1805 by Richard Woodman Page A

health?'
    Dungarth sighed. 'As well as can be expected in these troubled
times, though in truth things could not be much worse. Our hopes have
been dashed and Bonaparte has reversed the Republic's principles
without so much as a murmur from more than a handful of die-hards. Old
Admiral Truguet has resigned at Brest and Ganteaume's taken over, but I
believe this imperial nonsense will combine the French better than
anything, and that shrewd devil Bonaparte knows it… But I did
not get you here to gossip. Billy Pitt asks for you personally. You did
well to get Camelford back in one piece.'
    'It was nothing, my Lord…'
    'Oh, I don't mean embarking him. He's a cantankerous devil;
I'm surprised he hasn't challenged half your officers. His honour, what
there is of it, is a damned touchy subject.'
    'So I had gathered,' Drinkwater observed drily.
    Dungarth laughed. 'I'm sure you had. Anyway his capture would
have been an embarrassment, particularly with the change of government.'
    'You said "our hopes have been dashed", my Lord; might I
assume that Bonaparte was not intended to live long enough to assume
the purple?'
    Dungarth's hazel eyes fixed Drinkwater with a shrewd glance.
'Wouldn't you say that Mr Pitt serves the most excellent port,
Nathaniel?'
    Drinkwater took the hint. 'Most excellent, my Lord.'
    'And most necessary, gentlemen, most necessary…' A
thin, youngish man entered the room and strode to the decanter.
Drinkwater noticed that his clothes were carelessly worn, his
stockings, for instance, appeared too large for him. He faced them, a
full glass to his lips, and Drinkwater recognised the turned-up nose
habitually caricatured by the cartoonists. 'So this is Captain
Drinkwater, is it?'
    'Indeed,' said Dungarth, making the introductions, 'Captain
Drinkwater; the Prime Minister, Mr Pitt.'
    Drinkwater bowed. 'Yours to command, sir.'
    'Obliged, Captain,' said Pitt, inclining his head slightly and
studying the naval officer. 'I wish to thank you for your forbearance.
I think you know to what I allude.'
    'It is most considerate of you, sir, to take the trouble. The
service was a small one.' Drinkwater felt relief that the incident was
to be made no more of.
    Pitt smiled over the rim of his glass and Drinkwater saw how
tired and sick his boyish face really was, prematurely aged by the
enormous responsibilities of high office.
    'He was the only midshipman that remained loyal to Riou when
the
Guardian
struck an iceberg in the Southern
Ocean,' said Pitt obliquely, as though this extenuated Camelford's
behaviour. Drinkwater recalled Riou's epic struggle to keep the damaged
Guardian
afloat for nine weeks until she fetched
Table Bay. The thought seemed to speak more of Riou's character than of
Camelford's. 'Lord Dungarth assures me', Pitt went on, 'that I can rely
upon your absolute discretion.'
    So, Drinkwater mused as he bowed again and muttered, 'Of
course, sir', it seemed that he
had
guessed
correctly and that Pitt himself had sent his cousin into France to end
Bonaparte's career.
    But he was suddenly forced to consider more important matters.
    'Good,' said Pitt, refilling his glass. 'And now, Captain, I
wish to ask you something more. How seriously do you rate the prospects
of invasion?'
    The enormity of the question took Drinkwater aback. Even
allowing for Pitt's recent resumption of office it seemed an
extraordinary one. He shot a glance at Dungarth who nodded
encouragingly.
    'Well, sir, I do not know that I am a competent person to
answer, but I believe their invasion craft capable of transporting a
large body of troops. That they are encamped in sufficient force is
well known. Their principal difficulty is in getting a great enough
number of ships in the Strait here to overwhelm our own squadrons. If
they could achieve that… but I am sure, sir, that their
Lordships are better placed to advise you than I…'
    'No, Captain. I ask
you
because you have
just come in from a Channel cruise and your opinions are not