The Flying Squadron (19 page)

‘Aye, aye, sir,' Frey replied with a grin.

Half an hour before sunset Drinkwater called away his barge. The knowledge that the deserters were aboard the
Stingray
gave him some comfort, for Stewart would keep them closer watched than Metcalfe. Whether or not Stewart would keep his secret until after
Patrician's
departure or make some demonstration embarrassing to Drinkwater remained to be seen. The man harboured a deep resentment against the British and, it was obvious, saw the
Patrician'
s commander as the embodiment of all he disliked. But there was also an ungovernably passionate streak, a rash impetuosity to offset a deep intelligence; that much Drinkwater had deduced from the man's indiscreet drunkenness. Much might also be read from his sister . . .

However, he must dissemble, to gull as he had been gulled, to convince his people that he would not tolerate desertion.

Shaw received him in his dressing-room.

‘I had your note, Captain Drinkwater.'

‘I apologize for troubling you and hope that my men have not been over-intrusive upon your land, Mr Shaw.'

‘Not
over
-intrusive, no,' Shaw replied, his resentment clearly aroused by the minor invasion of the day.

‘I apologise unreservedly, sir, if any damage has been caused . . .'

‘No, no,' Shaw waved aside the suggestion that anything more than his sense of propriety had sustained injury.

‘And I apologize at the inconvenience of the hour, it is intolerable of me . . .'

‘Please sit down, Captain. Will you join us for dinner? Arabella will be delighted to see you; she sure enjoyed your company yesterday.'

‘Thank you, no, sir,' Drinkwater said, remaining standing. He longed to see Arabella again, for all the pain and remorse it would cause him. ‘My official affairs are, alas, more pressing. Perhaps I may wait upon Mistress Shaw at a later date, but for the nonce I must perforce ask you to convey my felicitations to her. My presence is, er, a matter of some delicacy . . .' Drinkwater shot a glance at Shaw's negro valet.

Shaw dismissed the man. ‘Come, sir, you have time to sit and take a glass.'

‘Obliged, sir.' Drinkwater was not loathe to comply. Shaw poured from a handy bottle on a side-table. They mutually toasted each other's health. ‘The point is', Drinkwater went on, leaning forward in his chair to give his words both urgency and confidentiality, ‘this affair of deserters is a damnable nuisance. I
must
make every effort to regain 'em, for my Service, my reputation and general appearances, not to mention
pour discourager les autres
,' he said in his poor French, ‘but I wish to do nothin' which might provoke a suspension of negotiations, Vansittart was most tellin' upon this point. It seems, from your discussions with him last night, there are men in Washington seekin' some new impropriety on our part, like Humphries' cavalier behaviour towards the
Chesapeake
, to make a
casus bellum
 . . .'

‘That is surely true, Captain. They are mostly from New England, hawks we have styled them, perhaps foolishly, for a hawk has a greater appeal than a dove, I allow. But I don't follow why . . .'

‘I know where the men are, Mr Shaw . . .'

‘You do?' Shaw's eyebrows rose with astonishment. ‘Where?'

‘Aboard the United States sloop-of-war
Stingray
.'

‘The hell they are!'

‘I feel sure thay have been given asylum by Captain Stewart . . .'

‘Have you sent word to Charles? Asked for them back?'

‘Mr Shaw, you saw Captain Stewart's attitude to British interests last night. I am not insensible to the fact that he may be personally justified in all his resentments, but I am convinced he would refuse
me
the return of my men as a matter of principle. Why, I think he would delight in it.'

‘He certainly has a thirst for glory.'

‘And took against me personally, I believe.'

Shaw nodded. ‘I fear so, Captain. Then you want me to approach him, to persuade him to relinquish your deserters?'

‘Yes, if you would. It would be the simplest answer.'

Shaw sighed and rubbed his chin. ‘What would you do with them? You would have to punish them, would you not?'

‘Aye, sir, but I am not an inhumane man. Whatever I decided I would not carry out in American waters and properly I can do nothing until they have been court-martialed.'

‘I don't follow . . . would you act improperly?'

‘I could deem them guilty of a lesser crime and hence a lesser punishment . . .'

‘And simply flog 'em? Pardon me, but the forces of Great Britain have a certain reputation for brutality. I too lived before the Revolution, Captain.'

‘I believe General Washington ordered corporal punishment for breaking ranks and deserting, Mr Shaw. It is a not uncommon, if regrettable thing in war.'

‘But my country is not at war and I want no part in precipitating any such misery on another . . .'

‘I admire your sensibilities, Mr Shaw, but my country
is
at war.' Drinkwater mastered his exasperation. Shaw, it seemed, wanted to be all things to all men. He thought of Thurston, the idealist without responsibility. Now this wealthy man could keep his conscience clean by stepping round the problem. I am of the middling sort, he thought ironically, the sort that thrust the affairs of the world
along day by day. ‘I can only give you my word of honour that I will be lenient . . .'

‘Be more specific, sir. To what extent will your leniency diminish your sentence of retribution?'

‘I will order them no more than a dozen lashes.'

‘Good God, sir, a
dozen?'

‘How many do you give your slaves, Mr Shaw?' Drinkwater was stung to riposte, regretting the turn the conversation had taken.

‘That is an entirely different matter,' Shaw snapped. Then, struck by a thought and measuring the English officer, he added, ‘Hell! Don't get any ideas about making up your crew from my plantation.'

Drinkwater attempted to defuse the atmosphere with a grin. ‘I could promise them a nominal freedom aboard a man-o'-war,' he remarked drily, ‘but I would not, you have my word,' he added hurriedly, seeing the colour rising in Shaw's face.

Shaw blew out his cheeks. ‘Damn me, sir, this is a pretty kettle o' fish.'

