Drinkwater shut the prayer book and put on his hat. The gospel of the resurrection had a hollow ring this Easter Sunday.
'On hats!' bellowed Rogers. Drinkwater stepped forward to address the men.
'My lads, I do not propose to read the Articles of War today, simply to thank you for acquitting yourselves so well on Thursday.' A cheer went up from the men and Drinkwater mistily realised it was for him. The shouting died away. 'But… but we may not yet have finished work…' The hands fell silent again, staring apprehensively at him. 'I received orders this morning that the truce ends at noon. If no satisfactory explanation is heard as to why our terms have not been accepted we will bombard the city.' He went below and Rogers dismissed the hands.
'Sir! Mr Rogers says to tell you there's boats coming and going between the shore and the Trekroner…'
Drinkwater went on deck and stared through his glass. There was no doubt about it—the Danes were reinforcing the defences.
'So much for his lordship's toasts of everlasting fraternity with the Danes,' remarked Rogers sourly.
'Man a boat, Mr Rogers, and take command of the ship in my absence.'
The boat could not go fast enough for Drinkwater and it wanted a few minutes before noon when he clambered up London's side and reported to the commander-in-chief. Parker astonished him by remembering his name. 'Ah, Drinkwater, the officer of the watch informs me you have intelligence regarding the Trekroner Forts.' Drinkwater nodded. 'By the way, my wife writes and asks to be remembered to you, it seems I was not appreciative of your services to her last year when we met before.'
Drinkwater bowed. 'That is most kind of her ladyship, sir.' He was desperately anxious to communicate the news about the Danish reinforcements.
'The Danes are pouring men into the Trekroners, sir, reinforcements…'
'I think you may compose your mind on that score, Mr Drinkwater. The Danish envoys have just left me. The truce is extended.' It was only much later that Drinkwater wondered if Lady Parker implied anything in her kindness.
For two days the British fleet repaired the damage to itself, took out of the remaining prizes all the stores that were left and burnt the hulls. A south westerly wind swept a chill rain down over them and once again all was uncertainty. The seamen laboured at the sweeps of the flat-boats as they pulled between the plundered prizes and the British anchorage.
The cutter Fox left to survey the shallows over The Grounds to the south, past Dragor, in an attempt to find a channel suitable for the deep hulls of the first-rates and enable them to get through to the Baltic. Eager to assist, Drinkwater was ordered to remain on his bomb and keep his mortars trained on the city of Copenhagen.
Nelson and Colonel Stewart again dined ashore and the truce was further extended. News came that letters might be written and transported to England. Drinkwater sat at his reinstated table, snapped open the inkwell and paused before drawing a sheet of paper towards him. There was one duty he was conscious of having put off since the battle. Instead of the writing paper he pulled the muster book from its place and opened it.
He ran his finger down the list of names, halting at Easton. He paused for a second, recalling the man's face, then his mouth set in a firm line and he carefully wrote the legend 'D.D.' for 'discharged dead'. He repeated the process against the name Jex, suppressing the unchristian relief that clamped his lips even more tightly, then hurried down the list, and inserted the cryptic initials against four other names.
At the bottom of the column he paused again. Then, dipping his pen in the inkwell with sudden resolution he wrote 'D.D.' against the entry 'Ed 'd. 'Waters, Landsman Volunteer', sanded the page and pushed the book aside.
He found his hand shaking slightly as he began his letter to Elizabeth.
H.M Bomb Virago
Copenhagen Road
Wednesday 8th April 1801
My Darling Elizabeth,
Cruizer is about to leave with despatches and I have time to tell you that on Thursday last the fleet was engaged before this city. The action was furious but I escaped unscathed, so your prayers were answered. Many brave fellows have fallen but you may tell Louise that James got only a scratch. He has done well and exceeded my expectations of him. Peace is still not confirmed, but I think it likely. You will read in the papers of great exertions by Lord Nelson and I flatter myself that his lordship took notice of me. Some good may yet come of it, although I must not be too sanguine, his lordship not having the chief command.
Tell Susan that Tregembo is fit and in good health.
