The Shadow of the Eagle (26 page)

‘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 the 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 Portuguese Governor received me with every courtesy and said that he had received a despatch brought by Captain Count Rakov to the effect that preparations were to be made to receive Boney and to have him held under open arrest at some villa or other in the country outside Santa Cruz. He also protested that he had received no instructions from Lisbon as to whether he was supposed to cede an island, or to regard Boney as a prisoner. There were some other details about the size of Boney’s suite and personal staff which I have to confess I didn’t hoist in.’

‘No matter …’ Drinkwater ruminated for a moment, then asked Frey, ‘And did you learn when Bonaparte was expected?’

Frey shook his head. ‘No, sir, not really. Gilbert asked, but His Excellency did not know and could offer no clues himself. He let Gilbert read the despatch, which was in French, and all Gilbert could conclude was the tone of the language suggested the matter was imminent and that no further information would precede the arrival of Napoleon.’

‘Well, that is something,’ Drinkwater said.

‘But is that sufficient, sir? I mean, it was no more than an intimation.’

‘By a shrewd man who, I think, knows his business.’ Drinkwater smiled and added, ‘I think this enough to act upon.’

‘Then we did not labour in vain,’ Frey said, pleased that Drinkwater regarded the niggardly news with such relish.

‘Not at all. Short of actually running into Boney and his entourage, I think we can pronounce ourselves satisfied.’

‘May I ask, then, why we don’t simply await the arrival of Boney at Santa Cruz?’ Frey asked.

‘Because, my dear fellow, we have no real business with Boney; our task is to prevent him being spirited to the United States and to intercept those ships sent by his followers to accomplish this. To do otherwise would be to exceed our instructions,’ Drinkwater said, concluding, ‘We do not want to be the cause of an incident which might rupture the peace.’ He suppressed a shudder at the thought. Exceeding an instruction that was largely self-wrought would have his name earn eternal odium by their Lordships if this affair miscarried.

‘I see.’ Frey nodded, unaware of the turmoil concealed by his commander’s apparently worldly wisdom. ‘It could be a long wait then.’

‘Perhaps,’ Drinkwater replied, and, thus dismissed, Frey disappeared below to divest himself of his boat-cloak and wet breeches while his commander fell to a slow pacing of the quarterdeck, nodding permission for Birkbeck to get the ship under weigh again as soon as the quarter-boat was hoisted.

Despite his misgivings, Drinkwater was clearer in his mind now. There seemed to him little doubt Rakov had brought the news to Angra in pursuit of Tsar Alexander’s policy. But was finding
Andromeda
on station off Flores a shock to Rakov, particularly as Rakov had last seen her in Calais Road? In order to implement his master’s policy, if he knew about it in detail, Rakov must have realized that the Antwerp ships would profit by his escort, and while Drinkwater might commit
Andromeda
to an action with two men-of-war acting illegally under an outlawed flag, the presence of a powerful Russian frigate would dissuade even a zealous British officer from compromising his own country’s honour by firing into an ally!

As for the degree to which Captain Count Rakov was privy to Tsar Alexander’s secret intentions, Drinkwater could only conclude however Rakov saw the presence of
Andromeda,
that of
Gremyashehi
was more revealing to himself. There seemed a strong possibility that Rakov’s task in conveying the despatch to Angra might be subsidiary to that of pursuing and outwitting Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater of His Britannic Majesty’s frigate
Andromeda.
Quite apart from anything else, it would be a small but personal revenge for Captain Drinkwater’s destruction of the
Suvorov.