Baltic Mission nd-7

by Ричард Вудмен

  'Yours is not an enviable task.'

  'Nor yours, sir.'

  'We must both stand to our posts, Captain,' Straton said sententiously, 'and bring this damnable war to an advantageous conclusion.'

  'I should rather you had said "victory", Mr. Straton. "Advantageous conclusion" smacks too much of half-measures for my liking now.'

  Straton laughed. 'You are right, Captain Drinkwater. I have been too long at the Swedish court!' He pointed ahead to where, beyond a rocky point, the citadel and anchorage of Carlscrona was coming into view. There were men-of-war anchored in the road. 'And here we are. The nearest vessel is the Falken. She flies the flag of a rear-admiral which you should salute as we arranged. It is into her that you are to turn the specie.'

  Drinkwater nodded. 'Mr. Fraser! Have the chasers manned and prepare to make the salute. Mr. Hill, you may bring the ship to her anchor under the lee of yonder man-o'-war.'

  A few minutes later the hands were away aloft to stow the topsails and the surrounding islands flung back the echoes of Antigone's guns as she paid her respects to her Swedish allies.

  Drinkwater leaned over his chart of the Baltic Sea. He was tired and the candlelight played on features that betrayed his anxiety. He had fondly imagined that, once the specie had been discharged and he had Straton's signature for it, he would be free. But one responsibility had exchanged itself for another and he was now faced with the unnerving problem of what to do next. Once free of his convoy and the Tsar's subsidy his orders were far from explicit. He was instructed to act 'with discretion, bearing in mind the paramount importance of His Majesty's Orders in Council'. Theoretically the duties of blockading were simple enough, but during his brief stay at Carlscrona he had learned that in the tangled diplomacy of the Baltic states, where the very crisis of the war seemed to be developing, the discretionary part of his orders might place far greater demands upon him. He recalled Wilson's surprise that he had no specific instructions from Lord Dungarth and now he studied the chart as if, like Mount's Military Atlas, it would provide him with all the answers.

  Along the southern shore of the Baltic lay the coast of Germany, mostly the territory of Frederick William of Prussia but now under the control of the French. The large island of Rugen was still in Swedish hands, as was the town of Stralsund, now under siege by Marshal Mortier's army corps. Drinkwater's gaze moved east, along the coast from Pomerania towards another port holding out against a French force: Dantzig. Beyond this allied outpost and its bight, the coast swept northwards, past the Frisches Haff and Konigsberg to Russia beyond and the Kurland ports of Memel and Revel. Somewhere near Konigsberg the main armies of France and Russia faced each other along the line of the River Passarge.

  Straton had made it clear that the British Government was now meditating moves which not only could influence Drinkwater, but also be significantly affected by his own operations in this period of uncertainty. This was the nub of his own dilemma.

  A knock at the door interrupted his deliberations. 'Enter. Ah, come in, Mr. Hill.'

  'She's under easy sail for the night, sir.' His eyes fell on the chart.

  'Very well.' Drinkwater studied the face of the master. 'What the deuce d'you make of it, Mr. Hill, eh? Do we sit here and stop neutrals or d'you fancy a spar with Johnny Crapaud?'

  Hill grinned. 'I don't understand, sir.'

  'Would to God that I did,' said Drinkwater, 'but Straton came off to see me again before we left Carlscrona. He told me his instructions from London, just arrived, are to urge King Gustavus to reinforce his troops in Rugen and Stralsund ...' Drinkwater laid his finger on the chart. 'Gustavus insists our subsidies are too small and wants British troops to help him. The problem seems to be that if London sends troops, Gustavus insists on commanding them personally.'

  'Good God,' Hill chuckled, 'then he's as mad as they say!'

  'Yes. But that ain't all. There's a considerable faction at his court which is pro-French and wants reform. In short, the threat of a revolution is simmering in Sweden.'

  'What a mess!'

  'My head aches with the complexity of it all.' Drinkwater looked up and, catching Hill's eye, appeared to make up his mind. 'Damn it, we can't dither like this, Hill. We're like a couple of old women! The men are spoiling for a fight...' He bent over the chart and Hill leaned over with him. Drinkwater's finger traced a strait of water between the island of Rugen and the mainland where it ran past the engraved outline of the town of Stralsund.

  'Let's see what is to be done against Marshal Mortier.'

  'Beg pardon, sir ...'

