The Corvette nd-5

by Ричард Вудмен

  The meal itself proved a great success. The trestle table borrowed from the wardroom groaned under the weight of fresh meat, an unusual circumstance of a man-of-war. In an ill-disguised attempt to placate his commander Lord Walmsley had offered Drinkwater two bottles of brandy which the latter did not refuse. The conversation was naturally about the afternoon's adventure and Drinkwater learnt of little Frey's sudden, frightening discovery of the sleeping polar bear which the boy re-told, his eyes alight with wine and the excitement of recollected fear. He heard again how Quilhampton, his musket resting in his wooden hand, had struck the animal in the shoulder and how Mount had established his military superiority by lodging a ball in the bear's skull.

  'By comparison Bourne's triumph over the seals was of no account, sir, ain't that so, Bourne?' Mount said teasing his young colleague.

  'That is an impertinence, Mount, if I had not had to secure the boat while you all raced in pursuit of quarry I should have downed the beast with a single shot.'

  'Pah!' said Mount grinning, 'you should have left the boat to Walmsley or Glencross. I conceive it that you were hanging back from the ferocity of those somnolent seals.'

  'Come, sir,' said Bourne with mock affront, 'd'you insinuate that I was frightened of an old bear who ran away at the approach of Mr Frey…'

  Drinkwater looked at Frey. The boy coloured scarlet, uncertain how to take this banter from his seniors. Was Bourne implying the bear was scared by his own size or his own courage? Or that polar bears really were timid and his moment of triumph was thereby diminished?

  Drinkwater felt for the boy, particularly as Walmsley and Glencross joined the raillery. 'Oh, Mr Bourne, the bear was absolutely terrified of Frey, why I saw him positively roll his eyes in terror at the way Frey hefted his musket. Did you not see that, Glencross?' asked Lord Walmsley mischievously.

  'Indeed I did, why I thought he was loading with his mouth and firing with his knees…' There was a roar of laughter from the members of the hunting party who had witnessed the excited midshipman ascend an ice hummock with a Tower musket bigger than himself. He had stumbled over the butt, tripped and fallen headlong over the hummock, discharging the gun almost in the ear of the recumbent bear.

  Poor Frey was in no doubt now, as to the purpose of his seniors' intentions. Drinkwater divined something of the boy's wretchedness.

  'Come, gentlemen, there is no need to make Mr Frey the butt of your jest…'

  There was further laughter, some strangled murmurs of 'Butt… butt… oh, very good, sir… very apt' and eventual restoration of some kind of order.

  'Well, Mr Singleton,' said Drinkwater to change the subject and addressing the sober cleric, 'what d'you make of our eskimo friend?'

  'He is named Meetuck, sir and is clearly frightened of white men, although he seems to have reconciled himself to us after he was offered meat…'

  'Which he ate raw, sir,' put in Frey eagerly.

  ''Pon my soul, Mr Frey, raw, eh? Pray continue, Mr Singleton.'

  'He claims to come from a place called Nagtoralik, meaning a place with eagles, though this may mean nothing as a location as we understand it, for these people are nomadic and follow their food sources. He says…'

  'Pardon my interruption, Mr Singleton but do I understand that you converse with him?'

  Singleton smiled his rare, dark smile. 'Well not converse, sir, but there are words that I comprehend which, mixed with gesture, mime and some of Mr Frey's quick drawings, enabled us to learn that he had found a putulik, a place with a hole in the ice through which he was presumably catching fish when he was attacked by a bear. He made his escape but in doing so fell and injured himself, breaking his arm. I think that scuppers the arguments of Mr Frey's persecutors, sir, that even an experienced hunter may fall in such terrain and also that the polar bear is capable of great ferocity.'

  'Indeed, Mr Singleton, I believe it does,' replied Drinkwater drily. Cawkwell drew the cloth in his silent ghost-like way and the decanters began to circulate.

  'Tell us, Mr Singleton how you came to learn eskimo,' asked Mount, suddenly serious in the silence following the loyal toast.

  Singleton leaned forward with something of the proselytiser, and the midshipmen groaned inaudibly, but sat quiet, gulping their brandy avidly.

