The Shadow of the Eagle (29 page)

They were hull-up by now and one was plainly identified as the
Gremyashchi.
Although unable to see any name, Drinkwater remembered Hortense had said one of the ships from Antwerp was called
L’Aigle
and had speculatively concluded that she was the nearer of the trio, a frigate of at least equal, and probably superior force to
Andromeda,
if only in the calibre and weight of metal of her guns. On her port quarter lay the second Bonapartist ship, while the Russian was ahead of and slightly more distant than the others. Drinkwater marked this disposition with some satisfaction: Captain Count Rakov had made his first mistake.

Andromeda
was running down towards the three ships with the wind almost dead astern. They lay on her port bow and, if both she and her quarry remained on their present courses, they would be in long cannon shot in about an hour. Drinkwater relished the time in hand, though he knew it would play on his nerves, for it would play on the enemy’s too. With her studding sails set and the morning light full on her spread of canvas,
Andromeda
would look a resolute sight from the Franco-Russian squadron as she bore down upon them. The morning was bright with promise; the blue sea reflected an almost cloudless sky, washed clean by the passage of the cold-front in the night. A small school of dolphins gambolled innocently between
Andromeda
and her objectives which continued to stand southward, apparently unmoved by the headlong approach of the British frigate. Drinkwater was gambling on Rakov and Lejeune assuming he was running down to quiz them, not to open fire, and this seemed borne out by the lack of colours at the peaks of the strange ships.

Drinkwater was aware of the restless gathering behind him. As
Andromeda
ran with the wind, even the coughs and foot-shufflings of the waiting assembly of officers were audible. He turned around and caught Marlowe’s eye.

‘You have the weather gauge, sir,’ the first lieutenant remarked nervously.

‘We
have the weather gauge, gentlemen,’ Drinkwater corrected with a smile, ‘and perhaps we shall not have it for long …’ He looked round the crescent of faces. Marlowe was clearly apprehensive, while Hyde remained as impassively calm as ever; Birkbeck showed resignation and Ashton a new eagerness. As for Frey, well Frey was an enigma; best known of them all and much liked, he had become a more difficult man to read, for there was an eagerness there to match Ashton and yet a wariness comparable with Birkbeck’s and perhaps, remembering his friend James Quilhampton, a fear akin to Marlowe’s. But there was also a touch of Hyde’s veneer, Drinkwater thought in that appraising instant, and yet of them all, Frey’s complexity most appealed to him. Frey was a good man to have alongside one in a tight corner. Drinkwater smiled again, as confidently and reassuringly as he could; he was being unfair because he knew Frey of old. They would all acquit themselves well enough when push came to shove.

‘Well gentlemen,’ he said, indicating the other ships, ‘this is what we have been waiting for. Now pay careful attention to what I have to say, for we are grievously outnumbered and outgunned and, if we are to achieve our objective, we have to strike first, fast and very hard, before we are brought to close action and lose any initiative we may be able to gain by engaging on our terms.

‘It is my intention that we do all we can to avoid a close-quarters action. If my information is correct, the two Bonapartist ships will not only have sufficient gunners, but they will be full of sharpshooters and soldiers, enough to make mince-meat of our thirteen score of jacks. I shall therefore be using the ship’s ability to manoeuvre and will attempt to disable them first. They will almost certainly attempt the same trick, so I am counting on the accuracy of our shot. Frey and Ashton, your respective batteries must be fought with the utmost energy and economy. We must have no wasted powder or shot; we cannot afford it. I am not so much concerned with the precision of broadsides, rather that every shot tells. Make certain,
certain
mark you, every gun-captain comprehends this. D’you understand? Ashton?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Frey?’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘Very well. Now mark something else: when I order you to be prepared to stand-to I want everything at maximum readiness except that the guns are to be kept concealed behind closed ports. The order to open ports will be automatic when I order the commencement of fire and I will endeavour to allow enough time for the guns to be laid. D’you follow?’

‘I’m not sure I do, sir,’ said Ashton.

