'That is very young, is it not? And how long have you been aboard this ship?' 'Three months, sir.'
'Ah, quite the old hand, eh? You commanded the gig when I came on board.' 'Yes, sir.'
The similarity of names reminded Drinkwater of his own son Richard who had once implored to be taken to sea. Drinkwater had not even entered him on a ship's books, so little did he want to encourage the lad. Now the youthful Dickon increasingly managed the modest Suffolk estate with its two farms and had forgotten his idea of following his father's footsteps into the Royal Navy.
'There's one born every minute,' Walsh remarked, and Drinkwater let the rubicund marine officer scoop up the younkers and bore them with tales of derring-do when the war and he had been young.
Drinkwater raised an eyebrow at Huke, who gave a slow, tolerant smile and shrugged.
'When will we close Utsira, Mr Birkbeck?' Drinkwater asked conversationally. 'I have somewhat neglected matters today.'
'You had a bad night of it, sir,' said Birkbeck indulgently, 'but I got a squint at the sun and reckon, all being well, noon tomorrow.'
'I think we may be able to take stellar observations at twilight tomorrow morning,' Drinkwater said.
Frampton, the captain's steward, went round and refilled the glasses, Fisher's included, and the air rapidly filled with chatter. Drinkwater looked round with a sense of some satisfaction. It was only a small portion of the complement of the wardroom, of course, but they seemed good enough fellows. He caught Frampton's eye. 'Sir?'
'Five minutes.' 'Aye, aye, sir.'
'And no more wine for Mr Fisher.' Aye, aye, sir.'
Drinkwater turned to Huke. 'Damn fool,' he muttered, then, 'Would you introduce me to the surgeon, Tom?'
Huke performed the introduction. 'Mr Kennedy, sir.' The curt half-bows performed, Drinkwater said, 'Glad to make your acquaintance,' and to the company at large, 'I’m sorry, gentlemen, not to have made your acquaintance earlier, but the somewhat irregular circumstances of my joining and the haste of our departure combined with last night's blow to make the matter rather difficult. I hope this evening will set matters to rights.'
'I'm sure, sir,' said Jameson, the third lieutenant, in his thick Scotch burr. "Twas an infernal night; ha'e ye ever known its like afore, sir?'
'Well, yes,' Drinkwater said, and told briefly of the typhoon and the storm off Helgoland before turning to the surgeon. 'You have not been long at sea, I understand, Mr Kennedy, how did you cope with the motion?'
'Somewhat miserably I fear, sir. When the physician is indisposed, there is little hope for the sick.'
'You are better now?'
'As a matter of fact, sir, I'm ravenous.'
The remark coincided with Frampton's arrival with the meat. The delicious smell of succulent roast pork filled the cabin, killing the conversation as all swung in happy anticipation to the table. The joint, the fresh vegetables, potatoes, gravy and apple sauce suggested a meal ashore, rather than one aboard a man-of-war upon an urgent cruise.
'Please take your seats, gentlemen.'
The rumble of talk resumed, joining the scraping of chairs as the officers sat and flicked their napkins into their laps. Then they fell silent, leaving only Walsh to remark to Fisher, 'You had better ask the captain, young fella.'
'What had you better ask me, Mr Fisher?'
'Why, sir, where we are going?'
Surprise at the youthful indiscretion was clear on all their faces, though it amused Drinkwater. 'What makes you think we are going anywhere particular, Mr Fisher?'
Midshipman Fisher was flushing with the realization that he was the cynosure of all eyes. 'Well, s ... s ... sir,' he stammered, 'Is... supposed we might be, sir.'
'Go on, sir,' said Drinkwater, breaking the expectation by beginning to carve.
'Well, sir, we were quietly at anchor with Captain Pardoe away in Parliament and then, sir, here you are and off we go!'
He was in his stride by the end of it and the officers laughed indulgently as Frampton went round filling their glasses.
'Well, Mr Fisher has a point, gentlemen,' Drinkwater said as he finished passing the platters of sliced meat down the table. 'We are engaged on a particular service, as some of you may know. As to what it is, it is difficult at this juncture to be absolutely certain, so shall we say we are engaged on a reconnaissance?' He handed a plate to Huke and looked at Fisher. 'Well now, Mr Fisher, do you know the course?'
'North-east, sir?'
'And what do you suppose lies to the nor' east of Leith Road, eh?'
'Norway, sir?'
'Indeed, Mr Fisher, Norway. In the next few days we shall take a look into a fiord or two and see what we can find...'
'In the way of an enemy, sir?' asked Fisher, pot-valiant.
'Possibly, Mr Fisher. Mr Walsh, do see that Mr Fisher has enough potatoes.'
'Oh, yes sir, of course.'
'Tae stop his gob,' Jameson muttered.
The general babble recommenced with indulgent grins bestowed on the blushing midshipman. After the pork, a duff appeared and when the cloth had been drawn and the loyal toast drunk, Walsh lit a cheroot and hogged the decanter.
'A fair wind, if you please, Walsh,' prompted Huke, and the evening passed into a pleasant blur.
When it was over Drinkwater invited Huke to take a turn on deck to clear their heads. It was not quite dark. Thin tendrils of high cloud partially veiled some of the stars, but a dull red glow hung in the northern sky.
'It looks like a misplaced sunset,' Huke remarked, puzzled.
'Aurora borealis,' Drinkwater said, and they paused to stare at it for a moment. The crimson glow seemed to pulse gently, increasing in brilliance, then dying again, like coals that are almost extinguished. 'It can take on the most incredible forms,' Drinkwater remarked, and they began walking again.
Andromeda ghosted through the water, for the wind had gone down with the sun.
'I wish to God we knew the whereabouts of the Kestrel'
'Yes. Perhaps he'll head back to Leith, the wind's been fair.'
'Sir?' A figure loomed in the darkness. It was not Mosse, the officer of the watch.
'Is that you, Mr Kennedy?'
'Yes, sir. I'm afraid I've some rather bad news.'
'Then keep your voice down, man,' hissed Huke.
'We've a case of typhus aboard,' Kennedy whispered.
CHAPTER 7
Utsira
At dawn next morning the frigate was stirred to life by the marine drummer beating the ship's company to quarters. It was a grey morning, with a translucent veil of high altitude cloud spread across the sky, robbing them of the stellar observations Drinkwater and Birkbeck had hoped to secure. The horizon had not yet hardened before the stars, like distant lamps, had faded. Extinguished, Drinkwater mused to himself as he came on deck and took stock, by overly frugal angels.
The ship's company knew nothing of this disappointment. The watch on deck cast about in confusion at the sudden appearance of the captain, marine officer and first lieutenant and the rattle of the drummer's snare, for there was no obvious enemy in the offing. The watches below tumbled up, chivvied by thundering hearts and starters, and equally confused for, as they ran to their actions stations, the mystified petty officers knew only that the men were to be stopped from clearing for action and casting off the guns' breechings. Instead, they were to fall in in their messes, and the transmission of this unorthodox procedure caused further confusion. This took a few extra moments and in turn provided an adequate time-lapse to breed rumour.
There were two of these speculations forming and they spread by muttered word of mouth faster than a spark along a quick-match. How these incomplete utterances sped round the ship, how one utterly defeated the other so that, by the time the divisional officers each sent their midshipmen aft to report their men mustered, the victorious buzz had convinced thirteen score of men, is a mystery understood only by those who have experienced it.