A Brig of War

'I did not… I wished only to make him indisposed, too ill to command. You yourself suggested it in conversation with Mr Drinkwater…'

'I…?'

'Yes sir,' she had sown the seed of doubt now, caught him between her suppliant posture and her rapid city- bred quick wit-tedness. 'You see what he has done to the men, how he has flogged them without mercy or reason. Why look at the way he sent poor little Mr Q to the top of the mast, and him with one hand missing…' She appealed to his inherent kindness and felt him relax. 'We all know what Mr Rogers said about what happened at Mocha, how Mr Drinkwater should've been in command.'

'That is no reason to…'

'And the kind of man he is, sir…' But Appleby rallied.

'That is not for you to say,' he said vehemently, a trace of misogyny emerging, 'it does not justify poisoning…'

'But I gave him only a little, sir, enough to purge himself with a flux. Why 'twas little more than you gave the old Captain for his ague, sir. 'Twas not a lethal dose.'

Appleby knitted his brows in concentration. His professional sense warred with his curious regard for this woman kneeling in the stinking darkness. He would not call it love for he thought of himself as too old, too ugly and too much a man of science to be moved by love. This wish to defend her was aided by his dislike of Morris. He found he was no longer angry with her. He could understand her motives much as one does a child who misbehaves. It did not condone the crime.

'You poisoned Mr Drinkwater, Catherine,' he said, unknowingly reproving her most effectively.

'Mr Drinkwater, my God! How?'

'Morris sent him in a bottle last night.'

'Oh!' It was Catherine's turn to deflate. She had not meant to harm any other person, especially he who offered her almost her only chance of avoiding a convict transport. 'H… how is he?'

'He will be all right.' He paused. 'Are you sorry?'

She could read him now. She had won. Hipping open the lantern she blew it out. And sealed her advantage.

On the gun deck every man who could be spared was at work. Drinkwater had relinquished the upper deck to Dalziell with an admonition to the quartermaster that if he was a degree off the wind more than was necessary he would be flayed. The man grinned cheerfully and the first lieutenant went below to orchestrate the idea that was already causing a buzz of comment, much of it unfavourable.

'Belay that damned Dover court and take heed of what I have to say…'

The wind eased by the minute but it continued to blow down to leeward, conferring an advantage on the pursuer. She could be plainly seen from the deck now but Drinkwater no longer fretted over her approach. Instead he sweated and swore, admonished and encouraged, belaboured and bullied the tired Hellebores as they lugged the six larboard eighteen-pounders across the deck to assemble a battery of twelve in the vacant gunports on the starboard side.

The deck was criss-crossed with tackles, bull ropes and preventers. After several hours employed in hauling first one and then another, of casting stoppers on and off, of wracking seizings and heaving on handspikes, Rogers, stripped to his shirt and mopping his florid face with a handkerchief, fought his way over the network of lines.

'Christ alive, Drinkwater, this is a confounded risky trick, ain't it. Damn me if I can see the logic of putting all your eggs in one basket.' There was a murmur of agreement from several of the men.

'Why, Mr Rogers,' said Drinkwater cheerfully, suddenly realising that his flux and nausea had vanished, and pitching his voice loud enough for all to hear, 'the easier to hurl 'em at the French!'

'So's they can make bleeding hommelettes…'

'To go with their fucking frog's legs…' A burst of laughter greeted this sally while Mr Lestock, peering down from the deck, tut-tutted and went aft.

'The captain is aware of our doin's, Mr Lestock,' called Drinkwater and another burst of laughter came from the men. It might be a dangerous indication of indiscipline but what the hell? They might all be dead in the coming hours. Or exchanging places with Santhonax. 'Right; a touch more on that tackle, Mr Brundell, if you please.'

'Come then, lads,' roared the master's mate. The men spat on their hands and lay back. They broke out into the spontaneous cry they had evolved for concerted effort: 'Hellee-ee-bores… Bellee-ee-whores…!' The eighteen- pounder moved across the deck and Drinkwater thought Griffiths would have approved of that cry.

Night found them almost becalmed but the whisper of wind remained constant in direction and Drinkwater held to his belief that they must not throw away their position to windward, that to attempt to run down past their enemy and escape only put the French between them and the Cape. But dawn found them to leeward, the wind backing and rising as, in growing daylight they were able to see the wind fill the enemy's sails before their own.

But Drinkwater's chagrin was swiftly replaced by hope an hour after dawn. Without warning the wind chopped round to the southwest again and began to freshen, both ships leaned to it, Antigone less than usual since she carried all her artillery on her starboard, windward side.

But the fluky quality of the wind had overnight brought their opponent almost within gunshot. At last Drinkwater was compelled to order his men to quarters.

He had not done so earlier to preserve their energy but, hardly had he taken the decision and the watch below came tumbling sleepily on deck, than the first shot fell short upon their larboard quarter.

The four-score Hellebores ran to their stations. Rogers came aft and received his instructions. When Drinkwater explained what he intended to do Rogers held out his hand.

'I've misjudged you in the past, Nathaniel, and I'm sorry for it. I only hope my new-found confidence is not misplaced.'

'Amen to that, Samuel,' replied Drinkwater, smiling ruefully. Appleby came on deck.

'D'you have your saws and daviers at the ready, Harry?' jested Drinkwater hollowly, shuddering at the thought of being rendered limbless by such instruments.

'Aye, Nat, and God help me,' he added with a significant stare at Drinkwater, 'Kate Best assists me.' He disappeared below, followed by Rogers en route to command the battery of eighteen-pounders. Lestock coughed beside him, affecting to study the enemy and remarking upon his shooting as the French bow chaser barked away at them. The tricolour could be seen trailing astern from her peak and mainmasthead. As yet no colours flew from Antigone's spars. Mr Dalziell strutted nervously along the line of larboard quarterdeck car-ronades. To starboard Mr Quilhampton was quietly pacing up and down, his stump behind his back, doing his best to ape Mr Drinkwater. At the mainmast Mr Brundell commanded the waisters to board or trim sail as the need arose while, legs apart on the fo'c's'le Mr Grey, his silver whistle about his neck commanded the head party.

The person of Rattray appeared carrying a chair. He placed it upon the quarterdeck and Morris, pale and shaking, slumped into it. Drinkwater approached him.

'I am glad to see you sir, your presence will encourage the hands.' Under the circumstances he could say no more. Morris's courage had surely been misjudged, perhaps the responsibility of command could yet temper the man just as culpability had changed Rogers.

Morris stared up at Drinkwater and moved his hand from beneath the blanket. The lock of a pistol was visible in his lap.

'Stuff your sanctimonious cant, Drinkwater. Fight my bloody ship or I'll blow you to hell.'

Drinkwater opened his mouth in astonishment. Then he closed it as a thump hit the ship and a spatter of splinters flew from the larboard quarter rail. The action had begun.

All on deck stared astern. In the full daylight the frigate foaming up looked glorious, her hull a rich brown, her gunstrake cream. She was a point upon their larboard quarter. Thank God for a strengthening wind, thought Drinkwater as he spoke to Lestock. 'Mr Lestock! Do you let her fall off a little, contrive it to look a trifle careless.'

'D'you give away weather gauge, Mr Drinkwater?' contradicted Lestock with a look in Morris's direction.

'Do as you are told, sir!' The quartermaster eased the helm up a couple of spokes and Antigone paid off the wind a few degrees. The gunfire ceased. Relative motion showed the Frenchman slowly crossing Antigone's stern. For the moment his bow chasers would not bear.