1805

Drinkwater sat in the cool of his cabin re-reading a letter he had recently received from his wife Elizabeth, to see if he had covered all the points raised in it in his reply. The isolation of command had made the writing of his private journal and the committing of his thoughts to his letters an important and pleasurable part of his daily routine. Cruising so close to the English coast meant that Keith's ships were in regular contact with home via the admiral's dispatch-vessels. In addition to fresh vegetables and mail, these fast craft kept the frigates well supplied with newspapers and gossip. The hired cutter Admiral Mitchell had made such a delivery the day before.

He laid the letter down and picked up the new steel pen Elizabeth had sent him, dipping it experimentally in the ink-pot and regarding its rigid nib with suspicion. He pulled the half-filled sheet of paper towards him and resumed writing, not liking the awkward scratch and splatter of the nib compared with his goose-quill, but aware that he would be expected to reply using the new-fangled gift.

Our presence in the Channel keeps Boney and his troops in their camps. Last week he held a review, lining his men up so that they presented an appearance several miles long…

He paused, not wishing to alarm Elizabeth, though from her letters he knew of the arrangements each parish was making to raise an invasion alarm and call out the militia and yeomanry.

It is said that Boney himself went afloat in a gilded barge and that he dismissed Admiral Bruixfor attempting to draw a sword on him when he protested the folly of trying an embarkation in the teeth of a gale. What the truth of these rumours is I do not know, but it is certain that many men were drowned and some score or so of barges wrecked.

He picked up his pen and finished the letter, then he sanded, folded and sealed it. Mullender came into the cabin and, at a nod from Drinkwater, poured him a glass of wine. He leaned back contented. Beyond the cabin windows the Channel stretched blue, calm and glorious under sunshine. Through the stern windows the reflected light poured, dancing off the deckhead and bulkheads of the cabin and falling on the portraits of his family that hung opposite. He became utterly lost in the contemplation of his family.

His reverie was interrupted by a shouting on deck and a hammering at his cabin door.

Drinkwater sat in his best uniform, flanked by Lieutenant Rogers and Lieutenant Fraser. The black shapes of their three hats sat on the baize tablecloth, inanimate indications of formality. Before them, uncovered, stood Midshipman Lord Walmsley. Drinkwater looked at the notes he had written after examining Midshipman Gillespy. The boy had been terrified but Drinkwater and his two lieutenants had obtained the truth out of him, unwilling to make matters worse by having to consult individual members of the boat's crew. Gillespy had withdrawn now, let out before Walmsley was summoned to hear the surgeon's report.

Drinkwater had once entertained some hopes of the midshipman but this episode disgusted him. He himself had no personal feelings towards Waller beyond a desire to see him behave as any other pressed seaman on board and to see him treated as such. Walmsley knew of Waller's previous circumstances and Drinkwater assumed that this had led to his contemptuous behaviour.

He looked up at the young man. Walmsley did not appear unduly concerned about the formality of the present proceedings. Drinkwater recollected his acquaintance with Camelford and wondered if Camelford's presence had set a portfire to this latent insolence and arrogance of Walmsley.

The silence of waiting hung heavily in the cabin. Following the incident in the launch, Drinkwater had had the boats hoisted inboard. Their progress to the west was no longer necessary since their chase, a lugger holding a breeze inshore, had long ago disappeared to the south-west. There was a knock at the door.

'Enter!'

'Come in, Mr Lallo. Pray take a seat and tell us what is the condition of Waller.'

The surgeon, a quiet, middle-aged man whose only vice seemed to be a messy reliance upon Sharrow's snuff, seated himself, sniffed and looked at Drinkwater. His didactic manner prompted Drinkwater to add: 'In words we all comprehend, if you please, Mr Lallo.'

Mr Lallo sniffed again. 'Well, sir,' he began, casting a meaningful look at the back of Lord Walmsley, 'the man Waller has taken a severe and violent blow with a heavy object…'

'A tiller,' put in Rogers impatiently.