  'The Scandinavians were the first Europeans to make contact with the coast of Greenland sometime in the tenth century. Their settlements lasted for many years before being destroyed by the eskimos in the middle of the fourteenth century. When the Englishman John Davis rediscovered the coast in 1585 he found only eskimos. Davis,' Singleton turned his gaze on the midshipmen with a pedagogic air, 'gave his name to the strait between Greenland and North America… The Danish Lutheran Hans Egede was able to study the innuit tongue before embarking with his family and some forty other souls to establish a permanent colony on the West Coast of Greenland. When he returned to Copenhagen on the death of his wife he wrote a book about his work with the eskimos among whom he preached and taught for some fifteen years. His son Povel remained in Greenland and completed a translation of Our Lord's Testament, a catechism and a prayer book in eskimo. Povel Egede died in Copenhagen in '89 and I studied there under one of his assistants.' Singleton paused again and this time it was Drinkwater upon whose face his gaze fixed.

  'I refused to leave during the late hostilities and was in the city when Lord Nelson bombarded it.'

  'That,' replied Drinkwater meeting Singleton's eyes, 'must have been an interesting experience.'

  'Indeed, Captain Drinkwater, it persuaded me that no useful purpose can be served by armed force.'

  A sense of affront stiffened the relaxing diners. To a man their eyes watched Drinkwater to see what reply their commander would make to this insult to their profession. From little Frey, ablaze with brandy and bravado; the arrogant insensitivity of Walmsley and Glencross and the puzzlement of Mr Quilhampton, to the testy irritation of a silent Mr Hill and the colouring anger of Mr Mount, the table seethed with a sudden unanimous indignation. Drinkwater smiled inwardly and looked at his first lieutenant. Mr Germaney had said not a word throughout the entire meal, declined the brandy and merely toyed with his food.

  'That, Mr Singleton, is an interesting and contentious point. For my own part, and were the world as perfect as perhaps its maker intended, I should like nothing better than to agree with you. But since the French do not seem to be of your opinion the matter seems likely to remain one for academic debate, eh? Well, Mr Germaney, what do you think of Mr Singleton's proposition?'

  The first lieutenant seemed at first not to have heard Drinkwater. Hill's nudge was far from surreptitious and Germaney surfaced unsure of what was required of him.

  'I… er, I have no great opinion on the matter, sir,' he said hurriedly, hoping the reply sufficient. Remarking the enormity of Germaney's abstraction with some interest Drinkwater turned to the bristling marine officer.

  'Mr Mount?'

  'Singleton's proposition is preposterous, sir. The Bible is full of allusions to the use of violence, Christ's own eviction of the moneylenders from the Temple notwithstanding. Had he argued the wisdom of bombarding a civilian population I might have had some sympathy with his argument for it is precisely to preserve our homes that we serve here, but the application of force is far from useless…'

  'But might it not become an end, rather than a means, Mr Mount?' asked Singleton, 'and therefore to be discouraged lest its use be undertaken for the wrong motives.'

  'Well a man does not stop taking a little wine in case he becomes roaring drunk and commits some felonious act, does he?'

  'Perhaps he should, Mr Mount,' said Singleton icily, raising a glass of water to his lips.

  'I don't understand you, Mr Singleton,' said Hill at last. 'I can see you may argue that if Cain had never slain Abel the world might have been a better place but given that it is not paradise, do you advocate that we simply lie down and invite our enemies to trample over us?'

  'To turn the other ch
eek and beat our swords into ploughshares?' added Mount incredulously.

  'Why not?' asked Singleton with impressive simplicity. There was a stunned silence while they assimilated the preposterous nature of this suggestion. Then the table erupted as the officers leaned forward with their own reasons for the impossibility of such a course of action. The candle flames guttered under the discharge of air from several mouths. In the ensuing babel Drinkwater heard such expressions as 'march unchecked on London… dishonour our women… destroy our institutions… rape… loot… national honour…'

  He allowed the reaction to continue for some seconds before banging sharply on the table.

