The first point in his favour was that he and Edward had returned in a hired beach boat picked up in the River Yare. The boatmen had got a good price for the passage out through the breakwaters and Edward a soaking by way of an introduction to the sea-service. Drinkwater had insisted on his brother leaving the cloak on the bank of the Yare, thinking the more indigent he looked the better. The fugitive had been frozen, wet and dishevelled enough not to excite any comment as to there being any connection between the two men. Indeed the silence between them had been taken for disdain on Drinkwater's part to the extent of one of the longshoremen offering a scrap of tarpaulin to the shuddering Edward. And, now that he recollected it, he had heard a muttered comment about 'fucking officers' from the older of the two boat-men as he had agilely scrambled up Virago's welcome tumble-home.
He wondered if he had over-played his hand in arriving upon the deck, for in the darkness the officer on watch, already expecting the captain to remain ashore until the morning, had not manned the side properly. Trussel's embarrassment was obvious and Drinkwater pitied the quartermaster who had not spotted the boat in time.
Trussel's apologies had been profuse and Drinkwater had excused them abruptly.
'Tis no matter, Mr Trussel, I went upon a fool's errand and am glad to be back.' Drinkwater turned aft and had one foot on the poop ladder when he appeared to recollect something. 'Oh, Mr Trussel,' he looked back at the rail over which the sopping figure of Edward was clambering. He had clearly been sluiced by the sea as he jumped from the boat and even in the gloom the dark stain of water was visible around his feet. He stood shivering, pathetically uncertain.
'This fellow importuned me ashore. Damned if he didn't volunteer; on the run from some jade's jealous husband I don't wonder. See he's wrapped up for the night and brought before Lettsom and the first lieutenant in the morning.'
He heard Trussel acknowledge the order and knew Edward's reception would be cruel. Trussel would not welcome the necessity of turning out blankets and hammock at that late hour and Jex, the issuing officer, would be abusive at being turned from his cot to oblige the gunner. Trussel's own irritation at being found wanting in his duty on deck only added to the likelihood of Edward becoming a scapegoat. Now, in the cold morning air, Drinkwater hoped that his play-acted unconcern had sounded more genuine to Trussel and the other members of the anchor watch than to his own ears.
He made to find his flint to light a lantern, then realised that it would not do to let the morning anchor watch know he was awake by the glow in the skylight. He continued to sit until the wintry dawn threw its cold pale light through the cabin windows, gleaming almost imperceptibly on the black breeches of the two stern chasers. Then he roused himself and passed word for hot water. Already the hands were turning up to scrub decks. After he had shaved and dressed his mind was more composed. He had formulated a plan to save Edward's neck and his own honour. By the time he was ready to put it into practice there was enough light in the cabin by which to write.
The easterly wind had died in the night and the morning proved to be one of light airs and sunshine, picking out the details of the fleet with great clarity, lending to the bright colours of the ensigns, jacks, command flags and signals the quality of a country fair; quite the reverse of their stern military purpose. Had Drinkwater been less preoccupied by his dilemma he might have remarked on the irony of the situation, for the Baltic enterprise seemed to be in abeyance while preparations were made for Lady Parker's ball. Around St George there congregated an early assortment of captain's gigs; water beetles collecting round the core of disapproval at the frivolous attitude of the fleet's commander-in-chief.
Pacing his tiny poop Drinkwater resisted the frequent impulse to touch the sealed letter in his breast pocket. He should have called his own boat away half an hour ago but morbid curiosity kept him on deck to see what his brother would make of his first forenoon in the Royal Navy. Edward had one powerful incentive to keep his mouth shut and Drinkwater had advised him of it just before he hailed the boatman on the beach the previous night.
'If the people ever learn they've their captain's brother among them they will make your life so hellish you'd wish you'd not asked for my protection.'
If Edward had doubted his brother then, he had little cause to this morning. Graham, bosun's mate of the larboard watch, was giving him a taste of the starter as he hustled the new recruit aft to where Mr Lettsom sat on the breech of a gun waiting to give the newcomer his medical examination.
Drinkwater stopped his pacing at the poop rail. 'Is that our new man, Mr Lettsom?'
'Aye sir.' Lettsom looked up at his commander. Drinkwater studiously ignored his brother although he felt Edward's eyes upon him.
'I don't want that fellow bringing the ship-fever aboard. God knows what hole he's out of, but if he wants a berth aboard Virago he must formerly have been quartered in a kennel.'
Lettsom grinned with such complicity that Drinkwater thought his own performance must be credible. With an assumed lofty indifference he resumed his pacing as Lettsom commanded 'Strip!'
As Drinkwater paced up and down he caught glimpses of his unfortunate brother. First shivering naked, then being doused by a washdeck hose pumped enthusiastically by grinning seamen, and finally bent double while Lettsom examined him for lice.
'Well, Mr Lettsom?'
'No clap, pox or crabs, sir. Teeth fair, no hernias, though a little choleric about the gills. Good pulse, no fever. Sound in wind and limb. Washed from truck to keel in the German Ocean and fit for service in His Britannic Majesty's Navy'
'Very well. Ah, Mr Rogers…' Drinkwater touched his hat in acknowledgement of Rogers's salute.
'Good morning sir.'
'I have a new hand for you. Volunteered last night and I knew you were still short of men. God knows what induces voluntary service but a mad husband or a nagging wife may drive a man to extremes.'
'Not a damned felon are you, cully?' Rogers asked in a loud voice that started the sweat prickling along Drinkwater's spine.
Already ashamed of his nakedness Edward did not raise his eyes. 'N… No…'
Graham's starter sliced his buttocks and the bosun's mate growled 'No sir.'
'No sir.'
Drinkwater had had enough. 'Take him forward, Graham, the fellow's cold. Volunteers are rare enough without neglecting 'em. See he washes the traps he wore aboard and is issued with slops from the purser, including a greygoe. Oh, and Graham, get that hair cut.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Graham hustled Edward forward. Drinkwater had one last thought. Afterwards he thought the timing capped the whole performance. 'By the way, what's your name?'
'Waters, sir… Edward Waters.'
'Very well Waters, do your duty and you have nothing to fear.' The old formula had a new meaning and the two brothers looked at each other for a moment then Drinkwater nodded his dismissal and Graham led 'Waters' away.
Drinkwater resumed his pacing, aware that he was shaking with relief. When he had calmed himself he called for his gig.
Great Yarmouth is a town built on the grid pattern, squeezed into the narrow isthmus between the North Sea and the River Yare that flows southwards, parallel to the sea from the tidal Broadlands, then turns abruptly, as if suddenly giving up its independence and surrendering to the ocean. More than once in its history the mouth had moved and the population turned out to dig a cut to preserve the river mouth that ensured their prosperity.