The shadow of the eagle nd-13

by Ричард Вудмен

  Da Silva accompanied Ashton and Gilbert back to the beach, with two servants bearing between them Mr Gilbert's portmanteau. As they approached the boat, Ashton noticed two of the launch's seamen sauntering ahead of them, each carrying a canvas bag.

  'If you will excuse me, Mr Gilbert, I will just get on ahead and prepare the boat for you.' Ashton preferred the excuse and, without waiting for a reply, walked briskly on. A moment later he overtook the two seamen, one of whom he recognized as the launch's stroke oarsmen.

  'Shaw!' he called and the man turned round as Ashton hurried up. 'Shaw, what the bloody hell d'you think you are doing out of the boat?'

  'We was sent up by, er ...'

  'Went to get fresh bread, sir,' the other man said, holding up one of the canvas bags.

  'Who the devil said you could leave the boat?'

  'Well, sir, we only sent to get bread, sir, had a tarpaulin muster and reckoned we could afford a few loaves...'

  'Let me see in those bags.'

  'It's only bread, sir ...'

  'Let me see, damn you!' Furious, Ashton pulled the loaves out and hurled them into the water.

  'Sir! We paid for them!'

  'Aye and you paid for these too, I daresay!' Ashton triumphantly drew two bottles from the bottom of the bag and turned to Shaw. 'Empty yours too,' he commanded.

  'Sir!' Shaw protested.

  'Empty it, damn you and be quick!' Ashton was aware of Gilbert approaching as Shaw upended the bag. Four richly smelling and warm loaves fell out and two green bottles followed. One hit a stone and smashed with a tinkle, staining the sand with wine. Ashton kicked both loaves and broken glass into the water where screaming gulls were already congregating round the floating debris of the first lot of bread. He hurled the two remaining bottles after them while the fishermen tending an adjacent canoa, watched in astonished silence.

  'Now get back to the boat and be damned quick about it!' Ashton hissed. He turned as nonchalantly as he could as Gilbert came up to him.

  'Trouble, Lieutenant?'

  'Not really, Mr Gilbert. Not what I'd call trouble.'

  'And what would you call trouble, Lieutenant Ashton?' asked Gilbert, spurning the broken neck of one of the bottles with his foot, and looking at the ravenous gulls tearing the loaves apart, their wings beating with the fury of their assault on the abandoned bread.

  'Oh, I don't know,' Ashton said, utterly discomfited.

  'I suppose finding Bonaparte sitting on Terceira would be trouble of a real nature, don't you think?' offered Gilbert.

  'I suppose it would, yes.'

  They had reached the boat by then, and Shaw and his mate were resuming their places as oarsmen. Midshipman Paine who had obviously been dozing in the stern-sheets with his hat over his eyes, stirred himself at the commotion in the boat, for Shaw was clearly explaining what had happened, and the boat's crew were staring over their shoulders, sullen and resentful.

  'Mr Paine, let us have a hand here, to get this gear aboard.' The two marines posted as sentries came forward. One was Sergeant McCann. As two seamen came out of the boat to pass Gilbert's portmanteau along, Ashton drew McCann aside. 'Sergeant, I thought I made it quite clear that the boat's crew were not permitted to leave the launch?' he asked furiously.

  McCann looked down at the lieutenant's hand on his arm and remained silent. 'Sergeant, don't you trifle with me, damn you. You heard what I said.' He shook McCann's arm, barely able to control himself.

  'You ordered the boat's crew to remain with the boat, sir, but Mr Paine gave permission for two delegates to nip ashore for some food. The men had brought a little money, d'you see, sir.'

  'Sergeant,' insisted Ashton, hissing into McCann's face, 'they had purchased liquor ...'

  'They were not alone, then, Mr Ashton,' McCann snarled, his temper fraying to match the sea-officer's, as he caught the whiff of Ashton's breath.

  'I shall have you flogged for your impudence, McCann, when I get you back aboard! Now get in the boat, you damned Yankee bugger.'

  McCann coloured; for a moment he contemplated responding, thought better of it and shut his mouth. Then he turned on his heel, nodded to the private soldier to precede him and clambered over the gunwhale.

  'All sorted out now?' asked Gilbert matter-of-factly, with his thin, supercilious smile.

  'Do mind yourself on the thwarts, Mr Gilbert,' Ashton replied equivocally, waving the consul into the boat.

