'I think we won the action, Frederic, in every sense. Now, you had better see whether we have enough men to get this bloody ship to Terceira.'
'Have you seen Ashton?'
'Ashton? No, I haven't, but I suspect the worst.'
'Oh God ...' Marlowe stood uncertainly shaking his head. Then he looked up at Frey, a frown on his face. 'I've a curious ringing in my ears, Frey...'
'Count yourself lucky that's all you've got,' said Frey. 'Now let us take stock of matters, shall we.' It was a gentle hint more than a question, and Marlowe dumbly nodded his agreement.
CHAPTER 19
A Burying of Hatchets
May-June 1814
'Mr Gilbert, please forgive me for not coming ashore ...'
'My dear Captain Drinkwater, pray do not concern yourself. It is you who have, been put to the greater exertion, I do assure you.' Gilbert smiled urbanely. As for the Captain-General, why, he perfectly understands your situation and joins me in wishing you a speedy recovery'
'Please convey my thanks to His Excellency and, pray, do take a seat.'
Gilbert sat in the cabin chair opposite Drinkwater whose left arm was doubled in a splint and sling. He observed the sea-officer's pallid complexion as Drinkwater moved uneasily in his chair, evidence of the pain he was in.
'Frampton, a glass for Mr Gilbert.'
'Thank you.'
Frampton offered a glass from a small silver tray and Gilbert raised it in a toast. 'To the squadron that never was,' he said, indicating the view from the stern windows of the cabin. Lying at anchor between the commanding guns of His Britannic Majesty's frigate Andromeda and His Imperial Majesty's frigate Gremyashchi, lay the Arbeille and L'Aigle.
'Your fellow Marlowe gave a vivid account of the action,' Gilbert said, sipping his wine. 'It seems a pity it will go unrecorded, but...' he shrugged, 'c'est la guerre.'
Drinkwater raised his own glass and half-turned to contemplate the view. The sheltered anchorage of Angra lay between low, maquis-covered slopes, and the subtle, poignant scent of the land permeated the open sash. The ships presented a curious appearance, the regularity of their masts cut down by the action and now undergoing repair. The shortfall of spare spars occasioned by Andromeda's hurried departure for escort duties was being made good from the stock aboard the French ships, so that it was estimated that within three or four days all would be sufficiently sea-worthy to attempt the passage to a home port. And therein lay complications.
'That is where you are wrong,' Drinkwater said, swinging round to Gilbert. 'Unfortunately it is not war; unfortunately it is a mess, though you are correct it will go unrecorded. Poor Marlowe will be disappointed if he expects to get a step in rank or even to take a prize home. We have taken no prizes ...'
'I entirely agree, Captain, and the situation is the more complicated since we received news from Lisbon only yesterday that Napoleon Bonaparte has for some time been installed as King of Elba...'
'Elba?' Drinkwater frowned. 'I know only of one island of Elba and it is off the Tuscan coast, a dog's watch distance from France, not far from Naples...'
'Your incredulity is unsurprising, but it is the same Elba.'
'Good God!'
'I have no idea why the place was selected; it seems the height of stupidity to me.'
'So all the endeavours of these poor benighted devils would have been wasted, which consideration begs the question of my own ...'
'And Rakov's,' added Gilbert.
'I suppose that is some consolation.'
'I understand from young Marlowe that Rakov played a double-game.'
Drinkwater nodded. 'It would seem that having offered the Bonapartists his protection, he abandoned them when it became obvious that to do so meant a full-scale engagement with a British frigate. I don't know how much discretion Rakov was permitted in the interpretation of his own orders, but he can scarcely have been sleeping easily since our confrontation.'
'It was just as well that he did have a change of heart,' said Gilbert. 'According to Marlowe, he was in a position to retake L'Aigle...'
'Ah, yes, but he came alongside the French ship on the opposite side to ourselves; had he meant mischief to the last, he would have ranged alongside our unengaged, starboard side.' Drinkwater paused a moment, then added, 'We were a sitting duck.'
'I see,' said Gilbert contemplatively, adding, 'Well, the interpretation of your own orders cannot have been easy'
The remark brought a rueful smile to Drinkwater's face. 'I enjoyed far greater latitude than Count Rakov,' he said, then cutting off any further comment which might have been indiscreet and let too much slip to a stranger, Drinkwater said, 'As matters stand now, Rakov's action has fortuitously compromised no one.'
