He was on the point of sending for the pair when he decided that, last night’s episode having gone unpunished though not unpublicised, he must make an example as public as the offence. And it was damned chilly aloft in these latitudes, he reflected grimly.
‘Mistah Singleton, sah!’ The marine sentry announced.
‘Come in! Ah, Mr Singleton, please take a seat. What can I do for you?’
‘First a message from Mr Bourne, sir, he says to tell you, with his compliments, that he has sighted the Earl Percy about three leagues to leeward but there is still no sign of the Provident.’
‘Thank you. I had thought we might have lost contact with more ships during the gale but these whaling fellows are superb seamen. Now, sir. What can I do for you? It was in my mind that you might like to address the men with a short sermon on Sunday. Nothing too prolix, you understand, but something appropriate to our present situation. Well, what d’you say?’
‘With pleasure, sir. Er, the other matter which I came about, sir, was the matter of the surgeon.’
‘Ahhh . . .’
‘Sir, Macpherson is reduced to a state of anorexy. I do not pretend that there is very much that can be done to save him. Already his groans are disturbing the men and he is given to almost constant ramblings and the occasional ravings of a lunatic.’
‘You have been to see him?’
Singleton sighed. ‘It seems you have carried the day, sir.’
Drinkwater smiled. ‘Don’t be down-hearted, Mr Singleton. I am sure that you would not wish to spend all your days aboard Melusine in idleness. If my gratitude is any consolation you have it in full measure.’
‘Thank you, sir. After you have landed me you will find that the whalers each have a surgeon, should you require one. I shall endeavour to instruct the aptest of my two mates.’
‘That is excellent. I shall make the adjustments necessary in the ship’s books and transfer the emoluments due to Macpherson . . .’
‘No, sir. I believe he has a daughter living. I shall have no need of money in Greenland and the daughter may as well have the benefit . . .’
‘That’s very handsome of you.’
‘There is one thing that I would ask, Captain Drinkwater.’
‘What is that?’
‘That we transfer Macpherson to the hold and that I be permitted to use his cabin.’
Drinkwater nodded. ‘Of course, Mr Singleton, and I’m obliged to you.’
The gale increased again with nightfall and Drinkwater waited until two bells in the first watch. An advocate of Middleton’s three watch system he liked to know who had the deck at any time during the twenty-four hours without the wearisome business of recollecting who had been the officer of the watch on his last visit to the quarterdeck. He wrapped his cloak about him and stepped out onto the berth deck. The marine sentry snapped to attention. Drinkwater ran up the ladder.
Melusine buried her lee rail and water rolled into the waist. The air was damp and cold, the clouds pressed down on the mastheads, obscuring the sky but not the persistent daylight of an Arctic summer. It was past nine in the evening, ship’s time, and in these latitudes the sun would not set for some weeks.
Drinkwater made for the lee rail, took a look at the convoy, remarked the position of the Nimrod as sagging off to leeward.
‘Mr Rispin, have the midshipmen of the watch make Nimrod’s number and order that he closes the commodore.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Drinkwater took himself across the deck to the weather rail where the vertical side of the ship deflected the approaching wind up and over his head, leaving its turbulence to irritate those less fortunate to leeward. He began to pace ruminatively up and down, feigning concentration upon some abtruse problem while he watched the two midshipmen carry out the simple order. After a little he called the lieutenant of the watch.
‘Mr Rispin, I desired you that the midshipmen of the watch hoisted the signal. Send that yeoman forward. How else do you expect the young gentlemen to learn without the occasional advantage of practical experience?’
The wind was strong enough to require a practised hand at the flag-halliards.
Expecting a fouled line or even the loss of one end of the halliard Drinkwater was secretly delighted when he observed Number Five flag rise upside down from the deck.
‘Mr Rispin!’
‘Sir?’
‘Have that yeoman called aft and instruct the young gentlemen in the correct manner to hoist numerals.’ The exchange was publicly aired for the benefit of the watch on deck. There were a number of grins visible.
When the signal had been hoisted and Nimrod’s attention been called to it by the firing of a gun, Drinkwater called the two midshipmen to him.
‘Well, gentlemen. What is your explanation of this abysmal ignorance?’
‘An error, sir,’ said Walmsley. Drinkwater leaned forward.
‘I detect, sir,’ he said, ‘that you have been drinking. What about you, Mr Glencross?’
‘Beg pardon, sir.’
‘We are not drunk, sir,’ added Walmsley.
‘Of course not, Mr Walmsley. A gentleman does not get drunk, does he now, eh?’
The midshipmen shook their contrite heads. Experience had taught them that submission would purchase them a quick release.
‘The problem is that I am not greatly interested in your qualities as gentlemen. You will find gentlemen forward among the lord mayor’s men, you will find gentlemen lolling at Bath or Tunbridge, you will find gentlemen aplenty in the messes of His Majesty’s regiments of foot and horse. Those are places proper to gentlemen with no other abilities to support them beyond a capacity for brandy.
‘You may, perhaps, also find gentlemen upon the quarterdeck of a British man-o’-war, but they have no right there unless they are first and foremost seamen and secondly officers, capable of setting a good example to their men.
