‘You know … before Mr Ashton returned.’
Both officers sat back and exchanged glances. ‘So you deliberately disobeyed Mr Ashton’s order?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes, sir.’
‘Why?’
Having placed himself at the mercy of his interrogators, Paine’s attitude hardened and he fought his corner. ‘I thought no harm would come of it.’
‘But harm has come of it, Mr Paine,’ argued Marlowe.
‘Yes, sir, and I regret that and I take full responsibility for it. As a matter of fact, sir, I thought Mr Ashton’s order unreasonable. The men could not desert, for the place is an island and for two men out of sixteen to run ashore for some bread, seemed, in my opinion, reasonable enough.’
Marlowe pressed his finger tips together before his face, sat back and regarded the midshipman in silence. Hyde pursed his lips and made a soft blowing sound.
‘I had no idea Mr Ashton would make an issue of the matter with McCann, sir. I cannot allow the sergeant of marines to be involved. The truth is that having let Shaw and Ticknell go, I confess I made myself comfortable in the stern-sheets and was roused by the kerfuffle when Mr Ashton returned with the passenger.’ Paine finally fell silent and looked down at his threadbare knees.
‘Well,’ began Marlowe, ‘it seems Mr Ashton’s wrath was misdirected. You realize what this means, Mr Paine?’
‘The gunner’s daughter, sir?’ Paine’s face twisted with apprehension.
‘At the very least, my lad.’
Paine drew himself up in his seat. ‘Very well, sir.’
‘You may carry on. The matter will be refered to the Captain with our recommendations.’
Paine got to his feet. ‘Aye, aye, sir.’
When he had retired, Marlowe turned to Hyde and said, ‘That would seem to wrap the matter up then.’
‘No, Mr Marlowe,’ said Hyde, stirring himself, ‘it won’t do at all. Of course Paine must be punished, but Ashton’s treatment of McCann remains reprehensible.’
‘That’s as may be, Hyde, but the crime was disobedience to Ashton’s order and it was Paine, not McCann who was culpable. Ashton’s intemperate conduct was unfortunate, but McCann is only a non-commissioned officer of marines.’
Hyde drew in his breath sharply. ‘Mr Marlowe, that non-commissioned officer of marines once held a commission in a Provincial regiment and fought for King and Country as, I suspect, Lieutenant Ashton has only dreamed of. He was insulted, called a Yankee bugger, neither of which accusations can be substantiated and for which, had they been used to me, I would have demanded satisfaction!’
‘I daresay you would,’ observed Marlowe drily, ‘but they weren’t addressed to you. Anyway, what do you suppose we can do about it?’
‘Get Ashton to apologize,’ said Hyde in a voice loud enough to be heard on the far side of the flimsy bulkhead dividing the dining area of the officers’ accommodation from their personal sleeping quarters. It proved too much for the eavesdropping Ashton, who wrenched the door open and made his appearance at this moment.
‘Damn you, Hyde!’ he snarled, ‘You heard my orders and you’ve found your culprit. What more d’you want?’
‘Well, old fellow,’ said Hyde leaning back in his chair, ‘since you ask, an apology to McCann.’
‘I’ll be damned first!’
‘Very likely, but Ashton am I correct in thinking you flung the bread, not to mention four miserable bottles of wine — four, mark you, about the number you would drink in a good evening at Spithead, to be shared between at least a dozen men — that you flung this bread into the harbour?’
‘Of course.’
‘Why “of course”?’ persisted Hyde.
‘Because they had no business buying it.’
‘Ashton, have you never drunk French brandy?’
‘Why yes, but…’
‘Which you had no business buying, I daresay …’ Hyde sneered and Ashton coloured, realizing he had taken the bait. Beside Hyde, Marlowe smiled.
‘And which you would have defended as your own, no doubt,’ Marlowe added, whereupon Ashton shot the first lieutenant a look of such pure venom that Hyde was certain Marlowe had hit upon some incident in their mutual past.
‘So you will not apologize to McCann?’ Hyde pressed.
‘The devil I will!’
Hyde completed his note. Marlowe sat forward and closed the proceedings. ‘I believe we asked Sergeant McCann to hold himself ready for questioning. I do not think that will be necessary at this juncture.’