'Indeed not. In fact, quite the contrary, for if the Lisbon papers are to be believed, and I have one here,' Gilbert put down his wine glass and fished in a large black-leather wallet, "twas the Tsar himself who approved Elba.'
'The Tsar?' queried Drinkwater, 'But that makes no sense.'
'Unless His Imperial Majesty had second thoughts.' Gilbert held out the newspaper.
'I don't read Portuguese,' said Drinkwater drily.
'Of course not, I do beg your pardon ...'
'It occurs to me that if you were able to read that to Rakov, we might defuse any further problems.'
'Why not read it to them all? Boney's partisans should know this too. It diverts their attention from America back to Europe ...'
And will ensure we can send both ships in to a French port,' added Drinkwater enthusiastically.
'Who commands the French?'
'As far as I can determine, their original leader was a Rear-Admiral Lejeune but he was mortally wounded and it would seem that a military officer is now the senior.'
Gilbert uncrossed his legs and sat up, placing his half-empty glass on the table. 'Captain, may I presume to make a suggestion to which I am also able to make a modest contribution?'
'By all means.'
'Would you be prepared to host a dinner here, this afternoon? I shall send off a porker and some fresh vegetables, together with some tolerable wine. If you invited, say, three French officers, Rakov and two of his own men together with some of your own, we might stop any further unpleasantness and thereby offer all the other poor devils an explanation.'
'Would you act as interpreter of the newspaper?'
'Yes, why? Oh, you are thinking the French or the Russians might not trust us?'
"Tis a possibility'
'You are quite right; I will bring one of the Portuguese customs officers.'
Drinkwater nodded and Gilbert, pulling out a gold hunter, said, 'At three of the clock?'
'What time have you now ... ?' Drinkwater confirmed Gilbert's Azorean time coincided with Andromeda's own ship's time and nodded. 'We shall expect you then. I will arrange to have invitations delivered.'
Gilbert rose, his manner suddenly brisk. 'We both have work to do, Captain, so I shall take my leave for the nonce and look forward to seeing you later.' He smiled. 'An event like this certainly livens up a dull, if pleasant place.'
'I should have thought', replied Drinkwater, walking with Gilbert to the cabin door, 'that this was almost lotus-eating.'
'Almost,' Gilbert said with a laugh, 'but a man can choke, even on lotuses.'
When he had seen Gilbert's boat off, Drinkwater returned to the cabin and stood for a moment looking out through the stern windows. The atmosphere aboard the two French ships must be wretched in the extreme with half of Hyde's marines doing duty as guards, just as disarmed French grognards did duty as donkeys aboard Andromeda, assisting with the business of re-rigging and labouring under duress. Matters can have been no happier aboard the Gremyashchi. Rakov had studiously avoided personal contact with Drinkwater and conducted all intercourse through the medium of his son, a lieutenant who spoke better English than his father. Drinkwater turned and his eye was caught by Gilbert's abandoned, half-full glass. He recalled the consul's offer of som
e 'tolerable wine'.
His own was obviously intolerable. Well, so be it; lotus-eating clearly had its drawbacks. Drinkwater eased himself into his chair, reached for pen, ink and paper and called his servant.
'Frampton, pass word for a midshipman to report in a quarter of an hour. I shall be entertaining at six bells in the afternoon watch. Dinner for,' he paused and made a quick calculation, 'for seventeen. Yes, I know, we shall have to borrow some of the wardroom silver and their table. A pig and some vegetables will be sent off this morning from the shore.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' Frampton's tone bore the dull acquiescent tone of the hopeless servitor. He began his shuffling retreat to his pantry with a sigh when Drinkwater, who had already bent to his writing, looked up.
'Oh and, Frampton, the consul will also be sending off a quantity of tolerable wine.' 'Very good, sir.'
