The shadow of the eagle

CHAPTER 10 The Rock

Shortly before dawn Drinkwater woke with a start. Lying in the darkness he listened intently, but could discern no noise; not even the clanking of the pumps disturbed the night, silent but for the laboured creaking of the ship and above his head the faint, measured tread of one of the watch-keepers. Then his cabin was suddenly lit up, as though someone shone a powerful light in through the stern windows. The spectral illumination startled him. His heart thumped with alarm and he was on his feet in a trice, to stare out through the stern windows. An instant later he had an explanation as the ship drove through bio-luminescence and the pale green gleam again lit up the night.

He was unable to sleep after this weird though natural phenomenon, and drew on breeches, shoes and stockings. Winding his boat-cloak about himself he went on deck. The pacing footsteps revealed themselves to be those of Lieutenant Frey. They exchanged courtesies and Drinkwater asked the routine question.

'All well?'

'Aye, sir. I have a good man stationed aloft in the foretop, though I doubt we'll sight anything before daylight.'

"Tis as well to be on our guard.'

'Yes, of course.'

'The wind is holding fair,' Drinkwater observed. 'One might almost believe we had run into the trades, but our latitude is too high so we must be prepared for our run of luck to end.'

There was a brief pause, then Frey said, 'I believe you're sending the launch ashore, sir.'

'Yes, just to establish whether our friend Boney has been delivered yet.'

'And Lieutenant Ashton's to command her.'

'Yes.'

Frey fell silent. Drinkwater wondered whether he felt himself slighted by the appointment of the junior lieutenant to this task, then Frey asked, 'Will you be going ashore yourself, sir?'

'No.'

For a moment neither man said anything, then Drinkwater remarked, 'I gather there has been something of a sea change in the wardroom, Mr Frey. Things are a little more tolerable, I hope.'

'In a manner of speaking, yes, sir. Where formerly Mr Marlowe seemed to be constantly under the weather, we now have Mr Ashton acting like a spoilt brat. I am of the opinion that acquaintances should not serve together; friendship and duty seem incompatible in the circumstances prevailing in a man-o'-war.'

'Dear me, I hope not,' replied Drinkwater, ruefully.

'Oh, I beg pardon, sir, I didn't mean ...' The tone of Frey's voice conveyed an embarrassment the darkness hid.

'Think nothing of it,' Drinkwater chuckled, adding more seriously, 'though I have to confess, Marlowe's change of heart seems almost miraculous.'

'That is what they are saying below decks.'

'I don't follow you.'

'That he was raised from the dead. They call him "Lazarus" Marlowe.'

'Lazarus Marlowe ...?' Drinkwater tested the name and found himself grinning in the gloom.

'I'm afraid you are cast in a more divine role, sir.'

'You mean ... ? Well, 'pon my soul!'

'Seafaring folk have the oddest notions, don't they?'

'Aye, they most certainly do.'

'If I might change the subject, sir ...'

'Please do, Mr Frey. I am hard-pressed to find anything I can add in support of the Almighty'

'I'm sure He would be pleased to know that, sir,' Frey added drily, and Drinkwater could just see the smile on his face as the dawn light crept into the eastern sky. 'What I was going to ask, sir, if I might be presumptuous, is what you intend to do? I mean we have no idea of the whereabouts of Napoleon, do we?'

'No, I appreciate that, nor are we likely to learn. My principal, no my only concern, is to intercept and if necessary engage the two ships which have been sent from Antwerp to convey Boney and his staff to America. Anything more would be a gross presumption on my part, not something likely to endear me to Lord Castlereagh or any of his cronies.'

'D'you think we shall engage them?'

A horrible thought crossed Drinkwater's mind; was poor Frey a broken man after the terrible encounter with the enemy in the Vikkenfiord? 'Does it worry you, if it should come to that?'

'Not at all,' Frey answered without hesitation, 'in fact, I should welcome the event.'

'Not, I hope, because you entertain any foolish notions of covering yourself with ...'

'Death or glory,' broke in Frey with a short, dismissive laugh. 'No, no, nothing like that. To tell the truth, sir, I should think my active service career the more fulfilled if I had one more crack at the French; that damned affair in Norway was somehow unfinished business.'

'I understand. That is one of the reasons I will not send you out of the ship in any boat expedition, Frey. I want you aboard. All the time; at least until this business is concluded.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'If and when we do encounter the French ships I anticipate they will keep close company and try and overwhelm us. They may be full of soldiers, men willing to fight hand to hand, against which our people would prove inadequate.'

'You would want to hold off and manoeuvre to cripple them, and thereby induce a surrender?'

'Exactly. And while the sea conditions will be lively in these latitudes, and we may have trouble pointing the guns to good effect, the steady breeze should enable us to be nimble.'

'Providing their two against our single ship don't corner us like a dog'

'We shall have to see ...'

'Yes.'

It was getting rapidly lighter and already the details of the deck about them were emerging from the shadows of the night. Drinkwater began to feel the pangs of hunger stirring in his belly. He would welcome coffee and some hot, buttered toast. His teeth no longer pained him and the swollen gum had subsided so that the idea of masticating on a slice made his mouth water.

'Might I ask your advice about something?'

'Yes, of course.' Drinkwater thrust his self-indulgent day-dream aside. 'What is it?'

'I have given the matter much thought, sir, but I accept the fact that on our return we will be paid off and I am likely to be compelled to exist on half-pay'

'I shall do my best for you, Mr Frey' Drinkwater said. The consideration of another dependant loomed in his imagination, accompanied by the added thought that while some perverse chivalry prompted him to offer support to Hortense Santhonax, he felt a reprehensible resentment at the thought of doing the same for poor, loyal Frey.

'Oh, I know you will, sir, and please do not think I am asking for charity. On the contrary, I have some hopes of supporting myself if I must. No, I have been thinking of James Quilhampton's widow'

'Catriona ... ?' Drinkwater suppressed his surprise.

'I, er, think she might not be averse to accepting a proposal from me.'

'Pardon the question, Mr Frey, but are you attached to the lady?'

'I think she is fond of me, sir, and she has little means of support. She also has the child ...'

'Ah yes.'

'I felt ...'

'Of course. I understand, but a marriage based upon pity may not be for the best, Mr Frey. The lady is a little older than yourself,' Drinkwater said tactfully. 'That may make a difference in time, and while there may be no other person to claim your affections at the moment, should you be cast ashore upon your own resources, then you may meet someone other than Mistress Quilhampton for whom, without being ungallant, you may come to feel a greater attachment.'

'That is true, sir ...'

But Frey got no further, for the cry came down from the foretop that land was in sight.

An hour later two steep-sided islands were visible from the deck as the low sun struck their basalt cliffs, conferring upon them a warm, pink colour. To the north-west and perhaps two or three leagues nearer, lay the smaller island of Corvo, while farther off, fine on the port bow, rose Flores.

Drinkwater scrutinized the summit of the island, from which a stream of orographic cloud trailed downwind. Patiently he waited for Andromeda to draw near enough for them to see the shoreline, as yet still hidden below the horizon.

'A most appropriate place to cage an eagle,' Drinkwater remarked and Frey, catching the observation, aired a recondite fact: 'The archipelago is named Azores from the Portuguese agar, meaning a hawk.'

