The Corvette

Singleton ignored this homily. 'When do you propose to land me, sir?'

'Land you? Good heavens, do not trouble me with such matters now. First I have to get these confounded ships out of this Goddamned river!'

Drinkwater saw the look of shock on Singleton's face and found that it gave him a pleasurable sensation. 'Saving your cloth, Mr Singleton,' he said ironically and added, 'I should like you to join the officers and dine with me this evening. And I should like you to make no hasty judgements about the sea service; parsons have a bad reputation at sea, far worse than that of seamen ashore.'

He rose and smiled, dismissing Singleton abruptly as another knock came at the cabin door. The purser entered.

'You sent for me, sir?'

'I did, Mr Pater… I shall see you at dinner, Mr Singleton.'

'Your man has arrived, sir,' put in the purser, 'they are swinging your baggage aboard now.'

'Excellent. Will you take a glass, Mr Pater?'

'With pleasure, sir.'

'Thou should'st address the ship's head a half-point more to starboard.'

Drinkwater nodded at Hill as the master sought his approval.

Melusine leaned slightly as the wind shifted forward a trifle as they altered course. The distant banks of the broad river were low and barely perceptible as the steeples and roofs of Hull dropped astern. Drinkwater raised his glass and studied the two vessels hoisting their topsails off Killingholme. The Hudson Bay Company's ships were superbly fitted, of a similar size to Melusine and with the appearance of sixth-rates of the smallest class. They were certainly a contrast to the squat whalers following Melusine down the river.

'Thou hast competition in the matter of elegance, Captain.'

'You object to elegance, Captain Sawyers?'

'It is irrelevant to the true meaning of life, Captain.'

'How will the Faithful fare with you piloting Melusine from the Humber?' asked Drinkwater, changing the subject and feeling preached at for the second time in as many days.

'My son is a chief mate, Captain Drinkwater, a man as skilled as myself.'

'Come, sir,' put in Drinkwater grinning, 'that is immodest!'

'Not at all. Ability is a gift from God as manifest as physical strength or the fact that I have brown hair. I do not glory in it, merely state it.'

Drinkwater felt out-manoeuvred on his own quarterdeck and turned to look astern. Alone among the whale-ships foaming in their wake, Faithful was without a garland slung between fore and mainmasts. The ancient symbol of a Greenlander's love-tokens was absent from her topgallant rigging, neither were there so many flags as were flying from the other ships. Drinkwater wondered how many of Sawyers's crew shared his gentle and sober creed. Perhaps his rumoured success at the fishery reconciled them to a lack of ostentation as was customary on sailing day.

The other ships were under no such constraint. The otherwise dull appearance of the whale-ships was enlivened by streamers, ensigns and pendants bearing their names, lovingly fashioned by their wives and sweethearts whose fluttering handkerchiefs had long since vanished. The embroidered pendant that flew from Nimrod's mainmasthead was fifty feet long, an oriflamme of scarlet, and Drinkwater could see the dominating figure of Jemmett Ellerby at the break of her poop.

Nimrod was crowding on sail and bid fair to pass Melusine as she slipped easily along at six knots, going large before the wind under her topsails and foretopmast staysail, leading the slower whalers towards the open waters of the North Sea.

'He hath the pride of Goliath before the Philistine Host,' Sawyers nodded in Ellerby's direction. 'He shall meet David at God's will.'

Drinkwater looked at the Quaker. He was not surprised that there were divisions of opinion and rifts between a group of individuals as unique as the whale-captains. Once on the fishing grounds there would be a rivalry between them that Drinkwater foresaw would make his task almost impossible. But the remark had either a touch of the venom of jealousy or of a confidence. Given what he had seen of Sawyers he doubted the man was a hypocrite and marked the remark as a proof of the Quaker's friendship. He responded.

'I am most grateful, Captain Sawyers, for your kind offer to pilot us clear of the Humber. It is an intricate navigation, given to much change, but I had not supposed that a gentleman of your persuasion would countenance boarding a King's ship.' He gestured towards the lines of cannon housed against the rail.

'Ah, but thou hast also doubtless heard how those of my persuasion, as thou has it, are not averse to profit, eh?' Sawyers smiled.

'Indeed I have,' replied Drinkwater smiling back.

'Well I shall confess to thee a love of the fishery, both for its profits and its nearness to God. It seems that thy presence is indispensable this season and so,' he shrugged, 'in order to practise my calling, sir, I have needs to assist thee to sea. Now, thou must bring her to larboard two points and square the yards before that scoundrel Ellerby forces you ashore on the Burcom.'

Nimrod was foaming up on their quarter, a huge bow wave hissing at her forefoot.

'May I give her the forecourse, sir?' asked Germaney eagerly.

'Aye, sir, he knows well enough to keep astern according to the order of sailing,' added Hill indignantly.

Drinkwater shook his head. 'This is not a race. Mr Q!'

'Sir?'

'Make to Nimrod, "Keep proper station".'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Drinkwater turned his full attention to the Nimrod. She was almost level with the Melusine's mizen now, no more than a hundred feet off as she too swung to larboard.

In the waist of the sloop men milled about watching the whaler and looking aft to see the reaction of their new commander. Officers too, advised of the trial of strength taking place above, had come up from their watch below. Drinkwater saw Singleton's sober black figure watching from the rail while Mr Gorton explained what was happening.

Drinkwater felt an icy determination fill him. After the days of being put upon, of being the victim of circumstance and not its master, he secretly thanked Ellerby for this public opportunity. By God, he was damned if he would crowd an inch of canvas on his ship.

Quilhampton and little Frey were sending up the signal. It was a simple numeral, one of two score of signals he had circulated to his charges the evening before. Mr Frey had even tinted the little squared flags drawn in the margins with the colours from his water-colour box. Drinkwater smiled at the boy's keenness.

Amidships the newly joined Tregembo nudged the man next to him.

'See that, mate. When he grins like that the sparks fly.' There was renewed interest in the conduct of their captain, particularly as the Nimrod continued to surge past.

Drinkwater turned to his first lieutenant. 'Give him the larboard bow chaser unshotted, if you please.'

'Larbowlines! Spitfire battery stand by!'