A Brig of War by Richard Woodman Read Free Book Online

Drinkwater listened to Lestock’s long exposition on the longitude problem.
Hellebore
carried no chronometer, did not need to for the coastal convoy work to which she had been assigned. Recent events however, revealed the need for them to know their longitude as they traversed the vast wastes of the Atlantic. Lestock had been dallying with lunar observations, a long and complicated matter involving several sets of near simultaneous sights and upon which the navigational abilities of many officers, including not a few sailing masters, foundered. The method was theoretically simple. But on the plunging deck of the brig, with the horizon frequently interrupted by a wave crest and the sky by rigging and sails, the matter assumed a complexity which was clearly beyond the abilities of Lestock.
    As he listened Drinkwater appreciated the fussy man’s problems. He knew he could do little better but he kicked himself for not having thought of the problem in Syracuse. With a chronometer the matter would have been different and Nelson had offered them whatever they wanted from the fleet. He had had to. In the matter of charts alone
Hellebore
was deficient south of the Canaries. They had scraped together the bare minimum, but the chart of the Red Sea was so sparse of detail that its very appearance sent a shudder of apprehension down Lestock’s none too confident spine.
    â€˜. . . And if the captain does not intend to stop we’ll have further difficulties,’ he concluded.
    â€˜We will be able to observe the longitude of known capes and islands,’ said Drinkwater, ‘we should manage. Ah, and that reminds me, during the morning watch tomorrow I’ll have a jack-stay rigged over the waist and spread and furl a spare topsail on it to use as an awning and catchwater . . . keep two casks on deck during your watch, Mr Lestock, and fill ’em if you get the opportunity. Captain Griffiths intends only to stop if it becomes necessary, otherwise we’ll by-pass the Cape of Good Hope to avoid the Agulhas current and take wood and water somewhere on the Madagascan coast. In the meantime direct your attention to the catchwater if you please.’ Lestock returned to the deck, the worried look still on his face.
    â€˜It would seem that an excess of salt spray also draws the moisture from a man,’ observed Appleby archly.
    â€˜Aye, Mr Appleby, and over-early pickles the brain,’ retorted Trussel.
    Day succeeded day as the trades blew and the internal life of thebrig followed its routine as well as its daily variations. Daily, after quarters, the hands skylarked for an hour before the hammocks were piped down. The flying fish leapt from their track and fanned out on either bow. Breakfasts were often spiced by their flesh, fried trout-like and delicious. During the day dolphins played under the bowsprit defying efforts to catch them. The sea at night was phosphorescent and mysterious, the dolphins’ tracks sub-aqueous rocket trails of pale fire, the brig’s wake a magical bubbling of light. They reeled off the knots, hoisting royals and studding sails when the wind fell light. Even as they reached the latitude of the Cape Verdes and the trades left them, the fluky wind kept a chuckle of water under the forefoot.
    It was utterly delightful. Drinkwater threw off the last of his depression and wallowed in the satisfying comfort of naval routine. There was always enough to occupy a sea-officer, yet there was time to read and write his journal, and the problems that came inevitably to a first lieutenant were all sweetly soluble. But he knew it could not last, it never did. The very fact of their passage through the trade-wind belt was an indication of that. At last the winds died away and the rain fell. They filled their water casks while Griffiths had the sweeps out for two hours a daylight watch and
Hellebore
was hauled manually across the ocean in search of wind.
    â€˜
Du
, I