‘In a few years you will be bringing men to the gratings for a check-shirt for the offence your gentility has led you into. Now, Mr Glencross, the fore topmasthead for you; and Mr Walmsley the main. There you may reflect upon the wisdom of what I have just told you.’
He watched the two young men begin to ascend the rigging. ‘Mr Rispin, bring them down at eight bells. And not a moment earlier.’
Chapter Seven
June 1803
The First Whales
Drinkwater turned from the stern window and seated himself at the table. He drew the opened journal towards him. The brilliant sunlight that reflected from the sea onto the deckhead of the cabin was again reflected onto his desk and the page before him. He picked up his pen and began to write.
The ships favouring the Spitzbergen grounds left us in latitude 72° North and 8° East’ly longitude. Among those left under my convoy are Faithful, Capt. Sawyers, and Narwhal, Capt. Harvey. Their appearance much changed as they disdain to shave north of the Arctic Circle. It fell calm the next morning and the air had a crystal purity. Towards evening I detected a curious luminosity to the northward, lying low across the horizon. This the whale-fishers denominate ‘ice blink’. Towards midnight, if such it can be described with no need to light the binnacle lamps, a steady breeze got up, whereupon the ships crowded on sail and stood to the northwards. At morning the ‘ice-blink’ was more pronounced and accompanied by a strange viscid appearance of the sea. There was also an eerie and subtle change in the atmosphere that seemed most detectable by the olfactory senses and yet could not be called a smell. By noon the reason for these strange phenomenae was apparent. A line of ice visible to the north and west. I perceived immediately the advantages of a ‘crow’s nest’. All are well on board . . .
He was interrupted by a loud and distant howl. It seemed to come from the hold and reminded Drinkwater of the unfortunate and now insane Macpherson.
. . . except for the surgeon, whose condition by its very nature, disturbs the peace of the ship.
But it was not Macpherson. The knock at the door was per
emptory and Quilhampton’s eager face filled with excitement. ‘Whales, sir, they’ve lowered boats in chase!’
‘Very well, Mr Q. I’ll be up directly.’
At a more sedate pace Drinkwater followed him on deck. He saw the whales almost immediately, three dark humps, moving slowly through the water towards the Melusine. In the calm sea they left a gentle wake trailing astern of their bluff heads, only a few whirls visible from the effort of their mighty tails. One of them humped its back and seemed to accelerate. A fine jet of steamy spray spouted from its spiracle. They crossed Melusine’s stern not one hundred feet away, their backs marked by some form of wart-like growths. From the rail Drinkwater could clearly see the sphinctal contractions of the blow-hole as the mighty creature spouted.
The watch, scattered at the rails and in the lower rigging were silent. There was something profoundly awe-inspiring in the progress of the three great humps, as they moved with a ponderous innocence through the plankton-rich water. But then the boats passed in energetic pursuit and Melusine’s people began to cheer. Drinkwater marked Sawyers Junior, pulling the bow oar of Faithful’s number two boat. He wore a sleeveless jerkin and a small brimmed hat. In the stern stood the boat-steerer, leaning on the long steering oar, the coloured flag attached to a staff with which they signalled their ship fluttered like an ensign.
Drinkwater also noticed Elijah Pucill sweep past in Faithful’s number one boat. There were more than a dozen boats engaged in the pursuit now, their crews pulling at their oar looms until they bent, springing from the water to whip back ready for the next stroke. Already the whalers were swinging their yards, to catch what breeze there was and work up in support of their boats.
‘Don’t impede the whalers, Mr Hill, let them pass before you trim the yards to follow.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
He looked again at the whales and saw they had disappeared. The boats slowed and Drinkwater watched a few kittiwakes wheel to the south and wondered if they could see the whales. Within a few minutes the boats were under way again, following the kittiwakes. But two boats had veered away at a right angle and Drinkwater noticed with sudden interest that they were from Faithful. He hauled himself up on the rail and, leaning against the mizen backstays, pulled out his Dollond glass.
There was a flurry of activity among the boats to the south. One had struck and its flag was up as the whale began to tow it. The other boats set off in pursuit. Drinkwater swung his glass back towards Sawyers and Pucill. They were no more than eight cables away and Drinkwater could see both men standing up in the bows of their boats while the crews did no more than paddle them steadily forward.
Then there was a faint shout and Drinkwater saw the whale. He saw a harpoon fly and Sawyers’s boat steerer throw up the flag. Pucill had dropped his harpoon and jumped back to his oar as Sawyers’s boat began to slide forward. A faint cloud of smoke enveloped the harpoon and Drinkwater remembered the bollard and a snaking line. He could see the splash of water from the piggin and then the rushing advance of the whale stopped abruptly and it sounded. Pucill’s boat came up alongside Sawyers’s and lay on its oars. Through the glass Drinkwater could see Pucill stand up again, both he and Sawyers hefting their lances. They stayed in this position for several minutes, like two sculptures and Drinkwater began to tire of trying to hold the glass steady. He lowered it and rubbed his eye. He was aware now of a cloud of seabirds, gathered as if from nowhere over this spot in the ocean. He could hear their cries and suddenly the whale breached. For a split second he saw its huge, ugly head with its wide, shiny portcullis of a mouth and the splashes of whitened skin beneath the lower lip that curled like a grotesque of a negro’s. The lances darted as the boats advanced and there was a splashing of foam and lashing of fins as the head submerged again and the back seemed to roll over. Then the tail emerged, huge, horizontally-fluked and menacing the boats as they back-watered. The crack as it slapped the water sounded like artillery, clearly audible to the watching Melusines. They saw the pale shape of a belly and the brief outline of a fin as the boats closed for the kill. The lances flashed in the sun and the beast seemed to ripple in its death flurry. Then Drinkwater was aware that the sea around the boats was turning red. Mysticetus had given up the ghost.