Among the watch on deck, an air of excitement and expectation animated the men. Word of an impending landfall and a proposed boat expedition had percolated through the ship and the sight of the island, even for those who would approach little closer, nor see more than could be discerned from the frigate's waist, was nevertheless sufficient to break the monotony of their arduous yet dull lives.

'You may close Flores, Mr Frey. We will bring-to off Santa Cruz. I shall want the launch ready then,' Drinkwater ordered, closing his glass with an emphatic snap. 'I am going below for an hour.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

By the time the watch changed the entire island had risen above the rim of the world and the white breakers of the restless Atlantic could be seen fringing the scree-littered foreshore. Larval cliffs predominated, formed by prehistoric volcanic eruptions, no longer rose-red from the dawn, but grey and forbidding with fresh-water streams cascading into the sea in silver streaks. As they drew closer to Flores they could see clouds of wheeling sea-birds, gulls, petrels and auks, though the officers' glasses were focused not on these aerial denizens, but the few white buildings that formed the port of Santa Cruz. It was something of a disappointment.

'Stap me, but it don't amount to much,' remarked Hyde, voicing the opinion of them all.

Below, Drinkwater completed his preparations. Having washed, shaved and dressed his hair, he eased himself into his undress uniform coat and sat at his desk. Drawing a sheet of paper from his folio, he took up his steel pen, opened the inkwell, inscribed the date and began to write.

Drinkwater paused and re-read his epistle with an amused smile. He had invoked every phrase at his command to alert the Governor of the gravity of the reason for Andromeda's presence off Flores. The long alliance of Great Britain and Portugal, which relied upon several treaties, the first of which dated from as far back as 1373, but the most recent of which was that known as the Methuen Treaty of 1707, had been underwritten by the successes of Wellington's Anglo-Portuguese army which had been fighting in the Iberian Peninsula for six years.

He decided he could add little more, other than a courtesy or two, and concluded the letter:

Ensuring the ink was dry, Drinkwater folded the letter, sealed it and added the superscription. Then he left the cabin, jamming his hat upon his head as he did so.

'Hoist the new colours, if you please,' he ordered as he reached the deck, casting about him. The ship seethed with people; two watches were on deck, as were many of those who might have been below. Upon the quarterdeck the blue and white of the officers contrasted with Hyde's immaculate scarlet, a pretty enough picture with the blue sea and sky as a backdrop astern. Ahead loomed the island, the northern extremity of which, Punta Delgada, was stark against the horizon, while its summit, the Morro Alto, was lost in its streamer of cloud.

Santa Cruz proved a tiny, rock-girt inlet, its few buildings dominated by the baroque tower of the church of Sao Pedro. The tiny habitation was surrounded by the brilliant green of vegetation which refreshed eyes tired of the ocean. This verdure was interspersed by the brilliant colours of a profusion of flowers, the red and yellow of canna lilies, the orange of montbretia and the blue of agapanthus. Amid this almost pastoral scene, a flagstaff bore the blue and white standard of the House of Braganga, a gallant complement to the new red ensign of the senior squadron of the Royal Navy of Great Britain which streamed from Andromeda's peak.

'I've the saluting guns ready, sir,' offered Marlowe.

'Very good, Mr Marlowe. We shall give the Governor seventeen guns. You may commence as soon as we lay the main tops'l against the mast.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Drinkwater nodded to Birkbeck. 'You have the con, Mr Birkbeck?'

'Aye, sir.'

'Bring her to off the mole, if you please.'

'Aye, aye, sir'

'Have you seen Ashton?'

'Here, sir.' Drinkwater turned to see the third lieutenant hurriedly pulling a tarpaulin around him. Such was the bustling mood of the morning that even Ashton looked a happier man.

'Ah, Mr Ashton, is the launch ready?'

'Yes sir. We have but to bend on the falls when we heave-to.'

'You are victualled for two days?'

'In accordance with your orders, sir.'

'Very well. Now pay attention. I have here a letter to be passed to the Alcaid, or Governor of the island. Do you ensure that the man to whom you pass this is the senior civil authority at Santa Cruz, do you understand?'

'Yes, sir.' Ashton frowned, taking the letter.

'Is something the matter, Mr Ashton?'

'Sir, with respect, the letter, is it in English?'

'Of course. Why do you ask?'

'Well, sir, I don't wish to sound impertinent, but will these dagoes understand it? I mean,' Ashton added hurriedly, 'I mean the matter is of considerable importance.'

'These dagoes, as you call 'em, Mr Ashton, are Portuguese, the oldest allies of our Sovereign. They have traded with us for years and if the Governor himself does not speak and read English, which I am confident he does, there will be a British vice-consul who will command the language as well as you or I.'

Ashton nodded. 'Very well, sir.'

'Now, I have asked if Bonaparte has arrived on the island, and whether any strange ships have been seen lying off the island. You should press this point particularly and bring me the answer.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

'Very well. I have provisioned the boat for two days in case anything should miscarry. I shall lie-to hereabouts until you return, but if for any reason you are delayed, keep your men in the boat and ensure the marine sergeant understands that. I don't want British tars running loose among the women and producing a crop of Andromedas and Perseuses nine months hence!'

'I understand, sir.'

'Very well. Good fortune.' Ashton touched the fore-cock of his hat and turned away. 'Mr Birkbeck!' Drinkwater called. 'You may heave her to!'

'Aye, aye, sir!'

'Mr Marlowe! You may commence the salute!'

His Britannic Majesty's frigate Andromeda turned in a lazy circle, her bowsprit describing an arc of some two hundred degrees against the sky as her compass card spun from a heading of south-west by west, through north, to east, her yards swinging in their parrels, as the fore and mizen yards were braced for the port tack and her main mast spars left to fall aback. On the forecastle the battery of stubby carronades barked at precise, five-second intervals, paying respects to the Governor of Flores who, Drinkwater hoped, had been alerted to the presence of a British man-of-war offshore. Each unshotted discharge emitted a grey smoke-ring from which the quick-eyed caught sight of the fragments of wadding whirled into the sea.

As the last gun fell silent, Andromeda lay stopped across the wind and sea. To starboard the sea flattened in the lee thus formed and with the yard and stay tackles hooked on, the falls manned and set tight, the heavy white carvel launch lifted from the chocks. She was already manned and, as the men stamped away with the ropes, she began her slow traverse across the deck with her weight taken on the yard tackles and walked back on the stays.

Drinkwater, having given this operation a swift appraisal, had his glass focused once more upon the flagstaff. His expectations were disappointed, for no reciprocating spurt of yellow flame with its lingering cloud of powder-smoke responded to the British salute. Well, he thought, pocketing the glass, he should not complain, perhaps the place was undefended; it certainly amounted to very little. Moreover, Andromeda was plainly only a private ship and wore nothing at her mastheads but her pendant, and she was a rather old and worn out one, at that!

Echoing his thoughts, the ship trembled as the mass of the laden boat vibrated the stays. This was transmitted to the masts and thus to the keel itself.

'Interesting to sound the well after this,' Drinkwater said to Birkbeck.

'I'm damned if I can find that leak, sir. I've had the linings out, the ceiling lifted and restowed God knows how many tiers of barrels, barricoes and hogsheads. Damn it, you'd think that with the ship more than three-quarters empty of stores the matter would be easy ...'

'Nothing in life is easy, Mr Birkbeck, nothing at all,' Drinkwater said soulfully.

'Except begetting brats and earning a woman's bad opinion!' grumbled Birkbeck.

