Free Baltic Mission by Richard Woodman Page A

scuttling out through the pantry. Drinkwater flung off his cloak, massaged his shoulder and groaned aloud. The damp was searching out the old wound given him long ago by the French agent Santhonax in an alley at Sheerness and made worse by a shell-wound off Boulogne. It reminded him that his cross was already heavy enough, without the added burden of Rogers and the fomentation of an exhausted crew. The pain, resentment and momentary self-pity only fuelled his anger further and when Mount and Rogers came into the cabin they found him sitting in the darkness, staring out through the stern windows where the heaving grey sea hissed and bubbled up from the creaking rudder and as suddenly dropped away again.
    â€˜Gentlemen,’ he said after a pause and without turning round, ‘the men are in an evil mood. The grievances are the usual ones and most are justified. Mr Mount, your own men must be aware of the situation, but I want them to be on their guard. Any reports of meeting, combinations . . . the usual thing, Mr Mount. Make sure the sentinels are well checked by your sergeant, and change their postings. I know they’ve enough to do watching the specie but I’ll not have a mutiny, by God I’ll not!’
    He turned on them, unwilling to let them see the extent of his anger. A light wavered in the pantry door and Mullender stood uncertainly with the cabin lamps he had obviously been preparing when Drinkwater threw him out. ‘Yes, yes, bring them in and ship ’em in the sconces for God’s sake, man!’ He looked at Mount, ‘You understand, don’t you, Mr Mount?’
    â€˜Yessir!’
    â€˜Very good. Carry on!’
    â€˜Sir.’
    Mullender and Mount both left the cabin and Drinkwater was alone with Rogers who remained standing, one arm round the stanchion that rose immediately forward of the table.
    â€˜Well, sir,’ said Drinkwater, looking upwards at Rogers, ‘it wasever your dictum to flog a man for every misdemeanour. I have apprehended four men drunk at their stations tonight. Had you been on deck you might have attended to the matter yourself, as you are in duty bound. Had you brought those men to the gratings tomorrow I would have had to flog ’em. But now your conduct has ensured that if I am to flog them I must, in all justice, flog you, sir! Yes, you, sir! And hold your tongue! Not only are you in liquor but you prevented my steward from mustering on deck as he should have done. Why that was I’ll forbear enquiring, but if it was to obtain the key to the spirit-room, by God I’ll have you broke by a court martial!’
    Drinkwater paused. There was a limit in the value of remonstrance with a drunken man. Either rage or self-pity would emerge and neither was conducive to constructive dialogue. Rogers showed sudden and pathetic signs, not of the former, as Drinkwater had expected, but of the latter. Drinkwater had had more than enough for one day and dismissed Rogers as swiftly as possible.
    â€˜Get to bed, Mr Rogers, and when you are sober in the morning, be pleased to take notice of what I have said.’
    Rogers stepped forward as though to speak, but the ship’s movement, exaggerated here at the stern, checked him and the lamps threw a cautionary glint into Drinkwater’s grey eyes. In a sudden access of movement Rogers turned and fled.
    Samuel Rogers woke in the night, his head thick and his mouth dry. He lay staring into the creaking darkness as the ship rose and fell, riding out the last of the gale under her reefed topsails and awaiting the morning.
    The events of the previous evening came back to him slowly. The pounding of his headache served to remind him of his folly and, once again, he swore he would never touch another drop. He recalled the interview with Drinkwater and felt his resolve weaken, countered by his deep-seated resentment towards the captain. They were of an age; once a few days had differentiated them