The Shadow of the Eagle

by Richard Woodman

  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 pointedly 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.

  ‘D
o 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.’

  ‘What is the significance of a letter from Bushey Park, Nathaniel?’ Elizabeth asked as they hurried on.

  ‘It is the residence of Prince William Henry, my dear.’

  ‘The Duke of Clarence?’

  ‘The same. And admiral-of-the-fleet to boot.’

  ‘Lord, lord,’ remarked Elizabeth smiling mockingly, ‘I wonder what so august a prince has to say to my husband?’

  ‘I haven’t the remotest idea,’ Drinkwater replied, but the news cast a shadow over the proceedings, ending the period of carefree irresponsibility Drinkwater had enjoyed since leaving Angra and replacing it with a niggle of worry.

  ‘One would think’, he muttered to himself, ‘that a cracked arm would be sufficient to trouble a man.’

  ‘I did not quite catch you,’ Elizabeth said as they reached Lothian’s Hotel.

  ‘Nothing, m’dear, nothing at all.’

  ‘Congratulations, Frederic; she is a most beautiful young woman and you are a fortunate man.’ Drinkwater raised his glass.

  ‘I owe you a great deal, sir,’ said Marlowe, looking round at the glittering assembly.

  ‘Think nothing of it, my dear fellow.’

  ‘There was a time when the prospect of this day seemed as remote as meeting the Great Chan.’

  ‘Or Napoleon himself!’ Drinkwater jested.

  ‘Indeed, sir.’

  ‘It is a curious fact about the sea-officer’s life,’ Drinkwater expanded, warmed by the wine and the cordiality of the occasion, ‘that it is almost impossible to imagine yourself in a situation you knew yourself to have been in a sennight past.’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean, sir.’

  ‘The past is often meaningless; enjoy the present, it is all we have.’ Drinkwater ignored the insidious promptings of ghosts and smiled.

  ‘That is very true.’ Marlowe sipped at his wine.

  ‘How is Ashton?’ Drinkwater asked, looking at the young officer across the room where he was in polite conversation with an elderly couple.

  ‘As decent a fellow as can be imagined. Shall I forgive him the past too?’

  ‘If you have a mind to. It is sometimes best; though I should keep him at arm’s length and not be eager to confide over much in him.’

  ‘No, no, of course not.’ Marlowe paused and smiled at a passing guest.

  ‘I am keeping you from your duties.’

  ‘Not at all, sir. I should consider it an honour to meet your wife, sir.’

  ‘Oh, good heavens, forgive me …’

  They walked over to where Elizabeth was in conversation with Lieutenant Hyde and a young woman whose name Drinkwater did not know but who seemed much attached to the handsome marine officer.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he interjected, ‘Elizabeth, may I present Frederic Marlowe …’

  Marlowe bowed over Elizabeth’s hand. ‘I wished to meet you properly, ma’am. Receiving guests at the door is scarcely decent…’

  ‘I’m honoured, Mr Marlowe. You are to be congratulated upon your bride’s loveliness.’

  ‘Thank you ma’am. I should like to say …’ Marlowe shot an imploring glance at Drinkwater who tactful
ly turned to Hyde and his young belle.

  ‘You have the advantage of me, Mr Hyde …’

  ‘I have indeed, sir. May I present Miss Cassandra Wilcox …’

  Drinkwater looked into a pair of fine blue eyes which were surrounded by long lashes and topped by an intricate pile of blonde hair. ‘I fear I am out of practice for such becoming company, Miss Wilcox, you will have to forgive an old man.’

  ‘Tush, Captain, you are not old …’

  ‘Oh, old enough for Mr Hyde and his fellows to refer to me as Our Father,’ said Drinkwater laughing and catching Hyde’s eye.

  ‘How the devil did you know, sir?’ queried Hyde, eyebrows raised in unaffected surprise.

  ‘Oh, the wisdom of the omnipotent, Mr Hyde. It was my business to know.’ Drinkwater smiled at Miss Wilcox. ‘Have you known Mr Hyde long, Miss Wilcox?’

  ‘No sir, we met at Sir Quentin’s two nights ago.’

  ‘We sang a duet, sir … at Marlowe’s father’s,’ Hyde added, seeing Drinkwater’s puzzlement.

  ‘Ah yes, of course, he is the gentleman in plum velvet.’

  ‘The rather large gentlemen in plum velvet,’ added Miss Wilcox mischievously, leaning forward confidentially and treating Drinkwater to a view of her ample bosom. She seemed an ideal companion for the flashy Hyde.

  ‘Would you oblige me by introducing me, Hyde?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Miss Wilcox, it has been a pleasure. I shall detain Hyde but a moment.’ Drinkwater bowed and Cassandra Wilcox curtseyed.

  ‘Is Frey about to strangle himself in the noose of matrimony, sir?’ Hyde asked as they crossed the carpet to where Sir Quentin, a large, florid man as unlike his heir as could be imagined, guffawed contentedly amid a trio of admiring ladies.

  ‘It very much looks like it, don’t it.’ Drinkwater looked askance at Hyde. ‘You do not approve?’

  ‘She is his senior, I’d say,’ Hyde said with a shrug, ‘by a margin.’

  ‘But a deserving soul and Frey is a man of great compassion. What about yourself and Miss Wilcox?’

  ‘A man must have a reason for staying in town, sir, or at this season for visiting in the country … Excuse me, ladies; Sir Quentin, may I introduce Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater?’