Baltic Mission (7 page)

‘Beg pardon, sir, but the brigs are hauling their main-yards.'

Mr Quilhampton recalled Drinkwater from his abstraction. He shut the glass with a snap, aware that he had seen nothing through it apart from grey sea, ice and the blue line of a featureless country. It seemed odd that history was being made there, among what looked no more substantial than a streak or two of cobalt tint from Mr Frey's watercolour box.

‘Filling their sails, eh, Mr Q? Very well. Do you do likewise. And you may pass word to rouse up a cable and bend it onto the best bower. We shall fetch an anchor when those two fellows show us some good holding.'

Captain's Young's forecast proved accurate. Within a few days the ice began to melt and disperse with dramatic rapidity. A soft wind blew
from the south-east, bringing off the land exotic fragrances and stray birds that chirruped as they fluttered, exhausted in the rigging. From here the boys were sent aloft to chase them off and prevent them fouling the white planking of
Antigone
's decks. The relative idleness of the enforced anchorage served to rest the men, settling those new-pressed into a more regular routine than the demands of passage-making allowed, and Drinkwater detected a lessening of tension about the ship. His warning to Rogers seemed to have been heeded and he felt able to relax, to consider that their earlier problems had been part of the inevitable shaking-down necessary to the beginning of every cruise.

As the ice broke up, the three ships moved closer to the estuary, and ten days after their first anchoring, Drinkwater began to send boat expeditions away to determine the effect of the thaw upon the fresher waters of the Frisches Haff. A few days later local fishing boats appeared and then there were signs of coastal craft beyond the sand-spit that was in sight of them now. And then, quite suddenly and with unexpected drama, proof came that confirmed that navigation was open up the Pregel to the quays of Königsberg itself. While Drinkwater was breakfasting one morning an excited Midshipman Wickham burst into his cabin with the news that a large and ‘important-looking barge' was coming off from the shore. Hurriedly swallowing his coffee, Drinkwater donned hat and cloak and went on deck.

Lieutenant Fraser had already caught sight of the unmistakable flash of scarlet under a flung-back grey cape and the ostentatiously upright figure of a military officer standing in the big boat's stern. He had had the presence of mind to man the side, Drinkwater noted, as he joined Fraser at the entry.

‘My congratulations, Mr Fraser,' he said drily. ‘Your vigilance has improved remarkably.'

‘Thank ye, sir,' replied the Scotsman sensing the captain's good humour, ‘but to be truthful I think yon gentleman was of a mind to draw attention to himself.'

‘Yes.' Drinkwater nodded and stared curiously at the approaching stranger. ‘He seems to be British, and in full regimentals,' he remarked as the boat came alongside below their line of vision.

A twitching of the baize-covered man-ropes, and then the cockerel plumes, bicorne hat and figure of a British colonel rose above the rail to a twittering of pipes, stamp of marines' boots and the wicked twinkle of sunshine upon Mount's flourished hanger. The officer
saluted and Drinkwater tipped his own hat in response.

‘Good morning, sir. This is an unlooked-for pleasure. Permit me to introduce myself, Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater of His Britannic Majesty's thirty-eight-gun frigate
Antigone
.'

The newcomer managed a small, sharp bow. ‘Your servant, sir. Robert Wilson, Colonel in His Britannic Majesty's Service, attached to the headquarters of His Imperial Majesty's armies in Poland and East Prussia.' He held out a paper of accreditment taken from his cuff and stared about him with an intelligent and professional interest.

Drinkwater gave the pass a cursory glance and said, ‘Perhaps we should adjorn to my cabin, Colonel Wilson . . .'

‘Delighted, Captain . . .'

The two men went below leaving an air of unsatisfied curiosity among the men on deck.

In the cabin, as Mullender poured two glasses of wine, Drinkwater checked Wilson's pass with more thoroughness. ‘Please be seated, Colonel Wilson,' he said and then handed back the document with a nod. ‘Thank you. How may I be of service?'

‘You have two brigs with you, sir. The
Nancy
and the . . . 
Jenny Marsden
. They are filled with a consignment of arms and ammunition for the Russian army, are they not?'

‘They are indeed, Colonel,' said Drinkwater, relieved that Wilson had come off to assume responsibility for them. ‘Are you intending to see them to their destination at Königsberg?'

