The Corvette (24 page)

A man was crouching beside Drinkwater and he turned to see the marine Polesworth pointing the nozzle of the hose and shouting behind him to the men at the handles. The gurgle of the pump was inaudible and the jet, when it came in spurts to start with, quite inadequate. He felt Quilhampton pulling his left arm.

‘Come back, sir, come back!'

‘But Harvey, James, what the hell does he think he's doing?'

‘They say there's a boy still aboard . . .'

‘My God! But no-one could live in that inferno!'

Quilhampton shook his head, his face scarlet in the reflection of the flames. Their feet were sinking into the melting ice as they stared at Harvey. He was attempting to make his way aft outside the hull, by way of the main chains, but the hand by which he clutched the rail was continually seared and he was making painfully slow progress. And then Drinkwater saw the object of Harvey's foolhardy rescue attempt. The figure was lit from within the cabin where the bulkheads were already burning, silhouetted against the leaded glass of the larboard quarter-gallery. By contrast to the conflagration above,
Narwhal
's hull was dark as lamp-black but as their eyes adjusted, the pale face with its gaping mouth pressed against the glass in a silent scream, riveted their attention.

‘Polesworth! Direct your hose upon the quarter-gallery!' The marine obeyed and Drinkwater hoped he might thereby delay the fire spreading to the place. Harvey had scrambled the length of the main chains and was feeling for a footing to cross twenty feet of hull to the mizen chains. He found some plank land, a perilous footing, but he kept moving steadily aft.

‘Rope, we need rope. From
Truelove
, Mr Q!' He saw Renaudson among the appalled crowd. ‘Rope, Captain, rope from your ship!'

There was a hurried exchange of orders and men began to run towards
Truelove
.

Harvey gained the mizen chains and had leant outboard from their after end to find a footing on the leaded top of the quarter-gallery. But he was too late.

With a roar an explosion shook
Narwhal
's stern, the windows of the
gallery shattered outwards and a small rag of humanity was ejected into the blackness. Harvey was blown off into the water.

As the explosion died away Drinkwater heard several voices shout that
Narwhal
's small powder magazine was beneath the cabin aft, and then their attention was claimed by a great cracking and splitting of wood as the mainmast, closest to the origin of the fire, burnt through and toppled slowly over onto the ice, bringing the fore and mizen masts with it. The crowd of men moved backwards in fear and when the rope arrived, Renaudson, Quilhampton and Drinkwater made their way to the edge of the ice amid burning spars. Their footing was treacherous. The surface ice was reduced to slush, slush that had no longer the sharp edge of the ice shelf. It now formed a lethal declivity into the freezing black waters of the sea.

They looked down upon Harvey's pale face, curiously blotched and appearing like the head of John the Baptist upon Salome's salver. ‘Quick! The rope!'

It snaked over Drinkwater and fell alongside Harvey, but his eyes closed and he did not seem to have seen it.

‘God's bones!' Drinkwater began to struggle out of his coat but Quilhampton was quicker, splashing into the water as soon as he saw what the matter was. Drinkwater hesitated a second, concerned that Quilhampton's wooden hand might hamper him, remembering his own pathetic attempts to make a bowline.

But Quilhampton needed no help. He shouted to the men on the ice and Drinkwater stumbled back up the ice-slope to get men to tail onto the line and drag Harvey and Quilhampton to safety, while
Narwhal
's hull finally erupted, splitting open along her topsides as the fire consumed her.

Despite the fierce heat both rescued and rescuer were shivering. Blankets miraculously appeared and Singleton arrived with an improvised stretcher and the surgeons of the
Truelove
and the
Narwhal
herself.

In seconds Harvey and Quilhampton were on their way back to
Melusine
and in their wake men followed, drifting away from the fire now that there was no longer anything that could be done.

‘Captain Renaudson, ah, and you, Captain Sawyers. A word if you please . . .' The two men approached, sober faces reflecting the glare of the fire, even though it was the midnight of an arctic summer and quite light.

‘What do we do with these men, gentlemen?' Drinkwater asked.

‘Hang the lubbers, God blast their bloody stupidity.' Renaudson
turned on the shifty eyed and shamefaced Narwhals as they stood on the ice disconsolately, ‘You should starve here, if I had my way . . . drunken bastards!' he said with venom.

