First Lieutenant Francis Germaney stood in his cabin and passed water into the chamberpot. His eyes were screwed up tight against the pain and he cursed with quiet venom. He was certain now that ‘the burns’ had been contracted in a bawdy house in Kingston-upon-Hull and he wondered if Sir James Palgrave were similarly afflicted. It would serve the God-damned smell-smock right for he deserved it, that pistol ball in his guts notwithstanding.
‘Oh Christ!’ He saw the dark swirl of blood in the urine. And their blasted surgeon had not been sober since the morning of the duel. Not that he had been sober much before that, Germaney reflected bitterly, but there had been periods of near sobriety long enough to attend the occasional patient and maintain an appearance of duty. But now, God rot him, just when he was wanted . . .
Germaney resolved to swallow his pride and consult a physician without delay. Mr Surgeon Macpherson with his degree from Edinburgh could go to the devil. As he refastened his breeches his eyes fell on the letter from cousin Templeton. Commander Drinkwater’s arrival was imminent and Templeton indicated that the First Lord himself was anxious to brook no further delay. Germaney reached for his coat and hat when a knock came at the door. ‘What is it?’
The face of Midshipman the Lord Walmsley peered round the door.
‘Mr Bourne’s compliments, sir, but there’s a shore-boat approaching answering the sentry’s hail with “Melusine”.’
‘God damn!’ Germaney knew well what that meant. The boat contained the new captain. ‘Trying to catch us out,’ he muttered.
‘That’s what Mr Bourne says.’
‘Get out of my fucking way.’
Drinkwater folded his commission after reading it aloud and looked about him. Beneath a cloudless sky the corvette Melusine floated upon the broad, muddy Humber unruffled by any wind. Her paint and brass-work gleamed and her yards were perfectly squared. She lay among the tubby black and brown hulls of the whalers and the squat shapes of the other merchantmen and coasters at anchor off the port of Hull, a lady among drabs.
Not a rope was out of position beneath the lofty spars that rose to a ridiculous height. Named after a Breton sprite, Melusine showed all the lovely hallmarks of her French ancestry. Drinkwater’s spirits soared and although he knew her for a showy thing, he could not deny her her beauty. He clamped the corners of his mouth tightly lest they betrayed his pleasure and frowned, nodding to the first lieutenant.
‘Mr Germaney, I believe.’
‘Your servant, sir. Welcome aboard.’ Germaney removed his hat and bowed. ‘May I present the officers, sir?’
Drinkwater nodded. ‘Mr Bourne and Mr Rispin, sir; second and third lieutenants.’ Two young officers in immaculate uniforms bowed somewhat apprehensively.
‘Mr Hill, the Master . . .’
‘Hill! Why, ’tis a pleasure to see you again. When was the last time?’
‘Ninety-seven, sir, after Camperdown . . .’ Hill was beaming, his face ruddy with broken veins and little of his fine black hair left beyond a fringe above his nape. Drinkwater remembered he had been wounded when a master’s mate in the cutter Kestrel.
‘How is the arm?’
‘An infallible barometer signalling westerly gales, sir.’ They both laughed. ‘I heard you was wounded off Boulogne, sir . . .’
‘I am a trifle sagged amidships, Mr Hill, but otherwise sound. I have an excellent second for you. May I present Mr James Quilhampton, Master’s Mate, lately qualified at the Trinity House of London and a veteran of Copenhagen.’ He stepped aside allowing the little knot of officers to receive Quilhampton’s bow. Drinkwater turned to Germaney who resumed the introductions.
‘Mr Gorton, sir, whose six years are nearly up.’
‘How many have you served at sea, Mr Gorton?’
‘All of them, sir,’ replied the midshipman, looking Drinkwater in the eye. ‘I was two years a volunteer before that, sir.’ Drinkwater nodded with satisfaction. Mr Gorton seemed to possess more potential than either of the two commissioned lieutenants. He turned to the next youth, perhaps a year or two younger than Gorton.
‘Lord Walmsley, sir.’
Drinkwater caught his jaw in time and merely nodded and turned to the next. Another seventeen-year-old, the Honourable Alexander Glencross essayed a bow and was received with similar frigidity. Drinkwater had the impression that neither of these two young gentlemen took their profession very seriously and was relieved to see two fairly commonplace specimens at the end of the line.