‘I don’t want
Andromeda
to be the first to show her teeth, Mr Ashton, though I hope we shall draw first blood.’ Drinkwater paused, then added for Ashton’s benefit, ‘If we are to fire into a Russian ship, I need the pretext of self-defence …’

‘Ah, I see, I beg pardon …’

‘Very well. Mr Marlowe,’ Drinkwater turned to the first lieutenant, ‘I leave the upper deck guns in your hands, but the same procedure is to be followed.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Mr Hyde,’ Drinkwater swung round on the marine officer, ‘your men are to do their best to pick off anyone foolish enough to show himself, but particularly any officers. Pray do not permit any of your men to anticipate my order to open fire.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘Mr Birkbeck, I shall want the ship handled with all your skill. I shall feint several times at their bows and if you can oblige me, bear up and rake, preferably across their sterns.’ Drinkwater turned back to the lieutenants, ‘So you gentlemen in the gun-deck must be aware that if we ain’t standing off and knocking the sticks out of them, I shall want the elevation dropped and shot sent down the length of their decks. Such treatment may demoralize the soldiers among ‘em. We shall see.

As for the Russian, well Rakov is our greatest threat, the more so because we don’t know his orders or his intentions. We do know he ain’t here on a picnic and I am convinced he followed us from Calais suspecting our intention and determined to stop us. It all depends upon the mettle of the man and when and where he chooses to engage us. My guess is he may try and overwhelm us when we are otherwise occupied, but at least he has to work his way up from the lee station first…’

‘He appears to be doing that already,’ interrupted Ashton, indicating the ships over Drinkwater’s shoulder.

‘Indeed he does, Mr Ashton,’ replied Drinkwater, who had observed the
Gremyashchi’
s converging course some moments earlier, ‘but then I should have been surprised if he hadn’t, eh?’ Drinkwater paused and looked round them all. ‘Well now, are there any questions?’ He paused as the officers shook their heads. ‘No? Good. Well, let us hope providence gives us at least a chance, gentlemen. Good fortune to you all. Now, if you please, be so kind as to take post.’

He turned and levelled his glass as they moved away. He would have liked to say something to Frey, but that would not have been fair on the others. Anyhow, what could he say? That they had a couple of hours before they would be prisoners, and while they might not be prisoners for long, the humiliation of defeat was a risk that lay beyond the greater hurdle of death itself? Such thoughts lay uneasily alongside the affirmations of duty. He sniffed as he strove to focus on the
Gremyashchi,
but had to wipe his eye before he accomplished this simple task. Beside him someone coughed. He kept the telescope firmly clamped to his eye socket and spoke from the corner of his mouth.

‘Ah, Mr Marlowe, I did not deliberately keep you out of my orders; yours might be the most difficult task and I would ask you to steel yourself. If I should fall, you are to strike at once, the only proviso being that the ship has endured some enemy shot. I would not have an unnecessary effusion of blood …’

‘If I do that, sir, and do not prosecute the action with some energy, I may be taken for a coward.’

‘You may indeed, Mr Marlowe, but that is preferable to death and will at least legitimize your offspring. Believe me, sir, this damned war has gone on long enough and there are men aboard the ship deserving of a better fate.’

‘But, sir, by your own persuasion, if we do not stop this migration of Boney, the war may drag on.’

‘I like “migration”, Mr Marlowe; it implies Boney is a sum of greater proportion than one man, but you are to obey my orders, do you hear, sir?’

‘I hear you, sir …’

Drinkwater suppressed a smile. Marlowe’s intention to disobey was as clear as the sunlight now dancing upon the blue waves of the ocean. He was truly steeled and his self-doubt had been banished by his sense of honour. It was a mean trick, Drinkwater concluded, and might yet add a bastard to the Ashton clan! Unconsciously, Drinkwater too resorted to the crude gallows humour of men preparing themselves for the possibility of death or wounding.

‘There’s a good fellow,’ he said, closing the telescope and turning to smile at the first lieutenant. ‘Now, will you have a string of bunting run up to the lee fore-tops’l yard-arm. Anything will do, just to confuse them.’ He jerked his head at the three ships. ‘They’re all flying Russian colours. I suspected they might.’

‘They’re trying to intimidate us,’ Marlowe asserted. ‘Damned cheek!’

