A Brig of War

Admiralty. Drinkwater knew there were those who considered he would be shot for disobedience before long, just as there were those who complained he was no seaman. Certainly he did not possess the abilities of a Pellew or a Keats, and although he enjoyed the confidence of St Vincent he had been involved in the fiasco at Santa Cruz. Perhaps, thought Drinkwater, he was a man like the restless Smith, with whom he had served briefly in the Channel, a man of dynamic force whose deficiencies could be forgiven in a kind of emulative love. But, he concluded, pacing the deck in the gathering darkness, whatever White said on the subject, it did not alter the fact that Hellebore was but a brig and fitted for little more than her present duties.

Chapter Two Nelson

 July 1798

'She hasn't acknowledged, sir. Shall I fire a gun to loo'ard?'

Griffiths stared astern to where Hecuba, her jury rigged foremast a mute testimony to the violence of the weather, was struggling into the bay.

'No, Mr Drinkwater. Don't forget she's a merchantman with a quarter of our complement and right now, bach, every man-jack aboard her will be busy.'

Drinkwater felt irritated by the mild rebuke, but he held his tongue. The week of anxiety must surely soon be over. South of Minorca, beating up for Toulon the northerly mistral had hit the little convoy with unusual violence. Hecuba's foremast had gone by the board and they had been obliged to run off to the eastward and the shelter of Corsica. Drinkwater stared ahead at the looming coastline of the island, the sharp peaked mountains reaching up dark against the glow of dawn. To larboard Cape Morsetta slowly extended its shelter as they limped eastward into Crovani Bay.

'Deck there! Sail dead ahead, sir!'

The cry from the masthead brought the glasses of the two men up simultaneously. In the shadows of the shoreline lay a three-masted vessel, her spars bare of canvas as she lay wind-rode at anchor.

'A polaccra,' muttered Griffiths. 'We'll investigate her when we've brought this lame duck to her anchor,' he jerked his head over his shoulder.

The convoy stood on into the bay. Soon they were able to discern the individual pine trees that grew straight and tall enough to furnish fine masts.

'Bring the ship to the wind Mr Lestock,' Griffiths addressed the master, a small, fussy little man with a permanent air of being put upon. 'You may fire your gun when we let the bower go, Mr Drinkwater.'

'Aye, aye, sir.' Lestock was shouting through the speaking trumpet as men ran to the braces, thankful to be in the lee of land where Hellebore's deck approximated the horizontal. The main topsail slapped back against the mast and redistributed its thrust through the standing rigging to the hull below. Hellebore lost forward motion and began to gather sternway.

'Let go!'

The carpenter's topmaul swung once, then the brig's bow kicked slightly as the bower anchor's weight was released. The splash was lost in the bark of the six pounder. While Lestock and his mates had the canvas taken off the ship, Drinkwater swung his glass round the bay. Molly was making sternway and he saw the splash under her bluff, north-country bow where her anchor was let go. But Hecuba still stood inshore while her hands struggled to clew up her forecourse. Unable to manoeuvre under her topsails due to her damaged foremast, her master had been obliged to hold on to the big sail until the last moment, now something had fouled.

'Why don't he back the damned thing,' Drinkwater muttered to himself while beside him Lestock roared 'Aloft and stow!' through the speaking trumpet. The Hellebores eagerly leapt into the rigging to pummel the brig's topsails into the gaskets, anxious to get secured, the galley stove relit and some steaming skillygolee and molasses into their empty, contracted bellies.

Then he saw Hecuba begin her turn into the wind, saw the big course gather itself into folds like a washerwoman tucking up her skirts, the main topsail flatten itself against the top and the splash from her bow where the anchor was let go.

'Convoy's anchored, sir,' he reported to Griffiths.

The commander nodded. 'Looks like your gun had another effect.' Griffiths pointed his glass at the polaccra anchored inshore of them. Drinkwater studied the unfamiliar colours that had been hoisted to her masthead.

'Ragusan ensign, Mr Drinkwater, and I'll warrant you didn't know 'em from the Grand Turk's.'

Drinkwater felt the tension ebbing from him. 'You'd be right, sir.'

Lestock touched his hat to Griffiths. 'She's brought up, sir, and secured.'

'Very well, Mr Lestock, pipe the hands to breakfast after which I want a working party under Mr Rogers ready to assist the re-rigging of Hecuba. Send both your mates over. Oh, and Mr Dalziell can go too, I'd very much like to know if that young man is to be of any service to us.'

'Aye, aye, sir. What about Mr Quilhampton, sir? He is also inexperienced.'

Griffiths eyed Lestock with something approaching distaste.

'Mr Quilhampton can take a working party ashore with the carpenter. I think a couple of those pines would come in useful, eh? What d'you think Mr Drinkwater?'

'A good idea, sir. And the Ragusan?'

'Mr Q's first task will be to desire her master to wait upon me. Now, Mr Drinkwater, you have been up all night, will you take breakfast with me before you turn in?'

Half an hour later, his belly full, Drinkwater stretched luxuriously, too comfortable to make his way to his cabin. Griffiths dabbed his mouth with a stained napkin.

'I think Rogers can take care of that business aboard Hecuba.'

'I hope so sir,' yawned Drinkwater, 'he's not backward in forwarding opinions as to his own merit.'

'Or of criticising others, Nathaniel,' said Griffiths solemnly. Drinkwater nodded. The second lieutenant was a trifle overconfident and it was impossible to pull the wool over the eyes of an officer as experienced and shrewd as Griffiths. 'That's no bad thing,' continued the commander in his deep, mellifluous Welsh voice, 'if there's substance beneath the fagade.' Drinkwater agreed sleepily, his lids closing of their own accord.

'But I'm less happy about Mr Dalziell.'

Drinkwater forced himself awake. 'No sir, it's nothing one can lay one's finger upon but…' he trailed off, his brain refusing to work any further.

'Pass word for my servant,' Griffiths called, and Merrick came into the tiny cubby hole that served the brig's officers for a common mess. 'Assist Mr Drinkwater to his cot, Merrick.'

'I'm all right, sir.' Drinkwater rose slowly to his feet and made for the door of his own cabin, cannoning into the portly figure of the surgeon.

Griffiths smiled to himself as he watched the two manoeuvre round one another, the one sleepily indignant, the other wakefully apologetic. Appleby seated himself at the table. 'Morning sir, dreadful night…' The surgeon fell to a dissertation about the movement of brigs as opposed to ships of the line, to whether or not their respective motions had an adverse effect on the human frame, and to what degree in each case. Griffiths had long since learned to disregard the surgeon's ramblings which increased with age. Griffiths remembered the mutual animosity that had characterised their early relationship. But that had all changed. After Griffiths had been left ashore at Great Yarmouth in the autumn of the previous year it had been Appleby who had come in search of him when the Kestrel decommissioned. It had been Appleby too who had not merely sworn at the incompetence of the physicians there, but who had nearly fought a duel with a certain Dr Spriggs over the manner in which the latter had set Griffiths's femur. Appleby had wished to break and reset it, but was prevailed upon to desist by Griffiths himself, who had felt that matters were passing a little out of his own control.

Still raging inwardly Appleby had written off to Lord Dungarth to remind the earl of the invaluable services performed by Griffiths during his tenure of command of the cutter Kestrel. Thus the half- pay commander with the game leg had found himself commissioning the new brig-sloop Hellebore. Appleby's appointment to surgeon of the ship was the least Griffiths could do in return and