'He will be quite unfamiliar with the sea, I imagine.'
'That, brother, is why I did not tell you of him before.'
CHAPTER 11
The Fugitives
April 1815
Before they set off again, Edward warned them to walk at the edge of the chaussée in single file and to drop into the grass beside the road at his signal. If they hesitated, he emphasized, they would be lost. Drinkwater was aware that he impressed this point upon the Baroness and that she nodded in acknowledgement, her face clear in the moonlight.
Drinkwater looked up at the sky. The cloud had almost gone, leaving only low banks gathered on the horizon. 'Of all the damnedest luck,' he muttered to himself. Then they set off again.
It seemed to the anxious and weary Drinkwater that they marched in a dream. The ribbon of road, set for the most part along a raised eminence and flooded by moonlight, appeared to make them hugely conspicuous and quite unavoidable. Their gait was tired and they stumbled frequently, the Baroness immediately in front of Drinkwater falling full length at one point. He helped her up, but she shook him off and, as their eyes met, he could see by the line of her mouth that she was biting back tears of hurt, rage and humiliation.
They walked like automata, their brains numbed by fear and exhaustion. Robbed of all professional instinct ashore, Drinkwater had abdicated responsibility to Edward whose military experience was, he realized with something of a shock, clearly extensive. Watching their rear, his brother would also, from time to time, run on ahead on some private reconnaissance. Once he stopped them and they crouched in the grass, unaware of what had troubled their leader, but after a few terrifying minutes which woke them all from their personal catalepsies with thundering hearts, Edward waved them on again and they resumed the bone-wearying plod-plod of the march. In a curious sense the return appeared to be both longer and shorter than the outward journey. Though they seemed to have been traversing the high-road for half a lifetime, quite suddenly they were approaching the huddle of buildings that formed the farm on the outskirts of the village and where the exchange of repartee had amused them earlier. Matters seemed less risible now.
Looking anxiously ahead, with apprehensions about the geese and dog uppermost in their minds, they had almost forgotten their rear when the Cossack suddenly ran forward to join Edward. The two men abrupdy crouched down. At the peremptory wave of Edward's arm, the rest of the party dropped into the grass again, sliding down the shallow embankment into the damp shadows. Raising his head, Drinkwater caught a glimpse of his brother staring back the way they had come. Then he heard a whisper in French, loosely translated by Jago. 'Keep absolutely still, sir. There's someone coming up astern.'
As he lay down and closed his eyes, Drinkwater felt the beat of the horse's hooves through the ground. He remained motionless as the noise peaked. The regular snort of the horse, the jingle of harness and the clatter of accoutrements seemed almost on top of them. Then the odorous wind of the passing of man and beast swept over them and was gone. Drinkwater looked up. The single horseman had not noticed them.
Edward wormed his way back down the line to where Drinkwater lay. 'That was a hussar orderly,' he whispered. 'My guess is that he had orders for the body of horse which passed along this road earlier. They may be in the village ahead or they may have passed on, but we cannot take any chances. I am going forward to have a look. You remain here with Khudoznik.'
'Very well, but remember we do not have much time. The tide ...' But Edward was gone and Drinkwater felt a sudden deep misgiving. He turned and wriggled forward to warn the Baroness through Jago. 'Explain to her that our ship is not far away.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' Jago did as he was bid, then came back to Drinkwater.
'Beg pardon, sir.' 'What is it?' 'The lady says, "nor is the dawn", sir.' 'No.'
They must all have slept or dozed. Drinkwater was vaguely aware of the girl and the Baroness moving away at one point. Realizing the personal nature of their intended isolation, he made no move to remonstrate. He was too stiff and chilled. The next thing he knew, it was growing light. Seized by a sudden alarm, he realized they could wait no longer. It was clear that the village was full of French cavalry and that, presumably, Edward had remained concealed somewhere to keep them under observation and watch for when they moved on. But suppose something had happened to Edward? Suppose he had been taken prisoner?
