The shadow of the eagle nd-13

by Ричард Вудмен

  'As for you and the Gremyashchi, Count Rakov, I consider the unfortunate matter of our exchange of fire should be regarded as accidental.' Drinkwater watched Rakov's expression, ramming his point home: 'Unless of course you wish me to report your opening fire upon the British flag ... It was doubtless an error, probably attributable to one of your officers ...' Drinkwater picked up his glass and smiled over it. 'Well, then, it seems a pity that the French national cruisers L'Aigle and Arbeille had not heard of the abdication of the Emperor Napoleon and the restoration of King Louis, and engaged this ship before Capitaine Duhesme could be acquainted with the facts ...'

  Drinkwater looked round the table. The French were disconsolate; not only had they suffered defeat, they now knew the fate of their Emperor was no glorious resurrection in Canada, but that of a petty king, on an arid and near worthless island off the Italian coast. Count Rakov seemed sunk in gloom, alternating deep draughts of wine with short bursts of conversation with his son who seemed to be arguing some point of cogency.

  Drinkwater raised an eyebrow at Gilbert who gave an almost imperceptible nod of satisfaction, before addressing a remark to Bensaude. Drinkwater decided to avail himself of the pork before him, which had been carved in small slices for him to eat one-handed. It was almost cold, but the flavour remained delicious, and with Gilbert's wine to wash it down Drinkwater began to relax.

  'Captaine Drinkwater ...'

  Drinkwater looked up. Duhesme was addressing him from the far table. 'Colonel Marbet...' Duhesme looked at Marbet who nodded with an exhausted resignation, then at Duroc whose face looked more drawn than ever. Duhesme began again. 'We agree with your idea and accept your proposal.'

  'That is good news, Colonel.' Drinkwater turned to Rakov. 'Count, it remains for you to agree ...'

  Rakov coughed and put his wine glass down with a heavy nod. 'Ver' well. I agree.'

  Drinkwater looked round the table and raised his own glass high. 'Gentlemen, we have all lived our lives under the shadow of the eagle and the eagle is now caged. Let us drink to peace, gentlemen.' He looked round the table. Duroc's face was full of the rage of humiliation and mutilated pride and Drinkwater added, 'At least for the time being.'

  A full belly dimmed the pain of his arm and Drinkwater felt the burden of responsibility lifted from his shoulders. It was the first time he had felt relief since his fateful meeting with Hortense Santhonax. He spoke to several of his departing guests as they went over the side.

  'I hope you recover fully from your wound, Colonel,' he said to Marbet as the French officer prepared to be helped over the side into Midshipman Paine's cutter. And I am sorry that I was the means by which you suffered it.'

  Duhesme was at Marbet's elbow, assisting him and acting as interpreter. The hussar looked at Drinkwater, shrugged and muttered something which Duhesme translated as, 'Per'aps the war is not yet over, Capitaine, and peace may be short. The eagle, as you call the Emperor, is not caged, but perched upon a little rock. If he raises himself, he can see France.'

  'I fear you are right. This may be au revoir then.'

  Duhesme translated and Marbet, fixing his eyes upon Drinkwater, muttered a comment which Duhesme duly interpreted.

  'For me, Capitaine, the Colonel says, it is good-bye ...' And Drinkwater saw death quite clearly in Marbet's deep-set eyes.

  'He is a brave man, Capitaine,' Duhesme added.

  'That is the tragedy of war, M'sieur,' Drinkwater replied. 'Tell him I honour his courage and that his Emperor was gallantly served.' Moved by the incongruous sight of the curiously attired hussars as they somehow descended to the boat despite their tasselled boots, pelisses and wounds, Drinkwater turned aside.

  Rakov's barge left after Andromeda's cutter had swept the French away. Saying his farewells, Drinkwater asked, 'What does the name Gremyashchi signify, Count Rakov?'

  The Russian officer consulted his son and replied, 'It means Thunderer".'

  'Well I'm damned! I was appointed to command a British ship of that name. Well Count, it seems we have always been allies. May I say that I hope we part friends.' Drinkwater held out his hand and, after a moment's hesitation, Rakov took it.

  Gilbert and Bensaude were the last to leave and both shook Drinkwater's hand warmly. 'I am obliged to you both,' Drinkwater said, 'and can only express my sincere thanks.'

