A Brig of War nd-3

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A Brig of War nd-3 Page 18

by Richard Woodman


  'Go to the devil!'

  'Careful Nathaniel, remember that old Welsh goat is a sick man and I am far senior to you…' The insinuation was plain enough and it choked Drinkwater with his own rising bile.

  'Go to hell, Morris!'

  'Witness that remark, Mr Dalziell,' snapped Morris in a sudden change of tone as the midshipman hurried up. Drinkwater turned away in search of his breeches.

  It was late afternoon before Drinkwater paused to take stock of their situation on the tiny island. In the hours that succeeded the brush with Morris he had worked ceaselessly. It was only as he stood staring westwards that he realised why the brig had been lost. As the sun sank the mountain peaks of Upper Egypt were clear on the horizon. Drinkwater knew they were sixty to seventy miles away, far over the sea horizon. It had been the unusual refraction of that very horizon that had caused their errors and he walked tiredly over to Lestock to point it out. But Mr Lestock, who had long ago been prejudiced against Mr Drinkwater's methods of navigation, especially that of determining longitude by chronometer, merely curled his lip.

  'Perhaps, Mr Drinkwater, it would have been more prudent to have observed the phenomena before the loss of the ship…' Lestock rose and cut him, leaving Drinkwater isolated as he stared after the retreating back of the retrospectively wise master whose fussing indecision seemed justified.

  Mr Quilhampton appeared at his elbow. 'Beg pardon, sir, Miss Best says you are to drink this and take some rest, sir.' He took the tankard of blackstrap and felt it ease the tension from him. 'I'm keeping the log going, sir, and the ship's name, sir.' Drinkwater looked at the boy. 'Eh? Oh, oh, yes, quite, Mr Q, very well.'

  Drinkwater looked at the sandy, scrub-covered island upon the flat top of which a dozen crude tents had been erected. Piles of casks of pork, powder and water were under guard of the master's mates. So too were those of spirits and biscuit.

  They had toiled to heave as much of the ship's stores ashore as were available, rigging a stay from the stump of the mainmast to an anchorage ashore upon which rode a block to convey load after load. They had rigged shelter from spars and remnants of Hellebore's sails; they had constructed a galley; they had tended the wounded and buried the dead; they had got the boats safely away from the wreck and into a small inlet that made a passable boat harbour on the lee side of the islet, and Drinkwater was pleased with their efforts and achievement. Perhaps he ought to be more charitable towards Lestock.

  'It is a little like Petersfield market, ain't it Mr Q?' he said, managing a grin. The boy smiled back. 'Aye sir. A little.'

  'How's your arm, Mr Q?'

  'Oh, well enough, sir. I can write, sir,' he added eagerly, 'so I'm keeping the logs, sir, and I saw the chronometer ashore safe, together with your quadrant and your books.'

  'You're a capital fellow, Mr Q, I had not thought of them at all.'

  'Tregembo got your sword and uniforms.' Drinkwater realised that he was surrounded by good fellows. Lestock could go hang. 'Thank you, Mr Q.'

  'They're all in the gunroom tent, sir.'

  Drinkwater suppressed a smile. It was inconceivable that it should be otherwise, but every space on the islet already had its nautical name. The hold was where the stores were stowed, the gunroom tent where the officers were quartered, the berth deck where the forecourse was draped over its yard to accommodate the hands.

  Drinkwater drained the blackstrap and handed the empty tankard back to Quilhampton. 'I had better do as Mistress Best directed me,' he said wrily.

  'Very well, sir. She's a most remarkable woman,' the boy added precociously.

  'She is indeed, Mr Q, she is indeed.'

  In the two days that followed they added a quarterdeck to His Majesty's stone sloop Hellebore, hoisting the ensign from a topgallant yard set and stayed vertically. They blasted a few coral heads out of the boat channel and surveyed another haven for the boats in case the wind changed. They tore the brig's rails to pieces to provide firewood for cooking and built a beacon on the low summit of the reef to ignite if any passing ship was sighted, and they built a lookout tower from where a proper watch was maintained, with an officer, mate and petty officer in continual attendance. They dragged three guns ashore with plans to construct a proper battery in due course, for Drinkwater realised that the men must be kept busy, although he was equally worried about drinking water and the demand on their stocks that such a policy would entail. But morale was good, for Daedalus and Fox were expected south within the month. Drinkwater's greatest worry was for Griffiths. The commander had suffered a severe shock over the loss of the brig. His malarial attack was, as he himself had predicted, a bad one, exacerbated by the wrecking. Appleby worried over him, but consoled Drinkwater, aware that the lieutenant had other things to worry about. That the old man was very ill was obvious, and the indisposed presence of Lieutenant Morris, who refused to exert himself beyond the self-preservation of his person and belongings, had all the appearance of a vulture waiting for his prey to die.