"Pon my word, Mr Birkbeck, I thought you more of a philosopher than that,' Drinkwater laughed, thinking of his own orders to Ashton regarding the conduct of the boat's crew.

'After crawling around that confounded hold, I'd challenge Plato himself to philosophize. Hey! Easy there on that main yard tackle, you'll have them all thrown out of the boat! Beg pardon, sir.'

'Not at all. There, they are afloat now'

Andromeda, which had been listing as the launch reached the outboard extremity of its traverse and hung suspended above the sea, now recoiled from her forsaken burden. The launch had been lowered so that with a resounding smack the sea had embraced its long hull. A moment later her crew had cast off the falls and these had been recovered. Tossing oars, the launch's bowman bore off and the heavy boat was manoeuvred clear of the frigate's tumblehome. Then her oars were being plied energetically, and with Ashton sitting in the stern and Midshipman Paine standing at the tiller, she was headed gallantly for the shore, a red ensign at her stern and the scarlet of Sergeant McCann's marines a bright spot against the velvet blue of the Atlantic.

All hands on deck lingered to watch the launch diminish as it drew off towards the rock-strewn inlet. Beside Drinkwater, Marlowe had come aft and taken up his glass again.

'I can see masts and yards beyond those rocks, sir,' he observed. A brig, by the look of her. Certainly no squadron.'

'D'you see an ensign?' asked Drinkwater, fishing for his own glass, extending it and levelling it against a backstay.

'There's some bunting hanging up, but it's blowing away from us. Looks like red and white ... No, I can't say for sure, sir.'

'Well, no matter, Ashton's almost there now; we'll know soon enough.' Drinkwater closed his glass again. 'Where's Mr Birkbeck?'

'Gone below sir, to check the well,' said Frey. 'I have the ship, sir.'

Drinkwater nodded. 'Very well, Mr Frey. By the bye, have you broken your fast yet?'

Frey shook his head. 'I can wait a little longer.'

'You may have to wait some hours. Here, Mr Marlowe, do you take the deck. Frey, join me for some breakfast.'

Drinkwater looked at the first lieutenant. Marlowe had gone pale. 'Come, come, Mr Marlowe, 'tis nothing. Send for a sextant and subtend the height of the peak and the shore. If the arc grows quickly, you will mark the rate at which the ship drifts inshore. Should you get an increase of say one eighth in an hour, brace up and stand offshore. I shall only be below.'

Marlowe swallowed and nodded. 'Aye, aye, sir,' he acknowledged, glancing anxiously at the white-fringed reefs surrounding Santa Cruz.

Turning, Drinkwater led Frey below. 'How does a man become a first luff with such a nervous disposition?' he asked himself, pitying poor Marlowe and wondering if his confidence might not have been misplaced after all. The last thing he saw of Marlowe was him sending a midshipman below for his sextant.

Breakfast in the cabin was enjoyed in silence. Frey was tired after his long watch and Drinkwater, having relinquished the deck, was now filled with anxiety. However, when the noise of stamping feet and the changed motion of the ship revealed Marlowe had decided to get under weigh, Drinkwater relaxed.

'He'll be all right, sir,' Frey said.

'I hope you are right.'

As Drinkwater poured a second cup of coffee, Marlowe put Andromeda on the port tack, standing offshore to the northward.

'There you are, sir. I told you so.'

Drinkwater stared astern out through the stern windows to where Santa Cruz appeared like a picture in a slide show.

'I believe you are right, Mr Frey.'

Frey smiled. 'A pretty sight, don't you think?' he asked, adding 'Flores means the island of flowers.'

Drinkwater smiled. 'You are certainly well informed. I wonder if Bonaparte will find the view so congenial? Will you make a painting of it?'

Frey nodded. 'Perhaps.'

'I admire the skill, but why d'you do it? I mean it's charming and a delight, and something to mark the occasion, but the effort surely outweighs the advantages.'

Frey grinned. 'To be sure; but it is no rational matter. One is compelled to do it.'

'Compelled? D'you mean to say you are not a rational creature?' Drinkwater asked with a grin.

'If you mean by that question, am I unmoved by reason? No, of course not, but if you mean do I submit upon occasion to some inner prompting? Then yes, I do. We think we are rational beings, attributing our actions to logical thought, but consider sir, we feel first and often act upon our feelings. Our thoughts arise from our feelings ...'

'You mean our emotions dominate our thinking?'

'Oh, yes, most certainly; but what makes us rational is that we can think about our emotions. It is from this response that the urge to paint or draw comes.'

'Then your artistic achievement is no more than an urge to copy.'

'To record, perhaps to reproduce, but no more. I make no claim to be a great artist.'

Drinkwater felt the conversation touched a raw nerve. Had his own thinking been too much influenced by his emotions? The possibility made him shudder inwardly.

They might have discussed this longer had not a peremptory knock announced the arrival of Midshipman Dunn.

'Yes, Mr Dunn?' asked Drinkwater, wondering what problem Marlowe had conjured up for himself.

'There's a ship, sir, bearing down towards us from the north-east.'

'Colours?'

'Can't see yet, sir.'

Drinkwater shot a quick glance at Frey. 'The Antwerp squadron?'

Frey shrugged. 'No peace for the wicked,' he muttered.

'Very well, Mr Dunn. Have Mr Marlowe clear for action!'

'You fear the worst?' said Frey, hauling himself wearily to his feet.

Drinkwater gave a short laugh. 'I'm just following my feelings, Mr Frey!'

CHAPTER 11 Diplomacy

Mr Ashton lost sight of the ship sooner than those aboard Andromeda saw him disappear behind the outer reef of exposed rocks. At sea level, among the tossing wave crests, with his mind cast ahead on the coming hours, apart from a single glance astern to see the frigate's hull behind a rearing sea and only her topsails and upper masts visible, he gave her no thought at all. To say he was puffed up with the importance of his mission would be only a half-truth, for as is common with men of his stamp, it went against the grain to assume even delegated gravity from a man whom one despised. On the other hand, while in the politest society Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater might be regarded as de trop, Lieutenant Ashton knew well enough that while at sea, the commander of a British man-of-war possessed a degree of power not given to many. He was, therefore, in something of a quandary, half wishing to inflate himself, yet concerned that since he was not Captain Drinkwater's favourite, he had been sent upon this mission for reasons as yet unclear to him.

However, the effort of the seamen at the oars as they lent forward, then heaved backwards, was testimony enough to the fact that he had been entrusted with an independent task. He cast a quick look at Sergeant McCann and his lobsters, sitting bolt upright, their plumed billycocks foursquare upon their heads and their muskets between their gaitered knees. Then he transferred his attention to Paine. The lad was standing up, leaning on the big tiller as he strove to keep the heavy launch from broaching.

'Take her in beyond the reef, Mr Paine,' Ashton said self-importantly, 'and then we shall find some sort of a landing, I daresay'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Ashton felt a little more composed after this brief exchange; he had finally decided that the importance of his mission overrode personal considerations. As if echoing this sentiment, Mr Paine gave a little cough and said, 'May I ask something, sir?'

'What is it?' Ashton responded expansively.

'This island ...'

'Is Flores, Mr Paine, westernmost of the Azores.'

'I know, sir,' replied Paine, concealing his irritation at being patronized, 'but is it where they are going to keep Boney?'

'Yes,' replied Ashton, looking again at the volcanic mass of the mountainous interior and the vegetation clinging in profusion to its lower slopes. 'Once here, the world will forget him.'

