The Bomb Vessel nd-4

by Ричард Вудмен

'God's bones!' Drinkwater shuddered as the raw spirit hit his empty stomach. 'Thanks Sam.'

  'I've called all hands and got the galley stove fired up to fill 'em full of burgoo and molasses for ballast.'

  'Very good. Did you enjoy your dinner?'

  'Yes, thank you. Old Lettsom trilled us some jolly airs and Matchett sung us "Tom Bowling" and some other stuff by Dibdin.' He paused and seemed to be considering something.

  'What is it?'

  'Jex, sir…'

  'Oh?'

  'Acted rather oddly. Left us abruptly in the middle of dinner and we found him sitting on the bowsprit, tight as a tick and crying his bloody eyes out.'

  'What time was this? Did any of the men see?'

  'Well some did, sir. It happened about ten last night. Lettsom made us put him to bed, though I was inclined to put him under arrest…'

  'No, no. You have been a trifle hard on him, Sam.'

  'Bloody man's a coward, sir…'

  'That's a stiff allegation to make. D'you have evidence to support it?'

  'Aye, during the action with the luggers we found him cowering on the spare sails.'

  'Why didn't you report him then?' asked Drinkwater sharply, getting up. Rogers was silent for a moment.

  'Saw no point in bothering you…'

  'Kept damned silent for your own purposes, more like it,' Drinkwater suddenly blazed. 'Jex is the worst kind of purser, Sam, but I had the measure of the man and now you have goaded him to this extreme…' Drinkwater fell silent as Tregembo knocked and entered the cabin. He brought a huge bowl of steaming hot water and put it down on the cabin chest, then he bustled about, laying out Drinkwater's best uniform and clean undergarments.

  'You're worse than a bloody wife, Tregembo,' said Drinkwater partially recovering his good temper as the rum spread through him.

  'Very well, Mr Rogers,' he said at last, 'let us forget the matter. As long as he stands to his station today we'll say no more about any aspect of it.'

  'Aye, aye, sir,' replied Rogers woodenly, leaving the cabin.

  After Tregembo had left Drinkwater stripped himself, decanted a little water with which to shave then lifted the bowl of water onto the deck. For a few shuddering moments he immersed as much of himself as he could, dabbing half-heartedly with a bar of soap and drying himself quickly. Bathing and putting on clean underwear was chiefly to reduce infection of any wounds he might suffer but, in fact, it raised his morale and when he stepped on deck in the dawn, his boat cloak over two shirts and his best coat, he had forgotten the labours of the night.

  He paced the poop in the growing light, looking up occasionally at the masthead pendant to check the wind had not shifted. He could scarcely believe that after all the delays, disappointments and hardships, the wind that had played them so foul for so long should actually swing into the required quarter as if on cue.

  Tregembo approached him with a crestfallen look. 'Mr Drinkwater, zur.'

  'Eh? What is it Tregembo?'

  'Your sword, zur, you forgot your sword.'

  'Ah… er, yes, I'm sorry, and thank you for attending to it yesterday.'

  Tregembo grunted and handed the weapon over. Drinkwater took it. The leather scabbard was badly worn, the brass ferrule at the end scratched. The stitching of the scabbard was missing at one point and the rings were almost worn through where they fastened to the sling. He half drew the blade. The wicked, thin steel glinted dully, the brass hilt was notched and scored where it had guarded off more than a few blows and the heavy pommel, that counterbalanced the blade and made the weapon such a joy to handle, reminded him of a slithering fight on the deck of a French lugger when he had consigned a man to oblivion with its weight. The thought of that unknown Frenchman's murder made him think of Edward and he looked at the horizon to the north west, where the spires of Copenhagen were emerging from the night. He could see the line of the Danish ships, even pick out the tiny points of colour where their red ensigns already fluttered above the batteries. He buckled on the sword.

  A feeling that something was wrong entered his head and it was some time before he detected its cause. The boat marking the southern end of the Middle Ground was missing.

  It was clear Nelson had not slept. Drinkwater learned afterwards that he had laid down in his cot and spent the night dictating. He reported the missing mark only to hear that Nelson had already been informed and had sent for Brisbane to move Cruizer onto the spot and anchor there as a mark.

  'Thanks to you and Hardy we have the bearing from Elephant so Brisbane should have no very great trouble.'