  On the morning of the fourth day they saw a large dhow. The vessel sailed slowly in towards the reef, clearly curious as to the islet's new inhabitants. But despite the firing of a gun and the friendly waves of a hundred arms it stood off to the eastwards. Spirits remained reasonably high, however, since it was confidently asserted that neither Fox nor Daedalus would miss them.

  Then, at dawn, twelve days later, away to the south-east the square topsails of two frigates were discerned. Summoned from his bedroom Drinkwater ordered the beacon lit and climbed the lookout post. At the top he levelled his glass. He was looking at the after sides of mizzen topsails: Daedalus and Fox had passed them in the night.

  For twenty-eight hours the Hellebores and their guests from the two now far distant frigates wallowed in the depths of despair. Even Drinkwater seemed exhausted of ideas but he eventually determined to fit out the Arab boat they had captured at Kosseir for a passage. The boat, too large to hoist aboard Hellebore, had been towing astern of the brig when she grounded. Although damaged she was repairable and the following morning Drinkwater had her beached and over-turned for repairs. The wrecked hull of Hellebore was once again resorted to for materials and by mid-afternoon a detectable lightening of spirits swept the camp.

  As the men went to their evening meal a dhow was seen to the eastward. The beacon was lit and the dhow was still in sight as the sun set. At dawn the next day it stood purposefully inshore and Drinkwater put off in Hellebore's gig. An hour later Mr Strangford Wrinch stood upon the sandy soil of Abu al Kizan.

  He looked curiously about him, resplendant in yellow boots, a green galabiya and white head-dress. He smiled. 'I learned of the presence of infidels upon this reef from a dhow that sighted you a fortnight ago. They spoke of many men waving and the wreck of a ship close by.' He paused, his face more hawk-like than ever. I also learned of another ship. A French ship…'

  'Santhonax?' asked Drinkwater eagerly. Wrinch nodded.

  'In'sh Allah, my dear fellow, it is the will of Allah.'

  Chapter Fifteen

  Santhonax

  September 1799

  Drinkwater moved forward on the heeling deck of the sambuk cursing the restrictions of the galabiya. The head-dress he found even less easy to handle as it masked his vision. He resolved to dispense with it the instant he could and turned his attention to the men cleaning small arms and sharpening cutlasses. Yusuf ben Ibrahim's Arab crew watched them with interest, shaking their heads over the crudity of the naval pattern sword.

  The sambuk sliced across the sea, heading east with the wind on the larboard quarter, the great curved yards of the lateen sails straining to drag the slender hull along, as if as impatient as Drinkwater to put the present matter to the test. Strangford Wrinch came on deck, his green robe fluttering in the wind. He nodded to Drinkwater, then opened his hand in invitation as he squatted down on a square of carpet. Drinkwater joined him.

  'Relax, Nathaniel,' said Wrinch, his dark eyes fixed on the face of the lieutenant and it occu
rred to Drinkwater that this strange man was not much older than himself. They fell to discussing the events of the previous weeks that had brought Wrinch so timely to their rescue.

  A day or two after Blankett had sent Daedalus and Fox to follow Hellebore north, a report had reached Wrinch that a mysterious ship had appeared off the coast of the Hejaz. It was soon identified as the frigate commanded by Santhonax who had apparently left off molesting the native craft. On the contrary the captain was now known to have distributed large sums of baksheesh for assistance in piloting his ship through the reefs off Rayikhah and Umm Uruma islands. When Wrinch had passed this information to Blankett the rear-admiral had waved Wrinch's apprehensions aside, assuring the agent that if the 'poxed frog' were dangerous Ball and Stuart would 'trounce him'. In the meantime his escape from the Red Sea was sealed off by Leopard's blockade of the Straits of Bab el Mandeb. Blankett did not apparently see the anomaly in this assertion, seeing that Leopard was comfortably anchored off Mocha and His Excellency was ashore seeking to board nothing more belligerent than a small seraglio of willing houris.