‘Steady, Friend . . .' put in Sawyers, putting out a restraining arm.

‘A pox on your damned cant, Abel. These harlots' spawn deserve nothing . . .'

‘You do not know that they all . . .'

‘I do not need to know more than that Jaybez Harvey will not live to see his wife again, nay, them art shit,' and he spat for emphasis and turned away.

Drinkwater looked at the crowd of men. ‘Which of you is the chief officer?'

The mate stepped forward. ‘I'm the mate, Captain, John Akeroyd.'

‘How did the ship catch fire?'

‘I'm not certain, sir, I was below, turned in.'

‘Who had the watch?' Drinkwater addressed the question to the huddle of men. There seemed to be some shoving and then a man came forward.

‘Me.'

‘What is your name?'

‘Peter Norris, third mate . . . men got among the spirits, sir, there was some sort o'fight over a game o'cards . . . tried to stop it but it was too late . . .'

Drinkwater saw the raw bruising round Norris's left eye which indicated he spoke the truth. ‘Hhmmm . . .'

‘There is a custom, Friend, in the fishery,' offered Sawyers helpfully, ‘that when a disaster such as this occurs the crew of the vessel lost is split up among the other vessels. Perhaps, Mr Akeroyd, thou would'st care to divide the men.' Sawyers caught Drinkwater's arm and turned him away. ‘Come, Friend, this is not a naval matter.'

‘But there is some degree of culpability . . . if Harvey should die . . .'

‘The fishery has its own ways, Captain Drinkwater.' Sawyers was tugging him as he tried to turn back, ‘Come away, they have lost everything and will go home as beggars . . .'

‘But, damn it, Sawyers, Harvey is like to die and that boy . . .'

‘Aye, Friend, thou mayst be right, but thou cannot flog them and they will be penitent ere long. Come.' And Drinkwater returned reluctantly to
Melusine
.

Rispin met him formally at the side. ‘I beg pardon sir, the sideboys are . . .'

‘Oh, damn the sideboys, Mr Rispin, where is Mr Singleton?'

‘He took the injured man below, sir, with the surgeons from two of the whaling vessels, sir.'

‘Thank you.'

‘And sir, the wind's freshening.'

‘And damn the wind too!'

Drinkwater found Quilhampton in the cockpit, a mug of mimbo before him and blankets and midshipmen close about him. He was recovering in good company and although the midshipmen drew deferentially aside Drinkwater offered Quilhampton no more than a nod and the terse observation that he had ‘Done very well'.

‘Bit tight with the compliments, Q, old chap,' muttered Lord Walmsley as Drinkwater moved forward to where the midshipmen's chests had been dragged into a makeshift table.

‘How is he?' The three surgeons turned, grunted and bent over Harvey. The pock-marked face was crusted with burnt flesh, the beard singed and smelling foully. Alongside lay the roll of Singleton's instruments, the demi-lunes, daviers and curettes gleaming in the light of the two battle lanterns suspended from the low beams. Drinkwater looked at the palms of the hands. They were black and swollen.

Singleton straightened. ‘How is he?' Drinkwater repeated the question.

‘We have administered laudanum as an anodyne, Captain Drinkwater, and
I
am of the opinion that the wounds
must
be debrided without delay.'

‘If you cannot agree, gentlemen,' said Drinkwater with a sudden edge to his voice addressing the whale-ships' surgeons, ‘then you may leave the patient to my doctor.' The surgeon of the
Narwhal
looked up angrily. He was a man of nearer seventy years than sixty, Drinkwater judged.

‘I've been with Cap'n Harvey these last twenty-six years, Cap'n, an' I'll not leave him . . .'

‘Then you will hold your tongue, sir, since you have nowhere else to go, you may remain. As for you,' he turned to the other man, ‘I suggest you return and offer Captain Renaudson what assistance he requires in the matter of examining those of
Narwhal
's crew that join
Truelove
.' He ignored the sullen glares in the two men's eyes. ‘Now, Singleton, how is he?'

‘We will debride the wounds, sir, while he is still in a state of shock, those about the face particularly, but . . .'

‘Well . . .'

‘Well what?'