'Wasn't it Prometheus who was chained to a rock, sir?'

Ashton felt this chatty atmosphere was not one to be encouraged, especially as his knowledge of Greek mythology was sketchy. 'I daresay, Mr Paine, it might well have been ...'

'It was, sir.' The voice was Sergeant McCann's, and he added conversationally, 'And so too was Andromeda, chained to a rock by her mother who was jealous of her beauty — a curious conjunction, seeing as how the ship is so named ...'

'And it was Perseus who released her,' Paine added enthusiastically, 'then fell in love with her and ...'

'Hold your damned tongues, the pair of you!' snapped Ashton, aware that matters had got out of hand. The man at stroke oar was grinning. 'And what's the matter with you? Wipe that foolish smile off your face, or I'll see to it with the cat later.' The man's face changed to a dark and sullen anger. 'What's your name?' Ashton asked.

'Shaw,' muttered the stroke oarsman.

'Shaw, eh. Well mind your manners, Shaw.' And Ashton, having established his position, leaned back in the stern of the now silent boat and contemplated the surge of white water about the approaching reef and the little brig beyond it. The hiss and slop of the following sea, the creak of thole pins, the faint grunts of the oarsmen and the splash of the oar-blades were now the only sounds to accompany his contemplation. Fifteen long minutes later, the launch swept inside the reef and into its shelter. The tiny anchorage opened up ahead of them, and beyond a strip of beach, the town, which was no more than a village.

Within the embrace of the rocks lay the brig, moored stem and stern, while some brightly painted fishing craft were drawn up on the beach beyond. Several of these were the slender canoas which the Azoreans used to hunt whales offshore. As the launch swept past the brig, a few curious faces stared down at them.

'Look out, boys,' someone aboard the brig shouted, 'the fooking press-gang's here!'

'Damned impertinence,' growled Ashton, while a curious Paine caught the name Mary Digby and the port of registry of Sunderland upon her stern.

There were a few idlers on the beach, too, some gathered about the fishing boats, others with lines running offshore. They were all watching the launch run in towards the beach. One man shouted something, though their ignorance of Portuguese prevented them from knowing whether it was a greeting or a complaint that Paine had carried away a hook and line.

'We must land on the beach,' Ashton pronounced.

'Aye, aye, sir,' said Paine quickly, leaning on the tiller to head the launch directly for the half-moon of sand.

'Oars.' The men ceased pulling, their oars rising horizontally while they lay on the looms and caught their breath. The momentum of the launch carried it in a final glide towards the beach.

'Toss oars!' The double-banked oars rose unsteadily to the vertical and Paine gave the final order that had them lowered, blades forward, with a dull clatter. A moment later the launch scrunched upon the sharp-smelling volcanic sand. The bowman leaped ashore with the painter. He was followed by the two men at the forward oars and the trio heaved the boat a little higher as a low swell followed her and broke upon the beach.

Lieutenant Ashton looked at them and then at Paine. 'Are you proposing to land me or the boat's crew, Mr Paine?' he asked sarcastically.

'Heave her up a little more,' Paine ordered, blushing.

'No, no, no,' expostulated Ashton, 'there's no need for all that.' The lieutenant rose with the petulant air of a man put out on another's behalf, and stepped up on the aftermost thwart. The two oarsmen seated there drew aside. One of them was Shaw, the sailor whom Ashton had threatened to flog, and he glared up at Ashton, but Ashton did not notice. He clambered forward over successive thwarts, the oarsmen drawing aside for him. Stepping momentarily on the gunwhale, he jumped ashore, but turned and slipped on the bladder-wrack. He half-fell, but caught himself and, while his coat tail dangled in the wet and slithery seaweed that lay on the tideline, he avoided besmirching his white breeches.

'Damnation!' he swore. The boat's crew to a man, looked out across the harbour as though the view was unsurpassable. One or two shoulders shook with what might have been mirth, but Ashton was staring at Paine whose face was almost contorted in the effort of self-control. 'Mr Paine, the boat's crew are to remain aboard. Sergeant McCann, you may land two sentinels.'

Ashton brushed the sand from his hands, turned about and began to ascend the sloping beach. He was met by an officer in the brown tunic of a regiment of caçadores.

'Welcome to Flores, sir,' the swarthy officer said pleasantly in good English.

'Er, obliged, I'm sure,' mumbled the astonished Ashton.

The Portuguese officer smiled. 'I am Lieutenant Da Silva. I served in Spain with General Wellesley. At Talavera,' Da Silva added as Ashton appeared even more perplexed, but the penny dropped and Ashton took the proferred hand, aware that it and his right cuff were mucky from contact with the wet wrack on the sand. Serve the dago right, Ashton thought venomously, but he smiled as he responded to the vigorous shake of the Portuguese officer's hand. 'I have a message for the Governor — the Alcaid," he added pompously.

'Yes, of course,' Da Silva replied, indicating the way. 'Please come with me.'

'Can you make out her colours, Mr Frey?' Drinkwater's voice betrayed his anxiety as he fumbled in his tail-pocket, extended the Dollond glass and clapped it to his right eye. He swore at the difficulty of bringing the strange ship into focus and hoped Frey's sharper eyes would spot the ensign.

'No, sir, hidden behind the tops'ls.'

'Damnation,' Drinkwater hissed under his breath.

'Sir ...' Frey spoke slowly, 'there's something familiar about her...'

For a moment Drinkwater's glass captured the image of the approaching ship which left an impression upon his retina. He instantly agreed with Frey and they simultaneously identified her: 'It's that Russian frigate ... What's its confounded name?'

'The Gremyashchi!'

'What the devil's she doing here?' Drinkwater asked no one in particular, lowering his glass, his heart suddenly hammering in his breast. But he already knew the answer, just as Marlowe ran up, two fingers to the fore-cock of his hat.

'Cleared for action, sir!' he reported, staring over Drinkwater's shoulder at the approaching ship foaming towards them, running before the persisting north-easter. 'That's that Russian we sailed from Dover with!' he said.

'Aye, it is ... Nevertheless, it's as well to take no chances,' Drinkwater remarked obscurely, trying to think tactically. It was enough that Captain Rakov was here, off the Azores; the reason why could wait. 'Very well, gentlemen. Mr Birkbeck, do you bring the ship onto the larboard tack, then heave-to athwart her hawse ...'

'Aye, aye, sir!'

'Mr Frey, you shall run out the starboard battery when I give the word. Load single ball. Mr Marlowe, be so kind as to have the fore-castle carronades loaded with powder only. We shall,' Drinkwater paused a moment and braced himself as, under Birkbeck's orders, Andromeda turned away from her easterly course and swung to the north-north-west, to sail at an approximate right angle to the Russian frigate's course. He turned to Birkbeck: 'Ten minutes should see us close enough ...'

'Aye, sir,' acknowleged the master.

'We shall', Drinkwater resumed, 'fire the unshotted carronades to bring her to. If she runs down any more I intend to cripple her, Mr Frey, aim high and knock her sticks about.'

'Aye, aye, sir!'

'Sir, I...' Marlowe's face wore an expression of grave concern.

'Not now, Mr Marlowe,' Drinkwater said dismissively 'To your posts, gentlemen, to you posts,' and seeing Marlowe hesitate, Drinkwater rubbed his hands and added, 'Briskly now, briskly!'

