An Eye of the Fleet by Richard Woodman

Author:Richard Woodman [Woodman, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Historical Naval Fiction
ISBN: 9781574091236
Google: nIn5_IyVUUcC
Amazon: 1574091239
Goodreads: 1384017
Publisher: Sheridan House
Published: 1981-01-01T11:00:00+00:00

* * * *

Captain Edgecumbe of His Britannic Majesty's frigate Galatea was an officer of the old school. When a ragamuffin midshipman appeared before him in filthy ducks the Captain was rightly wrathful. When that same scruffy midshipman attempted to report the arrival of the captured privateer Algonquin the captain refused to be side-tracked by incidentals. He also disliked interruptions.

The diatribe to which he subjected Drinkwater was as lengthy as it was unnecessary. In the end the midshipman stood silent, discovering, after some minutes had elapsed, that he was not even listening. Outside the hot sun shone and he had an odd longing to be doing nothing but lounging in that sunshine and perhaps have his arm about the waist of one of those pretty girls he had seen earlier. The sweet scent of Cornwall wafted in through the open window distracting his senses from the path of duty. Only when the Captain ceased his tirade did the sudden silence break into his reverie and drag his conscious mind back to the inn room. He looked at the Captain.Sitting in his shirt-sleeves Edgecumbe looked what he was, a dissipated and incompetent officer, living out of his ship and indulging his sexual appetites with local ladies. Drinkwater felt a sudden surge of contempt for him.

He touched his forehead. 'Aye, aye, sir. Thank you, sir.' He turned and marched smartly from the room.

Downstairs he found Stewart in the taproom. He was chaffing with a red-cheeked girl. Drinkwater noticed with a flutter in his stomach the girl had bright eyes and apple breasts.

Stewart, slightly abashed, bought the midshipman a pot of beer.

'Be 'e yer Cap'n?' the girl asked Stewart, giggling incredulously and setting the tankard down in front of Drinkwater.

The quartermaster nodded flushing a little.

Drinkwater was confused by the unaccustomed proximity of the girl, but he felt Stewart's deference to his apparent importance as a spur to his manhood. She leaned over him boldly.

'Does y're honour need anything,' she enquired solicitously.

The heaving bosom no longer embarrassed him in his newfound confidence. He sucked greedily at the tankard, staring at the girl over its rim and enjoying her discomfiture as the beer warmed his belly. He was, after all, prize-master of the Algonquin, who had strutted through Falmouth under the admiring glances of scores of women…

He finished the beer. 'To tell the truth ma'am, I have not the means to purchase more than a pot or two of beer…'

The girl plumped herself on the bench next to Stewart. She knew the quartermaster had a guinea or half sovereign about him, for she had seen the glint of gold in his hand. Stewart's experience ensured he never ventured ashore without the price of a little dalliance or a good bottle about his person. The girl smiled at Drinkwater. It was a pity, she thought, he looked a nice young man, handsome in a pale sort of way. She felt Stewart's arm encircle her. Ah, well a girl had to live…

'Yer honour'll have matters of great importance to deal with,' she said pointedly.

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