The unusual nature of the gathering aboard HMS Andromeda that sunlit afternoon precluded any real sociability. Two thirds of those present had recently been, as the colloquialism had it, at hammer and tongs with each other, while the motives of the other third were highly suspect. A jolly, convivial dinner being out of the question, Drinkwater had decided that the proceedings would be formal and the serving of the meal incidental to the real business in hand. To this end, Drinkwater instructed Hyde to parade those of his marines left aboard Andromeda, and two files lined the quarterdeck as a guard of honour, commanded by Hyde, resplendent in scarlet, with his gorget glittering at his throat and a drawn sword in his white-gloved hand. The turnout of the marines owed much to the assiduous training of the late and lamented Sergeant McCann who lay, with over a score of his ship-mates, buried off the western cape of the island of Graciosa.
Drinkwater had also turned out in full dress, as had his three lieutenants, the master and the surgeon, though Drinkwater suspected the latter resented the flummery of the occasion. All the British officers wore their hangers and, in accordance with Drinkwater's instructions, each had his assigned group of foreign officers to look after. In his written invitations, Drinkwater had stated Andromeda's boats would pick up the French officers, and his midshipmen had been given explicit orders to allow the barge from the Gremyashchi to arrive alongside ahead of them. Gilbert and the Portuguese customs officer, however, came off first.
'Captain Drinkwater, may I introduce Senhor Bensaude,' Gilbert said, smiling.
'Welcome aboard, sir, I understand you have a good command of English and will translate the news for us.'
'It will be my pleasure, Captain.'
'I have acquainted Senhor Bensaude with the delicacies of the situation,' Gilbert added.
'Indeed, I understand quite perfectly,' Bensaude added, his accent curiously muted.
'Your English is flawless, Senhor,' Drinkwater replied, impressed.
'I formerly worked in a Lisbon house exporting wine to England. It was run by an English family by the name of Co'burn.'
'Ah, that explains matters.' Drinkwater turned to Gilbert. 'And thank you for your pigs; as you can smell, they will be ready shortly.'
Marlowe approached with the news that the Gremyashchi's boat was coming alongside, and a few moments later Captain Count Vladimir Ivanovich Rakov and his son were engaged in conversation with Gilbert and Lieutenants Ashton and Frey, while Drinkwater welcomed the party from the French ships.
He recognized their leader immediately. The thin, ascetic, sunburnt features with the dependent moustaches, the pigtails and queue were that of the hussar officer Drinkwater had cut down and he had last seen slumped against a carronade slide. Beneath the burnished complexion, the hussar's skin bore a ghastly pallor. Like Drinkwater, he wore a sling, but he concealed this beneath his brown, silver-frogged pelisse which he wore, contrary to common practice, over his sword-arm. A large sabretache dangled from his hip, vying for the attention of any onlookers with his sky-blue overalls, but he wore no sword.
The hussar officer carried an extravagantly plumed busby under his left arm. His hessian boots were of scarlet leather and bore gold tassels. Apart from regimental differences, he reminded Drinkwater, in his dress, of Lieutenant Dieudonne, whom he had fought on the ice at the edge of the Elbe.[11]
'I am Colonel Marbet,' the hussar officer said in halting English, inclining his head in a curt bow. Then, having established his precedence, he stood back and a naval officer came forward.
'I am Capitaine de Fregate Duhesme.' Drinkwater had a vague recollection of seeing this man before, after he had suffered the ministrations of debridement and bone-setting by Kennedy, when he accepted the formal surrender of L'Aigle and relinquished the details to Marlowe and Frey, with the sole instruction to return her commander's sword to him.
'Welcome aboard, Capitaine. I understand Capitaine Friant of the Arbeille is too indisposed to join us.'
'He is badly wounded,' answered Duhesme in good English. 'Colonel Marbet of the Second Hussars is the senior of us, but this is Capitaine Duroc of the Imperial Horse Grenadiers ...'
The big man in the blue and white coat held a huge bearskin under the crook of his left arm and wore ungainly jack-boots and spurs.
These had been buffed for the occasion, and judging by the gleam in his eyes, there was fight still left in Duroc.
Drinkwater coughed to gain their collective attention. 'Gentlemen, there is much to discuss and it would be the better done over dinner. Please be so kind as to follow me into the cabin.' And without further preamble he led the way below.
As soon as the company was seated and their glasses filled, and while the lieutenants each carved a joint of pork, Drinkwater rose and addressed them all.
