'Masthead there!'
Glencross's head appeared. 'D'you have anything in sight?'
'No, sir! There seems to be clear water to leeward of this floe, but no sails, sir.'
'Very well.' Drinkwater directed his thoughts to the fate of the Faithful. In which direction should he chase once he got clear of their present situation? He tried not to think of the possibility of their failing to clear the floe. Melusine was not fit for such work in these latitudes. He began to see the weaknesses of St Vincent's reforms undertaken in a mere temporary truce, while the protagonists of this great war caught their breath. But he had no time for further considerations. Bourne reported the guns ready.
'Very well. Forward battery to fire first and to reload as fast as possible. Fastest guns' crew will receive a double tot of rum. But no rolling fire, Mr Bourne, half broadsides only, to make best use of the recoil.'
'Aye, aye sir. I took the liberty of double-loading…'
'Have a care then, one round only doubled, Mr Bourne. See to it yourself and open fire without delay.'
Drinkwater clasped his hands behind his back with anxiety as Bourne ran along the deck. It would certainly make the ship recoil, double charging the guns like that. But it might also blow the chambers of the guns ..
'Fire!' The forward division of guns jerked back against their lashed breechings and their crews leapt round them, swabs and rammers plied as Melusine trembled. Drinkwater leaned over the side to see the rope to the longboat curve slightly.
'Pull, Mr Q! Pull!'
He saw Quilhampton wave as a sea swept over the bow of the boat. The after division of the larboard battery roared, the guns leaping against the capsquares on the restrained carriages.
Drinkwater strode to the larboard side and looked overboard. There was a slight gap between the Melusine's tumblehome and the ice edge. He raised his glance forward to see Gorton rigging out another foot of spare spar. They would not lose what they had gained. He must remember to congratulate Gorton on his initiative.
'Fire!' The forward division of six pounders roared again and this time Drinkwater saw the sloop move, her head falling off as Gorton rigged out his spar a little more. Aft, Hill let the fender down so that the larboard quarter could set in on the ice, increasing the angle with the floe. If they could achieve an angle of two points, twenty-two and a half degrees, they might theoretically sail off, but in practise a greater angle would be required, for they would fall back towards the ice as they got the ship underway. The after division fired a second time.
There was no doubt that they were gaining on the wind! But that too was increasing. The forward division fired a third time.
Gorton's spar jerked out again, but Drinkwater could see the strain it was bearing.
'Mr Bourne! Hold the after battery and reload the forrard. All guns to fire simultaneously!'
'Tops there! Let fall the instant the guns discharge!' The three midshipmen acknowledged. 'And, Mr Hill, direct the sheets to be hove to the yardarms the instant the buntlines are slackened!'
'Very well, sir!'
Drinkwater was sweating with excitement despite the numbness of his hands. Quilhampton's boat was a liability now, but he dare not cast if off just yet.
'Ready sir.'
'Very well, Mr Bourne. Fire!'
Melusine shuddered throughout her entire length. Somewhere amidships an ominous crack sounded. But it was not the spar. Gorton's party grunted and swore with effort as their yard, hove out with an extempore tackle at its heel, took up two feet of increased gap. Astern Melusine's larboard quarter ground against the pudding-fender.
Above his head the sails creaked and cracked with ice as the men at the sheets hove down on the frozen canvas.
'Hoist away fore and aft!' The staysail rose from the fo'c's'le head and behind him the spanker was hauled out upon its gaff and boom.
'I can't hold her, sir!' Gorton cried from forward. Drinkwater's heart thumped with anxiety as Melusine gathered way.
'No matter, Mr Gorton…' The last words were drowned in the splitting crack that came from Gorton's breaking topgallant yard. Melusine's head fell back towards the floe, but she was already gaining speed.
'Mr Gorton, cut the longboat free and hoist the jib!'
Drinkwater stared forward. 'Steady, keep her full and bye, quartermaster. Not an inch to loo'ard.'
'Nothing to loo'ard, sir, aye, aye.'
But she was falling back. The gap between the ice and Melusine's hull was narrowing.
