A Brig of War by Richard Woodman Page B

clew garnet lead blocks had a trailing rope through it. If he could just reach it
     
    His fingers missed it by an inch. He thought of getting the hands to haul upon the whip but that might put too great a load on it. He wriggled over the top, turning so that his legs dangled over the edge. With one leg he hooked a trailing end of the line over his foot, bent his leg and, reaching down with one hand grabbed it, heaving himself back into the top. Quickly he fashioned a figure of eight knot in its end and let it go.
    ‘Mr Lestock! Get the starboard clew garnet, it’s trailing round the fiferail, pull it tight and lead it forward to the cathead. Use it as a downhaul to keep the yard off the mast!’
    ‘Aye, aye!’
    There was an interminable pause while Lestock sorted out the tangle of ropes. Then a shout that all was ready. Drinkwater peered once more over the edge of the top. His knot had drawn tight against the block and the rope led downwards.
    ‘Lower away handsomely and keep the downhaul tight!’
    The yard began its descent. The jeers parted, whirling to leeward in a cloud of dust causing confusion as the men on deck, suddenly relieved of the weight, fell over. The oscillations of the yard grew greater as it was lowered but the clew garnet, stretched like a thread, prevented its contact with the mast. As the yard’s angle lessened the men at the chess tree slackened their lashings and there was a dull thud as the broken yard’s second part finally lay across the deck. As if angry with a wild beast the men leapt upon it and threw lashings round it. Drinkwater climbed wearily down. Scrambling aft he joined the master. ‘Well done Mr Lestock. Whom did you have on the wheel?’
    ‘Gregory, sir.’
    ‘Give him my compliments for keeping the ship so steady. When all the gear is secure you may send the watches below. What time is it?’
    ‘Two bells in the middle watch.’
    ‘Good God, I’d no idea
    ‘
    Their exertions had taken three hours. If he had been asked Drinkwater would have imagined no more than an hour had elapsed. Wearily he went below to find Appleby sitting in the gunroom, a baleful look upon his face and a jug of blackstrap before him.
    ‘Couldn’t you sleep, Harry? Did we poor jacks make too much noise banging about aloft?’ His tone was ironic for he was too tired for sarcasm. ‘If that’s blackstrap for God’s sake give me some. Harry? What’s the matter?’
    Appleby looked up at Drinkwater as though seeing him for the first time.
    ‘Women,’ he said in a low voice. ‘We’ve got a festering bitch of a woman on board.’

Chapter Seven November 1798
Vanderdecken’s Curse
    Closing his mind to one problem Drinkwater was unwilling to face another. He was very tired and the implications of Appleby’s remark took several seconds to penetrate his brain. The blackstrap coiled round his belly and radiated its warmth through him so that stiff muscles relaxed. But it stimulated his mind and he turned to Appleby. ‘Woman? What the devil d’you mean? We landed ‘em all at the Cape.’
    Appleby shook his head, his jowls flapping lugubriously. ‘You thought you did.’
    Drinkwater swung his legs round and put both elbows on the table. ‘Look man, I saw the bloody boat away from the ship’s side. Big Meg actually smiled at me and I footed a bow at Miss Mary. Your wench was already in the boat when I reached the rail.’
    ‘Exactly! Did she look up?’
    ‘No. Why should she? She wasn’t exactly undergoing a pleasure cruise. I daresay they put gyves on ‘em as soon as they got ashore.’
    ‘I don’t doubt it, cully, but that is not the point. Who wrote out the receipt?’
    ‘I did,’ said Drinkwater rising to reach down the ship’s letter book. He flicked over the pages. ‘There!’ He spun the book to face Appleby. The pasted in receipt bore the words ‘Three convicts, ex Mistress Shore, Government Transport, female.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake Harry, quit hazing me. If