Captain Poulter had come on deck and walked over to him.
'Well, cully, had much experience with this kind of vessel?' His accent was unmistakably that of the capital.
'Not a cutter, sir, but I was lately prize-master of a schooner.'
'Good. I hope I shall not detain you long from the King's business but I am bound for the Scilly Islands with Captain Calvert to examine the lighthouse there. Perhaps a King's officer may find that interesting.' Drinkwater detected the flicker of insinuation in Poulter's voice. He recognised it as a device used by old Blackmore and other merchant masters who resented the navy's social superiority. To his credit he coloured.
'To tell the truth, sir, I am greatly obliged to you for removing me from yonder guardship. Methought I might die of boredom before I saw action again.'
'That's well,' said Poulter turning to windward and sniffing the air. 'Plague on this damn coast. It's always raining.'
The Trinity Yacht left Plymouth two days later. August had passed into September. The rain had given way to windy, mist-laden days. But the weather had no power to depress the young midshipman's spirits. After the claustrophobic atmosphere of the guardship, service on the Trinity Yacht was stimulating in the extreme. Here was a fine little ship run as efficiently as a first-rate without the lash and human degradation prevalent in His Majesty's service.
Captain Poulter and his mate proved generous instructors and Drinkwater quickly learned more of the subtleties of handling the fore and aft rig of the big cutter than he had mastered aboard Algonquin.
He found Captain Anthony Calvert willing to discourse with him, even interested to hear how Drinkwater would undertake certain navigational problems. He joined the Elder Brother and Poulter at dinner one evening. Calvert was treated with as much deference as Drinkwater had seen accorded to Admiral Kempenfelt. Indeed the captain flew his own flag at the cutter's masthead, although his privileges and responsibilities were considered to be exterior to the management of the yacht. Nevertheless he proved to be an interesting and interested man. As the cutter bucked her way to the west Drinkwater found himself recounting the story of the recapture of the Algonquin. At midnight Drinkwater left Poulter and Calvert to relieve the mate. It was still blowing hard, the night black, wet and inhospitable.
The mate had to bellow in Drinkwater's ear as he passed over the position and course.
'Keep her off on the starboard tack another hour. You're well off the Wolf Rock now but keep a sharp lookout when you stand north. We should be well west of it by now but the flood's away and will be fierce as the devil's eyebrows with this wind behind it. Ye'll be well advised to use caution.'
'Aye, aye,' replied Drinkwater, shouting back to the black figure whose tarpaulin ran with rain and spray. He was left to the night ruminating on the dangers of the unmarked Wolf. This totally isolated pinnacle of rock was, with the Eddystone, the most feared danger to mariners on the south coast of England. Continually swept by swells on even the calmest days it was to be 1795 before an abortive attempt was made to erect a beacon on it. This structure collapsed at the first gale and it was to be a generation before a permanent seamark was finally grouted into that formidable outcrop.
It was claimed by some that in certain sea conditions a subterraneous cavern produced a howling noise and this had given the rock its name, but, howling noise or not, nothing could have been heard that night above the roar of the gale and the creak and crash of the Trinity Yacht as she drove to the south-south-west.
Poulter had put four reefs into the enormous mainsail before dark. He was in no hurry since he wished to heave to off the Scillies to observe the light at St Agnes. It was for this purpose Calvert had journeyed from London.
At two bells Drinkwater prepared to put about on to the port tack. Before doing so he went forward to inspect the headsails. The staysail was reefed down but out on the long bowsprit a small spitfire jib stood against the gale. Drinkwater had learned that to balance the huge mainsail a jib had to be kept as near the end of the bowsprit as conditions permitted. He watched the big spar stab at a wave-crest even as the bow he stood on pitched down off its predecessor. Beneath him the figurehead of a lion guardant disappeared in a welter of white water that rolled hissing away from the cutter's steadily advancing stem.
He returned aft, calling the watch to their stations, glanced at the compass then up at Calvert's flag standing out from the masthead like a board. Two men leaned against the big tiller. He shouted at them:
'Down helm!' They grunted with exertion.
The yacht's heel reduced, she came upright, her canvas slatting madly, cracking like thunder. The hull swooped and ducked as she met the seas head on.
Drinkwater bit his lip. She took her time passing through the eye of the wind but her crew clearly knew their business. His orders were as much for his own satisfaction as the vessel's management. As she paid slowly off to starboard the little spitfire jib was held aback. The wind caught it and suddenly it exerted its tremendous leverage at the extremity of the bowsprit. The cutter spun on her heel, the mainsail filled, then the staysail was hauled over. Finally the weather jib sheet was started and the canvas cracked like a gun before it was tamed by the lee sheet. The yacht sped away to the north west and Drinkwater breathed a sigh of relief.
There was no opportunity to study the chart in the prevailing conditions. The deck was continually sluiced by seas coming aboard so that the two boats on chocks amidships appeared to be afloat of their own accord.
After a further hour of this the sails suddenly slatted. At once several men perceived the veering of the wind.
'Keep her full and bye,' roared Drinkwater to the helmsmen, to which a slightly reproachful voice answered, 'Aye, aye, but that's north, sir.'
Drinkwater checked himself reflecting that this was no king's ship and the helmsman's reply was not insubordinate but informative.
North.
He shook his head to clear away fatigue and too much of Calvert's port. With leeway and a roaring flood tide to set them east he might be setting on to the Wolf Rock! A knot of panic gripped his stomach until he mastered it with the thought that the total area of the rock was less than that of the cutter's deck. Surely the odds were impossibly against them striking that isolated spot?
A figure loomed up beside him. It was Poulter.
'Heard her luff, cully. You'll be concerned about the Wolf.' It was not a question but a statement simply made. Drinkwater felt the load lifted from his shoulders. His brain cleared and he was able to think.
'D'ye wish me to put about again Captain Poulter, with the shift of wind she'll hold a more westerly course, sir…?'
Poulter was glancing at the dimly lit compass. Drinkwater thought he caught a glimpse of a smile in the wet darkness.
'That will do very well, Mr Drinkwater. See to it if ye please.'
'Aye, aye, sir…'
The Trinity Yacht arrived off Hugh Town later that day and remained there for several days. Calvert and Poulter had themselves pulled across to St Agnes and the crew discharged several cauldrons of coal into their boats to feed the light's chauffer-fires.
Ten days after leaving Plymouth Calvert pronounced himself satisfied with the lighthouse and on coming aboard from a final visit Drinkwater overheard him talking to Poulter.
'Well Jonathan, we'll make passage tomorrow at first light observing the cresset again tonight. I'll post to London from Falmouth and you may then proceed to the east'ard.' Calvert's words fell dully on Drinkwater's ears until he mentioned Falmouth.