‘Well, let’s return the compliment. And let us discharge a chase gun to draw attention to the hoist.’

Drinkwater paid little attention to the sequence of flags that was run aloft a few minutes later beyond noting the gay colours were brilliant in the spring morning. Truth to tell, Mr Paine, to whom this duty had fallen, had paid little attention either, but the dull report of the gun gave a spurious authority to the fluttering bunting, investing it with an importance it did not have and perhaps buying
Andromeda
a further few minutes of respite as she bore down upon what must now be conceived as the enemy.

For Drinkwater, patiently watching the range of the three ships decrease, the flaunting of Russian ensigns by all three ships suggested at the very least a malign intent and the connivance of the Tsar’s officers. He imagined Count Rakov must have boarded the two French ships at sea and held council with Lejeune. In fact the possibility of French and Russian ships enjoying a rendezvous to the north of the Azores seemed most likely now, accounting for the delay in the Antwerp ships appearing off the archipelago. Such an argument, ominous though it was, was but further confirmation of the factual content of what had once been a mere whisper upon the wind.

Or upon the lips of Hortense Santhonax.

Drinkwater paid particular attention to the
Gremyashchi.
Idly, as he studied the Russian ship working back to windward, he wondered what her name signified. It was no matter, and he was more interested in observing how Rakov handled her and how swiftly she answered his intentions. It was difficult to judge; at the moment she was simply close hauled and sailing harder on the wind than the two Bonapartist ships, losing a little speed by comparison, but closing with them so that if
Andromeda
stood on, the interception would be as near coincidental as human heart could contrive, if human heart wished for it.

While this might be Captain Count Rakov’s desire, it was not Nathaniel Drinkwater’s, for it would be a trap from which escape would be impossible and he was aware that once he had been engaged by all three ships, or even only two, he would find it impossible to extricate himself. He therefore called the master and, without taking the glass from his eye, said, ‘Mr Birkbeck, take the stun’s’ls in if you please. After which you may clew up the main course. We will let the fore course draw a little longer.’

‘Aye, aye, sir.’

Birkbeck picked up the speaking trumpet and within a minute or two the studding sails bellied, fluttered and then collapsed inwards, drawn into the adjacent tops to be stowed away. After this the booms were struck inboard, running into the round irons above the upper yards on the fore and main masts, until they were next required.

‘Main mast there!’ bellowed Birkbeck, ‘Clew garnets there! Rise tacks and sheets!’

Without the driving power of the studding sails and main course,
Andromeda
slowed perceptibly. While the
Gremyashchi
continued to haul up to windward, closing her consorts, the common bearing of the three ships began to draw ahead.

‘Bring her round two points to starboard, Mr Birkbeck.’

‘Two points to starboard, sir, aye, aye.’

Remaining to windward,
Andromeda
drew on to a parallel course, slightly increasing her speed as she came on to a reach so that, after a few moments, the relative bearings of the enemy steadied again.

‘Mr Marlowe, another gun, I think, to draw attention to our signal.’

The forecastle 9-pounder barked again, but prompted no response. Drinkwater began to feel an elation in his spirits. The squadron was standing on and in this apparent steadfast holding of their course, Drinkwater read a degree of irresolution on their part. Were they waiting for Rakov to act first, perhaps, in the capacity of senior officer? He was, however, acutely aware that pride always preceded a fall and his glass was most often focused on the
Gremyashchi
which was now slightly to windward of the French ships, though still to leeward of
Andromeda,
and a little less than a mile ahead, on her port bow.

‘Rakov dare not wear, for it would cast him too far to loo’ard and he dare not tack for fear of missing stays …’

‘By God, sir! You’re wrong! He’s going about!’ Marlowe’s voice cracked with excitement as ahead of them the Russian frigate turned into the wind and prepared to come round to pass closely between the French ships and
Andromeda.
It was a bold move and while it would mask the gunfire of her consorts, a broadside from the
Gremyashchi
could well serve to incapacitate the British frigate and thereby deliver her to the guns of the combined squadron.

‘Mr Paine!’

‘Sir?’

‘Run up a different hoist. Make us look a little desperate.’