Drinkwater was now fully awake, his mind racing, his concern for Frey's predicament paramount. Edward was a plausible bugger, he spoke excellent French and would probably come to little harm. As for himself, the Baroness and her children, their soiled presence on a coastal road in northern France would be far less easily accounted for. As for the Cossack, what reasonable explanation would any French officer accept on his score? After all, Drinkwater himself wore a sword, had a pair of pistols stuck uncomfortably in his belt and wore the uniform coat of a British post-captain. Cautiously he wriggled up the slope. The road remained empty as far as he could see, but the roofs of the village seemed much nearer now and there were wisps of smoke rising above them. People were on the move, and whether they were villagers stoking their stoves or hussars lighting bivouac fires was immaterial. They effectively blocked Drinkwater's escape route.
Where the hell was Edward? Drinkwater cast aside the peevish reliance on his brother. Whatever had happened to him, it was clear , that Drinkwater himself must now take matters into his own hands. There was only one thing to do.
'Jago!' he hissed. There was a movement in the grass and the seaman's bleary-eyed face appeared, looked round and realized it was daylight. 'We are going to have to go down to the beach and walk along it, below the line of this road. There's no other way of getting round the village. The Colonel seems to have disappeared. Tell the Baroness to get ready to move. And be quick about it.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Drinkwater rose to his feet and jerked his head at the Cossack. The man understood, looked round and peered in the direction of the village. Then he shook his head. Drinkwater shrugged with massive exaggeration, though it understated his irritation at finding himself saddled with the man. The Russian indicated the village and Drinkwater turned away. If the damned fool went into the village it might distract the French cavalry, but it might also precipitate a search for more odd characters wandering about the roads.
Drinkwater's head was just below the level of the chaussée. He raised it cautiously and stared north. The rough scrub gave way to sand dunes about half a mile away. They would have to move quickly, before the whole damned world and his wife were awake! 'Allons!' he said, breaking cover.
Despite the danger of leaving their place of concealment, he felt better once they began to move. Their cramped and chilled bodies protested at the demands of walking, but by degrees the activity proved beneficial. Low willows broke the landscape and periodic halts in their shadows revealed that they were free from pursuit. The first stop also revealed the lonely figure of Khudoznik following them. Once they had passed the dunes, Drinkwater considered they would be relatively safe and he tried to pick a route which would place an intervening dune between themselves and the village, regretting, in a brief and bitter moment of irony, that he did not have a light cavalry officer's eye for the country. He would have removed much anxiety from his mind had he done so, for in fact the village was already hidden behind a shallow rise, protected from the icy blasts off the North Sea. Obscured by this low undulation, they reached the dunes without being detected.
Their going slowed as they dragged through the fine sand and Drinkwater ordered a halt, turning back for fifty yards to see if he could observe anything of Edward. The line of the road formed the horizon and was clear against the lightening sky, hard-edged and quite empty. It promised to be a fine spring day and the air was already full of the multiple scents of the earth. Of Edward there was no sign but when he reached the others it was clear the Baroness was in a frenzy of anxiety.
'The lady wants to know where Colonel Ostr
off is, sir. She says she won't move without him.'
'Tell the lady Colonel Ostroff is reconnoitring the enemy and that she is to come on with us.'
He waited while this exchange took place. It was clear from the Baroness's expression and attitude that she did not take orders from English sea-officers. Jago's interpretation confirmed this. 'She says, sir, that she wants to go back.'
'Very well.' Drinkwater passed the woman and scooped up the girl. 'Tell her,' he said over his shoulder as he strode away, 'she may do as she damned well pleases.' The girl writhed in his arms and a blow from her fist struck him across the nose just as her foot drove into his groin so sharply that he swore at her with ungallant ferocity. She froze in his arms, staring at him with such horror that he felt sick with hunger, pain and fear. He had no business to be here; he was too old for such quixotic adventures; such things were part of his youth. He stumbled on, fighting the nausea that her assault had caused. A few minutes later he had to pause again and looked back. Jago was following him with the Cossack. A hundred yards behind, the Baroness and her son had been arguing, but now they began to follow. Turning again, he stumbled on, the sand dragging at his feet. Then, looking up, he caught sight of the hard grey line of the sea-horizon.