‘I shall go and tell him so,’ said Hyde, rising and fixing his eyes on Ashton. ‘You are a lesser man than I had hitherto thought, Josiah. McCann would have forgiven you a momentary loss of temper. By refusing to withdraw you remark, you not only affirm it, you make him an inferior, and I am not persuaded he is. Certainly not now.’
Hyde swept from the wardroom without a backward glance, leaving Marlowe with a fuming and humiliated Ashton. For a moment the two officers sat in silence, then Ashton rose and leaned over Marlowe.
‘I wish’, he said menacingly, ‘I had words adequate to describe what I feel for you, Frederic, and I wish I could express the pity I feel for Sarah!’
But if Ashton thought the contempt in his voice could intimidate Marlowe, mention of his sister was a sad miscalculation. Marlowe’s spirit was no longer cowed, and he stood slowly and with a new-found dignity to confront his future brother-in-law. ‘I pity her too, Josiah, but I have at least the consolation Sarah chose me.’
And with this Parthian shot Marlowe left the wardroom to report to Drinkwater. As for Ashton, he turned to find Frey standing in the open doorway to his cabin regarding him with a cold stare.
CHAPTER 13
A Long Wait
May 1814
Angra do Heroismo,’ observed Birkbeck, staring through his glass at the principal port on the island of Terceira. Once again Andromeda was hove-to and awaiting one of her boats, the port quarter-boat commonly called the red cutter, which had been sent in under the command of Lieutenant Frey to convey Mr Gilbert ashore. It was anticipated that it would be absent for some time and in the interim Captain Drinkwater was in his cabin, dining early with Mr Marlowe and discussing the fate of Mr Midshipman Paine, who slouched disconsolately about the quarterdeck, awaiting the captain’s verdict.
Although relieved as officer of the watch by Lieutenant Ashton, Birkbeck remained on deck, watching the red cutter as it swooped over the wave crests and vanished in each succeeding trough. Its worn lugsails were only a shade lighter than the grey of the sea, which had forsaken its kindly blue colour after the wind had swung back into the south-west again. Although only a moderate breeze, this had first veiled the sun, then at noon brought in a layer of thickening overcast which presaged rain and turned the sea a sullen hue.
Finally, Birkbeck could see the cutter no more as it passed into Angra. He shut his glass with a decisive snap and made his way below.
In the cabin, Drinkwater toyed with his wine glass as Marlowe concluded his report.
‘So, sir, the nub of the matter is that Paine disobeyed Mr Ashton’s explicit order and while Ashton may have acted in an intemperate manner, falsely accusing Sergeant McCann of being the culprit, it is Paine who must be punished.’
Drinkwater grunted. ‘Yes, I suppose so. What have you in mind?’
Marlowe considered the matter for a moment and said, ‘A dozen strokes, sir.’
‘A pity. I thought the boy had promise. This will be a humiliation for him.’
‘I had thought of that, sir. It doesn’t have to be done over a gun. I can turn the midshipmen out of the cockpit…’
‘Or the officers out of the wardroom. But the purpose of the punishment is as much to deter others as to strike at the guilty’
‘The others will all know, sir.’
‘Yes, that is true. Very well then,’ Drinkwater concluded with a sigh, ‘you must do as you see fit.’
‘There remains the problem of Ashton. Hyde
thinks he should apologize to McCann for calling him a Yankee bugger.’
‘I must say I rather agree. Notwithstanding the fact that Ashton set this whole thing off by demanding a flogging for McCann.’
‘Well, in the light of our findings that would be outrageous.’
‘I agree entirely. Ashton’s claim is indefensible and I won’t have officers abusing the privilege rank gives them, no matter how high and mighty they consider themselves.’
Marlowe held his peace and waited while Drinkwater came to his own verdict. ‘Very well; if Ashton will not withdraw his remark to McCann, I shall make my disapproval known by other means.’ Drinkwater paused, then went on, ‘You may tell Mr Ashton that for his intransigent insistence on misusing his rank, he may enjoy the privilege of standing watch-and-watch until further notice.’ Drinkwater looked at Marlowe, ‘Well, d’you have something to say?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Good. Well go and put Paine out of his misery and then inform Ashton of my decision.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Lieutenant Hyde had found Sergeant McCann in the gunner’s store, making up cartridges as a means of seeking privacy. Hyde thrust his head through the woollen safety curtain and McCann looked up apprehensively.