  'After you, my dear fellow.'

  'Convention demands you go first, Mr Gilbert.'

  'Does it now. Well we had better not flout convention then, had we?'

  Five minutes later, the launch was pulling clear of the reef, leaving the harbour in comparative peace, for the gulls had destroyed the loaves and only a few continued to quarrel over the last remnants. As for the watching fishermen, they shook their heads in incredulous wonder and resumed their work.

  CHAPTER 12

  A Matter of Discipline

  May 1814

  The recovery of the launch proved a tediously tricky business in the lively sea running off Flores, despite the lee made by the ship. While Marlowe and Birkbeck struggled with the heavy boat, Drinkwater surveyed his unexpected passenger who had scrambled up the ship's side after Ashton. Clearly Mr Gilbert, whatever else he was, was a nimble fellow, not unfamiliar with ships.

  'You wish for a passage to Terceira, Mr Gilbert?' Drinkwater asked, after the ritual of introduction.

  Gilbert nodded. 'In case word has arrived there concerning Bonaparte,' the British consul tersely replied.

  'Yes, yes, I understand, sir, but my orders indicate he will be brought to Flores,' said Drinkwater, stretching the truth to buttress his argument, 'and I fear if I abandon this station,' he paused and shrugged, 'well, who knows?'

  Gilbert frowned. 'But you are here to guard him, are you not?' and then Gilbert's quick intellect grasped the import of Ashton's questions about other men-of-war in the offing. Ah, you are expecting other ships, ships which might interfere with the arrangements for the accommodation of Boney'

  It was said as a statement of fact and Drinkwater nodded. 'There is, I understand,' he replied, 'a conspiracy afoot in France to have him taken to Canada ...'

  Gilbert's eyebrows rose in comprehension. 'Dear God!' he murmured.

  'I see you are as apprehensive as I am.'

  'Quite so ...'

  Both men remained a moment in silence, then Drinkwater suggested, 'I can have you put ashore again here.'

  Gilbert shook his head. 'I should really return to Angra.' He paused, then added, 'May I take your boat? She will make the passage under sail, I daresay?' he looked at the launch somewhat dubiously.

  'It must be upwards of forty leagues . . .'

  'No matter, your boat is up to it.' Drinkwater looked askance at Gilbert; he was clearly a man of resilience and resolution. In the waist the launch was swinging slowly across the ship to its chocks on the booms. 'Very well,' Drinkwater agreed, 'she is provisioned for two days, perhaps you will be kind enough to replenish her when you arrive; we are precious short of stores. Some fruit would be most welcome,' he said, and raising his voice he called, 'Mr Marlowe! Have the launch put back in the water!' Drinkwater ignored the moment's hesitation and the sudden irritated stares of the labouring seamen who were quickly ordered to reverse their efforts; he summoned Ashton.

  'Mr Ashton, run down to my cabin and take a look at the chart on my desk. A course for Terceira; you may take Mr Gilbert back to Angra in the launch.'

  'Sir, if I might suggest something.'

  'Well, what is it?'

  Ashton edged round to attempt to exclude Gilbert from his remark to the captain. 'I should like to lay a formal charge against Sergeant McCann.'

  'Oh, for heaven's sake, Mr Ashton, now is hardly the moment. What has Sergeant McCann done?'

  'Disobeyed my orders, sir,' Ashton hissed intensely.

  Drinkwater felt a great weariness overcome him; he was tired of these minor problems, tired of Ash
ton and the whole confounded pack of these contentious and troublesome men. He was tempted to consign Ashton to the devil, but mastered this intemperate and dangerous instinct; instead he caught sight of Lieutenant Hyde and called him over.

  'Mr Hyde, Mr Ashton here says that Sergeant McCann disobeyed his orders.' He turned to Ashton. 'Perhaps you would tell us how this occurred.'

  'I left orders that no one was to leave the boat while I waited upon the Governor. Upon my return I found two men had defied me and been into the town ...'

  'Two men, d'you say?' Drinkwater asked.

  'Yes, and ...'

  'To what purpose did these two men go into town?' Drinkwater persisted.

  'That is the point, sir, they had been into town and purchased liquor.'

  'What liquor?' Hyde asked.

  'What does it matter what liquor? They had disobeyed my orders and left the boat...'

  'Were sentries posted?' Hyde pressed.

