1805 by Richard Woodman Page B

mortal and Drinkwater was greatly distressed by the probability
of Lieutenant Gorton's untimely death. Unlike many of his colleagues,
Drinkwater mourned the loss of any of his men, feeling acutely the
responsibility of ordering an attack in the certain knowledge that some
casualties were bound to occur. He was aware that the morning's boat
expedition had been hurriedly launched and that insufficient
preparation had gone into it. The loss of three men was bad enough, the
lingering agony of young Gorton particularly affected him, for he had
entertained high hopes for the man since he had demonstrated such
excellent qualities in the Arctic the previous summer. It was not in
Drinkwater's nature to blame the sudden onset of fog, but his own
inadequate planning which had resulted not only in deaths and woundings
but in the escape of the invasion craft whose capture or destruction
might have justified his losses in his own exacting mind.
    But he had been no less hard on Rogers and Mount. He had
addressed the former in the cabin, swept aside all protestations and
excuses in his anger, and reduced Rogers to a sullen resentment. It
simply did not seem to occur to Rogers that the destruction of the
invasion craft was of more significance than the seizure of a French
naval brig.
    'God damn it, man,' he had said angrily to Rogers, 'don't you
see
that you could have directed the quarter-boats to attack the
brig, even as a diversion! Even if they were driven off! You and Mount
in the launch could have wrought havoc among those
bateaux
in the fog, coming up on them piecemeal. The others would not have
opened fire lest they hit their own people!' He had paused in his fury
and then exploded. 'Christ, Sam, 'twas not the brig that was important!'
    Well it was too late now, he concluded as he glared round the
tiny quarterdeck. Rogers was left behind aboard
Antigone
with a sheet of written orders while Drinkwater took over the prize and
went in pursuit of the invasion craft.
    'Tregembo!'
    'Zur?'
    'I want those prisoners to work, Tregembo, work. You
understand my meaning, eh? Get those damned sweeps going and keep them
going.'
    'Aye, aye, zur.' Tregembo set half a dozen men with ropes'
ends over the prisoners at the huge oars.
    It was already noon and still there was not a breath of wind.
The fog had held off, but left a haze that blurred the horizon and kept
the circle of their visibility under four miles. Somewhere in the haze
ahead lay the
chaloupes
and the
péniches
that Drinkwater was more than ever determined to destroy. He had taken
the precaution of removing the brig's officers as prisoners on board
Antigone
and issuing small arms to most of his own volunteers. In addition he
had a party of marines under a contrite Lieutenant Mount (who was eager
to make amends for his former lack of obedience). Drinkwater had little
fear that the brig's men would rise, particularly if he worked them to
exhaustion at the heavy sweeps.
    He crossed the deck to where Tyrrell stood at the wheel.
    'Course south-east by east, sir,' offered the master's mate.
    Drinkwater nodded. 'Very well. Let me know the instant the
wind begins to get up.'
    'Aye, aye, sir.'
    He turned below, wondering if he would find anything of
interest among the brig's papers and certain that Rogers had not
thought of looking.
     
    The wind came an hour after sunset. It
was light for about half an hour and finally settled in the north and
blew steadily. Drinkwater ordered the sweeps in and the prisoners below.
    'Mr Frey.'
    'Sir?' The midshipman came forward eagerly, pleased to have
been specially detailed for this mission and aware that something of
disgrace hung over the events of the morning.
    'I want you to station yourself in the foretop and keep a
close watch ahead for those invasion craft. From that elevation you may
see the light from a binnacle, d'you understand?'
    'Perfectly sir.'
    'Very well. And pass word for Mr Q.'
    Quilhampton approached and touched his hat. 'Sir?'
    'I intend