  Wrinch, however, did not suffer from the admiral's lethargy. He had in any event been supine for too long and set out north with a small entourage. After an overland journey of six hundred miles which he passed off with an inconsequential shrug, Wrinch and his mehari camels reached Jeddah. Here he found Yusuf ben Ibrahim, luxuriating after the sale of the prizes taken for him by the Hellebore in the action with La Torride. Wrinch kicked him out of bed and in the sambuk both men sailed north to Al Wejh, where positive news awaited them of a great French ship, lying a few leagues to the northward in a sharm, with her guns ashore. Santhonax was careening his ship, preparing her for the next stage of his campaign.

  'But what I don't comprehend, Strangford, is why a careenage on the Hejaz? Surely the Egyptian coast was more sensible, where he could contact Desaix.'

  'Ah, my dear fellow,' said Wrinch putting an intimate hand briefly upon Drinkwater's knee, 'You profess to know the man without quite comprehending the depths of his cunning. Certainly the Egyptian coast would appear the best, but he would be harried continuously by mamelukes. Murad Bey would never suffer him to be left in peace for long enough to cast a timenoguy over a bobstay or whatever he does,' concluded Wrinch in mock ignorance.

  'But Kosseir was held by the French. He could have done it there.'

  'Not so. You yourself went a-looking for him there. Certainly he could have defended himself at Kosseir but not left his ship defenceless while he carried out the necessary maintenance. No, Santhonax needed the last place you'd look, so he found an isolated careenage on the Arabian side. The sharms of the Hejaz are ideal for the purpose being the flooded ends of wadis, dry river beds that run into these shallow bays, often well protected by coral and intricate approaches to foil a surprise attack and break up the sea. The usual small village can provide some comforts for his men and the local headmen may be bribed with ease. Santhonax could lie for a month before taking alarm.' He paused, reaching for a paper beneath his galabiya. 'Now, this is my intention.'

  Drinkwater bent over the sketch-map. He listened to Wrinch's words, feeling excitement coiling inside him, remembering the drawn-out council of war that had been held in the gunroom tent of 'HM sloop Hellebore', a rocky islet in the middle of the Red Sea. Most he remembered its dramatic termination.

  Griffiths had been there, half conscious and lying in his cot. The worst of the fever was over and he had slept peacefully for some hours. Wrinch had presided with Drinkwater, Rogers, Lestock and Appleby in attendance. Morris had also insinuated his presence.

  Lestock was against the venture from the beginning. He was unable to see the strategic consequences of allowing Santhonax to refit and escape from his careenage. Appleby would embrace almost any expedient that got his precious patients to Mocha, a point that he made at considerable length, urging that the sambuk would more properly be employed in chasing Ball and Stuart and recalling them to attack the French frigate. 'For,' concluded the surgeon, 'it is patently obvious to even a non-combatant like myself that the presence of two frigates is decidedly superior to one.'

  'They were of damn-all use at Kosseir, Appleby,' said Rogers with a trace of recurring impatience.

  Drinkwater agreed. 'Besides,' he added cogently, 'virtually any delay will almost inevitably result in our losing this elusive Frenchman. And I for one, have not come all this way to lose the game to Edouard Santhonax.'

  'Bravo, Nathaniel,' said Wrinch. 'I think we may accommodate the dissenters,' he said urbanely. 'If, gentlemen, after say seven days we have not made our reappearance you could send Mr Lestock off in the boat you were preparing on my arrival. I will leave you a man capable of seeing you into Mocha.'

  Rogers accepted the idea of an attack on Santhonax with enthusiasm, while Lestock shook his head and mumbled his misgivings to Appleby. Morris remained silent, fitter than hitherto, but still with that predatory look of a man biding his time. Then, as they fell into groups and discussed the matter Griffiths sat up, fully conscious for the first time in days. He looked haggard and old beyond his years, the flesh hanging loosely about his face. But his eyes were bright with intelligence, like those of a child, instantly awake after a refreshing nap.

