The Bomb Vessel

'Are you certain of that?'

'Positive.'

'And will tell the admiral so?' Briarly nodded. 'Then I am certain you will carry the day, Mr Briarly. I am sure you do not need my assistance and I beg you let me return to my ship…'

'Morning, Drinkwater.' Drinkwater turned to find Martin at his other elbow.

'Good morning sir,' Drinkwater said absently, fishing in his pocket and remembering he had left his pocket compass in his greygoe. He would have liked to check the bearing of Cruizer to ensure Brisbane had anchored her in the correct place. Briarly had already gone to try and brow-beat the pilots.

'You are to be in the battle, Drinkwater,' said Martin, 'thanks to my good offices.'

'Yours sir?' Drinkwater looked up in astonishment. Martin nodded.

'I put in a good word for you the other day when I attended Lord Nelson.'

Drinkwater choked back an insubordinate laugh. 'Ah… I see… er, I'm greatly obliged to you sir.' And then he added with irresistible impishness, 'I shall inform Lord Dungarth of my obligation to you.'

Martin further astonished him by failing to see the implied sarcasm. 'I'd be vastly pleased if you would my dear fellow, vastly pleased.'

It was only when he was being pulled back to Virago that he remembered he had failed to take a bearing of the Cruizer from the Elephant.

'The admiral's just hoisted Number 14, sir,' reported Rogers as Drinkwater returned once again to Virago. '"Prepare for battle and for anchoring with springs on the anchors and the end of the sheet cable taken in at the stern port."'

'Very well.'

'The ship is cleared for action, sir.'

'Very well, I shall make my rounds now. Mr Easton! Mr Easton be so good as to attend the flagship's signals. Here,' he handed his instruction card to the master, 'Study that. I do not anticipate weighing until after the line of battle ships.'

Drinkwater led the way below with Rogers following. In the cabin space the bulkheads had been hinged up so that the after car-ronades and stern chasers could be fired if necessary. 'Only the gun captains and powder monkeys to remain with these guns, Mr Rogers. All other men to be mustered on deck as sailtrimmers, firemen or for Mr Tumilty's shell hoists…'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Drinkwater looked at the place where his table had so long stood. Beneath it the previously locked hatch to the magazine had been removed. An artillery private armed with a short fusil stood guard over it.

'Mr Trussel and Bombardier Hite are below, sir. The felt curtains are well doused and Mr Tumilty is satisfied.'

Two men emerged carrying a box each. 'Mr Willerton's powder boxes, sir, checked for leaks and found correct.' Drinkwater remembered Tumilty's strictness on this point. A leaking powder box laid a gradual powder train directly from the deck to the magazine.

'Very well.' He nodded encouragingly at the men and reas-cended to the poop, striding the length of the waist alongside the carronades.

'Same arrangement for the waist batteries, Mr Rogers…'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Drinkwater climbed onto the fo'c's'le where Matchett had his party of veteran seamen at the senior station. 'You will have the anchor ready?'

'Aye, sir. With a spring upon it sir, as soon as it's weighed and sighted clear.'

'Very good, Mr Matchett. Leave the spring slack when we anchor again. It is the line of battle ships his lordship wished to anchor by the stern to bring them swiftly into action and avoid the delays and risks in being raked as they swing. We shall most likely anchor by the head.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

'Good luck, Mr Matchett… Mr Willerton what the devil are you up to?'

Willerton appeared suddenly from the heads with a pot of red paint in his hand and his eyes innocently blue in the sunshine that was now breaking through the cloud.

'Attending to my leddy, sir, giving her a nice red tongue and lips to smack at the Frogs, sir.'

Drinkwater smiled. 'They ain't Frogs, Mr Willerton, they're Danes.'

'All the same to 'er leddyship, sir.'

Drinkwater burst out laughing and turned aft, nodding to the men waiting by the windlass. 'You may heave her dead short, my lads.'

Dropping below by the forward hatch he ran into Lieutenant Tumilty who was no longer his usual flippant self but wore an expression of stern concentration. He was also uncharacteristically formal.

'Good morning sir. My preparations are all but complete. If you wish I will show you the arrangements I have made.' They walked aft through the hold where Virago's four score seamen had lived and messed, past the remaining cables and the space cleared for the artillerymen.

At the after end a hatch opened into the stern quarters giving access to the magazine under Drinkwater's cabin. Tumilty held out his arm.

'No further sir, without felt boots.'

'Of course,' said Drinkwater, almost colliding with Tumilty.

'Hite and Trussel are filling the carcases, the empty shells, with white powder. Hobbs here is sentry and will assist if the action goes on long…' Drinkwater nodded at another artillery-man who carried not a fusil, in such dangerous proximity to the magazine, but a truncheon. 'Once filled, the shells come through here to the after shell room.' Tumilty turned forward, indicating the huge baulks of timber below the after, thirteen-inch, mortar that formed a cavity in which the shells were lodged. Above his head a small hatch had been opened, admitting a patch of light below.

'We, or rather Rogers's men, whip up the charged shells through that hatch to the mortar above…'

'What about fuses?' asked Drinkwater.

'As you see the shells are all wooden plugged for storage. I cut the fuses on the fo'c's'le. It's clear of seamen once Matchett quits fooling with his anchors; he'll be busy aft here, whipping up the shells. I rig leather dodgers to protect the fuses from sparks. The sergeant or myself will cut the fuses. This controls the time of explosion. Time of flight, and hence range, is decided by the charge in the chamber of the mortar. As I was saying, the fuse is of special composition and burns four tenths of an inch per minute. A thousand yard flight takes 2.56 seconds, so you see, Nat'aniel, 'tis a matter for a man of science, eh?'

'Indeed, Tom, it is… what of the ten-inch shells forward?'

'They go up in shell hooks. Now, I've had all hands at mortar stations twice in your absence and they all know what to do. I think we'll take it easy to begin with but we should be firing more than one shell a minute from each gun when we get the range.'

'What about the dangers of fire? I understand they're considerable…'

'Mr Jex's party are well briefed. We've wet tarpaulins handy to go over the side, buckets and tubs o' water all over the deck and in the tops… sure an' 'twill be like nothing you've ever seen in your life, Nat'aniel,' Tumilty smiled, recovering some of his former flippancy.

'Sir! Sir!' Quilhampton scrambled over a pile of rope and caught hold of Drinkwater's arm. 'Beggin' your pardon, sir, but Mr Rogers says to tell you that the admiral's hoisted Number 66 and the preparative, sir, "General order to weight an' the leeward ships first."'

'Thank you, Mr Q, I'll be up directly.'

Drinkwater arrived on the poop, reached in his tail pocket and whipped out his Dollond glass. Already the fleet was in motion. On their larboard bow, just beyond the bomb vessel Volcano, the lovely Agamemnon was hoisting her topsails. Edgar was already under way, her yards being braced round and the canvas stiffening with wind. Water appeared white at her bow and somewhere a shout and three cheers were called for. Several of the ships cheered their consorts as the naval might of Great Britain got under way. Drinkwater's fatigue, aches, pains and worries vanished as his heart-beat quickened and the old familiar exciting tingle shot down his spine.