The Corvette

'How is the arm?'

'An infallible barometer signalling westerly gales, sir.' They both laughed. 'I heard you was wounded off Boulogne, sir…'

'I am a trifle sagged amidships, Mr Hill, but otherwise sound. I have an excellent second for you. May I present Mr James Quilhampton, Master's Mate, lately qualified at the Trinity House of London and a veteran of Copenhagen.' He stepped aside allowing the little knot of officers to receive Quilhampton's bow. Drinkwater turned to Germaney who resumed the introductions.

'Mr Gorton, sir, whose six years are nearly up.'

'How many have you served at sea, Mr Gorton?'

'All of them, sir,' replied the midshipman, looking Drinkwater in the eye. 'I was two years a volunteer before that, sir.' Drinkwater nodded with satisfaction. Mr Gorton seemed to possess more potential than either of the two commissioned lieutenants. He turned to the next youth, perhaps a year or two younger than Gorton.

'Lord Walmsley, sir.'

Drinkwater caught his jaw in time and merely nodded and turned to the next. Another seventeen-year-old, the Honourable Alexander Glencross essayed a bow and was received with similar frigidity. Drinkwater had the impression that neither of these two young gentlemen took their profession very seriously and was relieved to see two fairly commonplace specimens at the end of the line.

'Messrs Wickham and Dutfield, sir and Mr Frey.'

Mr Frey emerged from behind Dutfield where, Drinkwater suspected, the latter young gentleman had been holding him. Palgrave, it appeared, let his midshipmen fool about and skylark. That was all very well but it led too often to bullying and Mr Frey was a child of no more than twelve years of age.

Germaney produced a purser named Pater, a bosun and a carpenter before drawing Drinkwater's attention to a disreputable figure half hidden behind the mizenmast.

'Mr Macpherson, our surgeon.'

'Macpherson of Edinburgh, Captain,' slurred the surgeon, his face wet with perspiration, his eyes watery with rheum, 'A votre service.' Drinkwater could smell the rum at a yard distant and noted the dirty coat and stained linen.

'Lieutenant Mount, sir,' Germaney ploughed on, distracting Drinkwater from the state of the surgeon. Macpherson's shortcomings would be the subject of some conversation between captain and first lieutenant, but later, and on Germaney's terms. 'Lieutenant Mount, sir, of His Majesty's Marines.'

'Royal Marines, Mr Germaney, you should not neglect the new title.' Drinkwater indicated the blue facings of a royal regiment. 'An improvement upon the old white, Mr Mount,' he said conversationally and paced along the line of scarlet and pipe-clayed soldiers drawn up for his inspection. Mr Mount glowed with pleasure. He had spotted the glitter of gold lace a good fifteen minutes before the midshipman of the watch and had turned his men out in time to create a good impression.

'Your men do you credit, Mr Mount. I would have them all proficient marksmen to a high degree and I should like you to take charge of all the small-arms training on the ship. I have a prejudice against the junior lieutenant being responsible for the matter. He is better employed with his division and at the great guns.'

Drinkwater looked round, pleased with the obvious stir this small innovation had caused. He strode forward to stand by the larboard hance. A solitary brass carronade marked the limit of the hallowed quarterdeck of Captain Sir James Palgrave and the non-regulation addition to Melusine's long guns shone with an ostentatious polish.

'I hope, Mr Germaney,' said Drinkwater in a clear voice, 'that all this tiddley work ain't at the expense of the ship's true fighting qualities, eh?'

He was facing the men assembled in the waist and caught half a dozen swiftly suppressed grins.

'N… no, of course not, sir.'

'Very well.' He looked over the ship's company. They seemed to be made up of the usual mixture. Tow headed Scandinavians, swarthy Portuguese, three negroes, an Indian and an Arab amongst a herd of old and young from the two kingdoms and the emerald isle. 'Do your duty men and you have nothing to fear.' It was an old formula, hack words but good enough for the moment. And if it lacked inspiration it at least encapsulated all that was required of them.

'Pray take a seat, Mr Germaney.' Drinkwater hung his hat and turned to his first lieutenant. Captain Palgrave's hurried departure had made Drinkwater temporary heir to some handsome cabin furniture and a full decanter of rich malmsey.

He poured a glass for himself and the first lieutenant, aware that they had just inspected parts of the ship that he doubted Mr Germaney even knew existed.

'That cockpit, Mr Germaney, is an ill-ventilated spot at best. I want it white-washed as soon as possible. There are marks there, and in the demeanour of the young gentlemen, of a slackness that I do not like. Now, your good health.' They drank and Drinkwater looked shrewdly at the lieutenant. He was on edge, yet displayed a certain lassitude to the task of showing the captain round the ship. An officer intent on creating a good impression would have shown off some of Melusine's good points rather than ignoring them. Well, it was no matter. For the present there were more urgent considerations.

'The ship is well enough, Mr Germaney, although I withhold my full approbation until I see how her people make sail and work the guns. What I am not happy about is the surgeon.'

A surprising and noticeable interest stirred Germaney.

'Tell me,' Drinkwater continued, 'how was such a slovenly officer able to hold his position under an officer as, er, punctilious as Captain Palgrave?'

'I am not certain, sir. It seemed Sir James owed him some service or other.'

'Is the man perpetually drunk?'

Germaney brightened. Things were turning a little in his favour. 'I regret to say that that is most usually the case, sir. There is no confidence in him among the people.'

'That dees not surprise me. His instruments were filthy with rust and his loblolly boys looked perilous close to being gangrenous themselves. Come, another glass of this excellent malmsey…' Drinkwater watched the first lieutenant shrewdly. In the few hours he had been aboard much had already been made clear. He did not find the weakness of his three lieutenants comforting.

'What made your late captain leave such a taut ship, Mr Germaney?'

Germaney was beginning to relax. Captain Drinkwater seemed amiable enough: a trifle of a democrat, he suspected, and he had a few bees in his bonnet, to which his rank entitled him. But there was little to mark him as special, as Templeton had intimated. If anything he seemed inclined to tipple. Germaney drained his glass and Drinkwater refilled it.

'Oh, er, he resigned, sir. He was a man of some wealth as you see,' Germaney indicated the richness of the cabin furnishings and the french-polished panels of the forward bulkhead.

'An odd circumstance, wouldn't you say, to resign command of such a ship on the outbreak of war?'

Germaney shrugged, aware of the imputed slight. 'I was not a party to Sir James's affairs, sir.'

'Not even those most touching his honour, Mr Germaney?'

Germaney moved uneasily. 'I… I do not understand what you mean, sir.'

'I mean that I doubt if Captain Palgrave engaged in an affair of honour without the support of yourself as his second.'

'Oh, you know of that… some damned gossip hereabouts I…'

'I learned at the Admiralty, Mr Germaney, and I do not need to tell you that the news was not well received.' The implication went home. It was fairly logical to suppose that Germaney would have served as Palgrave's second in the duel. Often a first lieutenant was bound to his commander by greater ties than mere professional loyalty. It was inconceivable that a peacetime captain like Palgrave would not have had such a first lieutenant.