The Corvette by Richard Woodman Page A

Drinkwater almost bumped into him and was forced to take a step backwards.
    Drinkwater looked up at the face. Beneath the mass of dark hair and the beard he noticed a sharpness of feature and the eyes were a peculiar pale blue which caused the pupils to seem unnaturally piercing.
    ‘Have you ever been to the polar regions, Captain?’
    ‘No, I have not.’ The big man turned to his companion, the same whaler captain who had sat next to him.
    ‘They send a novice to protect us, God damn and blast them.’ The Greenlander turned on his heel. Behind him Drinkwater was aware of other men gathered in a group. His reserve snapped.
    ‘Captain!’ There was no response and Drinkwater stepped quickly into the corridor where his voice echoed: ‘Captain! ‘
    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 whaleship 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