Baltic Mission nd-7

by Ричард Вудмен

  'God damn and blast you for a set of canting Methodisticals,' he said. 'God damn and blast you all to hell,' and drawing back his arm he sent the decanter flying through the air. It smashed on the forward bulkhead and in the silence that followed they could hear Rogers's laboured breathing.

  'Mr. Rogers . . .' began Fraser, but he was instantly silenced by Lallo. They watched as Rogers calmed himself. After a pause Rogers ceased to glare at them all, picked up his knife and fork and addressed himself to his plate. In an embarrassed silence the others dutifully followed suit. For fifteen minutes no one said a word and then Rogers, flinging down his utensils, rose from the table and stumped out. His exit provoked a broadside of expelled breath.

  'Phew! How long will he go on like this?' asked Fraser. 'If he isn't damned careful he'll end up with the other irredeemable tosspots in Haslar Hospital.'

  'That was what I tried to tell you, Mr. Fraser,' said Lallo, 'when you interfered.'

  'I'm damn sorry, Mr. Lallo, but I couldna tolerate him being trussed like a chicken for the table.'

  'I was not aware,' said Lallo archly, 'that there was any love lost between you.'

  'Nor there is, but...'

  'The captain ordered me to restrain him. It was out of kindness, to avoid too public a humiliation for the man.' 'But was all that really necessary?'

  'In my opinion yes. Despite being anorexic, which was attributable to his reliance on strong drink, he was quite capable of doing himself and myself a great deal of damage in his ravings. The aboulia ... the loss of will-power associated with addiction, disturbs all the natural processes and inclinations of the body. He was by turns lethargic and extremely violent. At times he was almost cataleptic, but at others his strength was amazing.' Lallo paused, then added, 'I'd say the treatment, though drastic, was successful.' He turned and looked down on the deck where the broken decanter lay amid a dark stain on the planking. 'At least he resisted the stuff.'

  'Well, it was a damnable thing ...' said Fraser.

  'It was a damnable thing that you had a man gagged yourself for the use of strong language the day before yesterday ...'

  'That's preposterous ...'

  'And furthermore,' Lallo interrupted, 'I'd diagnose your own condition...'

  'For goodness sake, gentlemen,' put in Quilhampton, raising his voice to overcome the rising argument, 'I conceive Mr. Rogers to be upset because we let the Danish ship go. He has never enjoyed much luck in the way of prize-money.'

  'There would have been nothing very certain about making any out of that Dane,' snapped Fraser. 'Condemning neutrals usually turns upon points of law. It isn't the same thing as taking a national ship or a privateer.'

  Lallo was grateful for the changed mood of the conversation. 'What did happen in the cabin, Mr. Fraser? Did the scoundrel offer the captain money?'

  'No,' said Fraser after a pause. 'The Dane, Frederic Nielsen, claimed he was carrying secret papers for London, or some such nonsense. The fellow was adamant and I don't think the captain believed him. Then ...'

  'Go on ...'

  Fraser shrugged. 'Well, he suddenly looked closer at the papers and appeared to change his mind. Bundled Nielsen and myself out of the cabin and a few minutes later came up, handed the papers back to the Dane and let him go.'

  'Just like that?' asked Lallo.

  'Yes. Or that is how it seemed to me.'

  'I wonder ... mused Quilhampton, attracting the attention of the other two.

  'You wonder what, James?' asked Fraser. 'Have you any idea what's afoot?'

  'The captain's been mixed up in this sort of thing before.' 'What sort of thing?' asked Fraser. 'This sort of thing.'

  'What sort of thing, for God's sake?' Fraser repeated in exasperation.

  'Well, secret operations and suchlike.'

  'Secret operations?' said Lallo incredulously. 'Are we bound on a secret operation? I thought we were on a cruise against blockade runners.'

  'Can't you be more specific, James?' Fraser's curiosity was plain and almost indignant.

  Quilhampton shrugged. 'Who knows ...?' he said enigmatically.

  'Oh, for Heaven's sake, James!'

  'Well, ask Hill. They were both on the cutter Kestrel years ago, doing all sorts of clandestine things ... Oh, my God!' Quilhampton jumped up.

  'What the devil's the matter?'