‘Messrs Wickham and Dutfield, sir and Mr Frey.’
Mr Frey emerged from behind Dutfield where, Drinkwater suspected, the latter young gentleman had been holding him. Palgrave, it appeared, let his midshipman fool about and skylark. That was all very well but it led too often to bullying and Mr Frey was a child of no more than twelve years of age.
Germaney produced a purser named Pater, a bosun and a carpenter before drawing Drinkwater’s attention to a disreputable figure half hidden behind the mizenmast.
‘Mr Macpherson, our surgeon.’
‘Macpherson of Edinburgh, Captain,’ slurred the surgeon, his face wet with perspiration, his eyes watery with rheum, ‘A votre service’ Drinkwater could smell the rum at a yard distant and noted the dirty coat and stained linen.
‘Lieutenant Mount, sir,’ Germaney ploughed on, distracting Drinkwater from the state of the surgeon. Macpherson’s short-comings would be the subject of some conversation between captain and first lieutenant, but later, and on Germaney’s terms. ‘Lieutenant Mount, sir, of His Majesty’s Marines.’
‘Royal Marines, Mr Germaney, you should not neglect the new title.’ Drinkwater indicated the blue facings of a royal regiment. ‘An improvement upon the old white, Mr Mount,’ he said conversationally and paced along the line of scarlet and pipe-clayed soldiers drawn up for his inspection. Mr Mount glowed with pleasure. He had spotted the glitter of gold lace a good fifteen minutes before the midshipman of the watch and had turned his men out in time to create a good impression.
‘Your men do you credit, Mr Mount. I would have them all proficient marksmen to a high degree and I should like you to take charge of all the small-arms training on the ship. I have a prejudice against the junior lieutenant being responsible for the matter. He is better employed with his division and at the great guns.’
Drinkwater looked round, pleased with the obvious stir this small innovation had caused. He strode forward to stand by the larboard hance. A solitary brass carronade marked the limit of the hallowed quarterdeck of Captain Sir James Palgrave and the non-regulation addition to Melusine’s long guns shone with an ostentatious polish.
‘I hope, Mr Germaney,’ said Drinkwater in a clear voice, ‘that all this tiddley work ain’t at the expense of the ship’s true fighting qualities, eh?’
He was facing the men assembled in the waist and caught half a dozen swiftly suppressed grins.
‘N . . . no, of course not, sir.’
‘Very well.’ He looked over the ship’s company. They seemed to be made up of the usual mixture. Tow headed Scandinavians, swarthy Portuguese, three negroes, an Indian and an Arab amongst a herd of old and young from the two kingdoms and the emerald isle. ‘Do your duty men and you have nothing to fear.’ It was an old formula, hack words but good enough for the moment. And if it lacked inspiration it at least encapsulated all that was required of them.
‘Pray take a seat, Mr Germaney.’ Drinkwater hung his hat and turned to his first lieutenant. Captain Palgrave’s hurried departure had made Drinkwater temporary heir to some handsome cabin furniture and a full decanter of rich malmsey.
He poured a glass for himself and the first lieutenant, aware that they had just inspected parts of the ship that he doubted Mr Germaney even knew existed.
‘That cockpit, Mr Germaney, is an ill-ventilated spot at best. I want it white-washed as soon as possible. There are marks there, and in the demeanour of the young gentlemen, of a slackness that I do not like. Now, your good health.’ They drank and Drink
water looked shrewdly at the lieutenant. He was on edge, yet displayed a certain lassitude to the task of showing the captain round the ship. An officer intent on creating a good impression would have shown off some of Melusine’s good points rather than ignoring them. Well, it was no matter. For the present there were more urgent considerations.
‘The ship is well enough, Mr Germaney, although I withhold my full approbation until I see how her people make sail and work the guns. What I am not happy about is the surgeon.’
A surprising and noticeable interest stirred Germaney.
‘Tell me,’ Drinkwater continued, ‘how was such a slovenly officer able to hold his position under an officer as, er, punctilious as Captain Palgrave,’ asked Drinkwater drily.