‘I shall do what I can, though Russian methods can be damnably dilatory.'

‘Then I am doubly glad to see you.' Drinkwater smiled, ‘And I'd welcome reliable news of the action we heard had been fought in February. I have been concerned as to the accuracy of the reports I had from the Swedes and the safety of such a shipment if left at Königsberg.'

Wilson stretched his long legs and relaxed in his chair. ‘You need have no fear, Captain. The Russian outposts confront the French all along the line of the Passarge. They have not moved since Eylau . . .'

‘So they
were
held . . .'

‘The French? Oh, good God, yes! Had they been under Suvoroff, well . . .' Wilson sipped his wine and shrugged.

‘Were you there?'

‘At Eylau, yes. The Russians fought with great stubbornness and although Bennigsen left the field the French had been fought to a standstill; Boney himself had had the fright of his life and the Grand
Army were dying in heaps
pour la gloire
. Their cavalry were magnificent of course, but even Murat was powerless to break the Russkies.'

‘Will Bennigsen complete the matter when you come out of winter quarters?'

‘Bennigsen? Perhaps. He's a German and unpopular with many of the Russian-born officers who will want some of the credit if a victory's to be had; but they're only too happy to blame a scapegoat if they're defeated. Bennigsen's competent enough, and he's close to the Tsar.'

‘How so?' asked Drinkwater, fascinated by Wilson, whose close contacts with the Russians were interesting to him on both a professional and a personal level.

‘Bennigsen was one of the officers present when Alexander's father, Tsar Paul, met his end in the Mikhailovsky Palace. It is said that Bennigsen was the first man to lay his hands on the Tsar. Outside the room was the Tsarevich Alexander, who happened to be Colonel-in-Chief of the Semenovsky Regiment which stood guard that night. Not an attractive story, but Alexander's complicity is well known. Paul was a highly dangerous man. Apart from his secret accord with Bonaparte, he
was
a vicious and cruel monster. Alexander, on the other hand, nurtures ideal views on kingship.' Wilson tossed off his glass and Drinkwater refilled it.

‘Your post is a curious and fascinating one, Colonel. Tell me, what is your candid opinion of the likelihood of the Russians finally trouncing Bonaparte?'

Wilson raised his eyebrows in speculative arches. ‘I know that's what your friend Lord Dungarth wants, hence the arms and the specie you have below . . .'

Drinkwater coughed into his wine and looked up sharply. ‘You know a great deal, Colonel Wilson. What the devil makes you say Lord Dungarth is my friend?'

‘Well he is, ain't he?' replied Wilson. ‘That's why
you
are here, Captain Drinkwater, as I understand it.'

Drinkwater assumed an air of sudden caution. Stories of murder and intrigue from St Petersburg were all very well, but Colonel Robert Wilson figured nowhere in his instructions from the Admiralty. ‘I have my orders, Colonel Wilson, respecting the specie about which you seem to know everything. I am directed to hand it over at Revel to Lord Leveson-Gower in his
diplomatic
capacity as Ambassador to St Petersburg and not to yourself.'

‘My dear sir,' said Wilson smoothly, crossing his legs, ‘that ain't
what I mean at all, damn me. I assumed that it was you as had been given this assignment in view of your unusual personal connections hereabouts.'

Drinkwater felt the colour leave his face. Surely Wilson could not know about his brother? The feeling that, in some way, providence would make him expiate his guilt for Edward's escape from justice suddenly overwhelmed him. It was an irrational fear that had haunted his subconscious for six years. ‘What the devil do you mean?'

Drinkwater's extraordinary reaction had not escaped Wilson, but he had not thought it caused by guilt.

‘Come, Captain Drinkwater, I think you need not alarm yourself. I have myself been, if not directly employed by Lord Dungarth's Secret Department like yourself, connected with it in view of my duties here. I am frankly amazed that my presence surprises you. Were you not told? Is it not part of your orders to liaise with any British agents in the field?'

‘In so far as I am permitted to discuss my orders, Colonel, I can only shake my head to that question,' Drinkwater said cautiously.

