‘Well, nothing, Your Royal Highness,’ Drinkwater replied, smiling coldly at the flag-lieutenant whose expression was as outraged as he dared in the presence of two senior captains and an admiral who was also the king’s son. ‘Except that he is only Lieutenant Colville, sir, and therefore cannot, I beg your pardon sir, but must not be a party to what I have to say’
There was a moment’s stunned silence. The prince bent forward, fork and spoon poised over the partly ravaged though still substantial pile of food, and looked uncertainly from Drinkwater to Blackwood. Drinkwater noticed again the deference he paid to Blackwood, as though the captain’s good opinion mattered.
‘If I might say, sir,’ Blackwood chipped in quickly, ‘Captain Drinkwater’s news is properly for the ears of Government …’ The word was encapitalized in a significant emphasis by the flag-captain and Drinkwater stifled a grin.
‘Oh… Oh, quite! Quite!’ Further rice grains were ejaculated from the Royal Mouth. ‘Well Colville, off you go! Off you go! Go and take breakfast in the wardroom!’
There was pointed resentment in the scraping of Colville’s chair and he bestowed a look of pure contempt upon Captain Drinkwater as he stooped beneath the deck-beams and left the cabin.
‘Well Drinkwater, what’s all this nonsense about… ? Oh damn-and-hell-blast-it, Blackwood, be a good fellow and pass a bottle …’
As Colville had risen so had Blackwood, crossing the cabin to close the door communicating with the adjacent pantry and waving out the servant who stood discreetly out of sight but within calling. The Prince’s command came as he returned and Blackwood lifted an uncorked bottle of claret from the fiddles atop the sideboard.
‘Sir, you are aware of my former duties in connection with the Secret Department, are you not?’
‘Yes, yes. Barrow told me all about you, so did Sir Joseph Yorke and Blackwood here did the same. Your stock’s pretty damned high, so get on with it, eh? There’s a good fellow’
‘Very well, sir. Last night I received intelligence directly from a source well known to me …’
‘D’you mean a spy?’
‘No, I do not. From a person who has had intimate connections with Talleyrand and’, Drinkwater paused just long enough to encourage the prince to look up from his emptying plate, ‘Napoleon Bonaparte…’
Prince William Henry choked violently and snatched up the glass Blackwood had just filled with claret. Calming himself he wiped his mouth and face with a napkin and rumbled, ‘Bonaparte, d’ye say? Go on, sir, pray do go on.’
‘This person’s attachment to Bonaparte has been severed …’
‘Ah yes! Didn’t I tell you, Blackwood, they’d all come crawling on their damned bellies to save what they’ve made in the Corsican’s service! Didn’t I say as much, Blackwood? Didn’t I, damn it, eh?’
‘You did, sir.’
‘Aye. And I said as much to King Louis and the Duchesse d’Angoulême. Told ‘em not to trust any damned Bonapartist, well, well.’
‘The point is, sir,’ Drinkwater broke in, seizing the brief pause in His Royal Highness’s self-congratulation, ‘we shall have to trust what this person said, because if we don’t, we shall rue it.’
Drinkwater had expected further interjections by the prince, but he seemed content to listen and commanded Drinkwater impatiently to ‘go on, do go on’.
‘I have information that a plot has been matured in Paris that, consequent upon the Emperor Napoleon abdicating …’
‘Emperor? Emperor, sir? The man is no more than a damned general, General Bonaparte!’
‘General Bonaparte, Your Royal Highness, was elected Emperor of the French by plebiscite; he is moreover married to an Austrian Arch-duchess and is therefore still related to the Emperor of Austria. Whatever title he held and whatever title we ascribe to him now matters little, but I lay emphasis upon the point now to’, Drinkwater was about to say ‘remind,’ but the look in the prince’s narrowing eyes, made him change his mind. His sleepless night made him over bold and he came quickly to his senses, ‘to acquaint Your Royal Highness of the significance of what Bonaparte has relinquished by his instrument of abdication.’
‘He was beaten damn it, Drinkwater! Eh, what?’
‘Militarily yes, sir, but his ambition is unbeaten, for he abdicated not in favour of King Louis, but his own son. Moreover, his genius is undiminished.’