  'It's Hill! I've forgotten to relieve him again!' Quilhampton grabbed his hat and trod in the broken glass from the smashed decanter.

  'Damn! Hey, King! Come and sweep up this damned mess, will you?'

  Drinkwater paced up and down the deck as the hands went aloft to stow the sails. Antigone rocked gently in the swell that ran in over the Pregel Bar. The desolation of two months earlier was scarcely imaginable in the present lively scene. The sea, now clear of ice, was an enticing blue. The distant line of coast was a soft blue-green and, above the long yellow spit that made it a lagoon, the Frisches Haff was dotted with the sails of coasting craft and fishing vessels. There were others in the open sea around them and the activity seemed to indicate that events ashore were having little effect on the lives of the local population who were busy pursuing their various trades. Perhaps Nielsen had been right and the French had been badly mauled at Heilsberg. Perhaps another battle had been fought and the Russians had flung back the Grand Army. Perhaps the French were in headlong flight, a circumstance which would explain all this normality! Drinkwater checked his wild speculation. He was here to gather facts without delay. He would have to send to Konigsberg as soon as the ship was secured and a boat was prepared. He contemplated going himself. Properly it was Rogers's prerogative to command so important an expedition but, despite his success at Stralsund, Rogers's lack of interest in political matters did not recommend him for the service. On the other hand, if he sent Fraser, the next in seniority, a slight would be imputed to Rogers. He did not wish to risk a reversal to the first lieutenant's progress back to normality. But that left Hill or Quilhampton, and Hill could not be sent because the same imputation attached to the dispatching of the sailing master as the second lieutenant. It would have to be Quilhampton.

  Drinkwater, irritated by all these trivial considerations, swore, consoled himself that Quilhampton was as good a man as any for the task, and made up his mind. He passed orders for the preparation of the launch for a lengthy absence from the ship and summoned the third lieutenant to his cabin.

  'Now, Mr. Q,' he said, indicating the chart and Mount's borrowed atlas. 'See, here is Konigsberg. You are to take the launch, which is being provisioned for a week, and make the best of your way there. I shall provide you with a letter of accreditment to the effect that you are a British naval officer. Your purpose is to ascertain the truth and extent of a report that the French suffered a defeat at Heilsberg.' Drinkwater placed his finger on a spot on a page of the atlas. 'You must get the best information you can and try to determine if anything else has occurred. Was the French army routed or merely checked? Have there been any further engagements? That sort of thing. Do you understand?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Very well. Now, I suggest that initially you search out a British merchant ship. There will almost certainly be at least one in the port. Do that first. Do not land until you have made contact and obtained advice from a British master. The port is Prussian and there may be Russian troops there. You would do well to avoid any problems with language and your best interpreter will be the master of a British ship who will have an agent and therefore someone acquainted with local affairs.' Drinkwater remembered Young and Baker and added, 'Sometimes, I believe, these fellows have quite an effective intelligence system of their own.'

  'What force will I take, sir?'

  'Twenty-four men, James; no marines, just seamen.'

  'Very well, sir ... May I ask a favour?'

  'Well?'

  'May I take Tregembo, sir?'

  'Tregembo?' Drinkwater frowned. 'You know I dare not expose him to any unnecessary danger, I shall never hear the last of
it from his wife ...' Drinkwater smiled.

  'Well, Konigsberg is supposed to be a friendly port, sir. I cannot see that he can come to much harm.'

  'True. Why do you want Tregembo?' Drinkwater paused and saw Quilhampton's hesitation. 'Is it because you do not trust the temper of the men?'

  Quilhampton shrugged, trying to pass his concern off lightly. 'One or two may try and run, sir. They are still somewhat mettlesome. With Tregembo there they will be less inclined to try. Besides, I shall have to leave the launch.'

  'You will take two midshipmen, Dutfield and Wickham.'

  'I should still like Tregembo.'

  Drinkwater raised his voice. 'Sentry! Pass word for my coxswain!'

  A minute or two later Tregembo arrived. 'You sent for me, zur?'

  'Aye, Tregembo. Mr. Q here wants you to go in the launch with him to Konigsberg. To be particular, he has requested you go. I'd like you to accompany him.'