  'Yes, my lord.'

  'Come, Drinkwater, help yourself to some coffee from the sideboard there…'

  'Thank you, my lord.'

  'There should be something to eat, I shall be sending for all captains shortly so you may as well wait. Ah Foley…' Drinkwater did as he was bid, breakfasted and tried not to eavesdrop on Nelson's complex conversations with a variety of officers, secretaries and messengers who seemed to come into the cabin in an endless procession.

  At seven o'clock every commander in Nelson's division had assembled on board the Elephant. Among the blue coats the scarlet of Colonel Stewart and Lieutenant-Colonel Brock commanding the detachment of the 49th Foot made a bright splash of colour, while the dull rifle-green of Captain Beckwith's uniform reflected a grimmer aspect of war.

  Apart from the council aboard the flagship the British fleet seethed with activity. Drinkwater had little choice but to trust to the energies of Rogers and Tumilty in preparing the Virago for action, but he was learning that as a commander in such a complex operation as that intended by Nelson, it was more important to comprehend his admiral's intentions. Boats swarmed about the ships. On the decks of the battleships red-coated infantrymen drilled under their sergeants and were inspected by the indolent subalterns. Mates and lieutenants manoeuvred the big flat-boats into station while on every ship the chain slings were passed round the yards, the bulkheads knocked down, the boats not already in the water got outboard and towed astern, the nettings rigged and the decks sanded. Officers frequently glanced up at the masthead to see if the wind still held favourable.

  Nelson explained his intended tactics by first describing the Danish line of defence:

  'The enemy has eighteen vessels along the western side of the King's Deep. They mount some seven hundred guns of which over half are estimated to be above twenty-four pounds calibre. At the northern end, the line is supported by the Trekroner Forts. It is also supported by shore batteries like the Lynetten…' Each officer bent over his copy of the chart and made notes. Nelson went on, '… the force of the batteries is thought to be considerable and may include furnaces for heating shot. The Trekroner also appears to be supported by two additional heavy blockships.

  'The channel into the port, dockyard and arsenal lies behind the Trekroner Forts and joins with the King's Channel just north of the forts. It is thought to be closed by a chain boom and is covered by enfilading fire from batteries on the land. Other ships, a seventy-four, a heavy frigate and some brigs and smaller vessels are anchored on this line.

  'Batteries are also mounted on Amager, supporting the southern end of the line. In all the Danish defences extend four miles.'

  The admiral paused and sipped from a glass of water. Drinkwater thought his face looked grey with worry but a fierce light darted from his one good eye and he watched the expressions of his captains as if seeking a weakness. He cleared his throat and went on.

  'Each of you will receive written orders as to your station in the action from my secretary as you leave. These are as concise as possible and written on card for ease of handling. However it is my intention to explain the general plan to avoid needless confusion.

  'As you have already been made aware, all the line of battleships are to have their anchors ready for letting go by the stern. They will anchor immediately upon coming abreast of their allotted target. Edgar will lead with Mr Briarly temporarily serving in her. Fire may be opened at
your discretion. Captain Riou in Amazon is to take Blanche, Alemène, Arrow and Dart and co-operate with the van in silencing the guns commanding the harbour mouth, or as other circumstances might require. The bomb vessels will take station outside the line of battleships and throw their shells into the dockyard and arsenal. Captain Rose in the Jamaica, frigate, is to take the gun-brigs into position for raking the line at its southern end, thus discouraging reinforcement of the floating batteries from the shore. Captain Inman in Désirée will also take up this station. Captain Fremantle with five hundred seamen will concert his action with Colonel Stewart and the 49th Regiment to embark in the flat-boats and storm the Trekroner Forts as soon as their fire is silenced.' Nelson looked round the assembly. 'It looks formidable to those who are children at war,' he said smiling inspiringly, Imt to my judgement, with ten sail of the line I think I can annihilate them.' There was a murmur of agreement. 'That is all. Are there any questions? Very well then. To your posts, gentlemen, and success to His Majesty's Arms.'

  The captains, commanders and lieutenants-in-command filed out, collecting their written instructions as directed and Drinkwater, looking for his boat among the throng of craft pressing alongside Elephant's flanks, found himself button-holed by Mr Briarly of the Bellona.

