The Corvette

'What did you say?'

'Nothing.'

Walmsley grinned imperiously. 'Dutfield you have forgot your manners. I could have sworn he said "good night", couldn't you, Glencross?'

'Oh, indeed, yes.'

Dutfield began to unlash his hammock. 'Well, Dutfield, where are your manners? You know, just because The Great Democrat has forbidden any thrashing in the cockpit does not prevent me from having your hammock cut down in the middle watch. Now where are your manners?'

'Good night,' muttered Dutfield.

'Speak up damn you!'

'Good night! There, does that satisfy you?'

Walmsley shook his head. 'No, Dutfield,' said his lordship refilling his glass, 'it does not. Now what have I told you, Dutfield, about manners, eh? The hallmark of a gentleman, eh?'

'Good night, my Lord.'

'Ah…' His lordship leaned back with an air of satisfaction. 'You see, Glencross, he isn't such a guttersnipe as his pimples proclaim…'

'Are you bullying again?' Quilhampton entered the cockpit. 'Since when did you take over the mess, Walmsley?'

'Ah, the harmless Mr Q, together with his usual ineffable charm…' Walmsley rocked with his own wit and Glencross sniggered with him.

'Go to the devil, Walmsley. If you take my advice you'd stop drinking that stuff at sea. Have you seen the state of the surgeon?'

'Macpherson couldn't hold his liquor like a gentleman…'

'God, Walmsley, what rubbish you do talk. Macpherson drinks from idleness or disappointment and has addled his brain. Rum has rotted him as surely as the lues, and the same will happen to you, you've the stamp of idleness about you.'

'How dare you…!'

'Pipe down, Walmsley. You would best address the evening to consulting Hamilton Moore. I am instructed by the captain that he wishes to see your journals together with an essay upon the "Solution of the longitude problem by the Chronometer".'

'Bloody hell!'

'Where's Mr Frey?'

'Crept away to his hammock like a good little child.'

'Good. Be so kind as to tell him to present his journal to the captain tomorrow. Good night.' Quilhampton swung round to return to the deck, bumping into Singleton who entered the cockpit with evident reluctance.

'Cheer up, sir!' he said looking back into the gloom, 'I believe the interior of an igloo to be similar but without some of the inconveniences…' Chuckling to himself Quilhampton ran up the ladder.

'Good evening, gentlemen.' Singleton's remark was made with great forbearance and he moved stealthily as Melusine continued to buck and swoop through the gale.

He managed to seat himself and open the book of sermons, ignoring the curious and hostile silence of Walmsley and Glencross who were already into their third glass of brandy. They began to tell each other exaggerated stories of sexual adventure which, Singleton knew, were intended to discomfit him.

'… and then, my dear Glencross, I took her like an animal. My, there was a bucking and a fucking the like of which would have made you envious. And to think that little witch had looked at me as coy as a virgin not an hour since. What a ride!'

'Ah, I had Susie like that. I told you of Susie, my mother's maid. She taught me all I know, including the French way…' Glencross rolled his eyes in recollection and was only prevented from resuming his reminiscence by Midshipman Wickham calling the first watch. The two half-drunk midshipmen staggered into their tarpaulins.

Singleton sighed with relief. He had long ago learned that to remonstrate with either Walmsley or Glencross only increased their insolence. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. But the vision of Susie's French loving would not go.

Eight bells rang and Walmsley and Glencross staggered out of the cockpit. As he passed Dutfield's hammock, his lordship nudged it with his shoulder.

'Stop that at once, Dutfield,' deplored Walmsley in a matriarchal voice, 'or you will go blind!'

Captain Drinkwater looked from one journal to another. Mr Frey's was a delight. The boy's hand was bold and it was illustrated by tiny sketches of the coastline of east Scotland and the Shetlands. There were some neat drawings of the instruments and weapons used in the whale-fishery and a fine watercolour of Melusine leading the whalers out of the Humber past the Spurn Head lighthouse. The others lacked any kind of redeeming feature. Wickham's did show a little promise from the literary point of view but that of Lord Walmsley was clearly a hurried crib of the master's log. Walmsley disappointed him. After the business of Leek, Drinkwater had thought some appeal had been made to the young man's better feelings. He was clearly intelligent and led Glencross about like a puppy. And now this disturbing story about the pair of them being drunk during the first watch. Drinkwater swore. If only Rispin had done something himself, or called for Drinkwater to witness the matter, but Drinkwater had not gone on deck until midnight, having some paperwork to attend to. One thing was certain and that was that unpunished and drunken midshipmen could quickly destroy discipline. Men under threat of the lash for the least sign of insobriety would not thank their captain for letting two boys get drunk on the pretext of high spirits. And, thought Drinkwater with increasing anger, it would be concluded that Walmsley and Glencross were allowed the liberty because of their social stations.

He was on the point of sending for the pair when he decided that, last night's episode having gone unpunished though not unpublicised, he must make an example as public as the offence. And it was damned chilly aloft in these latitudes, he reflected grimly.

'Mistah Singleton, sah!' The marine sentry announced.

'Come in! Ah, Mr Singleton, please take a seat. What can I do for you?'

'First a message from Mr Bourne, sir, he says to tell you, with his compliments, that he has sighted the Earl Percy about three leagues to leeward but there is still no sign of the Provident.'

'Thank you. I had thought we might have lost contact with more ships during the gale but these whaling fellows are superb seamen. Now, sir. What can I do for you? It was in my mind that you might like to address the men with a short sermon on Sunday. Nothing too prolix, you understand, but something appropriate to our present situation. Well, what d'you say?'

'With pleasure, sir. Er, the other matter which I came about, sir, was the matter of the surgeon.'

'Ahhh…'

'Sir, Macpherson is reduced to a state of anorexy. I do not pretend that there is very much that can be done to save him. Already his groans are disturbing the men and he is given to almost constant ramblings and the occasional ravings of a lunatic'

'You have been to see him?'

Singleton sighed. 'It seems you have carried the day, sir.'

Drinkwater smiled. 'Don't be down-hearted, Mr Singleton. I am sure that you would not wish to spend all your days aboard Melusine in idleness. If my gratitude is any consolation you have it in full measure.'

'Thank you, sir. After you have landed me you will find that the whalers each have a surgeon, should you require one. I shall endeavour to instruct the aptest of my two mates.'

'That is excellent. I shall make the adjustments necessary in the ship's books and transfer the emoluments due to Macpherson…'

'No, sir. I believe he has a daughter living. I shall have no need of money in Greenland and the daughter may as well have the benefit…'

'That's very handsome of you.'

'There is one thing that I would ask, Captain Drinkwater.'

'What is that?'

'That we transfer Macpherson to the hold and that I be permitted to use his cabin.'

Drinkwater nodded. 'Of course, Mr Singleton, and I'm obliged to you.'