I hope you continue in health and your condition is not irksome. Kiss Charlotte Amelia for me and remember me as your devoted husband…
He signed the letter, disappointed that it was not more personal. Somehow Elizabeth's remoteness made her existence unreal. Reality was this penetrating chill and the endless ache in his right arm.
The cutter Fox returned to the fleet anchorage on the following evening. She had found a passage over the shoals into the Baltic. The next day came news of a fourteen week armistice. The Danes would supply the fleet with water and other necessaries and in return the bomb vessels would haul off. Other news came aboard too, news that had little impact on anyone except Lieutenant Nathaniel Drinkwater.
Danish and Prussian troops had entered Hamburg and the port had been closed to all communication with Britain.
Chapter Twenty
Kioge Bay
10 April-19 June 1801
'General signal from Flag, sir: "All ships to send boat".'
'That ought to be for mails, see to it Mr Rogers.' Every glass in the fleet had trained on Lynx when she arrived at Kioge Bay. Captain Otway was on board with news of the outside world. After the efforts and tribulations of the last few weeks almost any news that was not pure gossip about the fleet was welcome.
Strenuous efforts had been made to work the big ships, particularly London and St George, over the shallows. Their guns and stores had been hoisted out into merchant ships while the lightened battleships, riding high in the water, were hauled into the Baltic. Following the London, St George had grounded. Parker heard that the Swedish fleet was at sea and sent for Nelson to leave St George and rejoin Elephant anchored with the rest of the British warships at Kioge Bay. Nelson had his barge pull the twenty-four miles in the teeth of a rising and bitter wind to rejoin his former flagship.
While the big ships sailed to seek out the squadron from Carlscrona, the bombs and small fry waited in Kioge Bay and wondered if they were to sail against the Russians. Despite the recent carnage of the battle, relations with the Danes were good and the anchorage was usually enlivened by the sight of several Danish galliots among the anchored ship, selling cream for the officers' coffee and cheese and chickens to those who could afford them.
Then Parker had returned with the news that Tsar Paul had been assassinated and that his son Alexander had succeeded to the throne and declared his friendship with Britain. It was news already three weeks old.
So were the letters brought by Lynx, but nobody minded. The distribution of the mail had its usual effect. Men with letters ran off to sit in obscure corners or in the tops, painfully to spell out the ill-written scrawl of loved ones. Those without went off to sulk or affected indifference, according to their temperament. Saddest were the letters that arrived for the dead. There was one such for Easton, scented with lavender and superscribed in a delicate, feminine hand. It lay upon Drinkwater's table waiting to be returned unopened with his condolences.
There were three letters for Drinkwater. One was in Elizabeth's hand and one in Richard White's, but it was the third that he opened first.
Dear Drinkwater,
Your letters reached me safely and I desire that you wait upon me directly you return to London.
Dungarth.
It was frigidly brief and reawakened all Drinkwater's doubts about his conduct over Edward. Jex's death, though it had freed him from accusation from one quarter, had not released him entirely. It came as
small consolation to learn that the Danish and Prussian troops had abandoned Hamburg.
He had gone on deck and paced the poop for over an hour before remembering the other letters. When he had sufficiently calmed himself he returned below and picked up the next. It was from his old friend Richard White, now a post-captain and blockading Brest in a frigate.
My Dear Nathaniel,
We are still here, up and down the Goulet and in sight of the batteries at St Matthew. I am sick of the duty and the incessant wearing of men and ships, but I suppose you would say there was no help for it: So thinks the First Lord, and no-one is disposed to argue with him. I heard you had command of a tender and if you can make nothing of it I would welcome a head I can rely on here. Write and let me know if you wish to serve as my first lieutenant…
Drinkwater laid the letter down. If he could contrive to get transferred to White's ship directly, without the need to call upon Dungarth, he could serve for years on the Brest blockade. The affair of Edward Drinkwater would blow over. He picked up the third letter and opened it. Elizabeth had been right all along; he was no dissembler, he knew that he would have to face the music. Sighing, he began to read.