  'Who'll look after you, zur?' Tregembo asked with the air of the indispensable.

  'Oh, I expect Mullender will manage for a day or two,' Drinkwater replied drily.

  Tregembo sniffed his disbelief. 'If you'm want me to go, zur, I'll go'

  'Very well.' Drinkwater smiled. 'You had better both go and make your preparations.'

  An hour later he watched the launch pull away from the ship's side. On board Antigone the men were coiling away the yard and stay tackles used to sway the heavy carvel boat up from its chocks on the booms in the frigate's waist and over the side. Half a cable away the men in the launch stowed their oars, stepped the two masts and hooked the lugsail yards to their travellers. An hour later the two lugsails were mere nicks upon the horizon, no different from half a dozen others entering or leaving the Frisches Haff. Drinkwater settled down to wait.

  For two days Antigone swung slowly round her anchor. On board, the monotonous routines of shipboard life went on, the officer of the watch occasionally studying the low, desolate shore for the twin peaks of the launch's lugsails. Once a watch Frey or Walmsley climbed to the main royal yard and peered diligently to the eastward, but without seeing any sign of the ship's boat. Then, early in the morning of the third day, an easterly breeze carried with it the sound of gunfire. Sent aloft, Frey brought down the disquieting intelligence that there was smoke visible from the general direction of Konigsberg.

  All the officers were on the quarterdeck and Mount, as if disbelieving the boy's report, ascended the mast himself to confirm it.

  'But what the devil does it mean, Mount?' asked Hill. 'Your atlas shows Heilsberg as to the south and west of Konigsberg. If the Russkies threw the French back, what the hell is smoke and gunfire doing at Konigsberg?' He crossed the deck and checked the wind direction from the weather dog-vane to the compass. 'That gunfire isn't coming from anywhere other than east.'

  'It means', said Drinkwater, 'either that Heilsberg was wrongly reported or that the French have counter-attacked and reached Konigsberg.'

  'Bloody hell!'

  'What about Quilhampton?'

  And Tregembo, thought Drinkwater. Should he send another boat? Should he work Antigone closer inshore? He had no charts of the area accurate enough to attempt a passage over the bar and into the Frisches Haff, and did not relish the thought of grounding ignominiously within range of the shore. A picture of French batteries revenging themselves on him from the shingle spit enclosing the great lagoon presented itself to him. Napoleon would make much of such an event and he Moniteur would trumpet it throughout Europe. No, he would have to give Quilhampton his chance. The man was not a fool. If he heard gunfire he would assume the place was under attack and, as it could only be attacked by one enemy, he would come off to the ship as his orders said. But the officers were looking at him, expecting some response.

  'I think that we can do little but wait, gentlemen,' Drinkwater said, and turning he made his way below, to brood in his cabin and fret himself with anxiety. For two hours an uneasy silence hung over the ship, then Frey, suspended in the rigging with the ship's best glass, hailed the deck, his voice cracking with excitement.

  'Deck there! Deck there! The launch, sir! It's in sight!' His frantic excitement promised to unseat him from his precarious perch and it was only with difficulty that Hill persuaded him that his own safety was more important than the precise bearing of the launch. But Frey would not desert his post and kept the image of the launch dancing in the lens by lying full length on the furled main-topgallant. It was he, therefore, who spotted the reversed ensign flying from the launch's peak as she approached the ship. 'She's flying a signal for distress, sir!'

  Once again all were on deck; the waist and fo'c's'le were crowded with Antigone's people training their eyes to the eastward where the launch was now clearly visible.

  'Mr. Comley!' Rogers called sharply and with no trace of his former debility. 'Stir those idlers! Man the yard and stay tackles! Prepare to hoist in the launch!'

  'Mr. Lallo,' said Drinkwater lowering his telescope, 'as far as I can ascertain there is nothing amiss with the launch itself. I can only assume the signal of distress refers to the people in the boat. I think it would be wise if you were to prepare your instruments.' A chilling foreboding had closed itself round Drinkwater's heart.

  The launch came running down wind, the men in her hidden behind the bunts of the loose-footed lugsails. She was skillfully rounded up into the wind and, sails a-flapping, came alongside Antigone's waist. With an overwhelming sense of relief Drinkwater saw a disheveled Quilhampton at the tiller, his iron hook crooked over the wooden bar. Then he saw wounded men amidships: one of them Tregembo.