  Fraser turned at the waft of malodorous breath. The obscenely grinning features of Skeete, Lallo's elderly loblolly boy, were thrust expectantly into his face.

  'Skeete, what the de'il d'you want on the upper deck?'

  'Mr. Lallo's compliments, sir, and would you step down to the first lieutenant's cabin.'

  'The first lieutenant?'

  'Mr. Rogers, sir.'

  'I know fine well who the first lieutenant is, damn your insolence.'

  'Aye, aye, sir.' Nothing seemed to wipe the grin from Skeete's face. He had been too long an intimate with death not to find most situations in life full of morbid amusement. He followed Lieutenant Fraser below.

  The door to Rogers's cabin swung ajar with the roll of the ship and from inside Lallo beckoned him. The surgeon closed the door against Skeete. After the upper deck the cabin was dark, the air stale and for a second he did not see the trussed figure of Rogers lying in the cot. His dislike of Rogers had not encouraged him to enquire too eagerly into the nature of the first lieutenant's 'indisposition'.

  As his eyes focused he saw a pale face, the hollow cheeks slashed by the cruel line of the gag, and was unable to master an over-riding feeling of revulsion at the harshness of the surgeon's treatment.

  'Dear God, Lallo, take that thing off him!' 'I cannot, Mr. Fraser ... the captain ...'

  'The captain did not tell you to gag him. Take it off, I say.' Fraser leaned forward and began to fumble.

  'No, sir! Don't, I beg you!' Lallo put out his hands to prevent Fraser's loosening of the gag. 'I asked for you to come down in the hope that you might help ...'

  'Sweet Jesu, Lallo, how much of all this does the captain know?' Unable to get the gag off, Fraser gestured round the tiny cabin.

  'Look, Mr. Fraser, I have no mind to confine him a moment longer than I have to ...'

  'Then let him out of that

  'For God's sake, sir, do me the favour of listening,' hissed Lallo, suddenly very angry. 'I have twenty-eight men on the sick list and cannot mollycoddle one who's over-fond of the bottle. There are the usual bruises and ruptures, three consumptives, an outbreak of the flux, a man with gravel and one with a paraphimosis, plus the usual clutch with clap. Rogers can only be treated by Procrustean methods and I'm damned if I'm prepared to have you interfere like this!'

  'Away with your blather, man! What the de'il d'ye want with me then?'

  'I do want your assistance to enable me to get him out of that thing as fast as possible.'

  Now that his active participation was required Fraser was suddenly cautious.

  'In what way?' Fraser looked at the first lieutenant, whose eyes seemed unnaturally large and held his own in a glare of intensity.

  'I am prepared to release him today, but if I do I need you to stand surety for me.'

  'Why me?'

  'Because,' said Lallo, a note of weary contempt entering his voice, 'you are the next senior lieutenant and I am concerned that he may attempt to revenge himself.' Lallo spoke as though Rogers was not there, but his worry was clear enough to Fraser.

  'Look, Mr. Lallo, if the captain ordered you to confine the first lieutenant, why must you drag me into the imbroglio?'

  'The captain didn't order me to truss him up.'

  'He didn't? But you just claimed he did!'

  'No, he ordered me to keep the first lieutenant quiet for a day or two ... Mr. Fraser, where the hell are you going
?'

  But Fraser had gone. Uncertain of the correct course of action, he thought it proper to inform Captain Drinkwater. Much though he disliked Lieutenant Rogers, the thought of a man of Lallo's stamp having the power to truss up a commissioned officer like a pullet appalled him.

  Lallo shook his head over his patient. 'Another young pipsqueak with all the answers, Mr. Rogers,' he said, putting the palm of his hand on the lieutenant's sweating forehead, 'and I thought we might have you quietly out of there today'

  Fraser found the captain poring over Mount's atlas and the charts spread out on the cabin table.

  'Ah, Mr. Fraser, and what brings you rushing in here?' Drinkwater asked, looking up.

  'It's the first lieutenant, sir. The damned surgeon has him trussed like a lunatic!'

  Drinkwater frowned. It was in his mind to enquire how Fraser had come by this knowledge, but he knew it had been a vain hope to expect the confinement of the first lieutenant to be kept a secret. He recollected he had given Lallo a free hand and had thought the surgeon would have used the powerfully sedative properties of laudanum, but, on reflection, that was Lallo's business.

