Richard Woodman - In Distant Waters

A deck below Captain Drinkwater, Lieutenant Quilhampton was also reading a letter.

I am sure you meant no unkindness , Catriona had written, but I assure you that if the necessity to which you were put was painful to you, it was doubly so to me. You had the benefit of long consideration, I had only the most profound of shocks. I have burned those letters you returned but, sir, circumstanced as I am, I must risk all reputation and request you repent yourself of so rash an act .

'God bless my soul,' he muttered, 'what a surprise! What a marvellous, bloody surprise!'

Drinkwater read White's letter with a profound sense of horror. Following so soon upon the last he could scarce believe its contents and compared the dates. But White's was written a full fortnight after Lord Dungarth's and he had no reason to doubt its accuracy.

My main purpose in writing, my dear Nathaniel, is to acquaint you of the event of Thursday last when, on a lonely stretch of the Canterbury road near Blackheath, an incendiary device exploded beneath the coach of Lord Dungarth and his lordship's life is feared for…

He ruffled through the remaining papers (some routine communications from the Navy Office and an enquiry from the Sick and Hurt Board) for a later letter informing him of Dungarth's death, but could find nothing. A feeling of guilt stole over him; he had condemned a friend without cause and now Dungarth might be dead. And there was not even a letter from Elizabeth to console him. He looked up at the bare patches on the forward bulkhead and shook off the omen.

'Is she gaining on us, Mr Hill?' Drinkwater looked astern at the big, dark hull with the bow wave foaming under her forefoot and her pale patches of sails braced sharp up in pursuit of them. There was no doubt of her identity, she was the Russian seventy-four Suvorov .

'Gaining steadily, sir,' reported the sailing master.

'Good,' said Drinkwater, expressing satisfaction. He swung to the west where the day was leaching out of the sky and banks of inkily wet cumulus rolled menacingly against the fading light. The pale green pallor of the unclouded portion of the sky promised a full gale by morning. For the time being the wind was fresh and steady from the north-west. 'It'll be dark in an hour, that'll be our time. So you ease that weather foretack, Mr Hill, slow her down a little, I don't want him to lose sight of us, keep him thinking he has all the advantages.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

'Mr Fraser!'

'Sir?'

'Have you inspected all the preparations?'

'Aye, sir, and your permission to pipe the men below for something to eat, if you please.'

'Most certainly; and a tot for 'em, I want devils tonight.'

'Aye, aye, sir.' Fraser touched the fore-cock of his hat and turned. Drinkwater went below himself, leaving the deck to Hill. In his cabin Mullender poured him a glass of rum and mixed it with water.

'There's some cold pork, sir, sour cabbage and some figgy duff. Tregembo's put a keen edge on your sabre, sir, and your pistols are in the case.'

Mullender indicated the plates and weapons laid in readiness along the sill of the stern windows where the settee cushions had been removed. Drinkwater had lost the privacy of his cabin bulkheads, since Patrician was cleared for action and only a curtain separated him from the gun-deck beyond.

'And I found the portraits, sir, they're all right.'

'Good. Where were they?'

'Tossed in the hold.'

Drinkwater nodded and stared through the windows astern. 'Put but the candles, Mullender, I'll eat in the dark.'

He did not want to lose his night vision and the extinguishing of even so feeble a light would indicate some form of preparation was being made aboard Patrician . Drinkwater fervently hoped that Prince Vladimir Rakitin's opinion of him remained low. It had wounded him at the time it had been expressed, but Drinkwater sought now to fling it in the Russian's face.

But he must not tempt providence. She was a fickle deity, much given to casting down men in the throes of over-weening pride.

On deck again it was completely dark. They were near the autumnal equinox and already an approaching winter was casting its cold shadow over the water of the North Pacific. They pitched easily over the great swells, thumping into the occasional waves so that the spray streamed aft after every pale explosion on the weather bow.

'Very well, Mr Hill, pass word for all hands to stand to. Divisional officers to report when ready.'

When he received word that the ship was ready for action and every man at his station he gave his next order.

'Shorten sail!'

They were prepared for it. The lieutenants, midshipmen and mates took up the word and Patrician lost the driving force of her main and foresails. Men ran aloft to secure the flogging canvas. Neither sail had been set to much advantage, but not to have carried them would have alerted Rakitin. Now, with the onset of night, Drinkwater doubted the Russian officers would be able to see the reduction in sail. From the Suvorov, Patrician would be a grey blur in the night, and spanker and topsails would convey that impression just as well.

'Tack ship, Mr Hill'

The master gave the routine orders with his usual quiet confidence. Patrician turned, passing her bow through the wind so that the wind and the spray came over the larboard bow and she stood back to the north-east, slightly across the Suvorov's track, but in an attempt to elude her heavy pursuer's chase. It was precisely, Drinkwater argued, what Rakitin would assume he would do in an attempt to escape. It crossed Drinkwater's mind to wonder what exactly had passed between Rakitin and the Arguellos by way of a purchase price for his ship. He chuckled to himself in the darkness. This time there would be no humiliation, no superior sailing with which to reproach himself. This time, he felt in his bones, his ship's company had come through too much to let it go to the devil for want of a purpose.

'Ahhh…'

He could just see the Suvorov , swinging to starboard having seen the Patrician tack. He raised his speaking trumpet. 'Let fall!'

With a thunderous shudder bunt and clew-garnets were let go. Ropes whistled through the blocks and the great sails dropped from the yards, their clews drawn up to chess-tree and bumpkin as they were hauled taut. Drinkwater could almost feel Patrician accelerate, an illusion that was confirmed by the sudden change in relative bearing as the two ships closed in the darkness, Patrician rushing across the bow of the swinging Russian as she jibbed in stays, taking her wind as she sought to outwit her quarry.

'Hoist your lantern, Mr Belchambers! Mr Q, starboard battery as they bear!'

The noise of the wind and the tamed thunder of the sails gave way to something more urgent. The rushing of the sea between the two hulls, shouts of alarms from the Russian and, beneath their feet, the sinister rumbling of the guns as they were run out through the ports.

They were on top of her now, the range was point-blank, and no sooner were they run out than the gun-captains jerked their lanyards. On the fo'c's'le the heavy calibre carronades fired first and the smoke and concussion rolled aft with an awful and impressive rolling broadside that lit the night with the flames of its lethal explosions, yellow tongues of fire that belched their iron vomit into the heart of the enemy.

Above and behind Drinkwater Mr Belchambers succeeded in hoisting the battle lantern that was to illuminate the ensign straining from the peak of the gaff. It reached its station just as Drinkwater looked up at the spanker.

'Brail up the spanker! Up helm! Shorten sail!'

Patrician turned again, cocking her stern up into the wind, shortening sail again to manoeuvre alongside her shattered victim. The Suvorov lay in irons, her head yards aback and gathering stern-way. Drinkwater had no time to assess the damage for they had yet to run the gauntlet of her starboard broadside where she mounted a greater weight of metal than her opponent.