‘Very well, very well, but what is this to us? He is to be exiled, under guard, locked up as nearly as maybe, what. Yet you come here blathering of plots.’
‘Would that it were blathering, sir. The fact is a considerable number of his officers are roaming about disaffected and dissatisfied with the turn events have taken. As we sit here a number are already at sea on passage to rescue their Imperial Master in order to spirit him across the Atlantic to Canada.’
‘Canada?’ The Royal Brow furrowed again.
‘To operate with Yankee support, raise the Québecois, and reestablish Napoleon’s dynasty in Canada with a second empire in the Americas.’
‘It ain’t possible … is it?’ The prince wiped his mouth and threw down his napkin. His eyes swivelled in Blackwood’s direction. ‘Well Blackwood? What the devil do you think?’
‘Well sir,’ Blackwood began, ‘I must confess I have my doubts.’ Drinkwater’s heart sank. ‘But I’m afraid ‘tis not at all impossible, sir, and I share Captain Drinkwater’s apprehensions in the strongest manner. An extension of the war in North America under such circumstances with every disaffected Bonapartist taking passage to join the reconstituted eagles on the St Lawrence will cause us no end of havoc. To be candid, sir, we could not withstand a determined onslaught and might lose the whole of the North Americas. I doubt your Royal Father would greet that news with much joy, sir.’
Blackwood’s reference to King George III, languishing in Windsor, mentally affected by the ravages of porphyria, was masterly and had the prince nodding agreement.
‘There are other factors, sir,’ Drinkwater added. ‘It is not only the Canadian French in Quebec that should concern us, but the old Acadian families who now live in Nova Scotia would happily revert to a French state, even a Bonapartist one. Moreover, if you consider the matter a stage further, can you not see that it would be no wild conjecture for King Louis to reunite his divided country and wipe out the past five and twenty years by reaching an accommodation with Bonaparte across the Atlantic …’
‘My God, Drinkwater,’ Blackwood muttered, ‘that is an appalling prospect…’
‘I wish it were all; regrettably my information is that Tsar Alexander is not against this scheme and that can mean only that having accepted our gold to keep his armies in the field, he would discomfit us and assume the leadership of Europe.’
‘But is all this possible, what?’ The prince’s pop-eyed face bore the impact of the political possibilities. Drinkwater was reminded of Blackwood’s charitable judgement of the previous night and in that moment he could see the prince as a simple and good, if misguided, man. He was clearly having trouble grasping the complexities of the conspiracy.
‘The matter can brook no delay, sir,’ he said. ‘I am asking only for the despatch of my single frigate, and I fear, sir, the future peace of Europe thus rests entirely with you.’
‘Me?’ Astonishment had transfigured the prince’s face a second time. ‘Surely the board, Sir Joseph, Melville, Barrow and all the rest of the pack of political jacks…’
‘Come, sir, with respect, there is no time! These men, these Bonapartists are already at sea and they are desperate. They will wish to spring their Emperor before we have mewed him up too well. I am under your orders and cannot, would not, act without them, but…’
‘But, thank God, you hold the highest rank, sir!’ Blackwood broke in, enthusiastically leaning forward, ‘No one would question your probity in instructing Captain Drinkwater here to pursue these two ships in order that we might nip this matter in the bud!’
‘D’you think so, gentlemen?’
Blackwood grasped his wine glass and raised it in a half-toast, half-pledge, hissing ‘Remember Nelson, sir, remember Nelson!’
The prince looked from one to another, his eyes suddenly alight with enthusiasm. ‘Damn-and-hell-blast-it, you are right, what! Drinkwater! Blackwood!’ Their names were punctuated by the chink of glass on glass. ‘Should we not take the squadron, eh, what?’ asked the prince, visibly warming to the idea. ‘Why, with the Impregnable and Jason under my command …’
‘I think not, sir,’ put in Blackwood smoothly, ‘we must maintain station to soothe the Russians’ suspicions. D’you see?’
‘Soothe the Russians? Eh? Oh … Quite! Quite!’ His royal Highness erupted in explosions of acquiescence, as though seeing the point a little uncertainly, through powder smoke.
‘It would, moreover sir, add some additional glory to Andromeda,’ Blackwood added.
