1805

His train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the cabin door. 'Enter!'

Rogers came in followed by Mr Lallo. There was enough in the expressions on their faces to know that they brought bad news. 'What is it, gentlemen?'

'It's Waller, sir…'

'He had a bad fit this morning, sir,' put in Lallo, 'I had confined him to a straitjacket, sir, but he got loose, persuaded some accomplice to let him go.' Lallo paused.

'And?'

'He went straight to the galley, sir, picked up a knife and slashed both his wrists. He was dead by the time I'd got to him.'

'Good God.' A silence hung in the cabin. Drinkwater thought of Waller defying him at Nagtoralik Bay and of how far he had fallen. 'Who let him go?'

'One of his damned whale-men, I shouldn't wonder,' said Rogers.

'Yes. That is likely. I suppose he may still have commanded some influence over them. There is little likelihood that we will discover who did it, Mr Lallo.'

The surgeon shrugged. 'No, sir. Well he's dead now and fit only for the sail-maker to attend.'

'You had better see to it, Mr Rogers.'

It was one of the ironies of the naval service, Drinkwater thought as he stood by the pinrail where the fore-sheet was belayed, that a man killed honourably in battle might be hurriedly shoved through a gun-port to avoid incommoding his mates as they plied their murderous trade, while a man whose death was as ignominious as Waller's, was attended by all the formal pomp of the Anglican liturgy. Casting his eyes over Antigone's assembled crew, the double irony hit him that only a few would be even vaguely familiar with his words. The half-dozen negroes, three Arabs and sixty Irishmen might even resent their being forced to witness a rite that, in Waller's case, might be considered blasphemous. He doubted any of the others, the Swede, Norwegians, three renegade Dutchmen and Russians, understood the words. Nevertheless he ploughed on, raising his voice as he read from Elizabeth's father's Prayer Book.

'We therefore commit…' he nodded at the burial party who raised the board upon which Waller's corpse lay stiffly sewn into his hammock under the ensign, 'his body to the deep…'

The prayer finished he closed the book and put his hat on. The officers followed suit. 'Square away, Mr Rogers, let us continue with our duties.'

He turned away and walked along the gangway as the main-yards were hauled, and was in the act of descending the companionway when he was halted by the masthead look-out.

'Deck there! Sail-ho! Broad on the lee quarter!'

Drinkwater shoved the Prayer Book in his tail-pocket and pulled out his Dolland pocket glass. It was a frigate coming up hand over fist from the southward, carrying every stitch of canvas the steady breeze allowed. Even at a distance they could see bunting streaming to leeward.

'She's British, anyway.' Of that there could be little doubt and within half an hour a boat danced across the water towards them.

'Boat ahoy!'

'Fisgard!' came the reply, and Drinkwater nodded to his first lieutenant.

'Side-party, Mr Rogers.' He turned to Frey who was consulting his lists.

'Captain Lord Mark Kerr, sir.'

'Bloody hell,' muttered Rogers as he called out the marine guard and the white-gloved side-boys to rig their fancy baize-covered man-ropes. Captain Lord Kerr hauled himself energetically over the rail and seized Drinkwater's hand.

'Drinkwater ain't it?'

'Indeed sir,' said Drinkwater, meeting his lordship as an equal upon his own quarterdeck.

'The damnedest thing, Drinkwater. Villeneuve's out!'

'What?'

Kerr nodded. 'I was refitting in Gib when he passed the Strait. I got out as soon as I could; sent my second luff up the Med to tell Nelson…'

'You mean Nelson wasn't in pursuit?' Drinkwater interrupted.

Kerr shook his head. 'No sign of him. I reckon he's off to the east again, just like the year one…'

'East. Good God he should be going west. Doesn't he know Missiessy's at Martinique waiting for him?'

'The devil he is!' exclaimed Kerr, digesting this news. 'I doubt Nelson knows of it. By God, that makes my haste the more necessary!'

'What about Orde, for God's sake?'

'He was victualling off Cadiz. Fell back when Villeneuve approached.'

'God's bones!'

Kerr came to a decision. In the circumstances it did not seem to matter which was the senior officer, they were both of one mind. 'I'm bound to let Calder know off Ferrol, and then to Cornwallis off Ushant. I daresay Billy-go-tight will send me on to the Admiralty.'

'Billy's ashore, now. Been relieved by Lord Gardner,' interrupted Drinkwater. 'And what d'you want me to do? Cruise down towards the Strait and hope that Nelson comes west?'

Kerr nodded, already turning towards the rail. 'First rate, Drinkwater. He must realise his mistake soon, even if my lieutenant ain't caught up with him. The sooner Nelson knows that Missiessy's out as well, the sooner we might stop this rot from spreading.' He held out his hand and relaxed for an instant. 'When I think how we've striven to maintain this damned blockade, only to have it blown wide open by a minute's ill-fortune!'

'My sentiments exactly. Good luck!' Drinkwater waved his hastening visitor over the side. Something of the urgency of Kerr's news had communicated itself to the ship, for Antigone was under way to the southward even before Kerr had reached Fisgard.

As soon as Drinkwater had satisfied himself that Antigone set every inch of canvas she was capable of carrying, he called Rogers and Hill below, spreading his charts on the table before him. He outlined the situation and the import of his news struck home.

'By God,' said Rogers, 'the Frogs could outflank us!' Drinkwater suppressed a smile. The very idea that they could be bested by a handful of impudent, frog-eating 'mounseers' seemed to strike Rogers with some force. His lack of imagination was, Drinkwater reflected, typical of his type. Hill, on the other hand, was more ruminative.

'You say Nelson's gone east, sir, chasing the idea of a French threat to India again?'

'Something of that order, Mr Hill.'

'While in reality the West India interests will already be howling for Pitt's blood. Who's in the West Indies at the moment? Cochrane?'

'And Dacres, with no more than a dozen of the line between them,' added Rogers.

'If Missiessy and Villeneuve combine with whatever cruisers the French have already got out there, I believe that we may be in for a thin time. Meanwhile we have to edge down to the Strait. What strikes me as paramount is our need to tell Nelson what is happening. I dare not enter the Med for fear of missing him, so we must keep station off Cape Spartel until Nelson appears. He may then close on the Channel in good time if the French have to recross the Atlantic. If Gardner holds the Channel and Nelson cruises off the Orkneys, we may yet stop 'em.'

'If not,' said Hill staring down at the chart, 'then God help us all.'

'Amen to that,' said Drinkwater.

They did not meet Orde but five days later they found his sloop Beagle cruising off Cape Spartel, having observed the passage of Villeneuve's fleet and now lying in wait for Nelson. From Beagle Drinkwater learned that Villeneuve had been reinforced by Spanish ships from Cadiz under Admiral Gravina and that Beagle had lost contact when the Combined Fleet headed west.

'I knew it!' Drinkwater had muttered to himself when he learned this. He promptly ordered Beagle to rejoin Orde who was, he thought, falling back on the Channel to reinforce Lord Gardner. As Beagle's sails disappeared over the horizon to the north and the Atlas Mountains rose blue in the haze to the east, Drinkwater remarked to Quilhampton and Fraser: