The Bomb Vessel

'I hope so, Tregembo, I hope so.'

'They say no one knows where we're going, zur, though scuttlebutt is that we're going to fight the Russians.' He paused. 'It's kind of confusing, zur, but they were our allies off the Texel in '97.'

'Well they ain't our allies now, Tregembo. They locked British seamen up. As to sailing, I have received no orders. I imagine the government are still negotiating with the Baltic powers.'

Drinkwater sighed as Tregembo sniffed in disbelief.

'They say Lord Nelson's had no word of the fleet's intentions.'

'They say a great deal, much of it nonsense, Tregembo, you should know that.'

'Aye zur,' Tregembo said flatly in an acknowledgement that Drinkwater had spoken, not that he believed a word of what he had said. There followed a silence as Tregembo lowered the first pistol into the green baize-lined box.

'That volunteer, zur, the one you brought aboard t'other night. Have I seen him afore?'

Drinkwater's blood froze and his brain swam from its haze of wine and over-eating. He had not considered being discovered by Tregembo of all people. He looked at the man but he was nestling the second pistol in its recess. 'His face was kind of familiar, zur.'

Suddenly Drinkwater cursed himself for a fool. What was it Corneille had said about needing a good memory after lying? Tregembo had not left Petersfield when Edward called upon Elizabeth. It was quite likely that he had seen Edward, even that he had let him into the house. And it was almost certain that either he or his wife Susan would have learned that their mistress's visitor was the master's brother.

'Familiar, in what way?' he asked, buying time.

'I don't know, zur, but I seen him afore somewhere…' Drinkwater looked shrewdly at Tregembo. Edward's present appearance was drastically altered. Clothes and manners maketh the man and Edward had been shorn of his hair along with his self respect. He was also losing weight due to the paucity of the food and the unaccustomed labour. It was quite possible that Tregembo was disturbed by no more than curiosity. He might think he had seen Edward in a score of places, the frigate Cyclops, the cutter Kestrel, before he connected him with Petersfield. On the other hand he might remember exactly who Edward was and be mystified as to why the man had turned up before the mast aboard Drinkwater's own ship.

It struck Drinkwater that if the authorities got wind of what he had done he might only have Tregembo to rely on. Except Quilhampton, perhaps, and, with a pang, he recollected James Quilhampton was a party to the little mystery of Edward's note.

Drinkwater was sweating and aware that he had been staring at Tregembo for far too long not to make some sort of confession. He swallowed, deciding on a confidence in which truth might masquerade. 'You may have seen him before, Tregembo. Have you mentioned this to anyone else?'

Tregembo shook his head. 'No zur.'

'You recollect Major Brown and our duties aboard Kestrel?' Tregembo nodded. 'Well Waters is not unconnected with the same sort of business. I do not know any details.'

'But I saw him at Petersfield, zur. I remember now.'

'Ah, I see.' Drinkwater wondered again if Elizabeth had revealed Edward's relationship. 'His arrival doubtless perturbed my wife, eh? Well I don't doubt it, he was not expecting to find me absent.' Drinkwater paused; that much was true. 'Whatever you have heard about this man Tregembo I beg you to forget it. Do you understand?'

'Aye zur.'

'If you can avoid any reference to him I'd be obliged.' Then he added as an afterthought, 'So would Lord Dungarth.'

'And that's why he is turned forrard, eh zur?'

Drinkwater nodded. 'Exactly.'

Tregembo smiled. 'Thank 'ee zur. You'll be a commander afore this business is over, zur, mark my words.'

Then he turned and left the cabin and Drinkwater was unaccountably moved.

Drinkwater turned in early. The effects of his dinner had returned and made him drowsy. He longed for the oblivion of sleep. A little after midnight he was aware of someone calling him from a great distance.

He woke slowly to find Quilhampton shining a lantern into his face.

'Sir! Sir! Bengal fires and three guns from the London, sir! Repeated by St George. The signal to weigh, sir, the signal to weigh…!'

'Eh, what's that?'

'Bengal fires and three guns…'

'I heard you, God damn it. What's the signal?'

'To weigh, sir.' Quilhampton's enthusiasm was wasted at this hour.

'Return on deck, Mr Q, and read the night orders again for God's sake.'

'Aye, aye, sir,' the crestfallen Quilhampton withdrew and Drinkwater rose to wash the foulness out of his mouth. It was not Quilhampton's fault. No-one in the fleet had had a chance to study the admiral's special signals and it boded ill for the general management of the expedition. Drinkwater spat disgustedly into the bowl set in the top of his sea chest. A respectful knock announced the return of the mate. 'Well?'

'The signal to unmoor, sir.'

'Made for…?'

'The line of battleships with two anchors down.'

'And how many anchors have we?'

'One sir.'

'One sir. The signal to weigh will be given at dawn. Call all hands an hour before. Have your watch rig the windlass bars, have the topsails loose in their buntlines ready for hoisting and the stops off the heads'ls.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Drinkwater retired to sleep. There was an old saying in the service. He prayed God it was true: all debts were paid when the topsails were sheeted home.

He did not know that an Admiralty messenger had exhausted three horses to bring Parker St Vincent's direct command to sail, nor that Lady Parker would return to London earlier than expected.

Chapter Eleven Nadir

11-18 March 1801 

'What a God damn spectacle!' said Rogers happily as he watched the big ships weigh. The misfortunes of others always delighted him. It was one of his less likeable traits. Drinkwater shivered in his cloak, wondering whether his blood would ever thicken after his service in the Red Sea and how much longer they would have to wait. It was nine o'clock and the Viragos had been at their stations since daylight, awaiting their turn to weigh and proceed to sea through the St Nicholas Gat.

The signal to weigh had caused some confusion as no one was certain what the order of sailing was. Towards the northern end of the anchorage two battleships had run foul of each other, but already the handful of frigates and sloops had got away smartly, led out by the handsome Amazon, commanded by Edward Riou. Following them south east through the gatway and round the Scroby Sands, went the former East Indiaman Glatton, her single deck armed with the carronades which had so astonished a French squadron with their power, that she had defeated them all. Her odd appearance was belied by the supreme seamanship of the man who now commanded her. 'Bounty' Bligh turned her through the anchorage with an almost visible contempt for his reputation. Drinkwater had met Bligh and served with him at Camperdown. Another veteran of Camperdown, the old 50-gun Isis ran down in company with the incomparable Agamemnon, Nelson's old sixty-four. The order of sailing had gone by the