  'Wrinch? Good God man, is it you? What… where the devil are we? Nathaniel? Where the deuce…' Drinkwater detached himself and came over to the commander while Appleby called for water. He knelt down beside Griffiths and patiently began the long explanation. The questions Griffiths shot at him from time to time made it plain that the old man's senses had returned to him and at the end of Nathaniel's speech he threw off his sheets and rose unsteadily to his feet. 'Gentlemen, this is no longer a matter for debate. Make preparations at once. I shall command you myself, Nathaniel, pick forty able men, Mr Rogers prepare small arms… Mr Lestock, you may take charge in our absence. Mr Appleby will second you.' He swayed a trifle but, by an effort held himself upright.

  'Perhaps I might remind you, Commander Griffiths, that I am now fit enough to take command in your absence.' Morris spoke for the first time. Drinkwater opened his mouth to protest but Morris quickly added, 'After yourself I'm the senior officer.' His eyes met those of Drinkwater and the latter read the satisfaction of a small scoring over his enemy.

  'Oh, very well, Mr Morris, you may command the invalids and cripples. The rest of us will prepare ourselves to catch Reynard in his den.'

  Drinkwater did not let his mind dwell on the possible consequences of leaving Morris in charge of the island. He already had the amusing company of Dalziell, now perhaps he would exert his influence upon the scared rabbit Bruilhac or worse, the convalescing Quilhampton. There were also the ship's boys and, for added diversion, Catherine Best. Through her he might gain an advantage over Appleby, also a party to his former disgrace. Foreboding clouded Drinkwater's mind as he fought to concentrate on Wrinch's words. There had been a strange quiescence in Dalziell since Mr Morris came aboard. Drinkwater watched Wrinch's face, aware that he shared some of Morris's tastes, though to a less perverse degree. But what he found offensive in one, Nathaniel scarcely thought of in the other, associating Wrinch's peccadillo with his way of life.

  'So you see, Nathaniel, we shall observe the three basic principles of warfare. First simplicity of purpose, second detail in preparations, hence the galabiya with which I perceive you are not yet familiar, and thirdly the advantage of surprise in execution.'

  They reached Al Wejh after nightfall and anchored. A small boat was hauled over the side and Wrinch and Yusuf slipped ashore. Yusuf's men sat in a huddle and smoked hashish while Drinkwater briefed the Hellebores, explaining in detail what was to happen. Among the forty men selected for the enterprise were Tregembo and Kellett, together with most of the topmen, Mr Trussel and a party of the best gun captains. Mr Rogers was also there. Quilhampton had begged to come but Drinkwater had forbidden it. Instead he had entrusted a bundle of letters to the midshipman, 'in case of contingencies not, at this mome
nt, envisaged.'

  He went below and found Griffiths sleeping quietly in a hammock. At the moment of the final attack he hoped Griffiths would remain aboard the sambuk for he would be little use for anything else, weakened by the fever as he was. In the interim Drinkwater was glad to see him sleeping so peacefully. He returned to the deck and lay down. But he was restless and sat up, leaning against the bulwarks while the stars wheeled slowly overhead, aware that the smells of Al Wejh were unrelievedly noxious. He thought of Elizabeth and her child, curiously he could not think of it as his until he had seen it. He wondered if it were a boy or a girl and what Elizabeth had called it. In the darkness he whispered her name, very low, but loud enough to give it substance, to convince himself that somewhere a lady of this murmured name actually lived, and that reality was not Nathaniel Drinkwater sitting on the deck of a dhow dressed like an Arab horsethief, but a brown-haired woman with a child at her breast. Thinking thus he dozed.

  He woke at the sound of a boat bumping alongside. Wrinch had returned and they weighed anchor. In the calm of the night four sweeps propelled the dhow closer inshore and soon they secured alongside a stone pier. Striking the hold open they swung the great lateen yards round and laboured to gingerly lift each of the three six-pounders out of the hold and on to the waiting carts. It was dawn before the last gun had gone, followed by Mr Trussel and his gunners who departed with their powder and shot on a fourth cart.

  Wrinch came to say his farewells. He addressed Griffiths who was still in his huge nightshirt. 'It is all arranged Madoc. I had sufficient gold. Your artillery was a powerful persuader. Nathaniel is fully aware of the precise nature of my intentions. As for yourself, Madoc, I entreat you not to be quixotic. That you have come is sufficient. Let Nathaniel here lead the attack.'

  'I am a naval officer, not a mawkish schoolgirl to be cozened,' growled Griffiths. In a milder tone he added, 'be off with you. Give us your blue light when y're ready and you'll not find us wanting.' He held out his hand.

 

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