1805

mention a friend. It was clear that Quilhampton felt his public admonition acutely and Drinkwater relented. After all, there was no actual harm done and they had taken a brig, as Mount had pointed out.

'We have all been foolish, Mr Q, unprepared like the foolish virgins.'

This mitigation of his earlier rebuke brought smiles to the men in the boats as they leaned, panting on their oar looms.

'But I still have not given up those invasion craft. By the way, where's Mr Gorton?'

'Er… he was wounded when we boarded the brig, sir.' Quilhampton's eyes did not meet Drinkwater's.

'God's bones!' Drinkwater felt renewed rage rising in him and suppressed it with difficulty. 'Pull back to the ship and look lively about it.'

He slumped back in the stern of the barge, working his hand across his jaw as he mastered anger and anxiety. He was angry that the attack had failed to carry out its objective, angry that Gorton was wounded, and angry with himself for his failure as he wondered how the devil he was going to pursue the escaped invasion craft. And the parable he had cited to Quilhampton struck him as having been most applicable to himself.

Chapter Five Ruse de Guerre

April 1804 

Captain Drinkwater's mood was one of deep anger, melancholy and self-condemnation. He stood on the quarterdeck of the 16-gun brig Bonaparte, a French national corvette whose capture should have delighted him. Alas, it had been dearly bought. Although surprised by the speed of Rogers's attack, the French had been alerted to its possibility. Two marines and one seaman had been killed, and three seamen and one officer severely wounded. In the officer's case the stab wound was feared mortal and Drinkwater was greatly distressed by the probability of Lieutenant Gorton's untimely death. Unlike many of his colleagues, Drinkwater mourned the loss of any of his men, feeling acutely the responsibility of ordering an attack in the certain knowledge that some casualties were bound to occur. He was aware that the morning's boat expedition had been hurriedly launched and that insufficient preparation had gone into it. The loss of three men was bad enough, the lingering agony of young Gorton particularly affected him, for he had entertained high hopes for the man since he had demonstrated such excellent qualities in the Arctic the previous summer. It was not in Drinkwater's nature to blame the sudden onset of fog, but his own inadequate planning which had resulted not only in deaths and woundings but in the escape of the invasion craft whose capture or destruction might have justified his losses in his own exacting mind.

But he had been no less hard on Rogers and Mount. He had addressed the former in the cabin, swept aside all protestations and excuses in his anger, and reduced Rogers to a sullen resentment. It simply did not seem to occur to Rogers that the destruction of the invasion craft was of more significance than the seizure of a French naval brig.

'God damn it, man,' he had said angrily to Rogers, 'don't you see that you could have directed the quarter-boats to attack the brig, even as a diversion! Even if they were driven off! You and Mount in the launch could have wrought havoc among those bateaux in the fog, coming up on them piecemeal. The others would not have opened fire lest they hit their own people!' He had paused in his fury and then exploded. 'Christ, Sam, 'twas not the brig that was important!'

Well it was too late now, he concluded as he glared round the tiny quarterdeck. Rogers was left behind aboard Antigone with a sheet of written orders while Drinkwater took over the prize and went in pursuit of the invasion craft.

'Tregembo!'

'Zur?'

'I want those prisoners to work, Tregembo, work. You understand my meaning, eh? Get those damned sweeps going and keep them going.'

'Aye, aye, zur.' Tregembo set half a dozen men with ropes' ends over the prisoners at the huge oars.

It was already noon and still there was not a breath of wind. The fog had held off, but left a haze that blurred the horizon and kept the circle of their visibility under four miles. Somewhere in the haze ahead lay the chaloupes and the péniches that Drinkwater was more than ever determined to destroy. He had taken the precaution of removing the brig's officers as prisoners on board Antigone and issuing small arms to most of his own volunteers. In addition he had a party of marines under a contrite Lieutenant Mount (who was eager to make amends for his former lack of obedience). Drinkwater had little fear that the brig's men would rise, particularly if he worked them to exhaustion at the heavy sweeps.

He crossed the deck to where Tyrrell stood at the wheel.

'Course south-east by east, sir,' offered the master's mate.

Drinkwater nodded. 'Very well. Let me know the instant the wind begins to get up.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

He turned below, wondering if he would find anything of interest among the brig's papers and certain that Rogers had not thought of looking.

The wind came an hour after sunset. It was light for about half an hour and finally settled in the north and blew steadily. Drinkwater ordered the sweeps in and the prisoners below.

'Mr Frey.'

'Sir?' The midshipman came forward eagerly, pleased to have been specially detailed for this mission and aware that something of disgrace hung over the events of the morning.

'I want you to station yourself in the foretop and keep a close watch ahead for those invasion craft. From that elevation you may see the light from a binnacle, d'you understand?'

'Perfectly sir.'

'Very well. And pass word for Mr Q.'

Quilhampton approached and touched his hat. 'Sir?'

'I intend snatching an hour or two's sleep, Mr Q. You have the deck. I want absolute silence and no lights to be shown. Moonrise ain't until two in the mornin'. You may tell Mount's sentries that one squeak out of those prisoners and I'll hold 'em personally responsible. We may be lucky and catch those invasion bateaux before they get into Havre.'

'Let's hope so, sir.'

'Yes.' Drinkwater turned away and made for the cabin of the brig where, rolling himself in his cloak and laying his cocked pistols beside him, he lay down to rest.

He was woken from an uneasy sleep by Mr Frey and rose, stiff and uncertain of the time.

'Eight bells in the first watch, sir,' said Frey.

Drinkwater emerged on deck to find the brig racing along, leaning to a steady breeze from the north, the sky clear and the stars glinting like crystals. Quilhampton loomed out of the darkness.

'I believe we have 'em, sir,' he pointed ahead, 'there, two points to starboard.'

At first Drinkwater could see nothing; then he made out a luster of darker rectangles, rectangles with high peaks: lugsails.

'Straight in amongst 'em, Mr Q. Get the men to their quarters in silence. Orders to each gun-captain to choose a target carefully and, once the order is given, fire at will.' Fatigue, worry and the fuzziness of unquiet sleep left him in an instant.

''Ere's some coffee, sir.'

'Thank you, Franklin.' He took the pot gratefully. Night vision showed him the dark shadow of Franklin's naevus, visible even in the dark.

''S all right, sir.'

Drinkwater swallowed the coffee as the men went silently to their places. The brig's armament was of French 8-pounders; light guns but heavy enough to sink the chaloupes and