Ричард Вудмен - The Corvette

With ponderous contempt the big man turned slowly.

'What is your name?'

The big man retraced his steps, intimidating Drinkwater with his height. 'Ellerby, Jemmett Ellerby of the Nimrod .' Drinkwater put out his hand to prevent a further dismissal.

'I understood, Captain Ellerby,' he said quickly but in a voice that carried to the curious group behind him, 'I understood you had a reputation for good manners. It seemed I was mistaken. Good day to you, gentlemen.'

'No, sir, you may not go ashore. I require the services of three midshipmen as clerks this afternoon to make copies of my orders to the convoy. You must make the final rounds of the ship to ensure that she is ready to weigh tomorrow morning. We will refill our water casks in Shetland so you may stum a few casks in readiness. Tell me, did Captain Palgrave lay in a store of practice powder?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Lieutenant Germaney unhappily.

'Good. Will you direct the purser to attend me and extend to the gunroom my invitation to dinner. Mr Quilhampton and Mr Gorton are also invited. I shall rate Mr Gorton as master's mate. As for the rest of the young gentlemen I may make their acquaintance in due course.' He turned and peered through the stern windows at the high, white mare's tails in the west.

'We shall have a westerly breeze in the morning,' he rose, 'that is all.'

'Aye, aye, sir. There is a gentleman come aboard, sir, with a trunk and God knows what besides. He has a letter of introduction and says he is to sail with us.'

Drinkwater frowned. 'Sail with us? What imposition is this?'

Germaney shrugged. 'He is in the gunroom.'

'Send him in.'

'Yes, sir… sir, may I not take an hour…?'

'God's bones, Mr Germaney, can you not take no for an answer! We are about to sail for the Arctic, you have a hundred and one things to attend to. I have no objection to your sending a midshipman ashore on an errand. Send Dutfield or Wickham, neither can write a decent hand, judging from their journals. Now where the devil is that pen…?'

Drinkwater cursed himself for a fool. In the luxury of Palgrave's cabin he had forgotten he was without half of his own necessaries. Tregembo had not yet arrived and here he was giving orders to sail!

He swore again, furious with Palgrave, Ellerby and that cabal of whale-ship masters that had distracted him. Sudden misgivings about Germaney's competence and the fitness of his ship for Polar service seized him. He had made no preparations himself, relying on those made by Palgrave. But now Palgrave's whole reputation threw doubts upon the matter. He remembered Ellerby's taunt about being a novice in Arctic navigation. His eyes fell on the decanter and he half-rose from the table when a knock came at the door.

'Yes?'

The man who entered was dressed from head to foot in black. He was about thirty years of age with hair short cropped and thinning. His features were strong and his shaved beard gave his lantern jaw a blue appearance. His brown eyes were full of confidence and his self-assurance had led him into the centre of the cabin where the skylight allowed him to draw himself up to his full height.

'I give you good day, sir. My credentials.' He handed Drinkwater a packet sealed with the fouled anchor wafer of the Admiralty. It contained a second letter and simply instructed Captain Drinkwater to afford every facility to the bearer consistent with the service he was presently engaged upon, as was set out in the bearer's letter of introduction.

Drinkwater opened the enclosed letter. It was dated from London three days earlier.

Honourable Sir,

Having been lately acquainted with Their Lordships' Intention of despatching a ship into Arctic Regions, the Governors of this body conceived it their Christian Duty to carry the word of Christ to the peoples Domiciled upon the Coasts of Greenland. It is with this purpose in mind that you are asked to convey thither the bearer of this letter, the Reverend Obadiah Singleton, D.D., M.D.

Your landing him at a Settlement of the Esquimaux, or causing him to be landed at some such Settlement, will assure you the Warmest Approbation from this Society for your furtherance in the Spread of the Christian Gospel.

The signature was illegible but was accredited to the Secretary of the Church Missionary Society.

Drinkwater put down the letter and looked up. He was beginning to feel the burden of command too great for him and the decanter beckoned seductively.

'Mr Singleton, pray take a seat. Will you take a glass of wine?' He rose.

'I do not drink intoxicating liquors, sir.' Drinkwater sat again, aware that the splendid isolation, the power and the purpose of command was, in reality, a myth. Only men like Palgrave sustained the illusion.

'Mr Singleton, are you aware of the extreme climate of the Arctic regions? Do you mean to winter there among the Eskimos?'

'I do, sir.'

'Entirely alone?'

'With God, sir,' Singleton answered with devastating simplicity. Drinkwater rose, a sense of helpless exasperation filling him. Almost defiantly he helped himself from the decanter, ignoring the disapproval in Singleton's eyes. Well damn Singleton! There would be much that Singleton did not approve of aboard a King's ship.

'But like me, Mr Singleton,' he said sipping the wine, 'you are flesh and blood.'

'Imbued with the Holy Spirit, sir, and the faith that can move mountains.'

'Let us hope,' remarked Drinkwater, 'that your faith sustains you.'

'Amen to that, sir.'

Drinkwater looked at the missionary, searching for some gleam of humour evident in the man. There was none. He was an alien amongst them, uncomprehending of their jack-ass humour, unable to understand the bawdy small talk, the rigid divisions that made a man-of-war. Singleton was an academic, a product of universities where the distilled wisdom of a thousand generations might be assimilated within the confines of a library. Drinkwater sighed and drained his glass. Singleton's insufferable self-righteousness would doubtless combine with an assumed right to criticise. That augured ill for the future and Drinkwater could see squalls ahead.

'Where have you been berthed, Mr Singleton? There is little room in the gunroom.'

'I do not think a gunroom a fit place for a missionary, sir. No, Lieutenant Germaney has permitted me to use the cockpit.'

Drinkwater could well imagine it! The harassed lieutenant would not want the intrusion of a priggish irrelevance challenging his position in the gunroom.

'I doubt you will find it to your liking, but this is a small ship and there is no alternative.'

'It is true the air is mephitic, sir, but it will be a fit preparation for my ministry. The darkness alone will condition me to the Arctic winter.'

'It was not the darkness I had in mind, Mr Singleton, but no matter. You will see soon enough.' He ignored Singleton's puzzlement and went on: 'There is one thing you should know and that is that while you remain aboard this ship you are answerable for your conduct under the Articles of War as surely as if you were truly a midshipman. You will doubtless observe things that you do not approve of. Have you ever seen a flogging, sir? No? Well, it does not matter but you must accept that the usages of the naval service will come as a surprise to you and you would do well to remember that the wooden bulwarks behind which your church so comfortably nestles, are purchased at the price of blood, sweat and indignity'

Singleton ignored this homily. 'When do you propose to land me, sir?'

'Land you? Good heavens, do not trouble me with such matters now. First I have to get these confounded ships out of this Goddamned river!'

Drinkwater saw the look of shock on Singleton's face and found that it gave him a pleasurable sensation. 'Saving your cloth, Mr Singleton,' he said ironically and added, 'I should like you to join the officers and dine with me this evening. And I should like you to make no hasty judgements about the sea service; parsons have a bad reputation at sea, far worse than that of seamen ashore.'