  'Yes, of course, under your Sergeant McCann ...'

  'But Sergeant McCann was only in charge of the marines. Who commanded the boat?'

  'Well, Midshipman Paine.'

  'Then why isn't he in the soup?'

  'I think we should have a word with Midshipman Paine,' broke in Drinkwater. 'Be so kind as to send for him.'

  It took a few moments to fish Paine back out of the launch which was now bobbing alongside again. He reported to the trio of grave-faced officers on the quarterdeck and was asked for an explanation.

  'Whilst you lay in Santa Cruz, Mr Paine, were you not aware that Mr Ashton had given orders to the effect that no one should go ashore?' Drinkwater asked.

  'Well, sir,' Paine replied, 'yes and no ...'

  'What the devil ... ?' began Ashton, but Drinkwater put out a hand to stop him going further.

  'That is too equivocating, sir,' Drinkwater said, his voice hard and level. 'Kindly explain yourself

  'Well, sir, I understood Mr Ashton to have said that the boat's crew were not to go ashore. When Shaw asked me if, on behalf of the men, he and Ticknell might not run up to the town to buy some fresh bread, I consulted Sergeant McCann and he felt that it would not be contrary to the spirit of your orders if just two men went. The boat's crew had a tarpaulin muster ...'

  'What d'you mean ''would not be contrary to the spirit of my orders"?' demanded Ashton, 'you knew damned well I meant no one could go ashore.'

  Paine stood his ground. 'I understood you did not want shore-leave granted, sir, but the men could not desert and had taken money on trust from their ship-mates. I did not see the harm ...'

  'Very well, gentlemen.' Drinkwater silenced the midshipman and strove to keep the exasperation out of his voice. 'It is clear this matter cannot be resolved quickly. It is also clear that we cannot hang about here dithering. Have the launch swung inboard again; we will take Mr Gilbert to Angra ourselves, and the sooner the better. Do you pass word to Mr Marlowe, Mr Ashton; Mr Paine, I shall speak to you later. My Hyde, thank you.'

  Ashton seemed to hesitate a moment, but then the officers broke away and Drinkwater crossed the deck to where Gilbert awaited his departure, masking his curiosity in a thinly veiled attempt at indifference.

  'My apologies, Mr Gilbert, I have changed my mind; we shall run you to Terceira in the ship.'

  'Thank you, Captain,' Gilbert replied, smiling, 'I cannot pretend that a long passage in an open boat is much to my liking, though I did not wish to inconvenience you.'

  'That was most considerate of you.' Drinkwater returned the smile. 'My chief anxiety is that I do not miss any rendezvous of enemy ships by being absent from my station. The whole thing', he confessed, 'is something of a hazard.'

  'Is such a rendezvous likely now the war is over?'

  'Is the war over, Mr Gilbert? I wish I was so sure. Anyway, the die is cast.'

  Both men watched while the tackles were hooked on to the launch again. Drinkwater intensely disliked giving orders and counter-orders, for nothing created distrust between officers and men more than such obvious uncertainty in the former.

  'I beg your pardon, Captain Drinkwater,' said Gilbert, 'but does your change of heart have anything to do with the little incident ashore?'

  'What incident?'

  'Well, it is none of my affair, but I observed some breach of discipline which gave rise to your Lieutenant Ashton remonstrating with two of your sailors. They appeared to have offended in some way by purchasing bread ...'

  'Bread?'

  'Yes, they had a bag apiece, which Lieutenant Ashton kicked into the harbour. He seems a rather headstrong and intemperate young man.'

  'Was there no liquor involved?' Drinkwater asked.

  'There may have been a few bottles of wine,' Gilbert replied, 'but my chief impression was of a quantity of bread.'

  'Thank you, Mr Gilbert. Perhaps you would like to make yourself as comfortable as possible in my cabin.'

  'That is most kind of you, Captain. I can assure you that your cabin will be luxurious compared with the bilges of your launch,' Gilbert said, smiling.

  The overnight passage east-south-east towards Terceira, cost Drinkwater the remains of his equanimity. Already consumed by anxiety and speculation about the sudden appearance of the Gremyashchi, this unwanted diversion of almost two hundred miles to the eastward was a sore trial. Had he not so desperately wanted news of the whereabouts of Bonaparte, he would have returned Gilbert to Santa Cruz, but at least providence had ensured that Andromeda had arrived off Flores at the same time that the English consul had been visiting the island, and they had not had to resort to communicating with a Portuguese vice-consul who, whatever assurance Drinkwater had given Ashton, while perfectly reliable, would not have been so capable of supporting an informed, speculative debate.