'Just so, Mr Rogers. With a tiller, which has caused an aneurism… a distortion of the arteries and interrupted the flow of blood to the cere… to the brain…'

'You mean Waller's had a stroke?'

Lallo looked resentfully at Rogers and nodded. 'In effect, yes. He is reduced to the condition of an idiot.'

Drinkwater felt the particular meaning of the word in its real form. That Waller and his treason were no longer of any consequence struck him as an irony, but that a midshipman should have reduced him to that state by an over-indulgence of his authority was a reflection of his own powers of command. Drinkwater did not share Earl St Vincent's conviction that the men should respect a midshipman's coat if the object within was not worthy of their duty. He had always considered the training of his midshipmen a prime responsibility. With Walmsley he had failed. It did not matter that he had inherited his lordship from another captain. Nor, he reflected, could he hope that the processes of naval justice might redress something of the balance. The arrogance of well-connected midshipmen was nothing new in the navy, nor was the whitewashing of their guilt by courts-martial.

'Thank you, Mr Lallo. You do not entertain any hopes for Waller's eventual recovery then?'

'I doubt it, Captain Drinkwater. I believe him to have been a not unintelligent man, sir. He might be fit to attend the heads for the remainder of his days, though he is like to be afflicted with ataxia.' Lallo glared at the first lieutenant, defying him to require a further explanation.

'Thank you, Mr Lallo. That will be all.'

After the surgeon had left, Drinkwater turned his full attention upon Walmsley.

'Well, Mr Walmsley. Do you have anything to say?'

'I did my duty, sir. The man was insolent. I regret…'

'You regret. You regret hitting him so hard, I suppose. Eh?'

Walmsley swallowed. 'Yes, sir.'

'Lord Walmsley,' Drinkwater said, using the title for the first time, 'you are a young man with considerable ability, aware of your position in society and clearly contemptuous of your present surroundings. It is my intention to punish you as you are a midshipman. What you do after that as a gentleman is a matter for your own sense of honour. You may go now.'

'May I not know my punishment?'

'No. You will be informed. Whatever you appear at the gaming tables, you are, sir, only a midshipman on board this ship!'

Walmsley stood uncertainly and Drinkwater saw, for the first time, signs that the young man's confidence was weakening. There was a trembling about the mouth and a brightening of the eyes.

Walmsley turned away and the three officers watched him leave the cabin.

Next to him Drinkwater heard Lieutenant Fraser expel his breath with relief. Drinkwater turned to him. 'Well, Mr Fraser, it is customary upon these occasions to ask the junior officer present to give his opinion first.'

'Court-martial, sir…'

'But upon what charge, Fraser, for God's sake?' put in Rogers intemperately and Drinkwater smelt the drink on him. 'No, sir, he's too much influence for that. I doubt that'd do any of us any good.' Rogers spoke with heavy emphasis and Drinkwater raised an eyebrow. 'Besides he's done no more than many, and Waller was an insolent bastard at times. My advice, sir, is keep it in the ship.'

'Not a bluidy mastheading, for God's sake, sir,' expostulated Fraser who was showing signs of ability and perception far exceeding the first lieutenant's.

'No, gentlemen,' Drinkwater cut in. 'Thank you both for your opinions, so succinctly put,' he added drily. 'You are both right. The matter should not go outside the ship, but I do not hold with officers abusing their powers. Whatever Walmsley's expectations he is but a midshipman, and a midshipman going to the bad. It is not my intention to encourage him further. As for his punishment, we shall marry him to the gunner's daughter.'

Drinkwater rose from the table and took up his hat. The two lieutenants scrambled to their feet.

'Pipe all hands to witness punishment, Mr Rogers!'

Drinkwater emerged on deck some few minutes later, the punishment book in his hand. It contained few entries since Drinkwater was reluctant to administer corporal punishment for any but serious offences and had