The Bomb Vessel

'Ah, Mr Rogers, I wish you to have the long boat made ready an hour before daylight with a barrel of biscuit in it, together with water barricoes, mast and sail. I want a crew told off tonight, say six men, with Tregembo as leading hand. Mr Quilhampton will command the boat and I shall accompany it. In the unlikely event of our being absent when the signal is made to weigh, you are to take charge. I will give you that order in writing when I leave.'

'Very good, sir, may I ask…?'

'No, you may not.'

Rogers looked offended and turned on his heel. Drinkwater called him back.

'I do not want any of your irreverent speculation on this matter, Sam. Be pleased to remember that.'

'Aye aye, sir.' Drinkwater raised his eyebrows and stared significantly at Quilhampton.

'The same goes for you, Mr Q.'

'Yes sir.'

'Very well. Now pass word for the volunteer Waters to come aft and do you, Mr Q, mount a guard on my cabin and see we are not disturbed.'

Rogers opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, and strode from the cabin. Drinkwater waited for Edward to appear, occupying the time by rummaging in a canvas bag he had had brought into the cabin by an inquisitive Mr Jex.

A knock at the door was followed by Mr Quilhampton's head. 'Waters is here now, sir.'

'Very well, show him in.'

Edward entered the cabin and stood awkwardly, looking around with a curious sheepishness. It suddenly struck Drinkwater that a month or two more might have made Edward into a seaman. Already he was lean and fit and had not been long enough on salt beef for it to have made much difference to him. But it was his attitude that most struck Drinkwater. Four months ago they had met as equals, now Edward had all the inherent awkwardness of one who felt socially inferior. The realisation embarrassed Drinkwater.

'How are you?' he asked too brusquely for Edward to perceive any change in their bizarre relationship.

'Well enough… sir.'

'How have you been treated?'

'The same as all your seamen,' Edward replied with a trace of bitterness, 'I have no complaints.'

Drinkwater bit off a tart rebuke and poured two glasses of blackstrap. He handed one to Edward then went to the door. 'Mr Q, I want a bowl of hot water from the galley upon the instant.'

'A bowl of hot water, sir?' He caught the gleam in Drinkwater's eye. 'Er, yes sir.'

'Sit down Ned, sit, down.' Drinkwater closed the door. 'Your circumstances are about to change. Whether 'tis for the better I cannot say, but listen carefully to what I tell you.' He paused to collect his thoughts.

'Jex, the purser, has tumbled you. He saw a cursed newspaper report about the murder and also saw you in the Blue Fox, at Chatham. You knew of this?'

Edward nodded. 'I did not know how he had found out, but he approached me…'

'You did not…?'

'Confess? Good God no! I merely acted dumb, as any seaman does in the presence of an officer.' The ghost of a smile crossed Edward's face. 'What did you do about Mr Jex?' The anxiety was now plain.

Drinkwater sighed. 'Bluffed, Ned, bluffed. Denied you were my brother, said the name of the suspected murderer was a coincidence then gave him to understand that there might be something of a mystery surrounding the whole-affair, but that it was not his concern… come in!'

A heavy silence hung in the cabin as Quilhampton ushered in the messman with the bowl of water. Both rating and mate could scarcely disguise their curiosity. It would be all over Virago in a matter of moments that Waters, the landsman volunteer, was taking wine with Virago's commander. But Nathaniel no longer cared. Perhaps some apparent unconcern would lend credibility to what he proposed. Edward did not seem to have noticed, but waited only for the intruders to leave before bursting out:

'What the hell d'you mean you told him there was something of a mystery…'

'God damn it, Ned, I've lied for you, risked my career, abused my position of command and maybe jeopardised my whole life for brotherly bloody affection! D'you not think a flat denial would only have increased Jex's inquisitiveness. Mr Jex is not to be counted among my most loyal officers, he is seeking to avenge a grudge. But he is not stupid enough to risk his suspicions against the Articles of War, nor bright enough not to be a little confused by what I have told him. Perhaps he will work it all through and conclude I have deceived him; if that is the case his malice will be thereby increased. But by that time you will be gone.'

Edward shook his head. 'I don't understand…'

'My shaving things are lying on the cabin chest there,' he indicated the cotton roll, 'do you shave while I talk… Now, I wrote from Yarmouth to Lord Dungarth. I was employed by him some years ago in secret operations on the French and Dutch coasts. He is a spy-master, a puppet-master he calls himself, and may be able to find you some employment…'

'What the devil did you say about me for God's sake?' asked Edward lathering himself.

'Only that a person known to me was anxious to be of service to his country, had asked for my protection and spoke fluent French. That this person might prove of some value for a patriotic service in a Baltic state. His lordship is intelligent enough to draw his own conclusions…'

'Especially if he reads the newspapers,' muttered Edward as the razor rasped down his tanned cheek. He swished the razor in water and turned to his brother.

'So I am to become a puppet, to dance to his lordship's string-pulling, eh?'

'You have scant reason for bitterness, Edward,' said Drinkwater sharply, 'I would have thought it preferable to dancing on the gallows.' Drinkwater mastered his anger at Edward's peculiar petulance and poured himself another glass of blackstrap.

'I am about to land you on the Danish coast. You should acquire a horse and make for Hamburg. The Harwich packet calls fortnightly and when the Kite left for England with the envoys she carried mails. Among them was a letter to Lord Dungarth stating that the person of whom I had written earlier would take his instructions from the packet master in the name of 'Waters'.'

'And d'you think the security of these letters will be breached?'

'I doubt it. The second is hardly incriminating, the first I sent by special delivery. To be precise the Commander-in-Chief's wife.'

'Good God!'

'It is the best I can do for you Ned, for I must land you.' He had thought to say 'disencumber myself of you', but refrained.

'Yes, of course. How long must I wait in Hamburg?'

'I should give it two months… meet the Harwich packet when she berths.'

'After which this Lord Dungarth will have abandoned me much as you now wish to.' The two brothers stared at each other.

'That is right, Ned,' Drinkwater said quietly, 'And damned sorry I am for it.'

Edward shrugged. 'I need money.'

Drinkwater nodded and reached into his chest. 'You can take the money I took from you at Yarmouth, plus twenty sovereigns of mine. I should like to think that one day you were in a position to redeem the debt… as for clothes these will have to suffice.' He upturned a canvas bag. Shirts, pantaloons, shoes and a creased blue broadcloth coat fell out.

'A dead man's?'

'Yes, named Mason.'

'It seems you have thought of everything…'

Drinkwater ignored the sarcastic tone. 'You had better take his sword and his pistol. I have renewed the flint and there is a cartouche box with a spare flint and powder and ball for half a dozen rounds.' He watched Edward put on one of the shirts and try the shoes. They were a tolerable fit. 'If you are careful you have sufficient funds to purchase a horse and lodgings for your journey. I suggest you speak only in French. Once in Hamburg you must trust to luck.'