'Now, Frey,' Drinkwater muttered as he paused and waited for the party to close ranks, 'it all depends upon you.'
As the expanse of sea opened before them, Drinkwater saw the cutter. Behind him he heard Jago telling the Baroness, for whom the sight of the limitless ocean was a profound shock, that their ship was in sight. So insubstantial a vessel as the little Kestrel scarcely mollified the poor woman, who had difficulty seeing it in the twilight. Reduced by anxiety and exertion, she fainted. As for the Russian, he stood staring uncomprehendingly at the seascape before him.
'Attendez-vous voire mère!' Drinkwater snapped at the young boy as he set the wailing and struggling girl down and turned to Jago. 'Get some brushwood, anything to make a fire to attract Lieutenant Frey's attention!'
The cutter was some four or five miles to the north-east of them, presumably lying offshore not far from the point at which they had been landed. It was clear Frey had had to get under weigh and had been unable to remain at anchor all night so close inshore, but Drinkwater had anticipated that. Although Kestrel was apparently some way off, the tide, ebbing along the coast to the westward, would help Frey reach them, and the distance along the coast which he would have to cover was not as far as it looked. If only they could make themselves seen, they had a reasonable chance yet. Fire without smoke was what they required, for it was a certainty that Frey would be on the look-out for them.
Ignoring the groans from the unfortunate Baroness, Drinkwater bent to the task of building a fire as Jago brought in driftwood and detritus from the last spring high-tide line. The Cossack, seeing what they were doing, turned from the sea and joined Jago in the hunt for fuel. As Drinkwater worked at building the pile of combustible material, splitting kindling and laying a trail of gunpowder from his pistols into the heart of it, he was aware of the boy standing beside him.
'M'sieur,' the lad demanded. 'M'sieur...'
Drinkwater looked up and then, cutting short the boy's protests about the honour of his mother, explained in his poor French, 'M'sieur, regardez le bateau.' He pointed at the distant cutter, then at the heap of wood before him. 'Je désire faire un feu, eh? Comprenez?' He turned again to the cutter and made the gesture of a telescope to his eye. 'Le bateau regarde la côte. Eh bum! Embarquez!' Drinkwater made a gesture that embraced them all.
The boy looked at him coldly.
Drinkwater inclined his head with a smile and reached for his pistol just as Jago arrived with more fuel. 'Explain to the boy', he said, as he went on building the fire, 'that I heartily esteem his mother, she is a brave and courageous woman and his sensibilities do him credit, but we have no time to argue and scant time for courtesies. Tell him also, that many, many years ago, I rescued his father from a French beach near Cherbourg and that he may trust me to do my utmost for him and his family. And, when you have done all that, tell him to convey this to his mother and sister and ask them to do exactly as I say in the next hour. Impress upon him that I require their absolute trust and obedience. And tell him that if he is not satisfied, I shall be happy to exchange pistol shots with him when we reach England.'
Drinkwater looked up at the boy and smiled as Jago rattled off his translation. The expression on the boy's face metamorphosed several times and then he drew himself up and gave a short bow before withdrawing towards his mother and sobbing sister.
'What is your name, my boy?' Drinkwater called in English, and Jago obligingly translated.
'Charles.'
'Well, Charles, bonne chance!' Bending to the powder trail, Drinkwater pronated his wrist so that the pan and frizzen of the pistol lay over the tiny black heap, and pulled the trigger. There was a crack and flash, then a flaring as the powder caught and carried the sputtering fire into the heart of the pyramid of wood. A moment later a wild crackling was accompanied by small but growing flames licking up through the pile,
'Don't let us down, Frey, don't let us down,' Drinkwater intoned, raising his eyes to the distant Kestrel.
The fire flared up wonderfully, throwing out a welcome heat that drew the Baroness and her daughter towards it. Jago kept them away from the seaward side as Drinkwater stared at the cutter for the first sign that they had seen the fire and knew it for the beacon it was. He walked down the beach, detaching himself from it in the hope that they might see his figure.
