Beneath the aurora

'Send down the yard ropes!'

The yard, its sail furled along it, rose from the boat booms and began its journey aloft.

'High enough! Rig the yardarms!'

The men on the forecastle waited for their colleagues aloft to finish their preparatory work.

'Taking their bloody time ...' a man grumbled quietly.

'Shut up, Hopkins, the cap'n's over there ...'

'Hold your blethering tongues!' Hardy said as he stared aloft, where some difficulty was being experienced. Drinkwater barely noticed these sotto voce remarks. He was concentrating on the business of seeking a second glimpse of that distant sail.

Hardy and the men aloft held a brief exchange. A call came down that all was now well. 'Sway higher ... avast! Tend lifts and braces!' Men shuffled across the deck, more ropes were cast off belaying pins, their coils flung out for quick running and tailed on to by the seamen, chivvied by Greer.

'That's well there. Stand by! Now ... sway across!'

Hitched properly the topgallant yard left the vertical and assumed its more natural horizontal position. 'Bend the gear!'

It was secured in its parrel and the mast slushed. Those on deck cleared up, recoiling the ropes and preparing to move aft to the mainmast. If the south-easterly wind continued to fall away, they would be setting those sails before they were piped to dinner.

'Lay down from aloft!'

The topmen swarmed down the backstays, hand over hand, saw the captain and ceased their chaffing with hissed cautions. Drinkwater shut his glass with a snap and walked aft. He must have been mistaken. There was no sign of Kestrel.

Halfway along the gangway a thought struck him with such force that he stopped beside the men now mustering round the mainmast. The man who had been called Hopkins caught his eye.

'You there!' he called. 'That man, Mr Hardy, beside the larboard pinrail, d'you know his name?'

The boatswain looked round. 'That's Hopkins, sir.'

'Hopkins, come here.'

The men had stopped work. Lieutenant Huke and the master, Mr Birkbeck, came towards him, uncertain of what was happening. With obvious reluctance the man identified as Hopkins approached and stood before Drinkwater.

'Have I sailed with you before, Hopkins?' Drinkwater asked. His tone of voice was pleasant, deliberately relaxed, as though wanting to make an impression by this mock familiarity.

'No, sir.'

'I'm certain we've sailed together before. D'you have a twin?'

'No, sir.'

'You were on the Antigone, or was it the Patrician?'

'No, sir.'

'Where are you from, Hopkins, eh?' Drinkwater went on, probing for something longer than these monosyllabic words. Watching his quarry, Drinkwater saw the eyes flicker uncertainly. 'Where were you born?'

'London, sir.'

'What part of London?'

Hopkins shrugged. 'Just London, sir.'

'And you say you've never sailed with me before?' Sweat was standing out on Hopkins's brow.

'No, sir.'

'Well stap me, Hopkins, I'd have laid money on the fact!' Drinkwater smiled. 'Very well, then, carry on. Carry on, Mr Hardy, let's have the men at it again. I want those t'gallants set.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Hopkins turned and escaped. Odd looks were exchanged between officers and men alike as they went back to their tasks. Drinkwater continued aft, with Huke and Birkbeck staring after him.

'Odd cove,' remarked the master, looking at Drinkwater who had continued to the taffrail and stood staring astern, his hands clasping the brass tube of the Dollond glass behind his back.

'Yes,' replied Huke doubtfully. 'Carry on, will you, Mr Birkbeck.'

Huke walked aft himself and stood next to Drinkwater. After a moment Drinkwater said, without turning his head, 'That man Hopkins, have you had him aboard long?'

'No, sir. Pressed him out of that merchantman I mentioned.'

'Ah, yes, I recall...'

Huke waited for more, but Drinkwater continued to stare astern.

'I cannot imagine what has happened to Quilhampton,' he said with a faint air of abstraction.

'Sir, d'you mind if I ask ... ?'

'No, Mr Huke, I don't mind you asking.' Drinkwater swung round and looked at his first lieutenant. 'But perhaps you'll answer my question first. How many more men that you pressed from that same merchantman are Yankees?'

It was far from a comforting thought, and it would not leave Drinkwater alone throughout that worrying day. Huke had hurried off and returned after a few moments with the assurance that, although most of the men out of the merchantmen had American accents, when challenged, all had claimed to have been of loyalist descent.

'Very fine and dandy, if it's true, which I doubt.'

'But why should it not be true? If they had been Americans, they would not have submitted without protesting at being pressed.'

'Indeed. But that doesn't prove they are what they say they are. Did they submit to being placed on board docilely?'

'No, of course not, sir, but they said they were owed money, that they had not received their wages or slops and they were dressed in filthy rags. I ordered them fitted out.' Huke's explanation petered out, then, as if summoning himself, he added, 'Sir, if I might say so, I think you are concerning yourself overmuch. You had little sleep last night.' Huke stopped as the spark of anger kindled in Drinkwater's eye.

'Damn it, sir ... !'

'I mean no impertinence, Captain Drinkwater.' Huke stood his ground. Several thoughts flashed through Drinkwater's mind. He was tired, it was true, but all was far from well and he felt he had touched something. The man Hopkins had been deliberately evasive. Not merely unwilling to answer the captain's questions, but suspecting something when asked, persistently, if he had sailed with Drinkwater before. Moreover, no Londoner would be content not to refer to his natal quarter of the capital.

If Drinkwater was right, doubts had been sowed in Hopkins's mind as much as in Drinkwater's, and he might move again, and soon. The reflections calmed Drinkwater.

'You are right, Tom, forgive me.' He smiled and Huke reciprocated.

'Of course, sir.'

'Just humour an old fool and keep a damned close eye, as unobtrusively as possible, on that man. Make a particular note of his cronies.'

'Very well, sir, I'll see to that.'

'I think I shall take a nap then. Be so good as to see the t'gallants set and have me called at six bells in the afternoon watch.'

'Of course, sir.'

'And round up Walsh, Birkbeck, Templeton and, what did you say the Bones's name was?'

'Kennedy.'

'Him and a couple of the midshipmen, to join me at dinner. I'll tell Frampton to have a pig killed.'

'I'll do that, sir.'

'Very good of you, Tom.'

The wind held steady from the south-east, but continued to fall away during the afternoon so that as the officers assembled for dinner, Andromeda slipped easily through the water.

Circulating among them, Drinkwater sought to draw his guests in turn. Walsh proved as talkative a fellow as the first lieutenant had suggested, battering Drinkwater with a torrent of inconsequences he quite failed to understand so that Walsh followed when he stepped forward to meet the two midshipmen, one of whom was no more than a child.

'You are Mr Fisher, are you not?' Drinkwater quizzed, as the boy nervously entered the cabin in the company of a much taller, out-at-elbows young man Drinkwater recognized as Pearce.

'Yes, sir,' the boy squeaked. 'My name is Richard Fisher.' 'How old are you, Mr Fisher?' 'Eleven, sir.'