Marlowe shrugged, turned on his heel and ran forward along the starboard gangway. Birkbeck caught Drinkwater's eye and the latter raised his eyebrow; Birkbeck smiled and turned back to watch the approaching ship.

Drinkwater raised his glass again. He could see it was the Gremyashchi now, the figurehead of Mars the god of war clearly identified her, and her aspect was opening so that he could just see the white flag with its dark blue diagonal cross fluttering beyond the leech of the main topsail. As Andromeda gathered speed on her new tack, the fly of the Russian ensign was again occluded behind the bellying sail. He lowered his telescope a fraction and could just make out a dark gaggle of officers on her quarterdeck.

A flurry of activity could be seen on the Gremyashchi's deck and the straining main course seemed to belly even more, losing its driving power as the sheets were slacked off and then the big sail rose to the yard under the tug of the buntlines and the clew garnets.

Was Rakov clewing up in order to give battle, or merely to exchange pleasantries?

'Now sir?' asked an equally anxious Birkbeck.

'Now is as good a time as ever,' Drinkwater said, coolly, feigning indifference, and Birkbeck's voice rang out with the order to 'clew up both courses and heave her to'. A moment later, Andromeda's main yards were braced round and their sails curved back against the mast, bringing the British frigate to a gently pitching standstill. Drinkwater drew in his breath and hailed the forecastle.

'Mr Marlowe! Fire!'

The carronades forward gave their short, imperative bark. The cloud of powder smoke blew back over the deck, carrying its sharp stench to the quarterdeck. The Russian ship was now some seven or eight cables away, broad on the starboard bow and Drinkwater scrutinized her, eager to see what the Russian commander would do in response.

For several minutes the Gremyashchi continued to bear down on them, seemingly contemptuous of the smaller British frigate almost in her track.

'Run out the guns!'

Drinkwater's order was carried to the gun-deck below and he could feel the rumbles of the gun-tracks as their iron-shod wheels carried the black muzzles out through the ports. Drinkwater could imagine the scene below decks with Frey eagerly dancing up and down the line of guns, urging them spiked round on the target; their crews would be straining on tackles, their gun-captains spinning the breech screws to elevate the muzzles. As they completed their exertions, the gasping crews would squat, kneel or crouch beside the monsters they served, the captains kneeling behind the line of guns, squinting along their brute length, the flint-lock lanyards taut in their left hands, their right hands held up so that Frey could see them report their cannon ready.

Less than half a mile now separated the Gremyashchi from Andromeda. The Russian continued to bear down before the wind under topsails and topgallants, her dark brown sides as yet unbroken by open ports. Then a brief white cloud appeared on her port bow and hung for a moment, running along with the Russian ship and gradually dispersing as the noise of the discharge was blown down towards the waiting Andromeda.

The closed gun-ports seemed to signal an acceptance of Andromeda's right to dictate terms, for a moment later she sheered away to starboard, heeling over as her yards were braced sharply round and she settled on a course to the north-north-west, parallel to Andromeda's heading.

'She's making off,' said a surprised Birkbeck. Drinkwater was raking the Russian ship with his telescope. The Gremyashchi was broadside onto them now and he could see her mizen mast clearly, with her blue and white colours at the spanker peak.

'By God, do you look at that!' It was Hyde, whose scarlet nonchalance had graced the quarterdeck since clearing for action. All along the Gremyashchi's port side, the gun ports opened and she too bared her fangs, despite the leeward heel. Then, in a ragged attempt at simultaneity, Rakov, whose figure Drinkwater had located standing hat-in-hand upon her rail, discharged his guns. The shots raised a line of splashes ahead of the hove-to Andromeda.

And what is all that about?' Hyde asked.

In the glass Drinkwater saw Rakov wave his hat flamboyantly above his head and jump back down on to his own quarterdeck. 'That, Mr Hyde, is to let us know we did not intimidate him.' Drinkwater pocketed the telescope and called his messenger. 'Mr Dunn! Be so kind as to tell Mr Frey to run in the starboard battery and secure the guns. He will have to draw all charges.'

'Run in the guns and draw all charges, aye, aye, sir.'

'We cannot afford to waste any powder or shot,' he remarked to Birkbeck as the master came across the deck from the binnacle.

'D'you wish to run back towards Santa Cruz, sir?'

Drinkwater cast another look at the Gremyashchi. Her stern was square onto them now and there was little sign of her manoeuvring again. A nasty suspicion was forming in Drinkwater's mind. He nodded at the master. 'Yes, if you please.'

Marlowe came aft as the rumbling and vibration in their boot soles told where the 12-pounders below were being run in again.

'He's off after other quarry by the look of it, I'd say, sir.'

'My guess exactly, Frederic,' Drinkwater concurred.

'Looking for what you call the Antwerp squadron, d'you think?'

Drinkwater nodded. 'I cannot think of any other reason for his being here.'

'That rather shortens the odds against us, then.'

'Yes,' said Drinkwater, as the main yards were hauled round parallel with those on the fore and mizen masts and Andromeda began to gather headway again. 'Yes, it may well do if he has orders to engage us. He certainly wasn't about to hang about and parley'

For a moment both men stood side by side, watching the exertions of the men at the braces, trimming the yards almost square across the ship as Andromeda answered her helm and swung to port, to run downwind again, heading for Flores which loomed five miles away.

'On the other hand,' mused Drinkwater, 'we are supposed to be allies.'

'Those shots across our bow didn't look very friendly,' laughed Marlowe ruefully.

'No, they didn't, but Rakov might have been trying to cow us.'

'Why should he do that, sir?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Drinkwater replied wearily, unwilling to explain to Marlowe the hostility he had felt from the Russian when Rakov discovered he was the British officer responsible for the destruction of the Suvorov. 'It's just a feeling I have,' he added conciliatorily, seeing Frey come up from the gun-deck. 'Perhaps another time, Mr Frey.'

'I rather hope not, sir: they were 18-pounders at least.'

The knot of officers laughed a trifle uneasily. 'Poor old Ashton,' remarked Hyde. 'He's missed all the fun.'

Lieutenant Da Silva had conducted Ashton to the Governor's undistinguished residence where the British officer was received with every courtesy including a glass of wine. Da Silva introduced the Governor, Dom Miguel Gaspar Viera Batata, his secretary, whose name appeared to be Soares, and a tall thin man in a black worsted suit, silver buckled shoes and the elegant affectations of an English fop.

The Englishman introduced himself. 'I am Edmund Gilbert, Mr Ashton, British consul at Angra. By good fortune I am visiting Dom Batata at this time.' Ashton had no idea where Angra was, but his bow was elegant enough and it took them all in.

'Your servant, gentlemen. Lieutenant Josiah Ashton of His Britannic Majesty's frigate Andromeda, gentlemen, Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater commanding.' He took Drinkwater's letter from his breast and handed it to Batata.

'Thank you, Lieutenant.' Batata took the letter, slit the wafer and began to read while Soares served the wine. When he had finished reading, Batata passed the letter to Gilbert who blew his gaunt cheeks out and expelled his breath slowly, as if this was an essential accompaniment to the process.

'Well, well, well,' he concluded, refolding the letter and returning it to Batata who passed it directly to Soares.

'May I... ?' Gilbert sought the Governor's permission which was granted by a grave nod of Batata's head. 'Do I gather from this missive, Lieutenant... I beg your pardon, sir, I have forgotten ...'