For a long time, it seemed, nothing happened. Kestrel lay with her bowsprit to the north-north-east, stemming the tide, hove to on the starboard tack and standing offshore slightly, trying to maintain station. It was the worst aspect from which to attract attention. The fire began to die down, though Jago revived it with more driftwood. It died down a second time and Drinkwater was about to give up when he saw Kestrel swing round and curtsey to the incoming sea as she tacked and paid right off the wind which had now veered more to the eastwards. He hardly dared hope for what he so earnestly desired, but a few moments later she was headed south-westwards and Drinkwater saw a red spot mount upwards to the peak of the gaff.
'British colours!' he muttered to himself, and then he turned and walked back up the beach to the huddle of fugitives, unable to conceal his satisfaction.
'They have seen us,' he announced. And as they watched, sunlight flooded the scene, toning the grey sea to a kindlier colour and chasing away the fears of the night.
CHAPTER 12
Escape
April 1815
Drinkwater hurriedly kicked the fire out. 'Allons!' he said and began to lead off down the beach. The sight of Kestrel running along the coast towards them relieved him sufficiently to spare a thought for Edward. If his brother had encountered trouble, there was little he could do to help. If not, then Edward must by now, with the coming of the sunrise, have realized that the party could not lie alongside the high road and that Drinkwater would quite naturally gravitate towards the sea. In either case, Edward's salvation lay in his own hands. At the worst they could cruise offshore until, somehow, he re-established contact.
The five of them had reached the damp sand which marked the most recent high water and stood waiting patiently while Kestrel worked down towards them, looking increasingly substantial as she approached beyond the line of breakers. Drinkwater took Jago to one side as they assessed the size of the incoming waves.
'This isn't going to be easy, Jago.'
'No, sir.'
'They're frightened and they're hungry. Trying to get them to clamber into the boat is going to prove impossible, so I want you to take the girl and I'll take the Baroness. We will lift them over the gunwale and I want you to go off first. I'll follow with the boy. Don't come back for me. Stay aboard...'
'But sir...'
'Jago, you're a good fellow and you've done more than necessary tonight, but don't disobey orders.'
'Aye, aye, sir. 'Jago paused, then asked, 'What about that bearded fellow, sir? Who is he?'
'He's Colonel Ostroffs Cossack servant and God knows how we are going to get him into the boat. Perhaps we shall just put a line round him and drag him out to the yacht.' Drinkwater turned and looked along the beach. The vast expanse of strand stretched for miles and remained deserted. 'So far, so good,' he said, 'but I don't know how long our luck will last.'
'No, sir.'
'Now go and pick up the girl, for the boat's coming.'
Frey had not wasted time. He had towed the boat astern and now sent it in on its line, a single man at the oars as instructed, to work it inshore across the tide. Drinkwater ran back up the beach and saw a figure sitting at Kestrel's cross-trees. Watching the bobbing and rolling approach of the boat he waited until she was in the breakers and then flung up his hands and waved his arms frantically above his head. The figure in the cutter's rigging waved back and, somewhere out of sight of Drinkwater, beyond the curling wave-crests, they ceased paying out the fine and the boat jerked responsively. The tide had taken the thing down the coast a little but the wind was just sufficiently onshore to drive it into the shallows with a little assistance from the oarsman. Hurrying back to the waiting fugitives, Drinkwater nodded to Jago. The seaman turned to the boy and commanded him to stay put, then he scooped up the girl and began to wade into the sea.
'Madame, s'il votes plâit ...' and without further ceremony, Drinkwater lifted the Baroness and followed Jago, leaving the Cossack to shift for himself. At once a wave almost knocked him over. The woman screamed as she took the brunt of it, stiffening in his arms. The sudden shock of the cold water and the spasm of the Baroness caused him to stumble and he fought to keep his balance as he lugged the greater weight of her sodden clothing. The mangled muscles of his wounded shoulder cracked painfully, but he managed to keep his footing. Jago, ahead of him, was now up to his armpits in the water but was able to lift the terrified girl above his head and deliver her roughly into the keeping of the oarsman.
Ebb tide nd-14 Page 20