  'Mr. Fraser, you are a young man. Your outrage does you credit but I am sure that Mr. Lallo was only being cruel to be kind. What was your business in the matter?'

  'The surgeon sent for me ...'

  'The devil he did!' Drinkwater snapped. So Lallo had deliberately' involved Fraser in direct contravention of his own instructions. 'To what end?' he enquired coldly.

  'To stand guarantee for Rogers's good behaviour.'

  Drinkwater frowned and felt the sense of affront drain out of him. He had, he realised, been unreasonable in expecting Lallo to work a miracle in secret. Rogers presented them with a problem that only proved their woeful inadequacy to deal with such things. He sighed. 'Well, Mr. Fraser,' he said wearily, his thoughts drifting back to the plan formulating in his mind, 'you are the next senior lieutenant. Hadn't you better heed the surgeon?'

  'But sir, he's no' a man of much sensibility.'

  Drinkwater looked up sharply. 'What the devil d'you mean by that? That he ain't got a commission like yourself? By God, Mr. Fraser, you surprise me! Mr. Lallo's a professional officer holding a warrant as surgeon, just as Hill holds one as master. Your own status as a gen­tleman of honour does not entitle you to make such social distinctions among persons of ability! You seem an able and active enough fellow but I'll have none of that damnable cant aboard here! You may save that for the pump-room or Lord Keith's with-drawing room, but not here, sir, not here!'

  The unexpected onslaught from the captain took Fraser aback. His face was white and his mouth hung open. Drinkwater cast another look at the papers spread out before him and then up again at the hapless young officer. 'Very well, Mr. Fraser; I am aware there is a growing fashion among young men of breeding to consider these matters of some importance, and that may well be the case ashore. However I suggest you might see Lallo at his true worth were a ball to shatter your thigh. Now cut along and pass word to him to get Rogers up here at once.'

  Only the direct summons to the captain's cabin prevented the outbreak of rage the surgeon feared from a freshly released Rogers. Pale from his confinement, Rogers entered the cabin and stood menacingly close to Drinkwater, his mouth a hard line, his eyes glittering.

  Drinkwater, sensitive to Rogers's fury, ignored it and, after a brief look at the first lieutenant, stared down at the maps and charts.

  'Mr. Rogers,' he said levelly, 'you're better, I understand. Now I have it in mind to employ you . ..'

  'Do you mean to pretend that nothing has happened?' Rogers's voice was strangled as he sought to control himself. 'I have been bound and gagged, you heartless ...'

  Drinkwater looked up, his own eyes blazing. 'What would you have me do? Eh? If I wished, Sam, you'd be going home for a court martial for that remark alone! What was done was done for your own good, and you know it. Lallo says you're over the worst. Hold off the drink for a month and your victory is complete. If I pretend that you've had the flux that's my own business. What would you have me write in the Sick Book?'

  Rogers opened his mouth and then shut it again.

  'Look,' persisted Drinkwater, 'I'm meditating an attack on the French here. You lead it. Take the post of honour. It's an opportunity. God knows it's one you can't afford to pass up.'

  'Opportunity,' Rogers's voice became almost wistful, 'I haven't had an opportunity ...'

  'Well, enough's said then. Come, this will be a boat attack. We are crossing the Greifswalder Bight and will anchor somewhere here, work our way into the strait as far as we can. Then you take all the boats, the marines and a hundred-odd seamen and press an attack against the French lines around Stralsund; do what damage you can and come off again before Johnny Crapaud knows what's hit him. Just the very thing for you. Get you a mention in the Gazette.'

  Drinkwater smiled encouragingly and met Rogers's eyes. The confusion of the man was plain to be seen. 'A perfect opportunity, Sam.'

  6

  A Perfect Opportunity

  May 1807

  'Well, gentlemen,' said Drinkwater, glancing round at the assembled officers, 'when the sun gets high enough to burn off this mist I think we might find some amusement for the hands today.' He kept his tone buoyant. The awkwardness of the officers in Rogers's presence was obvious. The poor fellow was being treated like a leper. A single glance at his face told Drinkwater that Rogers's torments were not yet over. He could only guess at the remarks that had been passed at every mess in the ship: from the gunroom to the cockpit, from the marines' mess to the ratings messing on the berth deck, the scuttlebutt would have been exclusively about the first lieutenant and his mysterious illness. Drinkwater hoped the action today would give them all something else to talk about and, more important, make them act as a ship's company.