‘Some damnable back-sliding between the Horse-Guards and the Admiralty I don't doubt. A confounded clerk that's forgotten to copy a memorandum, or lost a note he was supposed to deliver.' Wilson smote his thigh with a relatively good-natured and contemptuous acceptance. ‘Still, that's as may be. Then your orders, after you've turned your convoy and your specie over, are those usual to a cruiser, eh?'

Drinkwater nodded. ‘Watch and prey is the formula off Brest, but here 'tis tread the decks of neutrals without upsetting anyone. A difficult task at the best of times.'

‘Then you had better know more, Captain, in case we want you . . .'

We?'

‘Yes. Doubtless Lord Leveson-Gower will have something to say to you, but there are men in the field whom I will advise of your presence on the coast. Should they want swift communication with London they will be looking out for you. Often a frigate is the best and safest way. Chief among them is Colin Mackenzie. Whatever names he uses in his work he is not ashamed to own Rosshire ancestry on his father's side, though what his mother was only his father knows. I would advise you offer him whatever assistance he might require. There is also another man, a Captain Ostroff, in the Russian service. Both these fellows use a cryptogramic code for their dispatches – I am sure
you are familiar with the type of thing – and all are sent to Joseph Devlieghere, Merchant of Antwerpen . . .'

‘The clearing house . . .'

‘Yes. And for all I know, where Bonaparte's people open 'em up before popping them into a Harwich shrimp-tub together with a keg or two of Hollands gin. The way Paris seems to know what's going on is astounding. That man Fouché is diabolical . . . You smile, Captain . . .'

‘Only because he outwits us, Colonel,' said Drinkwater drily. ‘If he was one of our fellows he would be considered brilliant.'

‘True,' said Wilson smiling.

‘I understand. I shall, of course, do what I can, but I assure you I have had no direct orders from Lord Dungarth, nor have I executed any commission for him since April last year.' Drinkwater refilled the glasses, then went on, ‘But tell me, if you are confident about Russian prospects, why all this anxiety about agents? Indeed you did not fully answer my question about the military situation.'

‘No more I did.' Wilson sipped his wine, considered a moment, then said, ‘It is not entirely true to say the situation is static. With Napoleon in the field any thoughts of immobility can be discounted. Colberg and Dantzig have been invested and may fall to the French any day; that much we must expect. Marshall Mortier is occupying our supposed allies, the Swedes, before Stralsund, in Pomerania . . .' Wilson shrugged, ‘Who knows what might happen. As to the main theatre here, well . . . I will give Boney one last throw. He is a damned long way from Paris. He's been absent for a year and when the cat's away we all know what the mice get up to. Bennigsen gave him a drubbing. He can't afford to retreat, either politically or militarily. But then he can't risk a defeat which the Russkies are quite capable of giving him. My guess is a battle of his own choosing and a big stake on a single hand.'

Drinkwater digested this. ‘I should not care to bear such a responsibility,' he said slowly.

‘No more would I,' said Wilson tossing off his glass and making to stand. ‘The Russians are a rum lot, to be sure. Touchy, secretive and suspicious, but brave as lions when it comes to a fight.' He rose and looked pensively round the cabin. ‘You seem to have a little piece of England here, Captain.'

Drinkwater smiled and drained his own glass. ‘The other man's grass always appears a little greener.'

Wilson rose. ‘The sooner you deliver your specie to Revel, Captain,
the better. My stock at Imperial headquarters may rise a little and I may be less importuned and accused of British lassitude. The Russians are constantly asking why we do not send troops to their assistance. Money and arms seem to disappear without effect.'

‘God knows it costs enough without our having to fight their battles for them!' Drinkwater said indignantly.

‘Ah, the pernicious income tax!'

‘I was not thinking merely of the money, Colonel.' Drinkwater gestured vaguely around him.' It is not merely ships that make up the navy. It takes many men. Do the Russians not appreciate that?'

Wilson raised his eyebrows, his expression one of amused cynicism, and, pulling himself upright, caught his head on the deck beam above. Wincing, he said, ‘They are a land-power, Captain. We cannot expect them to understand.' He extended his hand.

‘Let us hope', said Drinkwater, shaking hands, ‘that you and Bennigsen finish the business. Then we can enjoy our next glass together in London.'

‘A cheering and worthy sentiment, Captain Drinkwater, and one that I endorse with all my heart.'