'Take that man's name, Mr Rogers, by God, I'll have him screaming for his mother yet damn it!' Morris came forward shaking with rage, the stink of rum upon him. 'Where's the first lieutenant? Pass word for the first lieutenant!'
A smirking Dalziell brought Drinkwater hurriedly on deck to where Morris was fuming. The rope had been cleared and the topmen were already working out along the yard, securing the sail.
'Sir?' said Drinkwater, touching his hat to the acting commander.
'What the hell have you been doing with these men, Mr Drinkwater? Eh? The damned lubbers cannot furl a God-damned f gallant without fouling the gear!'
Morris stared at him. 'What d'you say, sir? What d'you say?'
Drinkwater looked at Rogers and then aloft. 'I expect they are still unfamiliar with the gear sir, I…' He faltered at the gleam of triumph in Morris's eye.
'In that case, Mr Drinkwater, you may call all hands and exercise them. Aloft there! Let fall! Let fall!' He turned to Rogers. 'There sir, set 'em again, sheet 'em home properly then furl 'em again. And this time do it properly, damn your eyes!'
Morris stumped off below and Rogers met Drinkwater's eyes. Rogers too had a temper and was clearly containing himself with difficulty.
'Steady Samuel,' said Drinkwater in a low voice. 'He is the senior lieutenant…'
Rogers expelled his breath. 'And two weeks bloody seniority is enough to hang a man… I know,' he turned away and roared at the waisters, 'A touch more on that lee t'garn brace you damned lubbers, or you'll all feel the cat scratching…'
It was only a trivial thing that happened daily on many ships but it had its sequel below when Drinkwater was summoned to the large cabin lately occupied by Edouard Santhonax. It was now filled with the reek of rum and the person of Morris slumped in a chair, his shirt undone, a glass in his hand.
'I will have everything done properly, Drinkwater. Now I command, and by God, I've waited a long time for it, been cheated out of it by you and your ilk too many times to let go now, and I'll not tolerate one inch of slip-shod seamanship. Try and prejudice my chances of confirmation at Mocha, Drinkwater, and I'll ruin you…'
'Sir, if you think I deliberately…'
'Shut your mouth and obey orders. Don't try to be clever or to play the innocent for by God you will not thwart me now. If you so much as cross me I'll take a pretty revenge upon you. Now get out!'
Drinkwater left and shunned the company of Appleby and Wrinch that evening while he thought over their circumstances.
'Well, well, my dear Wrinch, a most brilliant little affair by all accounts and the loss of the Hellebore more than compensated by the acquisition of so fine a frigate as the Antigone. Pity Daedalus and Fox knocked the brig Annette about so much that she's not worth burning for her damned fastenings, eh?' Blankett sniffed, referring to the capture made by the two frigates on their way south of the third vessel in Santhonax's squadron.
'I think the frigate the better bargain, Your Excellency,' said Wrinch drily. Admiral Blankett dabbed at his lips then belched discreetly behind the napkin. 'A rather ironic outcome, don't you know, considering the Hellebore ain't under my command. I suppose I may represent that in this affair she was operating under my orders even though you exceeded your damned authority in sending her.'
Wrinch merely smiled while the admiral weighed Wrinch's impertinence against the gains to be made upon the fulcrum of his own dignity. He appeared to make up his mind.
'Well her damned commander's dead and so it seems I owe that popinjay Nelson a favour after all, eh?'
Wrinch nodded. 'French power is no longer a factor in the Red Sea, sir.'
'What did you make of that damned cove Santhonax?' asked the admiral recollecting his duty together with the fact that Wrinch had interrogated the French officer.
'He was quite frank. Had no option as we had captured his papers entire. He was to have carried a division to India this year, then Bonaparte invaded Syria and Murad Bey tied down Desaix in Upper Egypt and he was ordered to wait. He decided to careen on the coast of the Hejaz, as we know, and was in the process of collecting his squadron before seeking out Your Excellency. Had we arrived two days later he might have achieved his aim. After all he had secured Kosseir and Ball's attempt to dislodge his men failed somewhat abysmally, I believe…' Wrinch went no further, aware that the admiral had had the Kosseir affair represented in a somewhat more flattering light.
'Ha h'm. Well we have a handsome prize to show for our labours, eh Strangford?' Wrinch smiled again. The admiral would make a tidy amount in prize money, despite the loss of Annette. He would receive one-eighth of the Antigone's value if she were purchased into the Royal Navy.
'We had better get Antigone home without delay, eh?' Wrinch inclined his head in agreement. 'And we'll disburse a little more than you claim to those Arabs, they're well-known for their rapacity.' The admiral grinned boyishly, 'you and I split the difference, what d'you say, eh?'
Wrinch shrugged as though helpless. 'Whatever you say, Your Excellency.'
'Good.' Blankett looked pleased and Wrinch reflected he had good reason. Without stirring from his anchorage at Mocha he had enriched himself considerably by the capture of the Antigone and the embezzlement of public money that would be officially disbursed to contingent expenses. Furthermore his subordinates had removed all threat of French expansion to India and, at least from Captain Lidgbird Ball's account of it, his squadron had taken part in a highly creditable bombardment of Kosseir. That this had been rendered significant more by the capture of Santhonax and his ship than the six thousand rounds of shot picked up by the French upon the foreshore was of no consequence to the admiral. While all this excitement had been going on he had been enjoying the voluptuous pleasure of two willing women. All in all Blankett's circumstances were most satisfactory.
'Whom will you appoint to command the prize home, sir?' enquired Wrinch.
The admiral screwed his face up. 'Well there's young what's his name on the Bombay station to be given a step in rank, but I think one of my own officers… er, Grace, the commander of Hotspur could be posted into the ship; but ain't she only en flûte?'
Wrinch nodded, 'Only six main-deck guns mounted, sir.'
'Hmmm, I doubt Grace'd thank me if I posted him into a sitting duck for a Frog cruiser…' Blankett rubbed his chin which rasped in the still, hot air. 'No, we'll give a deserving lieutenant a step to commander. If he loses the prize on the way home then there's one less indigent on the navy list. Now let me see…'
'Surely the honour should go to the officer whose exertions secured the prize? Isn't that the tradition?'
Blankett waved the assumption aside. 'Well 'tis tradition, to be sure, but sometimes a little done for one's friends… you know well enough, Strangford.'