  'Hold hard, sir. I ask you for your support for a moment. Lord Nelson has sent for masters and these damned pilots. They are still arguing about the approach to the King's Deep. You know Fothergill's boat is missing this morning?'

  'Aye, it must have been driven off station by an ice floe, I warned…'

  Briarly nodded. 'I heard,' he broke in impatiently, 'Look, Mr Drinkwater, you seem to have the admiral's ear, can you not persuade him that although there may be greater water on the Middle Ground side it is so steep-to that a small miscalculation…'

  'Mr Briarly, his lordship has appointed you to lead the fleet in Edgar, surely the rest will follow.' Drinkwater was getting anxious about preparations aboard Virago.

  'I was out this morning at first light, if each ship steers with…' he pointed out some conspicuous marks to Drinkwater which ensured a lead through the King's Deep.

  'Are you certain of that?'

  'Positive.'

  'And will tell the admiral so?' Briarly nodded. 'Then I am certain you will carry the day, Mr Briarly. I am sure you do not need my assistance and I beg you let me return to my ship…'

  'Morning, Drinkwater.' Drinkwater turned to find Martin at his other elbow.

  'Good morning sir,' Drinkwater said absently, fishing in his pocket and remembering he had left his pocket compass in his greygoe. He would have liked to check the bearing of Cruizer to ensure Brisbane had anchored her in the correct place. Briarly had already gone to try and brow-beat the pilots.

  'You are to be in the battle, Drinkwater,' said Martin, 'thanks to my good offices.'

  'Yours sir?' Drinkwater looked up in astonishment. Martin nodded.

  'I put in a good word for you the other day when I attended Lord Nelson.'

  Drinkwater choked back an insubordinate laugh. 'Ah… I see… er, I'm greatly obliged to you sir.' And then he added with irresistible impishness, 'I shall inform Lord Dungarth of my obligation to you.'

  Martin further astonished him by failing to see the implied sarcasm. 'I'd be vastly pleased if you would my dear fellow, vastly pleased.'

  It was only when he was being pulled back to Virago that he remembered he had failed to take a bearing of the Cruizer from the Elephant.

  'The admiral's just hoisted Number 14, sir,' reported Rogers as Drinkwater returned once again to Virago. '"Prepare for battle and for anchoring with springs on the anchors and the end of the sheet cable taken in at the stern port."'

  'Very well.'

  'The ship is cleared for action, sir.'

  'Very well, I shall make my rounds now. Mr Easton! Mr Easton be so good as to attend the flagship's signals. Here,' he handed his instruction card to the master, 'Study that. I do not anticipate weighing until after the line of battle ships.'

  Drinkwater led the way below with Rogers following. In the cabin space the bulkheads had been hinged up so that the after car-ronades and stern chasers could be fired if necessary. 'Only the gun captains and powder monkeys to remain with these guns, Mr Rogers. All other men to be mustered on deck as sailtrimmers, firemen or for Mr Tumilty's shell hoists…'

  'Aye, aye, sir.'

  Drinkwater looked at the place where his table had so long stood. Beneath it the previously locked hatch to the magazine had been removed. An artillery private armed with a short fusil stood guard over it.

  'Mr Trussel and Bombardier Hite are below, sir. The felt curtains are well doused and Mr Tumilty is satisfied.'

  Two men emerged carrying a box each. 'Mr Willerton's powder boxes, sir, checked for leaks and found correct.' Drinkwater remembered Tumilty's strictness on this point. A leaking powder box laid a gradual powder train directly from the deck to the magazine.

  'Very well.' He nodded encouragingly at the men and reas-cended to the poop, striding the length of the waist alongside the carronades.

  'Same arrangement for the waist batteries, Mr Rogers…'

  'Aye, aye, sir.'

  Drinkwater climbed onto the fo'c's'le where Matchett had his party of veteran seamen at the senior station. 'You will have the anchor ready?'

  'Aye, sir. With a spring upon it sir, as soon as it's weighed and sighted clear.'

  'Very good, Mr Matchett. Leave the spring slack when we anchor again. It is the line of battle ships his lordship wished to anchor by the stern to bring them swiftly into action and avoid the delays and risks in being raked as they swing. We shall most likely anchor by the head.'

  'Aye, aye, sir.'

  'Good luck, Mr Matchett… Mr Willerton what the devil are you up to?'

