The gale increased again with nightfall and Drinkwater waited until two bells in the first watch. An advocate of Middleton's three watch system he liked to know who had the deck at any time during the twenty-four hours without the wearisome business of recollecting who had been the officer of the watch on his last visit to the quarterdeck. He wrapped his cloak about him and stepped out onto the berth deck. The marine sentry snapped to attention. Drinkwater ran up the ladder.
Melusine buried her lee rail and water rolled into the waist. The air was damp and cold, the clouds pressed down on the mastheads, obscuring the sky but not the persistent daylight of an Arctic summer. It was past nine in the evening, ship's time, and in these latitudes the sun would not set for some weeks.
Drinkwater made for the lee rail, took a look at the convoy, remarked the position of the Nimrod as sagging off to leeward.
'Mr Rispin, have the midshipmen of the watch make Nimrod's number and order that he closes the commodore.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Drinkwater took himself across the deck to the weather rail where the vertical side of the ship deflected the approaching wind up and over his head, leaving its turbulence to irritate those less fortunate to leeward. He began to pace ruminatively up and down, feigning concentration upon some obtuse problem while he watched the two midshipmen carry out the simple order. After a little he called the lieutenant of the watch.
'Mr Rispin, I desired you that the midshipmen of the watch hoisted the signal. Send that yeoman forward. How else do you expect the young gentlemen to learn without the occasional advantage of practical experience?'
The wind was strong enough to require a practised hand at the flag halliards.
Expecting a fouled line or even the loss of one end of the halliard Drinkwater was secretly delighted when he observed Number Five flag rise upside down from the deck.
'Mr Rispin!'
'Sir?'
'Have that yeoman called aft and instruct the young gentlemen in the correct manner to hoist numerals.' The exchange was publicly aired for the benefit of the watch on deck. There were a number of grins visible.
When the signal had been hoisted and Nimrod's attention been called to it by the firing of a gun, Drinkwater called the two midshipmen to him.
'Well, gentlemen. What is your explanation of this abysmal ignorance?'
'An error, sir,' said Walmsley. Drinkwater leaned forward.
'I detect, sir,' he said, 'that you have been drinking. What about you, Mr Glencross?'
'Beg pardon, sir.'
'We are not drunk, sir,' added Walmsley.
'Of course not, Mr Walmsley. A gentleman does not get drunk, does he now, eh?'
The midshipmen shook their contrite heads. Experience had taught them that submission would purchase them a quick release.
'The problem is that I am not greatly interested in your qualities as gentlemen. You will find gentlemen forward among the lord mayor's men, you will find gentlemen lolling at Bath or Tunbridge, you will find gentlemen aplenty in the messes of His Majesty's regiments of foot and horse. Those are places proper to gentlemen with no other abilities to support them beyond a capacity for brandy.
'You may, perhaps, also find gentlemen upon the quarterdeck of a British man-o'-war, but they have no right there unless they are first and foremost seamen and secondly officers, capable of setting a good example to their men.
'In a few years you will be bringing men to the gratings for a check-shirt for the offence your gentility has led you into. Now, Mr Glencross, the fore topmasthead for you; and Mr Walmsley the main. There you may reflect upon the wisdom of what I have just told you.'
He watched the two young men begin to ascend the rigging. 'Mr Rispin, bring them down at eight bells. And not a moment earlier.'
Chapter Seven
The First Whales
Drinkwater turned from the stern window and seated himself at the table. He drew the opened journal towards him. The brilliant sunlight that reflected from the sea onto the deckhead of the cabin was again reflected onto his desk and the page before him. He picked up his pen and began to write.
The ships favouring the Spitzbergen grounds left us in latitude 72 ° North and 8° Easily longitude. Among those left under my convoy are Faithful, Capt. Sawyers, and Narwhal, Capt. Harvey. Their appearance much changed as they disdain to shave north of the Arctic Circle. It fell calm the next morning and the air had a crystal purity. Towards evening I detected a curious luminosity to the northward, lying low across the horizon. This the whale-fishers denominate 'ice blink'. Towards midnight, if such it can be described with no need to light the binnacle lamps, a steady breeze got up, whereupon the ships crowded on sail and stood to the northwards. At morning the 'ice-blink' was more pronounced and accompanied by a strange viscid appearance of the sea. There was also an eerie and subtle change in the atmosphere that seemed most detectable by the olfactory senses and yet could not be called a smell. By noon the reason for these strange phenomenae was apparent. A line of ice visible to the north and west. I perceived immediately the advantages of a 'crow's nest'. All are well on board…
He was interrupted by a loud and distant howl. It seemed to come from the hold and reminded Drinkwater of the unfortunate and now insane Macpherson.
… except for the surgeon, whose condition by its very nature, disturbs the peace of the ship.
But it was not Macpherson. The knock at the door was peremptory and Quilhampton's eager face filled with excitement. 'Whales, sir, they've lowered boats in chase!'
'Very well, Mr Q. I'll be up directly.'
At a more sedate pace Drinkwater followed him on deck. He saw the whales almost immediately, three dark humps, moving slowly through the water towards the Melusine. In the calm sea they left a gentle wake trailing astern of their bluff heads, only a few whirls visible from the effort of their mighty tails. One of them humped its back and seemed to accelerate. A fine jet of steamy spray spouted from its spiracle. They crossed Melusine's stern not one hundred feet away, their backs marked by some form of wart-like growths. From the rail Drinkwater could clearly see the sphinctal contractions of the blow-hole as the mighty creature spouted.
The watch, scattered at the rails and in the lower rigging were silent. There was something profoundly awe-inspiring in the progress of the three great humps, as they moved with a ponderous innocence through the plankton-rich water. But then the boats passed in energetic pursuit and Melusine's people began to cheer. Drinkwater marked Sawyers Junior, pulling the bow oar of Faithful's number two boat. He wore a sleeveless jerkin and a small brimmed hat. In the stern stood the boat-steerer, leaning on the long steering oar, the coloured flag attached to a staff with which they signalled their ship fluttered like an ensign.
Drinkwater also noticed Elijah Pucill sweep past in Faithful's number one boat. There were more than a dozen boats engaged in the pursuit now, their crews pulling at their oar looms until they bent, springing from the water to whip back ready for the next stroke. Already the whalers were swinging their yards, to catch what breeze there was and work up in support of their boats.
'Don't impede the whalers, Mr Hill, let them pass before you trim the yards to follow.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
He looked again at the whales and saw they had disappeared. The boats slowed and Drinkwater watched a few kittiwakes wheel to the south and wondered if they could see the whales. Within a few minutes the boats were under way again, following the kittiwakes. But two boats had veered away at a right angle and Drinkwater noticed with sudden interest that they were from Faithful. He hauled himself up on the rail and, leaning against the mizen backstays, pulled out his Dollond glass.