We passed into open pack ice, Drinkwater wrote, shortly before noon on 13th June 1803, in Latitude 74° 25’ North 2° 50’ East. We have sighted whales daily and taken many. The masters speak of a good year which pleases me after our previous melancholy expectations. In light winds the watch are much employed in working the ship through the ice. The officers have greatly benefitted from this experience and I have fewer qualms about their abilities than formerly. Mr Q. continues to justify my confidence in him while I find Mr Hill’s services as master indispensable. I believe Mr Germaney to be unwell, suffering from some torpor of the spirits. Singleton will say little beyond the fact that he suspects Germaney of suffering from the blue devils, which I conceive to be a piece of nautical conceit upon his part to deceive me as to the real nature of G’s complaint.
The people have been exercised at cutlass and small arms drill by Mr Mount and recently, when we had occasion, in the manner of the whale-ships, to moor to a large ice floe, they played a game of football.
There has been a plentiful supply of meat for the table, duck in particular being very fine. Seal and walrus have also been taken. While flensing, the carcases of the whales are frequently attacked by the Greenland Shark, a brown or grey fish some twenty odd feet in length. It is distinguished by a curious appendage from the iris of its eye. It makes good eating.
We have observed some fully developed icebergs. Their shapes are fantastical and almost magical and beggar description. In sunlight their colours range from brilliant white to a blue of . . .
Drinkwater paused. The strange and awesome sight of his first iceberg had both impressed and disquieted him for some reason that he could not fathom. Then it came to him. That pale ice-cold blue had been the colour of Ellerby’s eyes. He shook his head, as though clearing his mind of an unpleasant dream. Ellerby was two hundred and fifty miles to the north-east and could be forgotten. He resumed his journal: . . . impressive beauty. We have used them as a mark for exercising the guns which delights the people who love to see great lumps of ice flying from their frozen ramparts.
Drinkwater laid down his pen and rubbed his shoulder. Frequent exercise with the foil had undoubtedly eased it, but the cold became penetrating in close proximity to the ice and his shoulder sometimes ached intolerably. Palgrave’s decanter beckoned, but he resisted the temptation. Better to divert his mind by a brisk climb to his newfangled crow’s nest. He pulled the greygoe on and stepped out of the cabin. As he came on deck his nostrils quivered to the stimulating effect of the cold air. Swinging himself into the main shrouds he began to ascend the mainmast.
The crow’s nest had been built by the carpenter and his mate. It was a deep box, bound with iron and having a trap in its base through which to enter. Inside was a hook for a speaking trumpet and a rest for a long-glass. Turning the seaman on duty out of it from the top gallant mast cross trees, Drinkwater ascended the final few feet and wriggled up inside.
‘Nothink unusual, yer honour,’ the lookout had reported as they passed in the rigging. Settling himself on the closed trap Drinkwater swept the horizon. He could see open water to the south and a whaler which he recognised as one of the Whitby ships. The drift ice closed to open pack within a mile of them and he counted the whalers still inside the ice within sight of the ship. Reckoning on visibility of some forty miles, he was pleased to identify all his charges and to note that most had boats out among the floes. One ship’s boats were engaged in towing a whale, tail first, back to their ship while two vessels were engaged in flensing.
A number of tall, pinnacled bergs could be seen three or four miles away, while one huge castellated monster lay some ten miles off to the north-north-eastward.
Satisfied he lifted the trap with his toe by the rope g
rommet provided and eased himself down. Nodding to the waiting seaman at the cross trees. ‘Very well, Appleyard, up you go again.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ The man scrambled up to the relative warmth of the nest and Drinkwater noted the scantiness of his clothing. He descended to the deck where Bourne, the officer of the watch, saluted him. Drinkwater was warmed by the climb and in a good humour. ‘Mr Bourne, I’d be obliged if you and your midshipmen would join me for dinner.’
He went below and sent for the purser. When Mr Pater arrived Drinkwater ordered an issue of additional warm clothing at his own expense to be made to topmen. Then he sent for Mr Mount.
‘Sir?’ Mount stood rigidly to attention, promptly attentive to Drinkwater’s summons.
‘Ah, Mr Mount, I wish you to take advantage of every opportunity of taking seal and any bears to fabricate some additional warm clothing. Mr Pater informs me our stocks are barely adequate and I rely upon your talents with a musket to rectify the situation. See Mr Germaney and take a boat this afternoon. The signal for recall will be three guns.’
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