My Dearest Nathaniel,
Charlotte and I are well, although we miss you. I grow exceedingly rotund. Louise is a great solace and constantly asks if I have heard of James.
We are starved of news from the Baltic and I wait daily to hear from you. Unrest in the country grows and there is uncertainty everywhere. We long for peace and I pray daily for your safe return, my dearest…
Drinkwater waited in London's ante-room, nervous and tense, the subject of Edward uppermost in his mind. There had been ample time for the authorities to make arrangements for his arrest, perhaps Otway himself had brought a warrant… Sweat prickled between his shoulder blades. The dapper little midshipman who had brought Parker's summons had 'requested' he wore full uniform. Wondering if that insistence might not be sinister, he looked down at his coat and breeches.
The uniform was mildewed from languishing in his closet and the lace had become green. Tregembo's efforts prior to the battle had not been very successful and the smell of powder smoke was still detectable from the heavy cloth. Drinkwater felt exceedingly uncomfortable as he waited.
Parker's secretary appeared at last and called him into the great cabin. It was richly appointed; the furniture gleamed darkly, crystal decanters and silver candelabra glittered from the points of light that were reflected upwards from the sea through the stern windows and danced on the white-painted deckhead.
'Ah, Drinkwater…' the old man paused, apparently weighed down by responsibilities. 'I am to be superseded you know…' Drinkwater remained silent. 'Do you think I did wrong?'
'I sir??' That Parker should consult him was ludicrous. He felt out of his depth, aware only of the need to be tactful. 'Er, no, sir. Surely we have achieved the object of our enterprise.'
Parker looked at him intently, then seemed to brighten a little. 'It was not an easy task…' he muttered, more to himself than to Drinkwater. It was clear from his next remark that Drinkwater's acquaintance with his wife had allowed the friendless old man to speak freely.
'My wife reminds me constantly of my duty towards you in her letters…'
'Her ladyship is too kind, sir,' Drinkwater flushed; this solicitude on the part of Lady Parker was becoming a trifle embarrassing. Nelson had jumped to the wrong conclusion; was Parker about to do the same? Were not elderly husbands supposed to suspect young wives of all manner of infidelities?
'…And Lord Nelson is constantly complaining that I have failed to recognise your services both before and during the recent action. I believe you commanded Virago in the bombardment?'
'That is so, sir,' Drinkwater's heart was thumping painfully. Parker's nepotistic promotions after the battle of Copenhagen had aroused a storm of fury and it had taken all Nelson's persuasive powers to have a small number of highly deserving officers given a step in rank.
Parker picked up a paper and handed it to Drinkwater. 'Perhaps they will leave an old man in peace now.'
Drinkwater picked up the commission that made him Master and Commander.
The celebratory dinner in Virago's cabin was a noisy affair. Out of courtesy Drinkwater had invited Lord Nelson, but the new Commander-in-Chief had taken his battleships off to demonstrate British seapower before the guns of Carlscrona and Revel.
The senior officer present was Captain Martin who did his best to hide his mortification at not being made post. He consoled himself by getting drunk. From some macabre source available in the aftermath of a bloody battle Rogers had acquired an old epaulette which they now presented to their commander.
''Tis a trifle tarnished, Drinkwater, but in keeping with the rest of your attire,' said Martin as he banged a spoon against a glass and called for silence. 'Gentlemen, I ask you to charge your glasses. To your swab, Drinkwater!'
'Drinkwater's swab!' The glasses banged down on the table and Tregembo and the messman moved rapidly to fill them again. Drinkwater looked round the grinning faces. Rogers flushed and half-drunk; Quilhampton, smiling seraphically, slipping slowly down in his chair banging on the table the fine, new wooden hand that Willerton had fashioned for him. Lettsom dry and birdlike; Tumilty red-faced and busy getting roaring drunk.
'An' I suppose I'll be having to call you "sir", Nat'aniel,' he shouted thickly, slapping Drinkwater's back in an insubordinate way.
'Sit down you damned Hibernian!' shouted Rogers.
'Take your damned fingers off me! An' I'm standing to make a pretty speech, so I am…' There were boos and shouts of 'Sit down!'
