Read Online The Corvette by Richard Woodman - Free Book Online

midshipman. You will doubtless observe things that you do not approve of. Have you ever seen a flogging, sir? No? Well, it does not matter but you must accept that the usages of the naval service will come as a surprise to you and you would do well to remember that the wooden bulwarks behind which your church so comfortably nestles, are purchased at the price of blood, sweat and indignity’
    Singleton ignored this homily. ‘When do you propose to land me, sir?’
    ‘Land you? Good heavens, do not trouble me with such matters now. First I have to get these confounded ships out of this Goddamned river!’
    Drinkwater saw the look of shock on Singleton’s face and found that it gave him a pleasurable sensation. ‘Saving your cloth, Mr Singleton,’ he said ironically and added, ‘I should like you to join the officers and dine with me this evening. And I should like you to make no hasty judgements about the sea service; parsons have a bad reputation at sea, far worse than that of seamen ashore.’
    He rose and smiled, dismissing Singleton abruptly as another knock came at the cabin door. The purser entered.
    ‘You sent for me, sir?’
    ‘I did, Mr Pater
    I shall see you at dinner, Mr Singleton.’
    ‘Your man has arrived, sir,’ put in the purser, ‘they are swinging your baggage aboard now.’
    ‘Excellent. Will you take a glass, Mr Pater?’
    ‘With pleasure, sir.’
     
    ‘Thou should’st address the ship’s head a half-point more to starboard.’
    Drinkwater nodded at Hill as the master sought his approval.
    Melusine leaned slightly as the wind shifted forward a trifle as they altered course. The distant banks of the broad river were low and barely perceptible as the steeples and roofs of Hull dropped astern. Drinkwater raised his glass and studied the two vessels hoisting their topsails off Killingholme. The Hudson Bay Company’s ships were superbly fitted, of a similar size to Melusine and with the appearance of sixth-rates of the smallest class. They were certainly a contrast to the squat whalers following Melusine down the river.
    ‘Thou hast competition in the matter of elegance, Captain.’
    ‘You object to elegance, Captain Sawyers?’
    ‘It is irrelevant to the true meaning of life, Captain.’
    ‘How will the Faithful fare with you piloting Melusine from the Humber?’ asked Drinkwater, changing the subject and feeling preached at for the second time in as many days.
    ‘My son is a chief mate, Captain Drinkwater, a man as skilled as myself.’
    ‘Come, sir,’ put in Drinkwater grinning, ‘that is immodest!’
    ‘Not at all. Ability is a gift from God as manifest as physical strength or the fact that I have brown hair. I do not glory in it, merely state it.’
    Drinkwater felt out-manoeuvred on his own quarterdeck and turned to look astern. Alone among the whaleships foaming in their wake, Faithful was without a garland slung between fore and mainmasts. The ancient symbol of a Greenlander’s love-tokens was absent from her topgallant rigging, neither were there so many flags as were flying from the other ships. Drinkwater wondered how many of Sawyers’s crew shared his gentle and sober creed. Perhaps his rumoured success at the fishery reconciled them to a lack of ostentation as was customary on sailing day.
    The other ships were under no such constraint. The otherwise dull appearance of the whaleships was enlivened by streamers, ensigns and pendants bearing their names, lovingly fashioned by their wives and sweethearts whose fluttering handkerchiefs had long since vanished. The embroidered pendant that flew from Nimrod’s mainmasthead was fifty feet long, an oriflamme of scarlet, and Drinkwater could see the dominating figure of Jemmett Ellerby at the break of her poop.
    Nimrod was crowding on sail and bid fair to pass Melusine as she slipped easily along at six knots, going large before the wind under her topsails and foretopmast staysail, leading the slower whalers towards the open