‘Why, damn me yes, it would, wouldn’t it, eh?’ Prince William Henry beamed pleasantly, thinking of reflected glory. ‘To our enterprise then,’ he said, raising his glass.
Relieved on more than one count, Drinkwater drained his almost at a gulp.
‘Come Drinkwater,’ the prince exclaimed, ‘I see some of God Almighty’s daylight in that glass of yours. Banish it!’
And Drinkwater submitted against his judgement to the refill, while His Royal Highness rattled on about writing Drinkwater’s orders and Blackwood leaned back in his chair, a half smile upon his face.
Ten minutes later Drinkwater emerged on to Impregnable‘s quarterdeck with Blackwood. ‘You stuck your neck out a couple of times, Drinkwater. I thought Billy was going to have apoplexy when you insisted on Boney being an Emperor.’
‘A sleepless night and a matter of urgency makes one less diplomatic,’ Drinkwater said, his eyes gritty in the full glare of daylight.
‘Oh, I don’t blame you,’ Blackwood added dismissively, ‘those damned Bourbons have all gone back to France to put the clock back as though nothing has happened there since the outbreak of their damned revolution.’ He shook his head. ‘D’you think Boney will rest easily anywhere?’
Drinkwater shrugged, ‘Who knows? The closer to France the more dangerous he is to the process of restoration; the more distant, then the more amenable to some adventure like this one. Even if I’m wrong and it’s Elba, we won’t be sleeping that easily in our beds.’
‘No, we thought we had peace once before …’
‘D’you know they’ve been building ships at Antwerp for the last eight or nine years. These two frigates that have slipped to sea could be just the beginning of a fleet which could get out the minute we lift the blockade. I tell you, Blackwood, just when we think we can go home with our work done, the whole confounded thing could blow up in our faces.’
‘Aye, the Russian interference bothers me. The Tsar’s interested in Paris and I daresay his bayonets and Cossacks will prop up the Bourbons if there’s trouble from the French army’
‘Exactly!’ Drinkwater exclaimed. And d’you see, the Tsar can’t afford to keep an army of occupation in France without our support and while many of Napoleon’s satraps will compromise and throw in their lot with the new order, many more of the less privileged French officers and the rank and file will rally to the eagles. Alexander can give equal support to this because it will be in King Louis’ interests to be rid of them. Napoleon will lure them with promises of glory, land grants and the hope of a resurrected New France. I know this is possible because, although I do not have the liberty to explain now, it is not new. We have just scotched a transhipment of arms from France to America, resulting from a secret accord between Paris and Washington.’[9]
‘So, with Boney stirring up Canada,’ summarized Blackwood gloomily, ‘supported by remnants of the Grand Army and a fleet built largely in Antwerp; with France weakened by an exodus of its army and with us rushing about trying to save what we can, Alexander capitalizes on his success at no further exertion to himself because we would be exhausted and bankrupt.’
‘Yes. And if you wish to extrapolate further, we know the Americans are building a first-rate. If the ships in Antwerp were made available to them, sold cheaply like Louisiana, with American seamen taking them down the Channel under our noses while we kick our heels here waving bunting at His Most Christian Majesty …’
‘Pray, Drinkwater, don’t go on. Thank heaven you did not extrapolate all this to poor Billy’ The two men laughed grimly and Blackwood added, ‘I fully understand, and will make sure there are no problems with Their Lordships.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Now, is there anything you want? Any way I can help?’
‘No, I think if I can work to the westward and lie off the Azores, I might yet prevent this horror.’
‘It is as well you were on hand … ah, here’s Colville.’
The flag-lieutenant was crossing the deck with a sealed packet which he held out for Drinkwater.
‘Thank you Mr Colville,’ Blackwood said, nodding the young officer away, and then in a lower tone, ‘I should have a quick look at them, Drinkwater, to ensure they are what you want.’
Drinkwater broke the seal and scanned the single page. For a moment the two captains stood silently, then Drinkwater looked up, folding the paper and thrusting it into his breast pocket. He held out his hand to Blackwood.
‘I declare myself perfectly satisfied, Blackwood, and thank you for your help.’
’Carte blanche, eh?’ Blackwood smiled.
