seen and it was said that Centurion was the first ship of force seen before the town.

'That,' said Appleby, 'is a piece of conceit I mislike. I dare say Egyptian ships of force were off Suez while Rainier's ancestors were farting in caves.'

'Ah, but not with eighteen-pounders in their batteries,' said Drinkwater laughing, 'cannon are a powerful argument to revise history.'

'Pah! A matter of mere comparisons.'

'Like the ingredients of medicines, eh?' grinned Drinkwater at the surgeon.

Convinced that the French threat was illusory Rainier departed for India, leaving Hellebore to the mercies of Blankett. After his exertions the rear-admiral was not inclined to cruise further. He took himself to Wrinch's house to keyf and dally with a seraglio of houris while his squadron settled down to wait. Though for what, no-one seemed quite certain.

'Boat approaching, sir. Looks like that fellow Sinbad.' Quilhampton interrupted the first lieutenant who had had the carpenter make a small portable desk for him on deck where, beneath the quarterdeck awning, the breeze ruffled his shirt and made the intolerable paperwork that was part of his duty a trifle more bearable.

'Sinbad?'

'That damned Arab Yusef ben Ibrahim, sir!' Drinkwater looked up. It was a great pity that idleness was affecting Mr Quilhampton. The contempt the meanest of Hellebore's people felt for the local population struck Drinkwater as quite incomprehensible. Perhaps it was a result of their being cooped up on board, but there was little contemptible about Yusef ben Ibrahim. A striking figure with the hawk-like good looks of his race who could handle his rakish sambuk with a skill that compelled admiration.