It was too late to order another broadside prepared. He gritted his teeth and watched the inevitable occur. The shock of collision was jarring, knocking some unsuspecting men to the deck, but Melusine bounced clear and began to stand off the ice. Half an hour later she hove-to in comparatively clear water and waited for the longboat to come up.
Drinkwater looked up from the chart and tapped it with the dividers. Bourne and Hill bent over the table at the broken and imperfect line that delineated the east coast of Greenland. There were a few identifiable names far to the south, Cape Farewell and Cape Discord, then innumerable gaps until Hudson's anchorage of Hold with Hope.
'I believe our present situation to be here, some sixty leagues west-nor'-west of Trinity Island.
'I believe that the enemy approached from, and retired to, the south-west. We should have seen him earlier had he attacked from any other quarter and it argues favourably to my theory that it was Faithful he took, the ship most advanced into that quarter. In addition the last sighting of him and his prize was to the southwest and sailing on the same point. I therefore propose that we chase in that direction. It is inconceivable that he did not experience the fog and south-westerly gale that we have just had and it may be that he is not far away.'
'What about the other whale ships, sir?' asked the cautious Bourne.
Drinkwater looked at the young man. 'There are times when it is necessary to take risks, Mr Bourne. They are armed and alerted to the presence of enemy cruisers while Faithful was unarmed and is a prize. It argues for our honour as well as our duty that we pursue Faithful with a view to retaking her.'
'D'you think there are more French cruisers in the area, sir?'
'It's a possibility that there are. I have reason to believe there may be.'
'You were aware of the possibility?' asked Hill.
'Yes,' Drinkwater nodded. 'That is why Melusine was appointed escort to the whale-fleet.'
Drinkwater understood what Hill was implying. It made the capture of Faithful highly discreditable to Melusine and her commander, despite the practical impossibilities of policing the whole Greenland Sea.
'What about the Spitzbergen ships, sir?'
Drinkwater shrugged. 'One can only be in one place at one time, Mr Hill. Besides I believe that the capture of Faithful at least argues to our being in the right area, if not in the right position to prevent the capture. At all events, now it is our duty to reverse that. Do you have any more questions?'
First lieutenant and master shook their heads.
'Very well, gentlemen. In the meantime there is no need to impress upon you the necessity of keeping a sharp lookout.'
Chapter Fourteen
The Corsair
July 1803
Drinkwater awoke from a dream that had not disturbed him for many months since the nightmares of his delirium following the wounding he had received off Boulogne. But it terrified him as much as upon the first occasion he had experienced it, as a callow and frightened midshipman on the frigate Cyclops. Again the terrifying inability to move laid him supine beneath the advance of the ghastly white lady who over-rode his body to the accompanying clanking of chains. Over the years the white lady had assumed different guises. She had appeared to him with the face of Hortense Santhonax, sister to one of the French Republic's most daring frigate captains and secret agents, or as the sodomite tyrant of Cyclops's cockpit, the unspeakably evil Augustus Morris. Now she had a visage as cold as the icebergs that had given him so many night
mares of a more tangible nature in recent weeks. Her eyes had been of that piercing and translucent blue he had noticed forming in the shadows of pinnacles and spires. Although she changed her appearance Drinkwater knew the white lady had not lost the power to awake in him a strong feeling of presentiment.
He lay perspiring, despite the fact that his exposed feet were registering air at a temperature well below the freezing of water. He began to relax as he heard the rudder grind. It had been grinding so long now with so little apparent ill-effect that he had almost ceased to worry about it. Was he being cautioned by fate to pay it more attention? He tossed aside the blankets and with them such a childish notion. He was about to call the sentry to pass word for Tregembo when he considered it was probably still night, despite the light that came through the cabin windows.
He had almost forgotten the dream as he ascended to the deck. But its superstitious hold was once more thrown over him as he stepped clear of the ladder.
Meetuck turned from the rail where he seemed to have been looking at something, and his almond eyes fell upon Drinkwater with an almost hostile glare. The eskimo, whom Drinkwater had not seen for several days, took a step towards him. Meetuck was muttering something: then he halted, looked at his arm, which was still splinted, shrugged and turned forward.