  Antigone lay on a sea as smooth as a grey mirror in the twilight of the dawn. In the distance, scarcely discernible, a reedy margin could be seen dividing sea and sky. From time to time the quack of ducks came from the misty water's edge.

  'From what information we have gleaned,' Drinkwater resumed, 'Mr. Hill and I estimate that the French siege lines are no more than about five miles from the ship. They are investing the Swedish town of Stralsund but at present a state of truce exists between Marshal Mortier, commanding the French, and the garrison of Stralsund. No such armistice exists between ourselves and the French, however, while anything we might do to provoke more activity on the part of the Swedes can only be of benefit to the Alliance. So we intend to annoy the French by mounting a boat attack on their lines wherever opportunity offers. The mist offers you good cover for your approach.' He smiled again and felt the mood changing. The officers' preoccupation with the restitution of Rogers was diminishing: fear and excitement were stirring them now. He had only one more thing to say to complete the shift in their thinking.

  'Mr. Rogers will command the expedition in the launch.' He paused, measuring the effect of his words. Disappointment was plain on Fraser's face, but he ignored it and went on. 'Now, gentlemen, I think you had better break your fasts.' They trooped below and Drinkwater added, 'Perhaps, Sam, you would join me in my cabin.'

  In the gunroom, as the burgoo was cleared away and the toast and coffee spread its crumbs and ring-stains upon the less-than-clean table-cloth, the officers deliberated over the coming day.

  'Don't look so damned bereaved, Wullie,' said Mount, impishly aping Fraser's accent. 'You couldn't expect the Old Man to have done anything else.'

  'It's all right for you and your leathernecks,' grumbled Fraser, irritated by Mount's eagerness at the prospect of action, 'you're just itching to get at the enemy. At least you've something to do.'

  'So have you.' Mount took up a piece of toast and regarded it with some interest. 'D'you know this looks quite palatable, damned if it don't.'

  'Just a bloody boat-minder ...'

  'You might get an opportunity to distinguish yourself,' put in
James Quilhampton, pouring himself more coffee. 'I can tell you that poor Rogers will be looking for an opportunity to cover himself with glory.'

  'Rogers?'

  Quilhampton looked at the second lieutenant. 'You haven't known him as long as I have, Willie. He might be an old soak, but he's no coward.'

  'Ah,' said Mount, "but if he leads, will the men follow?'

  The question and the doubt associated with it hung over the table, stirring the cold and personal apprehensions that forgathered before action. Quilhampton shrugged the shadow off first. Like Rogers he too awaited his 'opportunity' and his youth was easily convinced it might be soon. He stood up, his chair scraping in the silence.

  'Mount,' he said lightly, 'you rumble like a bad attack of borbo-rygmus.'

  'Thank you, my young and insolent friend. I suppose I could prescribe myself the carminative of being proved right.'

  'I hope you're damn well not,' said Fraser, obviously getting over his pique, 'I haven't written my will this commission.'

  'I didn't know you had anything to leave behind you,' laughed Mount.

  Fraser made a face, wiped his mouth and looked up. Lord Walmsley stood in the gunroom door. 'What do you want?'

  'Mr. Hill's compliments, gentlemen,' said Walmsley in his easy manner, 'but the mist's beginning to clear, the first lieutenant is making the dispositions for the boats and the captain's going aloft. Mr. Hill is also awaiting the opportunity to come below and have his breakfast.'

  'Oh! Damn me, I forgot.' Quilhampton shoved his chair in and reached for his hat and sword. Fumbling with the belt as he made for the door he shouted over his shoulder to the negro messman, 'King! Be a good fellow and bring my pistols on deck!'

  In the main-top Drinkwater trained his glass carefully, anxious not to miss the slightest detail emerging from the upper limit of the mist as it hung low over the marshy shore. From their landfall at Cape Arcona they had sailed round the east coast of the island of Rugen, across the mouth of Sassnitz Bay where the Swedish fleet lay at anchor, and round into the Greifswalder Bight. Yesterday they had worked patiently westwards, towards the narrow strait that separated Rugen from the Pomeranian mainland. With a man in the chains calling the soundings they had manoeuvred Antigone as far into the strait as wind and daylight permitted, and learned of the state of truce between the Swedes and French from a Swedish guard-boat. As daylight finally faded, and with it the breeze, they had fetched their anchor.