'Deck there!' The masthead look-out was hailing. 'Sail four points on the weather bow, sir. Looks like a cutter!'
Drinkwater acknowledged the hail, his sense of satisfaction growing. They now had a reason for tacking and an audience, and Fraser was looking at Drinkwater as if wondering how he had known of the presence of the other vessel.
'Down helm!'
Next to Drinkwater the four men at the double wheel spun the spokes through their fingers. Antigone came upright as she turned into the wind, the rush of her forward advance slowed rapidly and the scream of the wind across her deck diminished.
'Clew down topsails! Mainsail haul! Trice up and lay out!'
This was the nub of the manoeuvre, for the main and mizen yards were hauled with the topmen upon them at the same moment as the topsail yards were lowered on their halliards, the braces tended, the bowlines slacked off and the reef-pendants hauled up. Apart from Drinkwater's orders to the helmsmen and the general commands to the deck conveying the progress of the manoeuvre, there was a host of subsidiary instructions given by the subordinate officers and petty officers at their stations at the pin rails, the braces, the halliards and in the bunts of the topsails aloft.
As the yards were lowered, the studding sail booms lifted and the main and mizen topsails flogged, folding upwards as the reef-pendants did their work. Antigone continued her turn, heeling over to her new course as the fore topsail came aback, spinning her head with increasing speed.
'Midships and meet her.' Drinkwater peered forward and upwards where he could see the foretopmen having the worst time of it, trying to reef their big topsail while it was still full of wind.
'Man the head-braces! Halliards there!'
Rogers watched for the hand signals of the mates and midshipmen aloft to tell him the earings were secured and the reefpoints passed round the reduced portions of each topsail. Meanwhile Antigone crabbed awkwardly to leeward.
'Hoist away topsails! Haul all!'
Aloft the topsails rose again, stretched and reset, assuming the flat curve of sails close hauled against the wind as the forebraces hauled round their yards parallel with those on the main and mizen masts. On deck the halliards were sweated tight and the bowlines secured against the shivering of the weather leeches, belayed ropes were being coiled down and the topmen were sliding down the backstays, chaffing each other competitively. Antigone stopped crabbing and began to drive forward again on the new tack. She butted into a sea and the spray came flying aft over the other bow.
'Steady,' Drinkwater ordered the helmsmen, peering into the binnacle at the compass bowl. 'Course Nor'west by west.'
'Steady, sir. Course Nor'west by west it is, sir.'
Rogers came aft and touched his hat. He was grinning back at Drinkwater. 'Ship put about on the larboard tack, sir, and all three topsails reefed in one.'
'Very creditable, Mr Rogers. Now you may pipe "Up spirits" and let us see what this cutter wants.'
Drinkwater glanced through the stern windows where the Admiral Mitchell danced in their wake. The lieutenant in command of her had luffed neatly under their lee quarter half an hour ago and skilfully tossed a packet of dispatches on board from her chains. She now lay waiting for him to digest the news they contained. He studied the written orders for some moments, put aside the private letters and newspapers, and summoned Lord Walmsley. To Drinkwater's regret Walmsley had not offered to resign, though Drinkwater knew he could afford to and had therefore taken steps to settle the midshipman elsewhere. The young man knocked and entered the cabin.
'Sir?' Walmsley had been rigidly formal since his punishment. The experience had been deeply engraved upon his consciousness, yet Drinkwater sensed beneath this formality a deep and abiding resentment. Walmsley was still not convinced that he had erred.
'Mr Walmsley, I have for some time been considering your future. I have been successful in obtaining for you another berth. Rear-Admiral Louis who has, as you know, hoisted his flag aboard the Leopard to assist Lord Keith in the Strait of Dover, has agreed to take you on board.'
Walmsley had clearly not expected such a transfer and Drinkwater hoped that he would be appreciative of it. 'I hope,' he added, 'that you are sensible of the honour done you by Admiral Louis. No word of your conduct has been communicated to the Leopard. You will join with a clean slate. Do you understand?'
'Sir.'
'Very good. We will transfer you to the cutter as soon as the sea allows a boat to be launched. You may pack your traps.'
Drinkwater stared after the midshipman. He felt he had failed to make an impression on the youth and he feared that Walmsley would see that his sending him to a flagship only indicated his own lack of interest or influence.
It was two days before Walmsley departed, two days in which Antigone worked slowly south and west in obedience to her new orders. The formation of Rear-Admiral Louis's squadron had released her from her duties in the Channel and she was sent out to join Cornwallis and the Channel Fleet. Drinkwater greeted this news with mixed feelings. The close contact with the shore would be broken now, the arrival of mail less frequent and he would feel his isolation more. Nor was he very sure of the opinion Cornwallis had formed of him when they had last met. But his puritan soul derived that strange satisfaction from the anticipation of an arduous duty, and in his innermost heart he welcomed the change and the challenge.
It was two days, too, before he found the time to read the newspapers and mail. The most electrifying news for the officers and men of the Antigone was that war with Spain seemed imminent. Since the end of the Peace of Amiens 'neutral' Spanish ports had been shamelessly used by French warships. Their crews had enjoyed rights of passage through the country to join and leave their ships, and Spain had done everything to aid and abet her powerful and intimidating neighbour short of an actual declaration of war against Great Britain. Now the new British government had precipitated a crisis by sending out a flying squadron of four frigates to intercept a similar number of Spanish men-o'-war returning from Montevideo with over a million and a quarter in specie. Opposed by equal and not overwhelming force, the Spanish admiral, Don Joseph Bustamente, had defended the honour of his flag and in the ensuing action the Spanish frigate Mercedes had blown up with her crew and passengers. Although no immediate declaration of war had come from Madrid, it was hourly anticipated, and Drinkwater immediately calculated that the addition of the Spanish fleet to the French would augment it by over thirty ships of the line. They were superb ships too; one, the Santissima Trinidad had four gun-decks and was the greatest ship in the world. It was while reflecting on the possible consequences of Mr Pitt's aggressive new policy, and on whether it would enable the French Emperor to attempt invasion, that his eye fell upon another piece of news; a mere snippet of no apparent importance. Thomas Pitt, second Baron Camelford, had been killed in a duel near Holland House. The circumstances of the affair were confused, but what was of interest to Drinkwater was that there was some veiled and unsubstantiated claims in the less respectable papers that Camelford's death had been engineered by French agents.