Drinkwater seized this moment of weakness. ‘I want only to avoid a collision, Mr Shaw. If you cannot be advocate perhaps you could merely ask; let Stewart know I am aware he is harbouring my men. The burden of conscience will then be upon him, will it not?'

‘That is true . . .'

Drinkwater rose, ‘I have kept you from your table, sir, and I am sorry for it. Perhaps you might consider consulting Mistress Shaw, in any event please present my compliments; she struck me as a woman of good sense. It is my experience that most women know their own minds, and what is best for their menfolk too.'

Shaw rose and held out his hand. Both men smiled the complicit understanding of male confraternity.

‘Perhaps I will, Captain, perhaps I will,' Shaw said smiling.

And partially satisfied, Drinkwater walked down towards the boat upon the lush, shadowed and terraced lawn. There existed stronger and more instantaneous bonds than those of chauvinism, bonds whose strength and extent were mysteries but whose existence was undeniable.

They lay in this limbo of uncertainty for eight days, one, it seemed to those disposed to seek signs amid the random circumstances of life, for every deserter. The fall of the year came slowly, barely yet touching these low latitudes, so the very air enervated them and the pastoral beauty of the scene was slowly soured by idleness and a lack of communication with the shore.

The Patricians, unpatrician-like, still pulled their miserable guard round themselves, while the Stingrays regularly ferried their commander ashore. It was clear to Drinkwater that although Shaw might have spoken to Stewart about the advantages accruing to an honest, open, apple-pie handover of the British deserters, the appeal had fallen on deaf ears. Since they now caught no more than an occasional glimpse of their men, Drinkwater knew that Stewart was guarding his prizes closer still.

To keep the pot boiling Drinkwater dispatched Frey in the launch for a three-day expedition along the Virginia and Maryland shores and Stewart had, perforce, to send a shadowing boat. As for Arabella, Drinkwater saw her three or four times as she rode out. Once they exchanged greetings, she with a wave, he with a doffing of his hat, but on the other occasions, distance prevented these formalities.

The lack of hospitality on Shaw's part discouraged Drinkwater and, when he sent an invitation to Shaw and his daughter-in-law to dine as his guests aboard
Patrician
(Lieutenant Gordon's questing boat-party having disturbed a covey of game birds), it was declined on the grounds of Mr Shaw's absence.

Drinkwater tried to convince himself all parties awaited the outcome of negotiations before re-establishing amicable relations, but he knew the matter of the deserters had come between them all. As for Arabella herself, he thought she wished to distance herself from him and respected her wishes. Besides, he had no desire to make a fool of himself.

‘Why did Vansittart have to go via Baltimore, sir?' Frey asked on his return. He had made his report and he and Drinkwater had been consulting a chart, Frey tracing his aimless track along the shores of Chesapeake Bay. ‘The Potomac leads directly up to Washington.'

‘A matter of formalities, I suppose,' replied Drinkwater absently, filling two glasses. ‘Perhaps they did not wish him to see the defences of Washington, or reconnoitre so obvious an approach.'

‘He'll come back the same way, then?'

‘I imagine so. I've really no idea.'

‘I wish
we
were back, sir,' Frey said suddenly.

‘Back? Where?'

‘In home waters, off Ushant, in the Mediterranean, the Baltic, anywhere but here. God, we're not liked hereabouts.'

‘We're an old enemy, Mr Frey . . . Tell me have you executed any watercolours lately? I believe you were working on a folio . . .'

‘Oh, those, no, I have abandoned the project.' Something wistfully regretful in Frey's tone prompted Drinkwater to probe.

‘Not like you to abandon anything.'

‘No, maybe not, sir, but this occasion proved the rule.'

‘The wardroom's not the most conducive place, eh? Do 'em in here, I could do with a little society.'

‘Begging your pardon, sir, but I don't think that a good idea . . .'

‘Oh, why not . . . ? Ah, I see, presuming on our previous acquaintance, eh?'

‘Something of the sort, sir.'

‘Who? Not Moncrieff . . .' He knew already, but wanted to see if Frey's admission would back his hunch.

‘No, no, not Moncrieff, sir, he's a good fellow . . .'

‘Well, Wyatt then, he's no aesthete, though I'd have baulked at calling him a Philistine.'

‘No, old Wyatt's a marline-spike officer, not well-versed, but experienced. I find the first lieutenant . . .'

‘A difficult man, eh?'

‘An inconsistent man, sir,' Frey admitted tactfully, the wine having its effect.

‘Ah, diplomatic, Mr Frey, I must remember your talents in that direction. Perhaps you should have gone to Washington in place of Vansittart. He is certainly a curious fellow.'

‘Vansittart, sir?' Frey frowned.

‘No,' Drinkwater grinned, ‘Metcalfe . . .'

It was good to see Captain Drinkwater smiling, Frey thought as he finished his glass, it reminded him of happier times. There was something sinister about this interminable wait, knowing the deserters were within easy reach of them and that they possessed superior force and could scarcely be condemned for insisting their own be returned to them. Frey had, moreover, heard it expressed in a deliberate lower deck stage whisper meant for his ears, that was it not for Captain Drinkwater himself being in command, there would have been more than a handful of deserters.

Drinkwater, regarding his young protégé, wondered what sort of impositions Frey suffered in the wardroom. He had written Metcalfe off as an adequate but fossicking officer whose chief vice was irritation. It had not occurred to him that he was a contrary influence.

‘Well, well, I had no idea.'

‘There is something else, sir, something you should know about.'

‘What is it?'

‘The men are
very
restless, sir. I am concerned about it if we are forced to wait much longer.'

‘Be patient, Mr Frey. I like this state of affairs no better than you or the hands, but we are tied to Vansittart's apron strings.'