  'It has been a pleasure Captain,' said Gilbert, 'and I consider you have rendered these islands a signal service. Bonaparte's presence here would have been disastrous for us; his presence elsewhere beyond these islands would have been far worse. You have moreover buried hatchets with commendable diplomacy'

  'I agree absolutely with Mr Gilbert,' Bensaude said, and then they were gone and Drinkwater swept his officers back into the cabin, refilled their glasses and addressed them as they stood there in an untidy, expectant knot.

  'There will be several unanswered questions occurring to you, gentlemen, not least among them what the events of recent days have been about. Perhaps I can best explain them by saying that it is more important to remember what they have not been about. They have not been about the prolongation of the war in Europe; more importantly, they have not been about the triumph of the Americans, of Canadian rebels and perhaps the establishment of a second Napoleonic empire in the North Americas.

  'I have offered the French a means by which they may return to France with honour, allowing them to go back to their homes and families. I have also offered the Russians a means by which they too can return to the Baltic without discredit.

  'In these conclusions I believe we have done our duty and upheld the dignity of the British crown. Now I wish only to drink to your healths.'

  Drinkwater swallowed his wine and put the glass on the nearest table. A moment's silence filled the cabin and then Marlowe raised his own glass and looked round.

  'I give you Captain Drinkwater, gentlemen!'

  And they raised their glasses to him, men who seemed still to be no more than mere boys, but with whom he had gone through the testing time, and who had not let him down. As they filed out, he turned away and surreptitiously wiped the tears from his eyes.

  'Any orders sir?' Marlowe asked from the door. He was the last to leave.

  'Let me know when the ship is ready for sea, Mr Marlowe.'

  'Aye, aye, sir.'

  After they had all gone and Frampton had cleared away, Drinkwater sat at the table and, spreading a sheet of paper, began to write his report of proceedings. He penned the superscription, thinking of John Barrow, the Second Secretary, who would read his words to the assembled Board of Admiralty. He had much to say and began with the well-rehearsed formula: Sir, I have the honour to report ... Then he paused in thought and laid down his pen. A moment later he had fallen asleep, smudging the wet ink.

  'Well, Ashton, it's homeward bound as soon as we're ready for sea,' Marlowe announced, and Hyde, who was disrobing himself from the tight constraints of his sash, reappeared in the doorway of his cabin.

  'That's damned good news,' he said.

  'I'm not certain I relish existing on half-pay,' Ashton grumbled, throwing himself into a chair.

  'I shouldn't think you'll have to,' remarked Frey acidly.

  Hyde chuckled, then added soberly, 'Well at least you ain't dead, like poor McCann. I still don't understand why he ran out of cover like that. It was so unlike McCann, who was always so strict and disciplined in everything he did.' No one offered an opinion and Hyde yawned and stretched. A full belly always makes me sleepy,' he observed, yawning.

  'Most things make you sleepy,' Ashton jibed.

  'Aren't you supposed to be on deck, Josiah?' Marlowe asked.

  'When I have changed into undress garb,' Ashton mumbled, sighing and half rising.

  'You have a sleep too,' Frey said, emerging from his cabin in the plain coat of working rig, 'I'll tend the deck.'

  'Damned lick-spittle,' Ashton said.

  'Don't be so bloody offensive, Ashton,' Hyde called from his cabin, and Marlowe looked p
ointedly at the third lieutenant.

  'Hyde's right, Josiah ...'

  'Oh, damn the lot of you,' Ashton said, and getting up he retired to his cabin, slamming the door so that the whole flimsy bulkhead shook and Hyde reappeared in the doorway of his hutch.

  'You know,' he remarked conversationally to Marlowe, 'when I first met him, I rather liked him. It's remarkable how a sea-passage can change things, ain't it?' 'Yes,' replied Marlowe, 'it is.'

  'It was a moonlit night when we engaged the Sybille, d'you remember?'[12]

  'I was in the gun-deck, sir,' Frey replied. 'It is invariably near dark there ...'

  Drinkwater chuckled; 'I'm sorry, I had forgot. I sometimes think I have been too long upon a quarterdeck. In fact,' he said with a sigh, 'I fear I am fit for precious little else.'