‘I have auscultated the pulmonary region and,' he paused, shaking his head, ‘the trachea, the bronchia and larynx, indeed it appears the lungs themselves have been seared severely, by the intake of such hot air, sir.'

‘Then there is little hope?'

‘I fear not, sir.'

Drinkwater looked at the
Narwhal
's surgeon. ‘Who was the boy?'

‘Cap'n Harvey's sister's son.'

Drinkwater sighed. His eye caught the edge of the circle of lamplight. A face, disembodied in the darkness of the cockpit, seemed to leer at him and for a second Drinkwater imagined himself in the presence of the personification of death. But it was only the loblolly ‘boy', Skeete.

He turned in search of the fresh air of the deck, pausing at the foot of the ladder. ‘You had better lie him in my cot. And you would best do your curettage in the cabin. There is more light.'

Lieutenant Rispin met him at the companion. ‘Ah, sir, I was about to send for you. The wind continues to freshen, sir, and we are ranging a little.'

Drinkwater looked at the ice edge above the rail.

‘Only a little, Mr Rispin, pray keep an eye upon it.'

‘Aye, aye, sir.' Rispin touched the fore-cock of his hat and Drinkwater fell into a furious pacing of the deck. Forward the bell struck two and the sentries called their ritual ‘All's well' at hatch, companionway and entry, on fo'c's'le and stern. It was two bells in the middle watch, one o'clock in the morning, bright as day and beneath his feet another man was dying.

It was the waste that appalled him most, that and the consideration that the loss of
Narwhal
, though it in no way affected the
Melusine
directly, seemed of some significance. He had liked Harvey, a tarpaulin commander of the finest sort, able, kindly and, in the end, heroic. Drinkwater began to see
Narwhal
's loss as an epitome, a providential instruction, an illumination of a greater truth as he paced his few yards of scrubbed planking.

The folly of many had destroyed in a twinkling their own endeavours, a few had been victims of the consequence of this folly (for
they had later learned that, in addition to the boy, two men were also missing). And one, upon whom all the responsibility had lain, was to be sacrificed; to die to no ultimate purpose, since
Narwhal
had been lost. Drinkwater could only feel a mounting anger at the irresponsibility of the men who had got among the spirits aboard the whaler. Renaudson had been furious with them, damning them roundly with all the obscene phrases at his disposal and yet Drinkwater began to feel a degree of anger towards himself. Perhaps he should not have had the masters to dinner; had Harvey been aboard
Narwhal
, his men might not have run wild. In that case Harvey would have been alive.

He clutched at his hat. ‘God damn it!' he muttered to himself, suddenly mindful of his duty. Rispin had been right, the wind had an edge to it that promised more. He looked aloft, the pendant was like a bar, stretching towards the south-west as the gale began to rise from the north-east.

Drinkwater strode forward to the main rigging. Swinging himself onto the rail he began the ascent of the mainmast.

He felt the full violence of the gale by the time he reached the main top. It threatened to pluck him from the futtocks as he hung, back downwards. At the topgallant crossing, it tore at his clothes. He cursed as he struggled into the crow's nest, realising that his preoccupation had lasted too long. Commanders of ships should not indulge in morbid reflections. Even before he had levelled the long glass he knew something was wrong.

To the north-east the lead was not only filling with loose ice floes, blown into it by the gale, but it was narrower; quite noticeably narrower. The great ice raft to which they were moored which had cracked away from the shelf to the north and west of them and which was, perhaps, some fifty or sixty miles square, must have been revolving. Drinkwater tried to imagine the physical reasons for this. Had it just been the onset of the gale? Could a few hours of rising wind turn such a vast island of ice so quickly? The logic of the phenomena defeated him. What was certain was that the lead had closed to windward; he did not need to take bearings to see that. He swung the glass the other way. If the ice island revolved, then surely the strait ought to open in that direction. It did not. Its unwillingness to obey the laws of nature as he conceived them disturbed Drinkwater. He was once again confronted by his ignorance. Kicking open the trapdoor, he dangled his legs for the topgallant ratlines.

Regaining the deck and without the ceremony required by the usages of the navy, he hastened precipitately down the makeshift
gangplank onto the ice. Hurrying aboard
Faithful
he woke Sawyers with the news. The Quaker's eyes told him what he already felt in his bones.