‘You are not to be flogged,’ Hyde said with a grin, and the gentle sag of McCann’s shoulders told of his relief. ‘It would have been unpardonable to have done so,’ Hyde expatiated.
‘I have very little faith in the equity of British justice, sir,’ said McCann, ‘particularly in a man-o’-war.’
‘Oh ye of little faith,’ said Hyde, ‘as a matter of fact, you should have.’
‘Why so, sir? Is Lieutenant Ashton prepared to retract his insult?’
Hyde pulled a face. ‘Regrettably, no. I would not have thought him a man of mean spirit on first acquaintance,’ Hyde went on conversationally, ‘just as I would not have thought of the first lieutenant as a man with any backbone, but,’ Hyde shrugged, ‘ship-board life reveals much.’
‘Usually more than one bargained for,’ observed McCann. ‘But in what way should I be grateful?’
The edge of bitterness in McCann’s voice did not escape Hyde, who smiled and said, ‘Marlowe has just told me old Drinkwater has put Ashton on watch-and-watch.’
‘Ah …’ An incipient smile twitched the corners of McCann’s mouth. ‘What about the disobedience to Ashton’s order, sir?’
‘Ah, that. You are exculpated. Poor Mr Paine is likely to live up to his name.’
‘It’s a pity Ashton didn’t look to his own when handing out the insults, sir,’ McCann said, ignoring the joke.
‘Now hold your tongue, Sergeant,’ Hyde advised. ‘Your native forthrightness may be a virtue in America, but it don’t serve too well in a man-o’-war.’
‘It never serves well in England,’ McCann said to himself after Lieutenant Hyde had gone.
In the wardroom, Lieutenant Marlowe regarded the errant midshipman. Mr Paine had been brought before the first lieutenant by the boatswain and Mr Kennedy, the surgeon. Birkbeck had returned to the hold to harry the carpenter and his mates, while Hyde was occupied inspecting his marines on the gun-deck.
‘Mr Paine, you are to be given a dozen strokes of the cane for wilful neglect of an order given to you by Mr Ashton when you were lately left in charge of the ship’s launch in the harbour of Santa Cruz. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Paine’s voice was a dry croak.
‘And have you anything to say?’
‘Only that I am sorry for it, sir.’
‘Very well. Let us proceed. The boatswain will carry the punishment out and the surgeon will ensure you are not abused. Please remove your coat.’
Paine did as he was bid and, looking round for somewhere to lay it, saw Kennedy’s outstretched hand.
‘Thank you, sir,’ he whispered, giving Kennedy his garment.
Then Marlowe resumed. ‘I shall not ask you to remove your breeches, but you shall bend over this chair.’ Marlowe indicated a chair at the forward end of the wardroom table.
Paine swallowed hard, stepped forward and bent over the chair, his hands holding the back, the knuckles already white with fear.
‘Very well.’ Marlowe nodded at the boatswain, who moved forward, revealing the long, flexible twisted rattan cane of his office. The polished silver head nestled familiarly inside his powerful right wrist, the end tentatively touched Paine’s buttocks as the midshipman screwed up his eyes.
‘Do you wish for something to bite on?’ Kennedy enquired. Eyes closed and teeth gritted, Paine shook his head emphatically, eager only to get his ordeal over.
‘Carry on, Bosun,’ Marlowe commanded, and the petty officer drew back the cane until it struck the deck-head above. Had the punishment been administered in the open air over a quarterdeck carronade as was customary, the swipe of the rattan would have had more momentum. Watching, both Marlowe and Kennedy wondered if Drinkwater had knowingly limited the scope of the boatswain’s viciousness by ordering the matter carried out between decks. Paine, however, was not in a position to appreciate the captain’s clemency, witting, or otherwise. The rattan’s descent whistled in a brief and terrible acceleration, then struck him with such violence that the impact provoked a muscular spasm which in turn moved the rickety chair across the wardroom deck with a squeak. Paine himself made no such sound; for a second his whole body seemed impervious to the blow beyond its sharp, physical reaction. The second stroke was already on its way by the time the agony filled his whole being with its sting. To this, the successive strikes felt only as an increase of the first, terrible violation, like the roll of a drumbeat after the first loud percussive beating of the sticks.
