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lightly set aside merely because
he lacked social accomplishments. Besides, in his present situation he
would have precious little opportunity to worry over such a deficiency.
He was, Drinkwater knew, perfect as a first luff; the very man the
hands loved to hate, who was indifferent to that hatred and who could
take the blame for all the hardships, mishaps and injustices the naval
service would press upon their unfortunate souls and bodies.
    'She's looking very tiddly, Sam. Fit for an admiral's
inspection already. I congratulate you.'
    Rogers gave him a grin. 'I heard about your appetite for
tiddly ships after the
Melusine
, sir.'
    Drinkwater grinned back. 'She was a damned
yacht
,
Sam. You should have heard the gunroom squeal when I cut off her royal
masts and fitted a crow's nest to con her through the ice.'
    'She was different from the old
Virago
then?'
    'As chalk is from cheese…'
    They were interrupted by Lieutenant Quilhampton. 'Flag's
signalling, sir: "Captain to come aboard".'
    'Very well. Bring the ship to under the admiral's lee quarter,
Mr Q… Sam be so good as to salute the flag while I shift my
coat.'
    'Aye, aye, sir.' The two officers began to carry out their
orders as Drinkwater hurried below to where an anxious Mullender had
coat, hat, cloak and sword all ready for him.
    * See
The Corvette

----
Chapter
Three
March 1804
The Spy Master
    Admiral Sir William Cornwallis rose
from behind his desk and
motioned Drinkwater to a chair. His flag-lieutenant took the offered
packet of Admiralty dispatches and handed them to the admiral's
secretary for opening.
    'A glass of wine, Captain?' The
flag-lieutenant beckoned a servant forward and Drinkwater hitched his
sword between his legs, laid his cocked hat across his lap and took the
tall Venetian goblet from the salver. 'Thank you. I have two bags of
mail for the fleet in my barge and a draft of forty-three men for the
squadron…'
    'I shall inform the Captain of the Fleet, sir. Sir William,
your permission?'
    'By all means.' The admiral bent over the opened dispatches as
the flag-lieutenant left the cabin. The servant withdrew and Drinkwater
was left with Cornwallis, his immobile secretary and another man, a
dark stranger in civilian clothes, who seemed to be regarding
Drinkwater with some interest and whose evident curiosity Drinkwater
found rather irksome and embarrassing. He avoided this scrutiny by
studying his surroundings. The great cabin of His Britannic Majesty's
112-gun ship
Ville de Paris
was a luxurious
compartment compared with his own. As a first-rate line of battleship
the
Ville de Paris
was almost a new ship, built
as a replacement for Rodney's prize, the flagship of Admiral De Grasse,
taken at the Battle of Saintes in the American War and so badly knocked
about that she had foundered on her way home across the stormy
Atlantic. It was an irony that a ship so named should bear the flag of
the officer responsible for keeping the French fleet bottled up in
Brest. Drinkwater did not envy the admiral his luxury: the monotony of
blockade duty would have oppressed him. Even in a frigate attached to
the inshore squadron cruising off Ushant, the perils of tides and rocks
would far outweigh the risk of danger from the enemy coupled as they
were with the prevailing strong westerly winds. As his old friend
Richard White constantly wrote and told him, he was lucky to have
avoided such an arduous and thankless task. There were a few who had
carved out a glorious niche for themselves with brilliant actions.
Pellew, for instance, in the
Indefatigable
and
with
Amazon
in company had caught the French
battleship
Droits de l'Homme
, harried her all
night and forced her to become embayed in Audierne Bay where she was
wrecked. The thought of embayment still caused him a shudder and he
recollected that Pellew's triumph had also caused the loss of
Amazon
from the same cause. No, for the most part the maintenance of this huge
fleet with its frigates and its supply problems was