'Ashton, Mr Gilbert,' Ashton prompted quickly, colouring uncertainly.

'Yes, yes. Well, Mr Ashton, do I infer your commander, Nathaniel What's-his-name, believes Napoleon Bonaparte is to be exiled here, on the island of Flores.'

'Yes, sir,' replied Ashton, slightly mollified by Gilbert's inability to remember Drinkwater's name and accepting a refill of his glass from Soares, 'if he ain't here already'

'Here? Already? 'Pon my soul, Mr Ashton, this is the first hint we've heard that Napoleon Bonaparte ain't, as you say, Emperor of the French!'

'He has abdicated, gentlemen,' Ashton explained, inflated by his assumption of the role of harbinger.

'You are our winged Mercury' Gilbert echoed Ashton's thoughts with a thin smile.

'King Louis has returned to France.'

'Then the war is over?' asked Batata.

'Indeed yes, sir. In Europe, at least.'

'Ah yes, your country is still at war with the Americans. Now these other ships, Lieutenant, we have no knowledge of them, have we?' Gilbert shrugged and a query to his secretary by Batata produced a negative shrug from Soares. Batata turned back to Ashton. 'We have no knowledge of any other ships other than merchantmen ...'

'And is there no news at all in the archipelago, of preparations for the reception of Bonaparte, gentlemen?' Ashton asked as Soares bent over his glass again.

Batata shrugged and shook his head. Gilbert was more emphatic.

'I have heard nothing on Terceira and am certain we should have done by now, if such a thing was meditated.'

'Very well,' Ashton bowed, 'thank you for your time, gentlemen. I am sorry to have troubled you.'

'It is no trouble, Lieutenant,' Dom Batata said.

Gilbert addressed the Governor in fluent Portuguese and Batata nodded in agreement, then Gilbert turned to Ashton. 'Mr Ashton, I have been here for ten days attending to some business with the master of the brig Mary Digby of Sunderland. If your Captain Drinkwater would condescend to convey me back to Angra, we could quickly ascertain if the packet from Lisbon has brought orders relevant to the fate of Bonaparte.'

'Well, sir, I suppose Captain Drinkwater will have no objection...'

'Good, then the matter is settled. Give me a quarter of an hour, and I shall be with you.'

Da Silva accompanied Ashton and Gilbert back to the beach, with two servants bearing between them Mr Gilbert's portmanteau. As they approached the boat, Ashton noticed two of the launch's seamen sauntering ahead of them, each carrying a canvas bag.

'If you will excuse me, Mr Gilbert, I will just get on ahead and prepare the boat for you.' Ashton preferred the excuse and, without waiting for a reply, walked briskly on. A moment later he overtook the two seamen, one of whom he recognized as the launch's stroke oarsmen.

'Shaw!' he called and the man turned round as Ashton hurried up. 'Shaw, what the bloody hell d'you think you are doing out of the boat?'

'We was sent up by, er ...'

'Went to get fresh bread, sir,' the other man said, holding up one of the canvas bags.

'Who the devil said you could leave the boat?'

'Well, sir, we only sent to get bread, sir, had a tarpaulin muster and reckoned we could afford a few loaves...'

'Let me see in those bags.'

'It's only bread, sir ...'

'Let me see, damn you!' Furious, Ashton pulled the loaves out and hurled them into the water.

'Sir! We paid for them!'

'Aye and you paid for these too, I daresay!' Ashton triumphantly drew two bottles from the bottom of the bag and turned to Shaw. 'Empty yours too,' he commanded.

'Sir!' Shaw protested.

'Empty it, damn you and be quick!' Ashton was aware of Gilbert approaching as Shaw upended the bag. Four richly smelling and warm loaves fell out and two green bottles followed. One hit a stone and smashed with a tinkle, staining the sand with wine. Ashton kicked both loaves and broken glass into the water where screaming gulls were already congregating round the floating debris of the first lot of bread. He hurled the two remaining bottles after them while the fishermen tending an adjacent canoa, watched in astonished silence.

'Now get back to the boat and be damned quick about it!' Ashton hissed. He turned as nonchalantly as he could as Gilbert came up to him.

'Trouble, Lieutenant?'

'Not really, Mr Gilbert. Not what I'd call trouble.'

'And what would you call trouble, Lieutenant Ashton?' asked Gilbert, spurning the broken neck of one of the bottles with his foot, and looking at the ravenous gulls tearing the loaves apart, their wings beating with the fury of their assault on the abandoned bread.

'Oh, I don't know,' Ashton said, utterly discomfited.

'I suppose finding Bonaparte sitting on Terceira would be trouble of a real nature, don't you think?' offered Gilbert.

'I suppose it would, yes.'

They had reached the boat by then, and Shaw and his mate were resuming their places as oarsmen. Midshipman Paine who had obviously been dozing in the stern-sheets with his hat over his eyes, stirred himself at the commotion in the boat, for Shaw was clearly explaining what had happened, and the boat's crew were staring over their shoulders, sullen and resentful.

'Mr Paine, let us have a hand here, to get this gear aboard.' The two marines posted as sentries came forward. One was Sergeant McCann. As two seamen came out of the boat to pass Gilbert's portmanteau along, Ashton drew McCann aside. 'Sergeant, I thought I made it quite clear that the boat's crew were not permitted to leave the launch?' he asked furiously.

McCann looked down at the lieutenant's hand on his arm and remained silent. 'Sergeant, don't you trifle with me, damn you. You heard what I said.' He shook McCann's arm, barely able to control himself.

'You ordered the boat's crew to remain with the boat, sir, but Mr Paine gave permission for two delegates to nip ashore for some food. The men had brought a little money, d'you see, sir.'

'Sergeant,' insisted Ashton, hissing into McCann's face, 'they had purchased liquor ...'

'They were not alone, then, Mr Ashton,' McCann snarled, his temper fraying to match the sea-officer's, as he caught the whiff of Ashton's breath.

'I shall have you flogged for your impudence, McCann, when I get you back aboard! Now get in the boat, you damned Yankee bugger.'

McCann coloured; for a moment he contemplated responding, thought better of it and shut his mouth. Then he turned on his heel, nodded to the private soldier to precede him and clambered over the gunwhale.

'All sorted out now?' asked Gilbert matter-of-factly, with his thin, supercilious smile.

'Do mind yourself on the thwarts, Mr Gilbert,' Ashton replied equivocally, waving the consul into the boat.

'After you, my dear fellow.'

'Convention demands you go first, Mr Gilbert.'

'Does it now. Well we had better not flout convention then, had we?'

Five minutes later, the launch was pulling clear of the reef, leaving the harbour in comparative peace, for the gulls had destroyed the loaves and only a few continued to quarrel over the last remnants. As for the watching fishermen, they shook their heads in incredulous wonder and resumed their work.

CHAPTER 12 A Matter of Discipline

The recovery of the launch proved a tediously tricky business in the lively sea running off Flores, despite the lee made by the ship. While Marlowe and Birkbeck struggled with the heavy boat, Drinkwater surveyed his unexpected passenger who had scrambled up the ship's side after Ashton. Clearly Mr Gilbert, whatever else he was, was a nimble fellow, not unfamiliar with ships.

'You wish for a passage to Terceira, Mr Gilbert?' Drinkwater asked, after the ritual of introduction.

Gilbert nodded. 'In case word has arrived there concerning Bonaparte,' the British consul tersely replied.