  'Gentlemen, please!' They subsided into silence. 'Gentlemen, you must have some regard for Mr Singleton's cloth. Preposterous as his ideas sound to you, your own conversations have disturbed him these past weeks. He doubtless finds equally odd your own assertions that you will "thrash Johnny Crapaud", "cut the throats of every damned frog" you encounter not to mention "flog any man that transgresses the Articles of War or the common usages of the service". Yet you appear devout enough when Divine Service is read, an act which Mr Singleton may regard as something close to hypocrisy… eh?' He looked round at them, his eyes twinkling as he encountered mystification or downright astonishment.

  'Now, if you ignore abstract considerations and deal with the pragmatic you will see that we have all chosen professions which require zeal. In Mr Singleton's case religious zeal and in your case, gentlemen, the professional zeal of strict adherence to duty. Zeal is not something that admits of much prevarication or equivocation and since argument and debate might be said to be synonyms for quibbling, your two positions are quite irreconcilable. And if two opposing propositions are irreconcilable I would suggest the arguing of them a fatuous waste of time.'

  Drinkwater finished his speech with his eyes on Singleton. The man appeared disappointed, as though expecting unreserved support from Drinkwater. He felt slightly guilty towards Singleton, as though owing him some explanation.

  'I believe in providence, Mr Singleton, which you might interpret as God's will. To me it incorporates all the forces that you theologists claim as evoked by "God" whilst satisfactorily explaining those you do not. It is a creed much favoured by sea-officers.'

  'Then you do not believe in God, Captain Drinkwater,' pronounced Singleton dolefully, 'and the power of your intellect prevents you from spiritual conversion.'

  Drinkwater inclined his head. 'Perhaps.'

  'Then I find that a matter of the profoundest sadness, sir,' Singleton replied quietly. The silence in the cabin was touching; even Walmsley and Glencross had ceased to wriggle, though their condition was more attributable to the brandy they had consumed than interest in polemics.

  'So do I, Mr Singleton, so do I. But the moment when a man has to say whether God, as you theologists conceive him, exists or not is a profound one, not to be taken lightly. We cannot conceive of any form of existence that does not entail physical entity, witness your own archangels. Indeed even a devout man may imagine eternal life as some sort of transmigration of our corporeal selves during which all disabilities, uglinesses, warts and ill-disposed temperaments disappear. This is surely understandable, though not much above the primitive, something which our eskimo friend would comprehend.

  'Now I ask you, as rational beings living in an age of scientific discovery and more particularly being seamen observing the varied phenomena of atmosphereology can you convince me of the whereabouts of these masses of corporeal souls? Of course not…'

  'You deny the Resurrection, sir!'

  Drinkwater shrugged. 'I have seen too much of death and too little of resurrection to place much faith in it applying to common seamen like ourselves.'

  'But you are without faith!' Singleton cried.

  'Not at all, sir!' Drinkwater refilled his glass. 'Belief in atheism surrenders everything too much to hazard. I cannot believe that. I see only purpose in all things, a purpose that is made evident by science and manifests itself in the divine working of providence. As for the corporeal self why Quilhampton, Hill and I hold together like a trio of doubled frigates. If the enemy gets a further shot at our carcases there will likely be little left to refurbish for the life hereafter.'

  The facetious jest raised a little laughter round the table and revealed that all three midshipmen were asleep.

  'I agree with the Captain,' said Germaney suddenly. 'I recollect something Herrick wrote. Er,' he thought for a moment and then sat up and quoted: '"Putrefaction is the end, of all that nature doth intend." There is great truth in that remark, great truth…'

  Drinkwater looked sharply at his first lieutenant. Germaney's silence had seemed as uncharacteristic as his sobriety and now this sudden quotation seemed to be significant. It appeared that Singleton considered it so, for he seemed disinclined to pursue the discussion and Drinkwater himself fell silent. Mount rose and thanked him for his hospitality and the hint was taken up by the others. As the chairs scraped back the midshipmen awoke and guiltily made their apologies. Drinkwater waved them indulgently aside.

  As he watched them leave the cabin he called Singleton back. 'A moment, Mr Singleton, if you please.'

  Drinkwater blew out the candles that had illuminated the table. The cabin was thrown into penumbral gloom from the midnight daylight of the Arctic summer.