Mystified by this pantomime Drinkwater nodded to Mr Bourne, who had the deck, and swung himself into the main rigging, reaching the crow's nest and ousting Glencross who appeared to have made himself comfortable with a small flask of rum and a bag of biscuit.
'You may leave that there, Mr Glencross. I doubt you'll be requiring them on deck.' The midshipman cast a rueful glance at the rum and mumbled, 'Aye, aye, sir.'
'I shall return the flask, Mr Glencross, in due course.'
Drinkwater settled himself down with the telescope. In five minutes all thoughts of dreams or eskimos had been driven from his mind. The wind had held steady from the north and they sailed through an almost clear sea, the bergs within five miles being largely decayed and eroded into soft outlines. More distant bergs presented a fantastic picture which increased in its improbability as he watched. Munching his way through Glencross's biscuit and warmed by the rum, he had been aloft for over an hour, enjoying the spectacle of increasing refraction as the sun climbed. The distant icebergs, floes and hummocks seemed cast into every possible shape the imagination could devise. He sighted a number of polar bears and numerous seals lay basking upon low ice. Once the ship passed through a school of narwhals, the males with their curious twisted swords. He saw, too, a number of grampuses, their black and livid white skin a brilliant contrast to the sea as they gambolled like huge dolphins in Melusine's wake as she pressed south-west. Drinkwater was reminded of Sawyers and the whale-captain's regard for the works of God in Arctic waters. He was also reminded of Sawyers's present plight.
It was four bells into the morning watch before Drinkwater saw what he had been looking for, amid the ice pinnacles on their starboard bow, almost indistinguishable from them except to one who had a hunter's keenness of purpose. The edges of sails, betrayed by the inverted image of two ships, their waterlines uppermost, jutted dark into the glare of the sky. They were perhaps thirty miles away and the easing of the wind and the comparative simplicity of navigation through such loose ice suited the slight and slender Melusine.
Descending to the deck, Drinkwater passed orders for the course to be amended three points closer to the wind and the corvette to hoist a press of sail. He doubted if Melusine presented such a conspicuous picture to the enemy, given her relative position to the sun, but if they were spotted he felt sure the ship's speed would close the gap between them and the distant Faithful, whose sea-keeping qualities were far superior to her speed.
At noon the distance between them had closed appreciably and at the end of the first dog-watch the enemy could be clearly seen from the head of the lower masts.
Drinkwater dined with Singleton and Bourne, remarking on the way the eskimo had startled him that morning.
'You mean you thought he had some hostile intent, sir?' asked Singleton.
'Oh, I conceived that impression for a second or two. His appearance was aggressive, but he seemed suddenly to recall some obligation relative to his arm.'
'So he damned well should,' said Bourne.
'Can you recall what he said to you, Captain?' asked Singleton, ignoring Bourne.
Drinkwater swallowed his wine and frowned. 'Not perfectly, but I recall something like "gavloonack"…'
'Gavdlunaq?'
'Yes, I think that was it. Why? Does it signify to you?'
'It means "white man". Was there anything else?'
Drinkwater thought again. 'Yes, nothing I could repeat though. Oh, he mentioned that place he said he came from…'
'Nagtoralik?'
'Aye, that was it, Nagtoralik.' Drinkwater experimented with the strange word. 'A place with eagles, didn't you say?'
'Yes, that's right, but I don't recall eagles being mentioned by Egede…'
Drinkwater threw back his head and laughed. 'Oh, come, Mr Singleton, you academics! If a thing ain't in print in some dusty library it don't signify that it don't exist.' Bourne joined in the laughter and Singleton flushed.
'There is a Greenland Falcon, the Falco Rusticolus Candicans of Gmelin which the innuits, in their unfamiliarity with the order Aves, may mistake for eagles. It is possible that an error in nomenclature took place in translation…' Bourne chuckled at Singleton's seriousness as Drinkwater said, somewhat archly, 'Indeed that may be the case, Mr Singleton.'
A silence filled the cabin. Singleton frowned. 'To return to Meetuck, sir. You can recall nothing further, nothing specific, I mean?'