'Yes, yes, I understand, sir, but my orders indicate he will be brought to Flores,' said Drinkwater, stretching the truth to buttress his argument, 'and I fear if I abandon this station,' he paused and shrugged, 'well, who knows?'

Gilbert frowned. 'But you are here to guard him, are you not?' and then Gilbert's quick intellect grasped the import of Ashton's questions about other men-of-war in the offing. Ah, you are expecting other ships, ships which might interfere with the arrangements for the accommodation of Boney'

It was said as a statement of fact and Drinkwater nodded. 'There is, I understand,' he replied, 'a conspiracy afoot in France to have him taken to Canada ...'

Gilbert's eyebrows rose in comprehension. 'Dear God!' he murmured.

'I see you are as apprehensive as I am.'

'Quite so ...'

Both men remained a moment in silence, then Drinkwater suggested, 'I can have you put ashore again here.'

Gilbert shook his head. 'I should really return to Angra.' He paused, then added, 'May I take your boat? She will make the passage under sail, I daresay?' he looked at the launch somewhat dubiously.

'It must be upwards of forty leagues . . .'

'No matter, your boat is up to it.' Drinkwater looked askance at Gilbert; he was clearly a man of resilience and resolution. In the waist the launch was swinging slowly across the ship to its chocks on the booms. 'Very well,' Drinkwater agreed, 'she is provisioned for two days, perhaps you will be kind enough to replenish her when you arrive; we are precious short of stores. Some fruit would be most welcome,' he said, and raising his voice he called, 'Mr Marlowe! Have the launch put back in the water!' Drinkwater ignored the moment's hesitation and the sudden irritated stares of the labouring seamen who were quickly ordered to reverse their efforts; he summoned Ashton.

'Mr Ashton, run down to my cabin and take a look at the chart on my desk. A course for Terceira; you may take Mr Gilbert back to Angra in the launch.'

'Sir, if I might suggest something.'

'Well, what is it?'

Ashton edged round to attempt to exclude Gilbert from his remark to the captain. 'I should like to lay a formal charge against Sergeant McCann.'

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Mr Ashton, now is hardly the moment. What has Sergeant McCann done?'

'Disobeyed my orders, sir,' Ashton hissed intensely.

Drinkwater felt a great weariness overcome him; he was tired of these minor problems, tired of Ashton and the whole confounded pack of these contentious and troublesome men. He was tempted to consign Ashton to the devil, but mastered this intemperate and dangerous instinct; instead he caught sight of Lieutenant Hyde and called him over.

'Mr Hyde, Mr Ashton here says that Sergeant McCann disobeyed his orders.' He turned to Ashton. 'Perhaps you would tell us how this occurred.'

'I left orders that no one was to leave the boat while I waited upon the Governor. Upon my return I found two men had defied me and been into the town ...'

'Two men, d'you say?' Drinkwater asked.

'Yes, and ...'

'To what purpose did these two men go into town?' Drinkwater persisted.

'That is the point, sir, they had been into town and purchased liquor.'

'What liquor?' Hyde asked.

'What does it matter what liquor? They had disobeyed my orders and left the boat...'

'Were sentries posted?' Hyde pressed.

'Yes, of course, under your Sergeant McCann ...'

'But Sergeant McCann was only in charge of the marines. Who commanded the boat?'

'Well, Midshipman Paine.'

'Then why isn't he in the soup?'

'I think we should have a word with Midshipman Paine,' broke in Drinkwater. 'Be so kind as to send for him.'

It took a few moments to fish Paine back out of the launch which was now bobbing alongside again. He reported to the trio of grave-faced officers on the quarterdeck and was asked for an explanation.

'Whilst you lay in Santa Cruz, Mr Paine, were you not aware that Mr Ashton had given orders to the effect that no one should go ashore?' Drinkwater asked.

'Well, sir,' Paine replied, 'yes and no ...'

'What the devil ... ?' began Ashton, but Drinkwater put out a hand to stop him going further.

'That is too equivocating, sir,' Drinkwater said, his voice hard and level. 'Kindly explain yourself

'Well, sir, I understood Mr Ashton to have said that the boat's crew were not to go ashore. When Shaw asked me if, on behalf of the men, he and Ticknell might not run up to the town to buy some fresh bread, I consulted Sergeant McCann and he felt that it would not be contrary to the spirit of your orders if just two men went. The boat's crew had a tarpaulin muster ...'

'What d'you mean ''would not be contrary to the spirit of my orders"?' demanded Ashton, 'you knew damned well I meant no one could go ashore.'

Paine stood his ground. 'I understood you did not want shore-leave granted, sir, but the men could not desert and had taken money on trust from their ship-mates. I did not see the harm ...'

'Very well, gentlemen.' Drinkwater silenced the midshipman and strove to keep the exasperation out of his voice. 'It is clear this matter cannot be resolved quickly. It is also clear that we cannot hang about here dithering. Have the launch swung inboard again; we will take Mr Gilbert to Angra ourselves, and the sooner the better. Do you pass word to Mr Marlowe, Mr Ashton; Mr Paine, I shall speak to you later. My Hyde, thank you.'

Ashton seemed to hesitate a moment, but then the officers broke away and Drinkwater crossed the deck to where Gilbert awaited his departure, masking his curiosity in a thinly veiled attempt at indifference.

'My apologies, Mr Gilbert, I have changed my mind; we shall run you to Terceira in the ship.'

'Thank you, Captain,' Gilbert replied, smiling, 'I cannot pretend that a long passage in an open boat is much to my liking, though I did not wish to inconvenience you.'

'That was most considerate of you.' Drinkwater returned the smile. 'My chief anxiety is that I do not miss any rendezvous of enemy ships by being absent from my station. The whole thing', he confessed, 'is something of a hazard.'

'Is such a rendezvous likely now the war is over?'

'Is the war over, Mr Gilbert? I wish I was so sure. Anyway, the die is cast.'

Both men watched while the tackles were hooked on to the launch again. Drinkwater intensely disliked giving orders and counter-orders, for nothing created distrust between officers and men more than such obvious uncertainty in the former.

'I beg your pardon, Captain Drinkwater,' said Gilbert, 'but does your change of heart have anything to do with the little incident ashore?'

'What incident?'

'Well, it is none of my affair, but I observed some breach of discipline which gave rise to your Lieutenant Ashton remonstrating with two of your sailors. They appeared to have offended in some way by purchasing bread ...'

'Bread?'

'Yes, they had a bag apiece, which Lieutenant Ashton kicked into the harbour. He seems a rather headstrong and intemperate young man.'

'Was there no liquor involved?' Drinkwater asked.

'There may have been a few bottles of wine,' Gilbert replied, 'but my chief impression was of a quantity of bread.'

'Thank you, Mr Gilbert. Perhaps you would like to make yourself as comfortable as possible in my cabin.'

'That is most kind of you, Captain. I can assure you that your cabin will be luxurious compared with the bilges of your launch,' Gilbert said, smiling.

The overnight passage east-south-east towards Terceira, cost Drinkwater the remains of his equanimity. Already consumed by anxiety and speculation about the sudden appearance of the Gremyashchi, this unwanted diversion of almost two hundred miles to the eastward was a sore trial. Had he not so desperately wanted news of the whereabouts of Bonaparte, he would have returned Gilbert to Santa Cruz, but at least providence had ensured that Andromeda had arrived off Flores at the same time that the English consul had been visiting the island, and they had not had to resort to communicating with a Portuguese vice-consul who, whatever assurance Drinkwater had given Ashton, while perfectly reliable, would not have been so capable of supporting an informed, speculative debate.