  The fit men clambered from the launch up Antigone's tumble-home. With her sails stowed and masts lowered the boat was hooked and swung up and inboard onto the booms. Here eager arms assisted in lifting the wounded men out and down below to the catlings and curettes of Mr. Lallo.

  Drinkwater waited until Quilhampton reported. His eyes followed the inert body of Tregembo as, his shoulder slung in a bloodstained and makeshift bandage, he was taken below. He was therefore unaware of a dusty stranger who stood upon the deck ignored amidst the bustle.

  'Well, Mr. Q? What happened?'

  James Quilhampton looked five years older. His face was drawn and he was filthy.

  'I have your intelligence, sir, Konigsberg has fallen to the French. There has been a great battle, just two days ago. It was disastrous for the Russians. There is chaos in the port...' He paused, gathering his wits. He was clearly exhausted. 'I made contact, as you suggested, with the master of a Hull ship. We went ashore to gather news at a tavern much used by British shipmasters. To my surprise Captain Young was there, together with Captain Baker.' Quilhampton shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog of fatigue. 'To my astonishment their ships had still not discharged their lading ...'

  'Good God ... but go on.'

  'The fellows were debating what should be done, as the news had just arrived of the precipitate flight of the Russians. I said Antigone was anchored on the Pregel Bar and would afford them convoy. Most felt that with their cargoes not yet completed they could not stand the loss. They affirmed their faith in the garrison and the defences of the city. I tried to tell Young that his cargo must not fall into the hands of the enemy. He assured me it wouldn't. The men had had a tiring passage with the necessity of rowing up the river, so I judged that we should remain alongside Young's ship. Her chief mate offered us accommodation and I accepted, intending to see how matters stood in the morning and, if necessary, help to get the Nancy and the Jenny Marsden to sea. I thought, sir, that if the threat from the French persisted, I might better persuade Captain Young to change his mind. You see, sir, the evening before he had been somewhat in his cups and difficult to move ...' 'I understand, James. Go on.'

  'There is not much more to tell. I slept badly, the town was shaken throughout the night by artillery fire, and the bursting of the shells was constant. In the morning French cavalry were in the town. Young was not on board and I attemp
ted to get his mate to sail and bring out Baker's ship as well. They would not move unless their respective masters were with them. I undertook to return to the tavern where it was thought they had lodged. I got caught in a cross-fire between some infantry, I don't know whether they were Prussians or Russians, and some French sharp-shooters. Tregembo and Kissel were with me. Kissel was hit and Tregembo and I went back for him. As we dragged him towards the Jenny Marsden's jolly-boat we were ridden down by French dragoons. They dispatched Kissel and wounded Tregembo ...'

  'Go on. What happened to you?'

  'Oh, nothing, sir.'

  'He unhorsed a dragoon, Captain, pulled the fellow clean out of his saddle.

  Drinkwater turned and was aware of an unfamiliar face. 'And who, sir, are you?'

  The stranger ignored the question. 'Your officer unhorsed the dragoon with that remarkable hook of his. You see, sir, they were pursuing me. I had evaded them in an alley and they took their revenge on your officer and men. However, as I swiftly made him out to be a seafaring man as well as an Englishman, I made myself known to him and assisted him in getting his wounded comrade into the boat.'

  'I doubt I could have done it alone, sir,' explained Quilhampton, 'before the other dragoon got me. Fortunately the fellow missed with his carbine and we were able to get to the Jenny Marsden without further ado, but I could not get either of them to unmoor and, with shot flying about the shipping and this gentleman here insisting on my bringing him off, I decided that discretion was the better part of valour ...'

  'What is the extent of Tregembo's wound?' Drinkwater cut in.

  'A sabre thrust in the fleshy part of the shoulder, sir. I do not believe it to be mortal.'

  'I hope to God it ain't.' Drinkwater turned on the stranger. 'And now, sir, who are you and what is your business?'

  'I think, Captain,' said the stranger with that imperturbable coolness that was rapidly eroding Drinkwater's temper, 'that this should be discussed in your cabin.'