'I'll sit down upon a single condition… that Mr Lettsom makes a bit o' his versifying to mark the occasion.'
'Aye! Make us an ode, Lettsom!'
'Come, a verse!'
Lettsom held up his hand for silence. He was forced to wait before he could make himself heard.
At last he drew a paper from his pocket and struck a pose:
'The town of Copenhagen lies
Upon the Baltic shore
And here were deeds of daring done
'Twere never seen before.
'Bold Nelson led 'em, glass in hand
Upon the Danes to spy,
When Parker said "that's quite enough"
He quoth, "No, by my eye!"
'The dead and dying lay in heaps
The Danes they would not yield
Until the bold Virago came
Onto the bloody field.'
Lettsom paused, drank off his glass while holding his hand up to still the embryonic cheer. Then he resumed:
'Lord Nelson got the credit,
And Parker got the blame,
But 'twas the bold Virago
That clinched old England's fame.'
He sat down amid a storm of cheering and stamping. Mr Quilhampton's enthusiasm threatened to split his new hand until someone restrained him, at which point he gave up the struggle to retain consciousness and slid beneath the grubby tablecloth.
Drinkwater sat clapping Lettsom's dreadful muse.
'Your verse is like Polonius's advice, Mr Lettsom, the sweeter for its brevity,' Drinkwater grinned at the surgeon as Tregembo put another bottle before each officer. 'Mr Tumilty's contribution, sir,' he whispered in Drinkwater's ear.
'Ah, Tom, I salute you…'
Tumilty stood up. 'Captain Drinkwater…' he began, enunciating the words carefully, then he slowly bent over and buried his head in the remains of the figgy duff.
'What a very elegant bow,' said Martin rising unsteadily to take his leave. Drinkwater saw him to his boat.
'Good night Drinkwater.'
Returning to the cabin Drinkwater found Rogers dragging Tumilty to Easton's empty cot while Tregembo was carrying Quilhampton to bed. Martin had left and only Lettsom and Rogers sat down to finish a last bottle with Drinkwater.
Tregembo cleared the table. 'Take a couple of bottles, Tregembo, share 'em with the co
ok and the messman.'
'Thank 'ee, zur. I told 'ee you'd be made this commission, zur.' He grinned and left the cabin.
Lettsom blew through his flute. 'You, er, don't seem too pleased about it all, if I might say so,' said Lettsom.
'Is it that man Waters that's bothering you, sir?' asked Rogers.
Drinkwater looked from one to the other. There was a faint ringing in his ears and he was aware of a need to be careful of what he said.
'And why should Waters bother me, gentlemen?'
He saw Rogers shrug. 'It seemed an odd business to be mixed up in,' he said. Drinkwater fixed Rogers with a cold eye. Reluctantly he told the last lie.
'What d'you think I got my swab for, Samuel, eh?'
Lettsom drowned any reaction from Rogers in a shower of notes from his flute and launched into a lively air. He played for several minutes, until Rogers rose to go.
When the first lieutenant had left them Lettsom lowered his flute, blew the spittle out of it and dismantled it, slipping it into his pocket.
'I see you believe in providence, Mr Drinkwater…'
'What makes you say that?'
'Only a man with some kind of faith would have done what you did…'
'You speak in riddles, Mr Lettsom…'
'Mr Jex confided in me, I've known all along about your brother.'
'God's bones,' Drinkwater muttered as he felt a cold sensation sweep over him. He went deathly pale.
'I'm an atheist, Mr Drinkwater. But you are protected by my Hippocratic oath.' Lettsom smiled reassuringly.
A week later Admiral Pole took command of the fleet. The Baltic States were quiescent and, like Lord Nelson, the bomb vessels were ordered to England.
Chapter Twenty-One
A Child of Fortune
July 1801
Commander Nathaniel Drinkwater knocked on the door of the elegant house in Lord North Street. Under his new full-dress coat with its single gleaming epaulette he was perspiring heavily. It was not the heat of the July evening that caused his discomfort but apprehension over the outcome of the forthcoming interview with Lord Dungarth.
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