1805 by Richard Woodman Read Free Book Online Page B

he
said.
    'Aye, sir. But 'tis always an unpredictable business. The wind
dropped very suddenly.'
    'Yes.'
    The two men stood in silence for a few minutes, frustrated by
being unable to see the progress of the boats. After a little Hill
pulled out his watch.
    'Start firing in five minutes, sir?'
    'Mmmm? Oh, yes. If you please, Mr Hill.' They must give Rogers
every chance of surprise but not allow him to get lost. Drinkwater
would not put it past a clever commander to launch a counter-attack by
boat, anticipating the very action he had just taken in sending a large
number of his crew off.
    'Send the men to quarters, Mr Hill, all guns to load canister
on ball, midshipmen to report the batteries they are commanding when
ready.' He raised his voice. 'Fo'c's'le there! Keep a sharp look-out!'
    'Aye, aye, sir!'
    'Report anything you see!'
    'Aye, aye, sir!'
    He turned aft to where the two marine sentries stood, one on
either quarter, the traditional protection for the officer of the
watch. It was also their duty to throw overboard the lifebuoy for any
man unfortunate enough to fall over the side. 'You men, too. Do you
keep a sharp look-out for any approaching boats!'
    He fell to restless pacing, aware that the fog had caught him
napping, a fact which led him into a furious self-castigation so that
the report of the bow chaser took him by complete surprise.
     
    The boom of the bow chaser every five
minutes was the only sound to be heard apart from the creaks and groans
from
Antigone
's fabric that constituted silence
on board ship. Even that part of the ship's company left on board
seemed to share some of their captain's anxiety. They too had friends
out there in the damp grey fog. The haste with which the boats had been
hoisted out had allowed certain madcap elements among the frigate's
young gentlemen to take advantage of circumstances. In manning the
guns, Drinkwater had learned, most of the midshipmen had clambered into
boats, and those who had not done so were now regretting their
constraint.
    Lord Walmsley had gone, followed by the Honourable Alexander
Glencross, both under Rogers in the launch. Being well acquainted with
his temperament, Drinkwater knew that Rogers would have—what
was the
new expression?—turned a blind eye, that was it, to such a
lack of
discipline. Wickham had also gone in the boats, carting off little
Gillespy. Dutfield had not been on deck and Frey had too keen a sense
of obligation to his post as signal midshipman to desert it without the
captain's permission, even though the lack of visibility rendered it
totally superfluous. As a consequence Drinkwater had posted Hill's two
mates, Caldecott and Tyrrell, in the waist and in charge of the
batteries.
    'Gunfire to starboard, sir!'
    The hail came from the fo'c's'le where someone had his arm
stretched out. Drinkwater went to the ship's side and cocked his head
outboard, attempting to pick up the sound over the water and clear of
the muffled ship-noises on the deck. There was the bang of cannon and
the crackle of small-arms fire followed by the sound of men shouting
and cursing. It did nothing to lessen Drinkwater's anxiety but it
provoked a burst of chatter amidships.
    'Silence there, God damn you!' The noise subsided. Side by
side with Hill, Drinkwater strained to hear the distant fight and to
interpret the sounds. The cannon fire had been brief. Had Rogers
attacked the brig successfully? Or had the brig driven
Antigone
's
boats off? If so was Rogers pressing his attack against the invasion
craft? And what had happened to little Gillespy and Mr Q? Anxiety
overflowed into anger.
    'God damn this bloody fog!'
    As though moved by this invective there was a sudden
lightening in the atmosphere. The sun ceased to be a pale disc, began
to glow, to burn off the fog, and abruptly the wraiths of vapour were
torn aside revealing
Antigone
becalmed upon a
blue sea as smooth as a millpond. Half a mile away the brig lay
similarly inert and without the aid of a glass