Ричард Вудмен - Baltic Mission

'And I suppose, Hill, you'll feel obliged to inform the captain of this matter?' Rogers snarled.

'I'll hold my tongue if you'll hold your temper,' Hill snapped back sharply, fixing the first lieutenant with a stare. Rogers exhaled slowly, his breath strong with the odour of liquor. He turned abruptly and went below. Hill walked forward.

'Coil down those slack falls! Bosun's mate, chivvy those men and put some ginger into it! By God, you're as slack as the drawstrings of a Ratcliffe doxy!'

Normality settled itself upon the ship again.

'Thank you, Mr. Hill,' said Fraser somewhat sheepishly. 'The old devil had me provoked there for a moment ... it would never have happened if the captain had not been out of the ship.'

'Forget it. Fortunately that is a rare occurrence. I must confess to a certain uneasiness, considering the contents of the hold, the fog and the absence of the captain.'

'Mr. Frey is at least a diligent young man ...'

'Boat 'hoy!' The midship's sentry's call stopped the conversation dead and the two officers rushed to the rail while the suspicious marine cocked his musket. The bow of a boat emerged from the fog.

'Antigone!' came the coxswain's Cornish accent.

'By God, it's the captain returning!' Fraser flew to the entry, aware that fog and anger had caused him to fail in his duty and that Captain Drinkwater would reboard his ship with less than half a side-party because of his own inattentiveness. To his chagrin the captain's barge had not even been challenged by Frey's guard-boat which was still on the other side of the ship.

As Captain Drinkwater's head came level with the deck, Fraser set his right hand to the fore-cock of his own hat. He was relieved to hear the squeal of a pipe in his right ear. The marine sentry presented arms and the side-party, though not complete, was at least presentable.

Drinkwater swung his weight from the baize-covered man-ropes and stood on the deck, his eye taking in the details of Antigone's waist even as his own right hand acknowledged the salutes.

'Mr. Fraser,' he said, and Fraser braced himself for a rebuke. 'Sir?' The captain's sharp grey eyes made him apprehensive. 'My compliments to the first lieutenant and the master, and will they attend me in the cabin ...' 'Aye, aye, sir.' 'And Mr. Fraser 'Sir?'

'Mr. Mount is to come too.' 'Very well, sir.' 'Damn this fog.'

'Aye, sir. We were not expecting you so soon.'

'So I perceived,' Drinkwater said drily, 'but the t'gallant masts are clear above the fog from the ramparts of Varberg castle.' He reached beneath his boat-cloak and fished in the tail pocket of his coat. 'I took the precaution of taking this.'

Fraser looked down at the folded vanes of Drinkwater's pocket compass.

'I see, sir.'

With a dull knock of oar looms on thole pins the guard-boat swung clear of the bow and pulled down Antigone's starboard side.

Drinkwater nodded his satisfaction. 'A wise precaution, Mr. Fraser,' he said and made for the ladder below, leaving the second lieutenant expelling a long breath of relief. Fraser turned to the boatswain standing beside him, the silver call still in his hand.

'I'm indebted to ye, Mr. Comley, for your prompt arrival,' Fraser muttered in a low voice.

'Wouldn't like to see 'ee caught atween two fires, Mr. Fraser, sir,' said Comley, staring after the young Scotsman as he went off on the captain's errand. Then he turned and put the call back to his lips. Its shrill note brought silent expectation to the upper deck again.

'Man the yard and stay tackles there! Prepare to 'oist in the barge!'

Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater took off the boat-cloak and unwound the muffler from his neck. He handed them, with his hat, to his steward, Mullender.

'A glass of something, Mullender, if you please.'

'Blackstrap, sir?'

'Capital.' Drinkwater's tone was abstracted as he stared astern through the windows at the pearly vapour that seemed oddly substantial as it swathed the ship. He rubbed his hands and eased his damaged shoulder as the chill dampness penetrated the cabin.

'Damn this fog,' he muttered again.

Mullender brought the glass of cheap blackstrap and Drinkwater took it gratefully. He relaxed as the warmth of the wine uncoiled in his belly. He could hear the creaks of the tackles taking the weight of the barge, felt the heel of the ship as she leaned to it, then felt the list ease as, with half-heard commands, the heavy boat swung inboard. A dull series of thuds told when it settled itself in its chocks amidships. The guard-boat swam across his field of vision, rounded the quarter and vanished again.

He was recalled from his abstraction as a knock at the door announced the summoned officers. Turning from the stem windows he surveyed them. Hill, the sailing master, he had known for many years. Fifty years of age, Hill was as dependable as the mahogany he appeared to be carved from. Balding now, his practical skill and wisdom seemed undiminished by the passing of time. Like Drinkwater himself, Hill bore an old wound with fortitude, an arm mangled at Camperdown ten years earlier.

Drinkwater smiled at Hill and addressed Rogers, the first lieutenant.

'All well in my absence, Mr. Rogers?' he asked formally.

'Perfectly correct, sir. No untoward cir... circumstances.' Rogers's reply was thick. Like Hill, Rogers was an old shipmate, but he was showing an increasing dependence upon drink. Disappointed of advancement and temperamentally intolerant, his fine abilities as a seaman were threatened by this weakness and Drinkwater made a mental note to be on his guard. For the moment he affected not to notice that Rogers had over-indulged at the dinner table. It was not a rare occurrence among the long-serving officers of the Royal Navy.

'Very well.' Drinkwater diverted his attention to the third officer. Mr. Mount was resplendent in the scarlet, blue and white undress uniform of the Royal Marines. His inclusion in the little group was pertinent to Antigone's purpose here, off Varberg. It was Mount who, in addition to his customary duties of policing the frigate, had had in his especial charge eighty thousand pounds sterling, and whom Drinkwater was anxious to keep abreast of the latest news.

'Well, gentlemen, I wished that you should be informed of some news I have just gleaned from the Swedish authorities at Varberg. About five weeks ago, it seems, the Russians administered a severe check to the French army under Napoleon. No,' he held up his hand as Mount began to ask questions, 'I can give you little more information, but that which I can tell you would be the more convivially passed over dinner. Please pass my invitation to the other officers and a few of the midshipmen. Except Fraser, that is. It'll teach him to keep a better lookout in future.'

An expression of satisfaction crossed Rogers's face at this remark and Drinkwater was reminded of the burgeoning dislike between the two men.

'That will be all, gentlemen, except to say that there is, as yet, no news of our convoy. They have not yet come in after the gale but that is not entirely unexpected. Neither Captain Young's nor Captain Baker's brigs are as weatherly as Antigone, but we shall make for the rendezvous at Vinga Bay as soon as the wind serves and disperses this fog.'

They left him to his glass, Mount chattering excitedly about the news of the battle, and Drinkwater dismissed the preoccupations of the ship in favour of more important considerations. The bad weather had separated him from the two brigs whose protection he had been charged with. He had every confidence in locating Young and Baker at Vinga Bay. The Swedes had told him the ice was breaking up fast and The Sound was clear, except for the diminutive fragments of the pancake ice that spun slowly past them towards the warmer waters of the Skagerrak and the grey North Sea. Carlscrona was already navigable and he might have landed his diplomatic dispatches there, closer to Stockholm than the Scanian fortress of Varberg. However, the Swedish governors had assured him that was unimportant. He had personally guaranteed their swift delivery to King Gustavus who eagerly awaited news of support from London.