Wave after wave of nausea seemed to press up from the pit of his stomach; it seemed the seat of the chair was forcing itself through his chest, that he would break off the legs by the tension in his arms. As the strokes followed, he tasted salt and knew he was sobbing. He knew too that he was not crying; the sobbing was the only way he could breathe, great gasps of air, sucked in by some reflexive action of his jaw as his lungs demanded it to fill his tensed muscles with oxygenated blood. He had no idea at the time that this gasping successively clamped his teeth upon his tongue.
Even to those watching, the dozen strokes seemed to last forever. Marlowe was reminded of lying awake unsleeping in his family home, listening to the long-case clock strike midnight. Kennedy watched in disgust; the evident relish with which the boatswain acquitted himself of his duty revolted him, and the humiliation of the young man bent double before them, compounded this revulsion. Marlowe averted his eyes for fear of passing out.
‘That’s enough!’ snapped Kennedy the instant the last stroke had been laid on, earning himself a glare from the boatswain.
‘I know my duty,’ the petty officer grumbled.
‘Thank you, Mister,’ Marlowe muttered dismissively, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. Kennedy bent over Paine.
‘You all right, younker?’
Paine’s back rose and fell as the midshipman took short, shallow breaths. He nodded his head, his hair damp with perspiration. Kennedy looked at Paine’s buttocks. Blood and plasma oozed through the cotton drill of his trousers. ‘I shall have to deal with that,’ he remarked accusingly.
‘You may attend to it here, if you wish,’ said Marlowe.
‘Well, now, that’s very kind of you, Mr Marlowe,’ Kennedy replied sarcastically.
‘Pass word for someone to bring a clean pair of pants and breeches from Mr Paine’s chest when you leave,’ Marlowe instructed the boatswain, ignoring Kennedy.
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ replied the boatswain as he put on his hat and, ducking, left the wardroom to the officers.
‘Can you move?’ Kennedy asked, as Paine slowly pulled and pushed himself upright. Tears streamed down his sweat-sodden face and blood trickled from his mouth. He finally stood, slightly bent, supported by the wardroom table. His eyes remained closed as he mastered t
he pain, and as though he refused to open them on the scene of his humbling.
‘There, Mr Marlowe,’ said Kennedy with heavy sarcasm, ‘justice has been done!’
‘I’ll thank you to hold your tongue, Kennedy,’ Marlowe snapped, his own face pale as he fought a rising gorge and turned to the decanter. He paused a moment and then filled a glass.
‘Here, Mr Paine,’ said Marlowe, holding out the bumper of blackstrap, ‘drink this up.’
‘Beg pardon, sir, but the boat’s returning.’
The midshipman’s puckish face, appearing disembodied round the door, had more than the usual impish look about it as Drinkwater woke from his nap with a start accompanied by an undignified grunt.
‘The boat’s returning, sir.’ There was a hint of impudence about the young man’s repetition which irritated Drinkwater who considered himself taken for a somnolent old fool.
‘Very well, damn it, I heard you the first time!’
The querulous tone of the captain’s voice sent the lad into full retreat. He had seen poor Paine return to the cockpit. Drinkwater was left alone to gather his wits. He could not imagine why he felt so tired, and rose stiffly, bracing himself against the lurch of the ship. Rinsing his mouth and donning hat and coat, he went on deck.
On the quarterdeck he forced himself to wait with an outward appearance of disinterest as Andromeda was hove-to and the red cutter brought in under the swinging davit falls. He forbore staring over the side while the fumbling snatches of the bow and stern-sheetsman captured the wildly oscillating blocks and caught the hooks in the lifting chains, whereupon the two lines of seamen tailing on to the falls ran smartly along the gangway at the boatswain’s holloa to ‘hoist away!’
With the boat swinging at the mizen channels and the griping lines being passed, Drinkwater could see Frey attending to the boat, giving no thought to the anxiety of his commander’s mind. But as Frey climbed over the rail and jumped to the deck, he could contain himself no longer.
‘Well, Mr Frey?’ he asked eagerly, consumed with impatience to learn what intelligence Frey had gleaned ashore. Drinkwater had convinced himself that at Angra the Portuguese Captain-General, overlord of the Azores, would have by now received specific instructions to prepare to receive ‘General Bonaparte’. He was not to be disappointed; immediately Frey confronted him, Drinkwater felt the flood of relief sweat itself out of his body, betraying the extent of his inner anxiety.
The Shadow of the Eagle Page 20