Drinkwater shook his head. 'No. He was looking over the side, saw me, turned and advanced, uttered this imprecation, looked at his arm and went off forward. I can scarcely expect anything better from a savage.' Then Drinkwater became aware of something preoccupied about Singleton. 'What is it, Mr Singleton? Why are you so interested in an incident of no importance?'
Singleton leaned back in his chair. 'Because I believe it may indeed be of some significance, sir. I understand you are chasing to the south-west, chasing an enemy ship, a French ship perhaps?'
Drinkwater looked at Bourne enquiringly. The first lieutenant shrugged. 'Yes,' said Drinkwater, 'that is correct.'
'Why do you think this ship is running south-west, sir?'
'Well, Mr Singleton, the wind is favourable, she is luring us away from our other charges and the sea is less encumbered by ice in this direction.'
'It is also in the direction of the coast, sir.'
'And…?'
'And I believe Meetuck, though he is not very intelligent, even for an eskimo, has seen white men before, white men who have been hostile to him. I believe that before setting out on the ice he may have come from the Greenland coast where white men were…'
'Frenchmen?' broke in Bourne.
'It is possible,' said Singleton, turning to the lieutenant.
'It is indeed,' said Drinkwater thoughtfully, remembering the cautionary words of Lord Dungarth in his room at the Admiralty.
'You have some information upon that point, Captain?' asked Singleton shrewdly, but before Drinkwater could reply the cabin door burst open. Midshipman Lord Walmsley stood in the doorway. His usual look of studied contempt was replaced by alarm.
'An enemy, sir, to windward a bare league…'
Drinkwater rose. 'Beat to quarters, damn it!'
Mr Rispin had been caught out again. The enemy ship had clearly sighted the pursuing sloop and whether she knew Melusine for a naval ship or took her for a whaler, she had left Faithful to head west-south-west alone and doubled back unobserved, to lurk behind a berg until Melusine came up. Drinkwater reached the quarterdeck as the marine drummer beat the rafale.
'Who was your masthead lookout, Mr Rispin?' he asked venomously, casting round for the enemy. He saw the Frenchman immediately, frigate-built and with the tri
colour flying from her peak.
'As bold as bloody brass,' said Hill, taking up his station on the quarterdeck alongside the captain.
'Well sir?' Drinkwater stared unblinkingly at Rispin.
'Lord Walmsley, sir.'
'God damn and blast his lordship!'
'D'you wish me to take in sail, sir?'
'Aye, Mr Hill, turn down-wind and get the stuns'ls in. Mr Bourne, don't show our teeth yet, all guns load canister and ball but hold 'em inboard with closed ports.'
Hill altered course and Drinkwater watched the yards squared and the topmen work aloft, stiff monkeys in the frozen air as the studding sails fluttered on deck. He looked astern. A dozen burgomaster gulls flew in their wake and a few fulmars swept the sea to starboard but he no longer had time for such natural wonders. He was studying the strange ship coming up on their starboard quarter.
She was bigger than themselves, a frigate of twenty-eight guns, he reckoned, more than a match for the Melusine and wearing French colours.
A shot plunged into the water just astern of them. A second following a minute later struck the hull beneath his feet. Drinkwater hoped Cawkwell had lowered the window sashes. A third ball plunged under their stern. Her guns were well served and there was no doubt that, whether a national frigate or a well-appointed corsair, she was determined upon making a prize of the Melusine.
Drinkwater set his mouth in a grim line. He had fought the Romaine off the Cape of Good Hope from a position of disadvantage, but now there were no British cruisers in the offing to rescue him.
'Ship's cleared for action, sir.' Bourne touched his hat.
Drinkwater turned forward and looked along the deck. The gun crews were kneeling at their posts, the midshipmen with their parties in the fore and main tops, two men at each topgallant crossing and marines aloft in the mizen top. The sail trimmers were at the rails and pins; on the fo'c's'le the bosun stood, his silver whistle about his neck. The helm was in the hands of the two quartermasters with Mr Quilhampton standing casually alongside, his wooden hand holding the log slate. Gorton and Rispin commanded the two batteries, seconded by Glencross and Walmsley, while Mr Frey attended the quarterdeck, with Drinkwater, Hill, Bourne and Lieutenant Mount, whose marines lined the hammock nettings.
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