Ричард Вудмен - The Bomb Vessel

The effect of their entrance was instantaneous. The occupants of the cabin froze with surprise. If Drinkwater had felt a twinge of irritation at the sight of candles burning in his cabin, the scene that now presented itself was a cause for anger. He took in the table with its greasy cloth, the disorder of the plates and pots, the remnants of a meal, the knocked over and empty bottles. His glance rolled over the diners. In the centre lolled a small, rotund fellow in a well-cut coat and ruffled shirt. He had been interrupted in fondling a loosely-stayed woman who lay half across him, her red mouth opened in a grimace as the laughter died on her lips. Two other men also sprawled about the table, their dress in various states of disorder, each with a bare-shouldered woman giggling on his lap. There was a woman's shoe lodged in the cruet and several ankles were visible from yards of grubby petticoats.

The oldest of the women who sat on the round, well-dressed man's knee, was the first to recover. She hove herself upright, shrugged her shoulders in a clearly practised gesture and her bosom subsided from view.

'Who are you gentlemen then?' The other women followed her example, there was a rustling of cotton and the shoe disappeared.

'Lieutenants Drinkwater and Rogers, madam. And you, pray?' Drinkwater's voice was icily polite.

'Mrs Jex,' she said, setting off giggles on either side of her, 'just married to 'Ector Jex, here… my 'usband,' she added to more giggles. 'My 'usband is purser of this ship.' There was a certain proprietary hauteur in her voice. Mr Jex remained silent behind the voluptuous bulk of his wife.

'And these others?'

'Mr Matchett, boatswain and Mr Mason, master's mate.'

'And the ladies?' Drinkwater asked with ironic emphasis, eyeing their professional status.

'Friends of mine,' replied Mrs Jex with the sharp certainty of possession.

'I see. Mr Matchett!'

Matchett pulled himself together. 'Sir?'

'Where are the remainder of the standing warrant officers?'

'H'hm. There is no gunner appointed, nor a master.'

'How many men have we?'

'Not including the warrant officer's mates, who number four men, we have eighteen seamen. All are over sixty years of age. That is all…'

'Well, gentlemen, I shall be in command of the Virago . Mr Rogers will be first lieutenant. I shall return aboard tomorrow morning to take command. I shall expect you to be at your duty.' He swept them with a long stare then turned on his heel and clattered up the ladder. He heard Rogers say something behind him as he regained the cold freshness of the darkened deck.

As they made for the ladder and the waiting dockyard boat a figure appeared wearing an apron, huge arms in shirtsleeves despite the chill wind. He touched his forehead.

'Beg pardon, sir. Willerton, carpenter. You've seen that pack of whores aft sir? Don't hold with it sir. Tis the wages of sin they have coming to 'em. There's nowt wrong with the ship, sir, she's as fine today as when they built her, she'll take two thirteen inch mortars and not crack a batten… nowt wrong with her at all…'

Slightly taken aback at this encounter Drinkwater thanked the man, reflecting, as he took his seat in the boat, that there were clearly factions at work on the Virago with which he would become better acquainted in the days ahead.

'You are required and directed without delay to take command of His Majesty's Bomb Tender Virago , which vessel you are to prepare for sea with all despatch…'

He read on in the biting wind, the commission flapping in his hands. When he had finished he looked at the small semi-circle of transformed warrant officers standing with their hats off. The sober blue of their coats seemed the only patches of colour against the flaked paintwork and bare timbers of the ship. They had clearly been at some pains to correct the impression their new commander had received the previous evening. They should be given some credit for that, Drinkwater thought.

'Good morning gentlemen. I am glad to see the adventures of the night have not prevented you attending to your duty.' He looked round. Matchett's eighteen seamen, barefoot and shivering in cotton shirts and loose trousers, were standing holding their holystones in one hand, their stockingette hats in the other. Drinkwater addressed them in an old formula. He tried to make it sound as though he meant it though there was a boiling anger welling up in him again.

'Do your duty men. You have nothing to fear.' He strode aft.

The cabin had been cleared. All that remained from the previous night were the table and chairs. Rogers followed him in. Drinkwater heard him sigh.

'There is a great deal to do, Sam.'

'Yes,' said Rogers flatly. From an adjacent cabin the sound of a cough was hurriedly muted and the air was still heavy with a mixture of sweat and lavender water.

Drinkwater returned to the lobby and threw open the door of the adjacent cabin. It was empty of people though a sea-chest, bedding and cocked hat case showed it was occupied. He tried the door on the opposite cabin. It gave. Mrs Jex was dressing. She feigned a decorous surprise then made a small, suggestive gesture lo him. Her charms were very obvious and in the silence he heard Rogers behind him swallow. He closed the door and turned on the first lieutenant.

'Pass word for Mr Jex, Mr Rogers. Then make rounds of the ship. I want a detailed report on her condition, wants and supplied state. Come back in an hour.'

He went into the cabin and sat down. He looked round at the bare space, feeling the draughts whistling in through the unoccupied gunports. The thrill of first command was withering. The amount of work to be done was daunting. The brief hope of raising the status of Virago as Lord Dungarth suggested seemed, at that moment, to be utterly impossible. Then he remembered the odd encounter with Mr Willerton, that vestigial loyalty to his ship. Almost childlike in its pathetic way and yet as potent to the carpenter as the delights of the flesh had been to last night's revellers. Drinkwater took encouragement from the recollection and with the lifting of his spirits the draught around his feet seemed a little less noticeable, the cabin a little less inhospitable.

Mr Jex knocked on the cabin door and entered. 'Ah, Mr Jex, pray sit down.'

Jex's uniform coat was smartly cut and a gold ring flashed on his finger. His hands had a puffy quality and his cheeks were marred by the high colour of the bibulous. The Jexes, it seemed, were sybaritic in their way of life. Money, Nathaniel observed, was not in short supply.

'When I was at the Navy Board, Mr Jex, they did not tell me that you were appointed purser to this ship. Might I enquire as to how long you have held the post?'

'One month, sir.' Mr Jex spoke for the first time. His voice had the bland tone of the utterly confident.

'Your wife is still on board, Mr Jex…'

'It is customary…'

'It is customary to ask permission.'

'But I have, sir.' Jex stared levelly at Drinkwater.

'From whom, may I ask?'

'My kinsman, the Commissioner of the Dockyard offered me the appointment. I served as assistant purser on the Conquistador , Admiral Roddam's flagship, sir, the whole of the American War.' Drinkwater suppressed a smile. Mr Jex's transparent attempt to threaten him with his kindred was set at nought by the latter revelation.

'How interesting, Mr Jex. If I recollect aright, Conquistador remained guardship at the Nore for several years. Your experience in dealing with the shore must, therefore, be quite considerable.' Drinkwater marked the slightest tightening of the lips. 'I do not expect to see seamen on deck without proper clothing, Mr Jex. An officer of your experience should have attended to that.' Jex opened his mouth to protest. 'If you can see to the matter for me and, tomorrow morning, bring me a list of all the stores on board we may discuss your future aboard this ship.' Indignation now blazed clearly from Jex's eyes, but Drinkwater was not yet finished with him. In as pleasant a voice as he could muster he added: