The gunnery exercise had gone off well enough and Ashton's divisions had acquitted themselves with proficiency, but this was due to the drilling and experience the majority of the men had acquired in the past. Marlowe had been conspicuously inactive on the quarterdeck, though Drinkwater had made nothing of it; he had to give the man time to pull himself together and was eager to put the encounter of the previous night behind them both. He was more concerned with maintaining the gun crews' skill. Anxious not to halt the westward progress interrupted by the necessity of burying Watson, they had not lowered a target, but practised broadside firing with unshotted guns and half charges, for Drinkwater could not afford to be prodigal with his powder and had to conserve all his shot.
Nevertheless the activity had been worthwhile, and the concussions of the guns had satisfied their baser instincts. Hyde had employed the usual expedient of having his marines shoot wine bottles to shivers from the lee main yard-arm. 'Generous of the first luff to provide us with targets,' Drinkwater overheard Hyde remark to Frey and was pleased to see the quick flash of amusement cross Frey's serious features. At least, Drinkwater concluded, those two seemed to be getting along well, though Frey's protracted introspection worried him, bringing back gloomy thoughts of its cause.
Going below after the guns had fallen silent, Drinkwater fought off an incipient onslaught of the blue-devils by writing up his journal, but his words lacked the intensity of his feelings and he abandoned the attempt. He was racked with a score of doubts now about the wisdom of backing Hortense's intelligence, of his folly and presumption in badgering Prince William Henry, of the whole ridiculous idea of seeking two frigates in the vastness of the Atlantic and of the preposterous nature of the notion of Bonaparte escaping Allied custody.
In fact, sitting alone in his cabin, rubbing his jaw where a tooth was beginning to ache, he stared astern and watched the horizon rise and fall with the pitch of the ship. It was quite possible to doubt he had received a visitor at all. The surge of the wake as the water whorled out from under the stern where the rudder bit into it seemed real enough, but it too was remote, a near silent event beyond the shuttering of the crown-glazed windows. Through the sashes he watched a shearwater sweep across the wake, following the ever-changing contours of the sea in its interminable search for food. Though skimming the water, its wings constantly adjusting to maintain this position, it avoided the contact which would have brought it down.
The confidence and poise of the bird struck him as something almost miraculous. How did it learn such a skill? Was it taught, or did the bird acquire it by instinct, as a human child learned to breathe and talk? The power and mystery of instincts capable of forming the conduct of shearwaters and the human young, moved ineluctably through all forms of life. The shearwater did not resist the urge to skim the waves, or doubt its ability to do so faultlessly: it simply did it.
Drinkwater grunted and considered himself a fool. Was it doubt more than knowledge that set men apart from the beasts; doubt which caused them to falter, to intellectualize and rationalize what would be simple if they followed their instincts? Hortense Santhonax had been in this very cabin, not a week earlier. She had communicated urgent news and he had believed her, believed her because between them something strange and almost palpable existed. He felt the skin crawl along his spine at the recollection. Instinct as much as the nature of her news had made him act as he did, and he felt in that solitary moment a surge of inexplicable but powerful self-confidence.
He was so deep in introspection that the knock at the door made him jump. It was the surgeon.
'I beg your pardon, Captain Drinkwater ...'
'Mr Kennedy, come in, come in. Is something the matter?'
'In a manner of speaking, yes. It's the first lieutenant; he's taken to his bed, claims he's unwell, suffering from a quotidian fever.'
'I gather you do not entirely believe him?' Drinkwater asked, smiling despite himself.
Kennedy pulled a face. 'I tend to be suspicious of self-diagnosis; it has a tendency to be subjective.'
'So what do you recommend?'
'In view of all the circumstances, I think it best to humour him for a day or two. He may be attributing his misjudgements to having been unwell.'
'Yes, that is what I was thinking. It might be an advantage to us all if we were to foster that impression. It would certainly be the best course of action for the ship.'
'D'you want me to cosset him then? Keep him, as it were, out of the way? Just for a little while.'
'Laudanum?'
"Tis said to be a very specific febrifuge for some forms of the quotidian ague, Captain Drinkwater,' said Kennedy, rising, his voice dry and a half-smile hovering about the corners of his mouth.
'Don't you have a less drastic paregoric?'
'He has already tried that, sir,' Kennedy flashed back.
Drinkwater sighed. 'Very well, but only a small dose.' Drinkwater had a sudden thought. 'Oh, Mr Kennedy.' The surgeon paused with one hand on the cabin door. 'Would you be so kind as to join me for dinner today?'
'Of course, sir.'
'Then pass my compliments to Mr Hyde and Mr Ashton, oh, and the purser, Birkbeck and two of the midshipmen. Paine and Dunn will do.'
'Of course, sir, with pleasure.'
'Well, well,' Drinkwater muttered to himself, following Kennedy to the door. Opening it, he confronted the marine sentry. 'Pass word for my servant.'
It was only after the surgeon had left, he thought he should have mentioned his incipient toothache.
CHAPTER 7
The Consequences of Toothache
'I am sorry indisposition keeps Marlowe from our company tonight, Mr Ashton,' Drinkwater said, leaning over and filling the third lieutenant's glass. He had been chatting to Ashton for some time, regularly topping his glass up and the lieutenant was already flushed. About them the dinner in Drinkwater's cabin appeared to be cheerfully convivial. As was customary, a small pig had been butchered for the occasion and the rich smell of roast pork filled the cabin.
'Indeed sir, 'tis a pity'
'I understand you know him well. Have you sailed with him before?'
'Yes. We were midshipmen in the old Conqueror and later lieutenants in the Thunderer.''
'Really?' remarked Drinkwater, reflecting that had matters turned out differently, Marlowe and Ashton might have served under his command much earlier. He forbore drawing this to Ashton's attention, however, for the wine was working on his tongue.
'As a consequence of our having been shipmates, Frederic, I mean Marlowe, became acquainted with my sister.'
Drinkwater gave his most engaging smile. 'Do I gather that they are now intimate?'
Ashton nodded. 'They became betrothed shortly before we sailed.' There was a distinct air of satisfaction about Ashton. 'I imagine Sarah will take our diversion amiss ...'
'It will not be unduly long, I hope,' Drinkwater persisted, maintaining his mood of confidentiality, but returning the conversation to the personal. 'I suppose the match is an advantageous one?'