'I understand perfectly, sir. Stockham has earned and deserves his captaincy.'
Collingwood smiled. 'Thank you, Captain. No doubt the Admiralty will find him a frigate in due course, but you see my dilemma.'
'Perfectly, sir. I shall be happy to return to the Antigone.'
'That will not be possible. I have sent her in quest of Allemand. Louis put a commander into her and, for the moment, you will have to undertake other duties.'
'Very well, sir.' Drinkwater had no time to digest the implications of this news beyond realising that a stranger was using his cabin and that poor Rogers would be put out.
Collingwood continued: 'I am putting you in command of the Swiftsure, prize, Captain Drinkwater. It should give you a measure of satisfaction that she was once a British ship of the line. I believe you returned from Cadiz with three other prisoners from your own frigate?'
'Yes, sir, Lieutenant Quilhampton and Midshipman Frey, and my man Tregembo.'
'Very well. They will do for a beginning and I shall arrange for a detachment from the fleet to join you forthwith.' Collingwood paused to consider something. 'We shall have to rename her, Captain Drinkwater. We already have a Swiftsure. We shall call her Irresistible … I will have a commission drawn up for you and until your frigate comes in with news of Allemand you will find your talents in great demand.'
Drinkwater rose. 'It is an apt name, sir,' he said smiling, 'one that I think even our late enemies might have approved…' He paused as Collingwood frowned. 'The Dons were much impressed by the spectacle of British ships continuing the blockade of Cadiz even after the battle. I apprehend the enemy expected us to have suffered too severe a blow.'
'We did, my dear sir, in the loss of our chief, but to have withdrawn the blockade would not have been consistent with his memory.' Collingwood's words of dismissal were poignant with grief for his fallen friend.
Drinkwater sat in the dimly lit cabin of the Irresistible and read the sheaf of orders that had come aboard earlier that evening. Outside the battered hulk of the ship, the wind whined in from the Atlantic, moving them gently even within the shelter of the breakwater, so that the shot-torn fabric of the ship groaned abominably. He laid down the formal effusion of praise from both Houses of Parliament that he had been instructed to read to the assembled ship's company tomorrow morning. It was full of the usual pompous Parliamentary cant. There was a notice that Vice-Admiral Collingwood was elevated to the peerage and a list of confirmed promotions that would bring joy to half the ships that crammed Gibraltar Bay, making good the damage inflicted by the Combined Fleet and the great gale.
Drinkwater was acutely conscious that he would not be part of the ritual. He knew that, in his heart, he would live to regret not being instrumental in an event which was epochal. Yet he was far from being alone. Apart from Quilhampton and Frey, there was not a man in Admiral Louis's squadron that was not mortified to have been sitting in Gibraltar Bay when Lord Nelson was dying off Cape Trafalgar. They could not reconcile themselves to their ill-luck. At least, Drinkwater consoled himself, he had been a witness to the battle. It did not occur to him that he had in any way contributed to the saving of a single life by his assisting Masson in the cockpit of the Bucentaure. His mind shied away from any contemplation of that terrible place, unwilling to burden itself with the responsibility of poor Gillespy's death. He knew that remorse would eventually compel him to face his part in the boy's fate, but events pressed him too closely in the refitting of Irresistible for him to relax yet. Once they sailed, he knew, reaction would set in; for the moment, he was glad to have something constructive to do and to know that neither Quilhampton nor Frey had come to any harm.
A knock at his cabin door broke into his train of thought and he was glad of the interruption. 'Enter!'
Drinkwater looked up from the pool of lamp-light illuminating the litter of papers upon the table.
'Yes. Who is it?' The light from the lamp blinded him to the darkness elsewhere in the cabin. The white patches of a midshipman's collar caught the reflected light and suddenly he saw that it was Lord Walmsley who stepped out of the shadows. Drinkwater frowned. 'What the devil d'you want?' he asked sharply.
'I beg pardon, sir, but may I speak with you?'
Drinkwater stared coldly at the young man. Since his brief, unexpected appearance on the Bucentaure, Drinkwater had given Walmsley no further thought.
'Well, Mr Walmsley?'
'I… I, er, wished to apologise, sir…' Walmsley bit his lip, 'to apologise, sir, and ask if you would accept me back…'
Drinkwater studied the midshipman. He sensed, rather than saw, a change in him. Perhaps it was the lamp-light illuminating his face, but he seemed somehow older. Drinkwater knitted his brow, recalling that Walmsley had killed Waller. He dismissed his momentary sympathy.
'I placed you on board Canopus, Mr Walmsley, under Rear-Admiral Louis. The next thing I know is that you are on Conqueror. Then you come here wearing sack-cloth and ashes. It will not do, sir. No, it really will not do.' Drinkwater leaned forward in dismissal of the midshipman, but Walmsley persisted.
'Sir, I beg you give me a hearing.'
Drinkwater looked up again, sighed and said, 'Go on.'
Walmsley swallowed and Drinkwater saw that his face was devoid of arrogance. He seemed chastened by something.
'Admiral Louis had me transferred, sir. I was put on board Conqueror…'
'Why?' Drinkwater broke in sharply.
Walmsley hesitated. 'The admiral said…'
'Said what?'
Walmsley was trembling, containing himself with a great effort: 'That my character was not fit, sir. That I should be broke like a horse before I could be made a seaman…' Walmsley hung his head, unable to go on. A silence filled the cabin.
'How old are you?'
'Nineteen, sir.'
'And Captain Pellew, what was his opinion of you?'
Walmsley mastered his emotion. The confession had clearly cost him a great deal, but it was over now. 'Captain Pellew had given me no marks of his confidence, sir. My present position is not tolerable.'
'And why have you suddenly decided to petition me, sir? Do you consider me to be easy?' Drinkwater raised his voice.
'No, sir. But the events of recent weeks have persuaded me that I should better learn my business from you, sir.'
'Do you have a sudden desire to learn your business, Mr Walmsley? I had not noticed your zeal commend you before.'
'No, sir… but the events of recent weeks, sir… I am… I can offer no explanation beyond saying that the battle has had a profound effect upon me. So many good fellows going… the sight of so many dead…'
It struck Drinkwater that the young man was sincere. He remembered him vomiting over the shambles of the Bucentaure's gun-deck and supposed the battle might have had some redeeming effect upon Walmsley's character. Whether reformed or not, Walmsley watched by a vigilant Drinkwater might be better than Walmsley abusing his rank and privileges with men who had fought with such gallantry off Cape Trafalgar.
'Very well, Mr Walmsley,' Drinkwater reached for a clean sheet of paper, 'I will write to Captain Pellew on your behalf.'
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Martyr of Rennes
'So you finally came home in a frigate?' Lord Dungarth looked at his single dinner guest through a haze of blue tobacco smoke.