  However, the presence of the Gremyashchi confirmed the veracity of Hortense's intelligence, and the action of Rakov had clearly been as intimidatory as his orders allowed him. But while the appearance of the Russian frigate removed a major doubt in Drinkwater's mind, it caused another: Rakov's purposeful withdrawal to the north and west suggested he too was to rendezvous with the Antwerp squadron', and while he was doing this, Andromeda was waltzing off to the eastwards with a passenger!

  As night shrouded the ship, Drinkwater paced the quarterdeck angry and frustrated, feeling the advantage he had so assiduously cultivated being thrown away with every cable Andromeda sailed towards the eastern Azores. In his heart he was doubly annoyed with Lieutenant Ashton.

  It was, Drinkwater concluded, a mean thought to ascribe his current woes to the young officer, but he was meanly inclined that evening, reluctant to go down to his cabin which he would have to share with Gilbert, yet irritated by his tumbling thoughts which kept him pacing and fidgeting about the quarterdeck. What was he to make of this damnable business at Santa Cruz? It would have been a silly incident, he had no doubt, but on the one hand lay the argument for order and discipline, and upon the other that for toleration and humanity. And he, as commander, amid his other preoccupations, was obliged to reconcile the essentially irreconcilable.

  He paced up and down, only vaguely aware that the watch was about to change with a flurry of activity, the flitting of dark shapes about the quarterdeck, a shuffle of figures around the helm partially lit by the dim glow from the binnacle. He sensed, rather than saw Marlowe on deck, engaged in discussing something with the shorter, slightly stooped figure of Birkbeck. It was then that the idea struck Drinkwater.

  He stopped pacing, turned to windward and barked a short, monosyllabic laugh. Coming on deck late, just as eight bells struck, Midshipman Dunn caught sight of the captain and heard the odd sound, stored it away to add to the cockpit's fund of stories about the eccentricity of Old Nat. As for Drinkwater, he turned on his heel, crossed the deck and confronted the first lieutenant. It was too dark by now to see the expression of satisfaction upon his face.

  'Mr Marlowe, may I have a word with you?'

  'Of course, sir. As a matter of fact, I wanted to speak
with you.'

  'Oh, what about?'

  'I have just been telling the master here, I think I have located the leak.'

  'That is very satisfactory, at least I hope it is. Is the matter serious?'

  'Serious enough: it's a dockyard job, but we may be able to do something to reduce it.'

  'Does it compromise our present situation?'

  'Not as long as we have men to man pumps, no, sir, but it is likely to get worse. I'm afraid the leak is caused by devil-bolts.'

  'God's bones,' Drinkwater swore quietly. The dockyard practice of making repairs with short and inadequate screw-bolts had once been common. It was a mark of the corruption of a great public service, the indolence of its overseers who grew fat on the myriad minor economies they practised widely, and their indifference to the fate of the ships of war placed in their hands for refitting. It was widely believed in the sea-service that ships had foundered in heavy weather owing to their working in a seaway, their planking springing because it was not properly secured to the framework of the ribs.

  The loss of HMS Blenheim in the Indian Ocean, homeward bound from the Hooghly with Admiral Sir Thomas Troubridge on board, was attributed to this cause and the resulting scandal had, it was generally thought, ended this particular dockyard malpractice. Of course, it was impossible to say when the bolts now causing Andromeda's leak had been fitted. Probably some time ago. The slow decomposition of the iron and its infection of the surrounding oak progressively weakened any fastening, even when payed and covered with sheets of anti-fouling copper, but a short bolt, with insufficient of its screwed shank penetrating the futtock behind the planking, would deteriorate and spring within a few years, and such bolts were cheaper and more easily fitted substitutes than the effective oak trenails or heavy copper bolts.

  The news somewhat dimmed Drinkwater's satisfaction in having resolved his earlier problem, but it was at least satisfactory to know the cause, and neither problem would vanish unless something were to be done about each of them.

  'Well gentlemen, better the devil you know, I suppose.' This little witticism was greeted by respectful chuckles. 'Perhaps you will have a look at the area tomorrow, Mr Birkbeck?'