’Carte blanche indeed.’ They shook hands warmly.
‘Good fortune, Drinkwater,’ Blackwood said and turned away. ‘Mr Colville! Call Captain Drinkwater’s gig alongside.’
A few moments later Drinkwater was seated in the boat. Midshipman Dunn stood upright in the stern, anticipating Drinkwater’s order to return to Andromeda.
‘The Trinity Yacht, Mr Dunn,’ Drinkwater said, seating himself in the stern-sheets.
‘The Trinity Yacht sir,’ piped Mr Dunn and turned to Wells the coxswain, and Drinkwater caught the look of incomprehension that he threw at the older man.
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ Wells responded imperturbably, ordering the bowman to shove the boat’s head off, and the vertically wavering oars came down and dipped into the sea. As they came out of the huge flagship’s lee, a gust of wind threatened to carry Drinkwater’s hat off and he clapped his hand on its crown. A little chop was getting up and the oar-looms, swinging forward before diving into the grey-blue water, sliced the top off the occasional wave. Casting round to orientate himself, Drinkwater realized the wind was from the south-southwest. He was going to have a hard beat to windward.
The Trinity Yacht lay anchored close to the Royal Sovereign, the smallest vessel in the squadron, but rivalling the royal yacht in the splendour of her ornamentation. Cutter-rigged, she bore an ornate beak-head beneath her bowsprit, upon which a carved lion bore a short-sword aloft. Her upper wales were a rich blue, decorated with gilded carving, each oval port being surrounded by a wreath of laurel. Her stern windows and tiny quarter galleries were diminutives of a much larger ship. Across the stern these windows were interspersed with pilasters and in the centre were emblazoned the unsupported arms of the Trinity House.
These arms, a red St George’s cross quartering four black galleons, were repeated on a large square flag at the cutter’s single masthead and in the fly of her large red ensign which fluttered gaily over her elaborately carved taffrail. Drinkwater was familiar with her and the device; many years earlier he had served in several of the Trinity House buoy yachts.
‘Boat ‘hoy!’
’Andromeda?
Dunn’s treble rang out, forestalling Wells’s response and indicating by the ship’s name, the presence of that ship’s captain.
The boat ran alongside the yacht’s side and a pair of man-ropes covered in green baize and finished with Matthew Walker knots snaked down towards him. Grasping these he scrambled quickly up the side and on to the deck.
‘Good mo
rning,’ he said dusting his hands and touching the fore-cock of his hat as an elderly officer in a plain blue coat responded. ‘I am Captain Drinkwater of the Andromeda…’
‘You are only a little changed, Captain Drinkwater …’
‘Mr Poulter?’
‘The same, sir, the same, though a little longer in the tooth and almost exhausting my three score and ten.’
‘Are you, by God? Well, you seem to thrive …’
‘Captains Woolmore and Huddart are aboard, sir, but neither have yet put in an appearance on deck.’
‘I met them last night and spoke at length to Captain Huddart, but best let the Elder Brethren sleep, Captain Poulter,’ Drinkwater said, giving Poulter his courtesy title. ‘They dined exceeding well last night. I was sorry not to see you there. You were the only commander not present last night.’
‘You know the Brethren, Captain Drinkwater, you know the Brethren,’ Poulter said resignedly, as though age had placed him past any resentment at the affront.
‘Well, they ought perhaps to know His Royal Highness is already astir.’
‘Are we expecting orders?’
‘I think not yet for yourselves or the rest of the squadron, but I have to leave you in some haste and that is why I am here. Not seeing you last night led me to hope you might be still in command here, but whomsoever I found, I guessed would be willing to take home private letters for me.’
‘Of course, Captain, happy to oblige …’
‘The truth is I have no idea when the squadron will return to port. I anticipate His Royal Highness may not wish to haul down his flag until he has stretched his orders to the limit, whereas you will be returning immediately to the Thames.’
‘You have the advantage of me there, then.’
‘Huddart mentioned it last night…’ Drinkwater drew two letters from his breast pocket, checked the superscriptions and handed them to Poulter. ‘I’m obliged to you Mr Poulter.’
‘Glad to be of service, Captain Drinkwater. Will you take a glass before you go?’
The Shadow of the Eagle Page 6