'Gentlemen, welcome aboard His Britannic Majesty's frigate Andromeda. For those of you who do not already know it, I am Nathaniel Drinkwater, a post-captain in the Royal Navy of Great Britain.' He spoke slowly, allowing Duhesme to translate for Marbet and Duroc. 'The unfortunate circumstances that led to the actions between our several vessels,' Drinkwater paused a moment, laying emphasis on the point and staring at Rakov, 'have been overtaken by events. Mr Gilbert here, the British consul at Angra do Heroismo, has informed me that news has arrived from Lisbon which affects us all, one way or another.
'Capitaine Duhesme, would you be kind enough to translate what I have said for the benefit of Count Rakov ...'
'Not necessary,' Rakov said. 'I understand ...'
'I beg your pardon, Count, I did not know you spoke English very well.'
'I serve with Admiral Hanikov's squadron in North Sea. You not know...'
'On the contrary, Count, I am perfectly acquainted with Admiral Hanikov's movements in the North Sea. Now I shall proceed ...'
Drinkwater ignored Rakov's glare and continued while the plates were passed and vegetables served. Frampton and the wardroom messmen fussed about the fringes of the tables and Drinkwater noted Gilbert's wine was tolerable enough to be swallowed in considerable quantities.
'Mr Gilbert has solicitously brought off Senhor Bensaude, an officer of the Portuguese customs service, to impartially translate this news to us.' Drinkwater turned to Bensaude. 'Senhor, if you would be so kind ...'
Bensaude rose and the crackle of the newspaper filled the expectant cabin as he held it up to read. He was not a tall man, but the broadsheet's top touched the deck-beams above his head.
'The despatch is dated Paris, 2nd May, and the date of this newspaper is Lisbon, 14th May. The despatch states that: "It is reported from Frejus that Napoleon Bonaparte arrived at that place and embarked in the British Frigate Undaunted, Captain Ussher commanding, on the evening of 28th April. Bonaparte landed at Portoferraio on the morning of 4th May and assumed the title of King of Elba ...'
But Bensaude got no further, the succulent pork and its steaming accompaniment of cabbage and aubergines went ignored for three full minutes, while the assembly digested the fact of an Elban exile and its implications for them all. Drinkwater's attempt to break the parties by interspersing his own officers among his guests only added to the babel,
for Rakov leaned across Frey and Duroc to speak to his son, at first in French and then in Russian, while Duroc, his face dark with anger, almost bellowed at Marbet across Hyde, Marlowe and the interval between the two tables. For Drinkwater himself, the thought that a mere four days difference would have saved them all the necessity of the tragic adventure that now drew to its conclusion, ate like acid into his soul. He thought again of the urgency of Hortense's news, of the awful consequences should the thing come to pass, and of the needless dead who had been sacrificed to prevent something that would, as matters turned out, never have happened anyway.
Thought of the dead made him look at Marbet. The hussar was trying to listen to Duroc, who boomed at him passionately, but the fight with pain and sickness was obvious to a fellow sufferer. Drinkwater felt a sudden presentiment that Marbet would not see France again. The guilty certainty diverted him and he wondered if the French conspirators knew Hortense Santhonax, then dismissed from his mind any intention to ask. If they agreed to what he was about to propose, he did not want another, vengeful death laid to his account. Let Hortense prosper, even though he must himself support her. The thought of this brought Drinkwater to himself. He waited a moment for things to quieten down and when there seemed no prospect of this, he thumped on the table until the cutlery and the glasses rang, simultaneously calling them all to order with a commanding, 'Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please do not neglect your victuals!'
He paused just long enough for those translating to effect a silence. Like guilty schoolboys they picked up knife and fork. He took advantage of their awkwardness and resumed his speech. 'I appreciate this news excites us all. Colonel Marbet and Capitaine Duhesme, I trust that you will return to a French port. If I may suggest it, flying the Bourbon lilies to ease matters. I am sure Count Rakov would join me in signing a document saying that you were lately on a cruise and learned about the fate of the Emperor from us ...' Drinkwater smiled as Marbet looked at Duhesme and Duroc, exchanging quick, low remarks with both officers. While this public, if muted conference took place, Drinkwater caught Rakov's eye.
The shadow of the eagle nd-13 Page 27