  So bright was the moonlight that it cast the shadow of the ship on the heaving black sea beyond them and the undulating movement of the water made the shadow run ahead of Andromeda, adding an illusory component to the frigate's apparent speed as she ran to the north and east, bound for the chops of the Channel. Above their heads the ensign cracked in the wind which lumped the sea up on the starboard quarter, and Andromeda scended with alternating rushes forward on the advancing crests, and a slowing as she fell back into the following crests.

  The two officers stood for a moment at the windward hance and watched the sea.

  "Tis beautiful though,' Drinkwater observed wistfully.

  'You are thinking you will not long be able to stand here and admire it.' Frey made it a statement, not a question and Drinkwater took their conjoint thoughts forward.

  'Could you paint such a scene?'

  'I could try. I should like to attempt it in oils.'

  'I commissioned Nick Pocock to paint the moonlit action with the Sybille. The canvas hung in my miserable office in the Admiralty. If you could do it, I should like a painting of Andromeda coming home ...'

  'At the end of it all,' said Frey.

  'D'you think so?' asked Drinkwater. 'While I certainly hope so, I doubt Napoleon will sit on his Tuscan rock and sulk for ever.'

  'I suppose we must put our trust in God, then,' Frey said wryly.

  'I have to confess, I do not believe in God,' said Drinkwater, staring astern where a faint phosphorescence in the sea drew the line of the wake on the vastness of the ocean. 'But I believe in Providence,' he added, 'by which I mean that power that argues for order and harmony in the universe and which, I am certain, guides and chastises us.'

  He turned to the younger man by his side whose face was a pale oval in the gloom of the night and sighed. 'You only have to look at the stars,' he said, and both officers glanced up at the mighty arch of the cloudless sky. The myriad stars sparkled brilliantly in the depths of the heavens; several they knew by name, especially those by which they had traced their path across the Atlantic, but there were many, many more beyond their knowledge. The light, following breeze ruffled their hair as they stared upwards, then abruptly Drinkwater turned and began to walk forward, along the lengh of Andromeda's quarterdeck. The planking gleamed faintly in the starlight.

  'Have you noticed,' Drinkwater remarked as they fell into step beside each other, 'there is always a little light to see by.'

  'Yes,' agreed his companion.

  After a pause, Drinkwater asked, 'Who is the midshipman of the watch?'

  'Paine.'

  'Pass word for him, will you.'

  Paine reported to the two officers, apprehensive in the darkness. 'Mr Paine,' said Drinkwater, 'I wished to say how well you acquitted yourself in the action.'

  'Thank you, sir.'

  'Now cut along.'

  'Aye, aye, sir.'

  'Well,' Drinkwater yawned and stretched as the midshipman ran off, 'it's time I turned in.' He gave a final glance at the binnacle and the illuminated compass card within. 'You have the ship, sir,' he said formally, adding 'Keep her heading for home, Mr Frey.'

  And even in the gloom, Frey saw Drinkwater smiling to himself as he finally went below.

  CHAPTER 20

  A Laying of Keels

  June 1814

  The wedding party emerged from St James's in Piccadilly and turned west, bound for Lothian's Hotel and the wedding breakfast. It was a perfect summer's day and Drinkwater felt the sun hot on his back after the cool of the church. He creaked in the heavy blue cloth and gilt lace of full-dress and his sword tapped his thigh as he walked. His left sleeve was pinned across his breast and within it his arm was still bound in a splint while the bone knitted, but beyond a dull ache, he hardly noticed it. Drinkwater cast a look sideways at Elizabeth and marvelled at how beautiful she looked, handsomer now, he thought gallantly, than in the bloom of youth when he had first laid eyes upon her gathering apples in her apron. She felt his glance and turned her head, her wide mouth smiling affectionately.

  Thinking of her protestations that she was unacquainted with either the bride or groom when Drinkwater had written from Chatham that she should come up to town and meet him at their London house, he asked, 'Are you glad to be here, Bess?'

  'I am glad that you are here,' she said, 'and almost in one piece.'

  He drew her closer and lowered his voice, 'And I am glad you brought Catriona.'

  James Quilhampton's widow walked behind them on the arm of Lieutenant Frey, who looked, to Drinkwater's surprise, as sunny as the morning.

  'Do you think we shall hear more wedding bells?' he began, when Elizabeth silenced him with a sharp elbow in his ribs.

  'You shout, sir,' she teased, her voice low. 'You are not upon your quarterdeck now.'