‘I am not certain, sir. It seemed Sir James owed him some service or other.’
‘Is the man perpetually drunk?’
Germaney brightened. Things were turning a little in his favour. ‘I regret to say that that is most usually the case, sir. There is no confidence in him among the people.’
‘That does not surprise me. His instruments were filthy with rust and his loblolly boys looked perilous close to being gangrenous themselves. Come, another glass of this excellent malmsey . . .’ Drinkwater watched the first lieutenant shrewdly. In the few hours he had been aboard much had already been made clear. He did not find the weakness of his three lieutenants comforting.
‘What made your late captain leave such a taut ship, Mr Germaney?’
Germaney was beginning to relax. Captain Drinkwater seemed amiable enough; a trifle of a democrat, he suspected, and he had a few bees in his bonnet, to which his rank entitled him. But there was little to mark him as special, as Templeton had intimated. If anything he seemed inclined to tipple. Germaney drained his glass and Drinkwater refilled it.
‘Oh, er, he resigned, sir. He was a man of some wealth as you see,’ Germaney indicated the richness of the cabin furnishings and the french-polished panels of the forward bulkhead.
‘An odd circumstance, wouldn’t you say, to resign command of such a ship on the outbreak of war?’
Germaney shrugged, aware of the imputed slight. ‘I was not a party to Sir James’s affairs, sir.’
‘Not even those most touching his honour, Mr Germaney?’
Germaney moved uneasily. ‘I . . . I do not understand what you mean, sir.’
‘I mean that I doubt if Captain Palgrave engaged in an affair of honour without the support of yourself as his second.’
‘Oh, you know of that . . . some damned gossip hereabouts I . . .’
‘I learned at the Admiralty, Mr Germaney, and I do not need to tell you that the news was not well received.’ The implication went home. It was fairly logical to suppose that Germaney would have served as Palgrave’s second in the duel. Often a first lieutenant was bound to his commander by greater ties than mere professional loyalty. It was inconceivable that a peacetime captain like Palgrave would not have had such a first lieutenant.
Germaney regretted his gossiping letter to Templeton and swore to have his cousin answer for this indiscretion. ‘Was my name . . . am I, er . . .?’
‘I think,’ said Drinkwater swiftly, avoiding a falsehood, ‘I think that you had better tell me the precise origin of the quarrel. It seems scarcely to contribute to the service if the commander of the escort is to be called out by the masters he is sent to protect.’
‘Well sir, I er, it was difficult for me . . .’
‘I would rather the truth from you, Mr Germaney,’ said Drinkwater quietly, ‘than rumour from someone else. You should remember that Hill and I are old messmates and I would not want to go behind your back because you concealed information from me.’
Germaney was pallid. The Royal proscription against duelling or participating in such affairs could be invoked against him. Palgrave had abandoned him and his thoughts would not leave the discomfort in his loins. Palgrave had his share of the responsibility for that too.
‘There was an altercation in public, sir. An exchange of insults ashore between Captain Palgrave and the captain of one of the whale-ships.’
‘How did this happen? Were you present?’
Germaney nodded. ‘Sir James met Captain Ellerby, the master of the Nimrod, in the street. Ellerby was out walking with his daughter and there had previously been some words between him and Sir James about the delays in sailing. It is customary for the whale-ships to sail in early April to hunt seals before working into the ice in May . . .’
‘Yes, yes, go on.’
Germaney shrugged. ‘Sir James paid some exagerrated and, er, injudicious compliments to the daughter, sir, to which Ellerby took exception. He asked for a retraction at which Sir James, er . . .’
‘Sir James what?’
‘He was a little the worse for liquor, sir . . .’
‘I should hope he was, sir, I cannot think an officer would behave in that manner sober. But come, what next? What did Sir James say?’
‘He made the observation that a pretty face was fair game for a gentleman’s muzzle.’
‘Hardly an observation, Mr Germaney. More of a highly offensive double-entendre, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘Ellerby struck him with his stick and Sir James was restrained by myself and Mr Mount. Sir James said he would call for satisfaction if Ellerby had been a gentleman and Ellerby shouted that he would meet him if only to teach a gentleman manners . . . And so the unhappy affair progressed. Sir James was not entirely well the following morning and though he fired first his ball miscarried. Ellerby’s ball took him in the spleen.’
