The Bomb Vessel by Richard Woodman

own belief in fate was a faith that drew its own strength from such misgivings as Lettsom expressed. But he could not himself accept the cold calculations of the scientific mind, could not agree with Lettsom’s assumption of ultimate purposelessness.
    They were both drunk, but at that brief and peculiarly lucid state of drunkenness that it is impossible to maintain and is gone as soon as attained. In this moment of clarity Drinkwater thought himself the greater coward.
    ‘Perhaps,’ said Lettsom at last, ‘the French did themselves a service by executing King Louis, much as we did the first Charles. Pity of the matter is we replaced a republic by a monarchy and subjected ourselves voluntarily to the humbug of parliamentary politics
    ‘
    ‘You are an admirer of the American rebels, Mr Lettsom?’
    The surgeon focussed a shrewd eye on his younger commander. ‘Would you not welcome a world where ability elevated a man quicker than birth or influence, Mr Drinkwater?’
    ‘Now you sound like a leveller. You know, you quacks stand in a unique position in relationship to the rest of us. Wielding the knife confers a huge moral advantage upon you. Like priests you are apt to resort to pontification
    ‘
    ‘Moral superiority is conferred on any man with a glass in his hand
    ‘
    ‘Aye, Mr Lettsom, and when we rise tomorrow morning the world will be as it is tonight. Imperfect in all its aspects, yet oddly beautiful and full of hidden wonders, cruel and harsh with battles to be fought and gales endured. There is more honesty at a cannon’s mouth than may be found elsewhere. Kings and their ambition are but a manifestation of the world’s turbulence. As a scientist I would have expected you to acknowledge Newton’s third law. It governs the entire travail of humanity Mr Lettsom, and is not indicative of tranquil existence.’
    Lettsom looked at Drinkwater with surprise. ‘I had no idea I was commanded by such a philosopher, Mr Drinkwater.’
    ‘I learnt the art from a surgeon, Mr Lettsom,’ replied Drinkwater drily.
     
    ‘Your journals, Mr Q.’ Drinkwater held out his hand for the bound notebooks. He opened the first and turned over the pages. The handwriting was large and blotchy, the pages wrinkled from damp.
    ‘They were rescued from the wreck of the Hellebore, sir,’ offered the midshipman.
    Drinkwater nodded without looking up, stifling the images that rose in his mind. He took up a later book. The calligraphy had matured, the entries were briefer, less lyrical and more professional.
    A drawing appeared here and there: The arrangement of yards upon a vessel going into mourning. Drinkwater smiled approvingly, discovering a half-finished note about mortars.
    ‘You did not complete this, Mr Q?’
    ‘No sir. Mr Tumilty left us before I had finished catechising him.’
    ‘I see. How would you stow barrels, Mr Q?’
    ‘Bung up and bilge free, sir.’
    ‘A ship is north of the equator. To find the latitude, given the sun’s declination is south and the altitude on the meridian is reduced to give a correct zenith distance, how do you apply that zenith distance to the declination?’
    ‘The declination is subtracted from the zenith distance, sir, to give the latitude.’
    ‘A vessel is close hauled on the larboard tack, wind southwesterly and weather thick. You have the deck and notice the air clearing with blue sky to windward. Of what would you beware and what steps would you take?’
    ‘That the ship might be thrown aback, the wind veering into the north west. I would order the quartermaster to keep the vessel’s head off the wind a point more than was necessary by the wind.’
    ‘Under what circumstances would you not do this?’
    Quilhampton’s face puckered into a frown and he caught his lip in his teeth.
    ‘Well, Mr Q? You are almost aback, sir.’
    ‘I
    er.’
    ‘Come now. Under what circumstances might you not be able to let the vessel’s head pay off? Come, summon your imagination.’
    ‘If you