  Drinkwater smiled ruefully. No, he was not, nor likely to be again...

  'I should have liked you to have brought your surgeon, so that I might thank him for saving your arm.' Elizabeth had been uncharacteristically angry when she had learned of her husband's wound, remonstrating with him that he had doubtless exposed himself unnecessarily, just as the war was over and she might reasonably expect to have him home permanently. Drinkwater had not argued; in essence she was quite right and he understood her fear of widowhood.

  'Oh,' chuckled Drinkwater, 'Mr Kennedy is not a man for this sort of social occasion.'

  'I shall write to him, nevertheless.'

  'He would appreciate that very much.'

  Ahead of them the bride and groom, now Lieutenant and Mrs Frederic Marlowe, turned into Albemarle Street, followed by the best man and brother-in-law to the groom, Lieutenant Josiah Ashton. Only a very sharp-eyed and uncharitable observer would have remarked the bride's condition as expectant, or her white silk dress as a trifle reprehensible in the circumstances.

  Sarah looked round and smiled at the little column behind her and her husband. A gallant, pausing on the corner, raised his beaver as a compliment.

  'Damned pretty girl,' Drinkwater remarked.

  'And I don't mean you to turn into a country squire with an eye to every comely young woman,' Elizabeth chid him.

  'I doubt that I shall turn into anything other than what you wish, my dear,' Drinkwater said smoothly, then watched apprehensively as a small dog ran up and down the party, yapping with excitement.

  They had just turned into and crossed Albemarle Street when a man stepped out of a doorway in the act of putting on his hat. He almost bumped into Drinkwater and recoiled with an apology.

  'I do beg your pardon sir.' The gleam of recognition kindled in his eye. 'Ah, it is Captain Drinkwater, is it not? Good morning to you.'

  Drinkwater recognized him at once and stopped. Behind them Frey and Catriona Quilhampton were forced to follow suit.

  'Why Mr Barrow!' He turned to his wife. 'Elizabeth, may I present Mr Barrow, Second Secretary to their Lordships at the Admiralty. Mr Barrow, my wife ...'

  Barrow removed his hat and bent over Elizabeth's extended hand.

  'I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs Drinkwater. I have long esteemed your husband.'

  'Thank you, sir. So have I.'

  'Mr Barrow,
' Drinkwater said hurriedly, 'may I present Lieutenant Frey, a most able officer and an accomplished artist and surveyor, and Mrs Catriona Quilhampton, widow of the late Lieutenant James Quilhampton, a most deserving officer ...'

  'Madam, my sympathies. I recall your husband died in the Vikkenfiord.' Barrow displayed his prodigious memory with a courtly smile and turned to Frey. 'I have just called on Murray the publisher, Mr Frey, perhaps you should offer some of your watercolours for engraving; I presume you do watercolours ...'

  'Indeed, sir, yes, often at sea of conspicuous features, islands and the like.' Frey was conscious of being put on the spot.

  'Well perhaps Mr Murray might consider them for publication; could you supply some text? The observations and jottings of a naval officer during the late war, perhaps? Now I should think the public might take a great liking to that, such is their thirst for glory at the moment.'

  'I, er, I am not certain, sir ...'

  'Well,' said Barrow briskly, 'nothing ventured, nothing gained. I must get on and you have fallen far behind your party.'

  They drew apart and then Barrow swung back. 'Oh, Captain, I almost forgot, I have a letter for you from Bushey Park. Are you staying in Lord North Street?'

  'Indeed.'

  'Very well, I shall have it sent round; it will be there by the time you have concluded your present business...' Barrow looked up the street at the retreating wedding party. 'The Marlowe wedding I presume.'

  'Yes.'

  'Well, I wish them joy. Mesdames, gentlemen, good day' And raising his hat again, Barrow was gone.

  'What an extraordinary man,' observed Elizabeth.

  'Yes, he is, and a remarkable one as well. Frey, I hope you did not mind my mentioning your talent.'

  'You flattered me over much, sir.'

  'Not at all, Frey, not at all. Mr Barrow is an influential body and not one you can afford to ignore.' Drinkwater nodded at the brass plate on the door from which Barrow had just emerged, adding, 'And he is a man of diverse parts. He contributes to The Quarterly Review for Mr Murray, I understand. Now we must step out, or be lost to our hosts.'