‘So the affair was public hereabouts?’
‘As public as a Quaker wedding, sir,’ concluded Germaney dejectedly.
‘And hushed up, I don’t doubt, with public sympathy supporting Ellerby and the town council firmly behind the move, eh?’
‘Yes, sir. They provided a doctor and a chaise to convey Sir James away to his seat as fast as possible. It was not difficult to persuade him to resign, though damnably difficult to stop Macpherson leaving with him. But the city fathers would not hear of it. Macpherson had become too well-known in the taverns for a loud-mouthed fool. Until you told me I had supposed the matter hushed outside the town. I stopped all shore-leave, though I expect that by now the water-folk have spread the news among the men.’
‘I don’t doubt it. You and Mount stood seconds, did you?’
‘Mount refused, sir.’
‘Ahhh.’ Mount’s conduct pleased Drinkwater. It must have taken considerable moral courage. ‘Well, Mr Germaney, your own part in it might yet be concealed if we delay no further.’
‘Thank you, sir . . . About the surgeon, sir. It is not right that we should make a voyage to the Arctic with such a man.’
‘No.’ Drinkwater refilled the glasses. Germaney’s explanation made him realise the extent of his task. The whale-ship captains, already delayed by government proscription pending the outcome of developments with France, had been further held up by Palgrave’s dilatoriness, to say nothing of his arrogance and offensiveness. He knew from his own orders that the Customs officers would issue the whale-ships their clearances at a nod from Melusine’s captain, and he had no more desire than the whalers to wait longer. Delay increased the risk of getting fast in the ice. If that happened Melusine would crack like an egg-shell.
‘But there is now no alternative. We will sail without delay. Now I desire that you send a midshipman to visit each of the whale-ships, Greenlanders they call ’emselves, don’t they? He is to invite them to repair on board tomorrow forenoon and we can settle the order of sailing and our private signals. And tell the young gentleman that I would have the invitation made civilly with my cordial compliments.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Germaney unhappily, ‘and the surgeon?’
‘Tell the surgeon,’ said Drinkwater with sudden ferocity, ‘that if I find him drunk I shall have him at the gratings
like any common seaman.’
Two hours later Drinkwater received a round-robin signed by a dozen names stating that the whale-ship commanders ‘Would rather their meeting took place ashore at the Trinity House of Kingston-upon-Hull . . .’
Drinkwater cursed Sir James Palgrave, annoyed that he must first set out to woo a set of cantankerous merchant masters who set the King’s commission so lightly aside. Then he calmed himself and reflected they had little cause to love the Royal Navy. It plundered their ships of prime seamen, usually when they were entering the Humber after the hardships of an Arctic voyage. There was already a Regulating Captain set up in the city with all the formal machinery of the Impress Service at his finger tips. Drinkwater remembered the story of a whaler abandoned by her entire crew off the Spurn Head as the cruising frigate hove in sight to press her crew.
No, they had no cause to love the Navy hereabouts and suddenly the vague, universal preoccupation of the justice of the present war came back to him. And as quickly was dismissed as irrelevant to the task in hand.
Chapter Three
May 1803
The Greenlanders
The tie-wigged usher conducted Drinkwater through the splendid corridors of the Trinity House of Kingston-upon-Hull. His previous connections with the corporation had been with the Baltic pilots it had supplied for the Copenhagen campaign two years earlier. Their performance had been disappointing and had clouded his opinions, so that he had forgotten the Arctic connection of the brotherhood.
The usher paused for a second before a heavy door from beyond which came the noise of heated argument. Drinkwater caught the phrase ‘two months late’ and the angrier, ‘what guarantee have we of a bounty . . .?’ Then the usher opened the door and announced him.
Drinkwater advanced into the room. He was in full dress with cocked hat and sword. The room was lit by tall windows and rushes were strewn across the plain boarded floor. Sitting and standing round a long mahogany table about two dozen men in all shades of civilian clothing turned towards him. Their complexions varied from the effects of their diet, the privations of their calling and the present heat of their passions. He was acutely aware of a wall of prejudice and remained observantly circumspect. He inclined his head.
The Corvette Page 4