  Willerton appeared suddenly from the heads with a pot of red paint in his hand and his eyes innocently blue in the sunshine that was now breaking through the cloud.

  'Attending to my leddy, sir, giving her a nice red tongue and lips to smack at the Frogs, sir.'

  Drinkwater smiled. 'They ain't Frogs, Mr Willerton, they're Danes.'

  'All the same to 'er leddyship, sir.'

  Drinkwater burst out laughing and turned aft, nodding to the men waiting by the windlass. 'You may heave her dead short, my lads.'

  Dropping below by the forward hatch he ran into Lieutenant Tumilty who was no longer his usual flippant self but wore an expression of stern concentration. He was also uncharacteristically formal.

  'Good morning sir. My preparations are all but complete. If you wish I will show you the arrangements I have made.' They walked aft through the hold where Virago's four score seamen had lived and messed, past the remaining cables and the space cleared for the artillerymen.

  At the after end a hatch opened into the stern quarters giving access to the magazine under Drinkwater's cabin. Tumilty held out his arm.

  'No further sir, without felt boots.'

  'Of course,' said Drinkwater, almost colliding with Tumilty.

  'Hite and Trussel are filling the carcases, the empty shells, with white powder. Hobbs here is sentry and will assist if the action goes on long…' Drinkwater nodded at another artillery-man who carried not a fusil, in such dangerous proximity to the magazine, but a truncheon. 'Once filled, the shells come through here to the after shell room.' Tumilty turned forward, indicating the huge baulks of timber below the after, thirteen-inch, mortar that formed a cavity in which the shells were lodged. Above his head a small hatch had been opened, admitting a patch of light below.

  'We, or rather Rogers's men, whip up the charged shells through that hatch to the mortar above…'

  'What about fuses?' asked Drinkwater.

  'As you see the shells are all wooden plugged for storage. I cut the fuses on the fo'c's'le. It's clear of seamen once Matchett quits fooling with his anchors; he'll be busy aft here, whipping up the shells. I rig leather dodgers to protect the fuses from sparks. The sergeant or myse
lf will cut the fuses. This controls the time of explosion. Time of flight, and hence range, is decided by the charge in the chamber of the mortar. As I was saying, the fuse is of special composition and burns four tenths of an inch per minute. A thousand yard flight takes 2.56 seconds, so you see, Nat'aniel, 'tis a matter for a man of science, eh?'

  'Indeed, Tom, it is… what of the ten-inch shells forward?'

  'They go up in shell hooks. Now, I've had all hands at mortar stations twice in your absence and they all know what to do. I think we'll take it easy to begin with but we should be firing more than one shell a minute from each gun when we get the range.'

  'What about the dangers of fire? I understand they're considerable…'

  'Mr Jex's party are well briefed. We've wet tarpaulins handy to go over the side, buckets and tubs o' water all over the deck and in the tops… sure an' 'twill be like nothing you've ever seen in your life, Nat'aniel,' Tumilty smiled, recovering some of his former flippancy.

  'Sir! Sir!' Quilhampton scrambled over a pile of rope and caught hold of Drinkwater's arm. 'Beggin' your pardon, sir, but Mr Rogers says to tell you that the admiral's hoisted Number 66 and the preparative, sir, "General order to weight an' the leeward ships first."'

  'Thank you, Mr Q, I'll be up directly.'

  Drinkwater arrived on the poop, reached in his tail pocket and whipped out his Dollond glass. Already the fleet was in motion. On their larboard bow, just beyond the bomb vessel Volcano, the lovely Agamemnon was hoisting her topsails. Edgar was already under way, her yards being braced round and the canvas stiffening with wind. Water appeared white at her bow and somewhere a shout and three cheers were called for. Several of the ships cheered their consorts as the naval might of Great Britain got under way. Drinkwater's fatigue, aches, pains and worries vanished as his heart-beat quickened and the old familiar exciting tingle shot down his spine.

  They might be dead in an hour but, by God, this was a moment worth living for! He tried to mask his idiotic enthusiasm and turned aft to begin pacing the poop in an effort to repress his emotions and appear calm.

  Bunting rose and broke from Elephant's yard arms as hard-pressed signalmen sweated to convey Nelson's last minute orders to the ships. Happily in the confusion none applied to the bomb vessels.