From the rough, untutored tarpaulin of first impression, Singleton had come to like the sea-officer with the cock-headed figure and the lined face. The mane of brown hair pulled impa-tiently behind his head in a black-ribboned queue told of a still youthful man, a man in his prime, a man of implicit reliability. Singleton began to lose his unfortunate prejudice against the profession of arms, though his own principles remained admirably steadfast. They might appear impractical to the world of sophistry, the world in which Drinkwater was enmeshed, but Singleton was bound upon a mission inspired by the Son of God. Among the primitive peoples of the earth he would prove a theory practical, a theory more shattering in its simplicity than the prolix vapourings of the Revolutionary pedagogues that had apostrophised the French Revolution. He would prove practical the Gospel of Christ.
But although he was motivated by the spirit, Singleton was unable to ignore reality, and he had become aware that without Drinkwater he would be unlikely to find the kind of co-operation he required to land upon the coast of Greenland. He began to be obsessed with the preservation of Drinkwater's health, particularly since the ordeal in the open boat, after which the captain had become thin and drawn. Looking down on the inert body of the cidevant surgeon he decided there were more pressing things for him to attend to.
'Try and get some portable soup into him,' he said dismissively to Skeete, and turned in search of the companionway and the freezing freshness of the upper deck.
And there Singleton found further evidence of the beneficence of the Almighty in the person of Meetuck engaged, with two seamen as his assistants to supplement his broken arm, in completing the preparations of the bear and seal skins. Meetuck's conversation had enabled Singleton to turn the theoretical knowledge he had acquired at Copenhagen into a practical instrument and already Meetuck had submitted himself to baptism.
But in his eagerness to converse colloquially, to perfect his knowledge of the eskimo tongue and to test his ability to spread the gospel of Christ, Singleton had paid little attention to those things he might have learned from the eskimo. Beyond the knowledge that Meetuck had lost touch with his companions in a fog, fallen and injured himself, losing his kayak in the process, Singleton learned only that he came from a place called Nagtoralik, and called his people the Ikermiut, the people of the Strait. Some prompting from a more curious, though preoccupied Drinkwater, elicited the information that this 'strait' was far to the westward, and thus, by deduction, on the coast of Greenland. In his heart Singleton believed that it was where he would establish his mission on behalf of the Church Missionary Society. Eager to convert Meetuck it never occurred to Singleton that a male of Meetuck's maturity ought to have survived better on the ice, and the eskimo's lack of intelligence never prompted him to volunteer information he was not specifically asked for. All Meetuck knew was that Singleton was a gavdlunaq, a white man, and that he seemed to be a good one. In his simple mind Meetuck strove to please the men that had rescued him and fed him so well.
Seeing Singleton, Meetuck looked up and smiled, his thin lips puckering the wind-burned cheeks and his mongol eyes became dark slits. He said something and indicated the skins, particularly that of the polar bear, which he gently smoothed.
'It was a great bear,' Singleton translated for the puzzled seamen, 'and he who killed it was a mighty hunter…' The two men seemed to think this a quaint turn of phrase and giggled, having been much amused by Meetuck's antics and incomprehension at their inability to speak as did Singleton. Singleton was affronted by their attitude, his almost humourless disposition unable to see the amusement caused by the eskimo. 'Like Nimrod…' His voice trailed away and he turned aft to see the captain coming on deck, his boat cloak over the greygoe in the intense cold. It struck him that Drinkwater would benefit himself from warmer clothing and he turned below again in search of Mount.
The marine lieutenant was dicing with Rispin when he entered the gunroom.
'Ho, there, Singleton, d'you come to taste the delights of damnation then?' Mount grinned at the sober missionary whose disapproval extended to almost all the leisure activities of both officers and midshipmen, especially, as was now the case, it was accompanied by the drinking of alcohol. Singleton swallowed his disapproval and gave one of his rare, dry smiles.
'Ah, Mount, I wish you to prove that you deceive my eyes and are not yet sunk to a depravity that is beyond redemption.'
Mount rolled his eyes at Rispin, 'Lo, Rispin, I do believe I am being granted a little Christian forbearance. What is it you want?'
'Your polar bear's hide.'
'Egad,' Mount smote his breast in mock horror, 'you press me sore, good sir. Why?'
'I wish to have it for a good cause.'
'Ah-ha! Now it becomes clear, Mr Singleton, you wish to deprive me of the spoils of my skill so that I shall freeze and you will be warm as an ember, eh?'
'You misunderstand…'
Mount held up his hand, 'Are you aware what trouble I went to, to stop that whelp Quilhampton from claiming the damned animal was his. He had the nerve to claim that without his winging the brute I should not have struck him. There! What d'you think of that, eh?'
'I think it most likely, certainly he did very well to hit a target with his wooden hand.'
'Oh, I do not think you need worry about Mr Q's abilities. He does not seem in any way handicapped. No, Mr Singleton, you want the bear's pelt and so do I. Now what do you suggest we do with it, Rispin? How would you, old Solomon, decide between the two of us, eh?' Mount's eyes fell significantly upon the dice.
'But, Mount, it is not for myself that I wish to have the skin, I have already purchased several of the seal-skins.'
'What is it for then? Not that damned eskimo friend of ours?'
'No. For the Captain, I fear he may have taken a chill and you know that in this weather a chill may become bronchitic or worse, induce a pulmonary inflammation.'
'Why this is Christian charity… come, Singleton, let us ask Rispin to resolve the matter.'
'Very well,' said Singleton, refusing to rise to Mount's bait. 'Mr Rispin?'
'Let the dice decide,' Rispin said, incurring a furious glare from Singleton.
'That is dishonourable, Mr Rispin, you know I do not approve…'
'But it would be amusing, Singleton, come, let us see whether the Almighty will influence the dice…'
'That's blasphemy, Mr Mount! I do not mind you having your joke at my expense but I will not tolerate this.' Singleton turned on his heel indignantly and smashed his forehead against a deck-beam. 'God-damn!' he swore, leaving the gunroom to the peals of laughter from the two officers.
Drinkwater lowered his glass and addressed Bourne. 'Heave-to under his stern, Mr Bourne.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' Raising the telescope again Drinkwater stared at Narwhal. It was the third time that forenoon she had lowered her boats after whales and the third time she had recovered them as the beasts eluded the hunt and swam steadily north-west. For two days the Narwhal, Faithful, Diana, Earl Percy and Provident and Truelove had worked their way north-west with Melusine accompanying them. Only Captain Renaudson of the Diana had hit a whale using his brass harpoon gun, and that had turned out to be a razorback.
As Melusine came up under Narwhal's lee, Drinkwater hoisted himself onto the rail, holding onto the mizen rigging.
'Narwhal, ahoy!' He saw Jaybez Harvey's pock-marked features similarly elevate themselves and he waved in a friendly fashion. 'No success, Captain?'