  'You must not think that I wish to ridicule your calling. In my convalescence I met a priest of your persuasion possessed of the most enormous spiritual arrogance. I found it most distasteful. It is not that I disbelieve, it is simply that I cannot believe as you do. After the birth of my children I had the curious natural feeling that I had outlived my usefulness. My liberal ideals were in conflict with this, but I could not deny the emotion. It seemed that all thereafter was merely vanity.'

  Singleton coughed awkwardly. 'Sir, I…'

  'Do not trouble yourself on my account, Mr Singleton, I beg you. I hear that Leek is a faithful convert and protests not only the existence of God but can vouch for his very appearance.'

  'Leek was very close to death by drowning, sir, perhaps a little of the great mystery was unfolded to him.' Singleton was deadly serious.

  'But the intervention of science prevented it: your knowledge, Mr Singleton.'

  'Now you do ridicule me.'

  Drinkwater laughed. 'Not at all. Perhaps we are, as you said earlier, too well-informed for our own good, as it says in the Bible, "unless ye be as little children…"'

  'That is perhaps the wisest thing you have said, sir,' Singleton at last smiled back.

  'Touché. And good night to you.'

  'Good night, sir.'

  Drinkwater went on deck. Mr Rispin had the watch and pointed out the closer drift ice and identified the whalers in sight. There was scarcely a breath of wind and Melusine lay upon a sea that only moved slightly from the ground swell. Rispin's unconfident, fussy manner irritated Drinkwater until he reflected that he had been particularly lugubrious this evening and dominated the conversation. Well, damn it, it was a captain's privilege to talk nonsense.

  Lieutenant Germaney sat in his hutch of a cabin contemplating the bundle of scented paper tied with a blue ribbon. After a while he opened the lantern and removed the candle tray. He began to burn the letters, a little pile of ash mounting up and spilling onto the deck.

  When he had completed his task he turned to his cot and lifted the lid of the walnut case that lay upon it. Taking out one of the pair of pistols it contained, he checked its priming. Turning again to the candle he carefully replaced the tray inside the lantern and closed it, returning the thing to its hook in the deck-head.

  Reseating himself he lifted the pistol, placed its muzzle in his mouth. For a moment he sat quite still then, with the cold steel barrel knocking his teeth he said, 'Putrefaction!'

  And pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Eight

  Balaena Mysticetus

  June 1803

  'Why in God's name was I not told of
this?'

  'The confidentiality which exists between a patient and his physician…'

  'God's bones, Singleton, I will not bandy words with you. The man should have been on the sick book, along with the others that have lues and clap.' Drinkwater swore again in self reproach and added, 'I remarked some morbid humour in him.'

  'I am not the ship's surgeon, Captain Drinkwater, a fact which you seem to have lost sight of…'

  'Have a care, sir, have a care!' Both men glared angrily at each other across the cabin table. At last Singleton said, 'It seems we have adopted irreconcilable positions which, by your own account are a waste of time trying to harmonise.' The ghost of a smile crossed Singleton's dark features. Drinkwater sighed as the tension ebbed. He gestured to a chair and both men sat, thinking of the broken body of Lieutenant Francis Germaney lying on its cot. Melusine lay becalmed, rolling easily in a growing swell among the loose drift ice. On deck the watch fended off the larger floes while the sun shone brilliantly, dancing in coruscating glory from several fantastically shaped bergs to the north. Within the cabin the gloom of death hung like a stink.

  'How long will he live?'

  'Not very long. The condylar process of the left mandible is shattered, the squamous part of the temporal bone is severely damaged and there is extensive haemorrhaging from the ascending pharyngeal artery. How the internal carotid and the associated veins were not ruptured I do not know but a portion of the left lower lobe of the cortex is penetrated by pieces of bone.'

  Drinkwater sighed. 'I marked some preoccupation in him from our first acquaintance, but I never guessed its origin,' he said at last. 'Might you have achieved a cure?'

  Singleton shrugged. 'I believed that I might have achieved a clinical cure, he was receiving intra-urethral injections of caustic alkali and a solution of ammoniated mercury with opium. His progress was encouraging but I fear that his humour was morbid and the balance of his mind affected. He confided in me that he was affianced; I think it was this that drove him to such an extremity as to attempt his own life.'