However, the presence of the Gremyashchi confirmed the veracity of Hortense's intelligence, and the action of Rakov had clearly been as intimidatory as his orders allowed him. But while the appearance of the Russian frigate removed a major doubt in Drinkwater's mind, it caused another: Rakov's purposeful withdrawal to the north and west suggested he too was to rendezvous with the Antwerp squadron', and while he was doing this, Andromeda was waltzing off to the eastwards with a passenger!

As night shrouded the ship, Drinkwater paced the quarterdeck angry and frustrated, feeling the advantage he had so assiduously cultivated being thrown away with every cable Andromeda sailed towards the eastern Azores. In his heart he was doubly annoyed with Lieutenant Ashton.

It was, Drinkwater concluded, a mean thought to ascribe his current woes to the young officer, but he was meanly inclined that evening, reluctant to go down to his cabin which he would have to share with Gilbert, yet irritated by his tumbling thoughts which kept him pacing and fidgeting about the quarterdeck. What was he to make of this damnable business at Santa Cruz? It would have been a silly incident, he had no doubt, but on the one hand lay the argument for order and discipline, and upon the other that for toleration and humanity. And he, as commander, amid his other preoccupations, was obliged to reconcile the essentially irreconcilable.

He paced up and down, only vaguely aware that the watch was about to change with a flurry of activity, the flitting of dark shapes about the quarterdeck, a shuffle of figures around the helm partially lit by the dim glow from the binnacle. He sensed, rather than saw Marlowe on deck, engaged in discussing something with the shorter, slightly stooped figure of Birkbeck. It was then that the idea struck Drinkwater.

He stopped pacing, turned to windward and barked a short, monosyllabic laugh. Coming on deck late, just as eight bells struck, Midshipman Dunn caught sight of the captain and heard the odd sound, stored it away to add to the cockpit's fund of stories about the eccentricity of Old Nat. As for Drinkwater, he turned on his heel, crossed the deck and confronted the first lieutenant. It was too dark by now to see the expression of satisfaction upon his face.

'Mr Marlowe, may I have a word with you?'

'Of course, sir. As a matter of fact, I wanted to speak with you.'

'Oh, what about?'

'I have just been telling the master here, I think I have located the leak.'

'That is very satisfactory, at least I hope it is. Is the matter serious?'

'Serious enough: it's a dockyard job, but we may be able to do something to reduce it.'

'Does it compromise our present situation?'

'Not as long as we have men to man pumps, no, sir, but it is likely to get worse. I'm afraid the leak is caused by devil-bolts.'

'God's bones,' Drinkwater swore quietly. The dockyard practice of making repairs with short and inadequate screw-bolts had once been common. It was a mark of the corruption of a great public service, the indolence of its overseers who grew fat on the myriad minor economies they practised widely, and their indifference to the fate of the ships of war placed in their hands for refitting. It was widely believed in the sea-service that ships had foundered in heavy weather owing to their working in a seaway, their planking springing because it was not properly secured to the framework of the ribs.

The loss of HMS Blenheim in the Indian Ocean, homeward bound from the Hooghly with Admiral Sir Thomas Troubridge on board, was attributed to this cause and the resulting scandal had, it was generally thought, ended this particular dockyard malpractice. Of course, it was impossible to say when the bolts now causing Andromeda's leak had been fitted. Probably some time ago. The slow decomposition of the iron and its infection of the surrounding oak progressively weakened any fastening, even when payed and covered with sheets of anti-fouling copper, but a short bolt, with insufficient of its screwed shank penetrating the futtock behind the planking, would deteriorate and spring within a few years, and such bolts were cheaper and more easily fitted substitutes than the effective oak trenails or heavy copper bolts.

The news somewhat dimmed Drinkwater's satisfaction in having resolved his earlier problem, but it was at least satisfactory to know the cause, and neither problem would vanish unless something were to be done about each of them.

'Well gentlemen, better the devil you know, I suppose.' This little witticism was greeted by respectful chuckles. 'Perhaps you will have a look at the area tomorrow, Mr Birkbeck?'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

'There is another matter though, Mr Marlowe,' Drinkwater went on, 'one that I'd be obliged to you for a moment of your time to discuss.'

'Yes, of course, sir.'

'I'll take my leave then, sir,' said Birkbeck.

'Yes. Goodnight, Mr Birkbeck.'

Drinkwater led Marlowe across the deck to the weather rail where they stood staring to windward, out of earshot of the men at the helm.

'I don't know if you are aware of it, but there was some sort of incident at Santa Cruz today. I gather Ashton left orders that no one was to go ashore, then two men went into the town for provisions and Ashton accused Sergeant McCann of disobedience.'

'I had heard something of the matter. Hyde was rather inflamed about it; he had heard McCann's side of things and said Paine was in command of the boat.'

'Yes, I had gathered that too. Ashton seems to have regarded his instruction as explicit and all-embracing, which is undoubtedly what was intended. Nevertheless, McCann seems to be implicated and Ashton is demanding a flogging for him. I expect Mr Paine was prevailed upon to release two men to get some fresh bread on the grounds that two men did not constitute a boat's crew.'

'And the two men brought back some bottles of wine as well as bread,' added Marlowe.

'Yes, I think you have the scene in your mind's eye. Ashton, of course, painted the picture of a foraging expedition intent on acquiring liquor. The fault, of course, lies with Paine, which is unfortunate, and Ashton no doubt put fuel on the flames with his eagerness to punish the defiance to his order. This, I imagine, is where McCann got involved.'

'I heard from Hyde that Ashton called McCann, a "Yankee bugger".'

'A Yankee bugger?'

'McCann's from Loyalist American stock, sir,' Marlowe explained, 'like Admiral Hallowell.'

'Was McCann provoked?' Drinkwater asked quickly.

'I don't know,' Marlowe replied. 'Knowing Ashton,' he paused, 'well, who knows? Probably.'

'That is what I want you to find out, Frederic. I want you to hold an enquiry tomorrow. We can send Frey in with the boat taking Gilbert ashore and you shall gather evidence in the wardroom. Report to me when you have concluded ... by tomorrow evening at the latest, by which time we shall, I hope, be resuming our station off Flores. Do you understand?'

'Yes,' said Marlowe.

'It's another chance, Frederic, to rid yourself of this man's influence.'

'He may see it as something else.'

'He may see it how he likes; I am instructing you to carry out this duty and you are the first lieutenant of the ship. Whatever complexion Mr Ashton may wish to put upon the case is quite irrelevant, but it will do you no harm either way. Oh, and by the bye, either way I want the matter examined with scrupulous fairness.'

'Of course, sir,' said Marlowe.

'That way any opinion Ashton may have to the contrary will be conscionably groundless.'

The wardroom presented an untypical appearance next morning, for Marlowe had ordered the table cleared completely and all personal items, which in the usual run of events would have cluttered the place, removed into the cabins of the individual officers. The announcement of this requirement was made at breakfast to which all, except for Frey, the officer of the watch, were summoned. The usually degenerately homely room now took on a forbidding appearance.

'What's afoot?' Hyde asked, aware that some sort of effort was required on his part and that his entire day was being set awry at an early moment by this disruption of routine.

'I am charged with examining the circumstances surrounding the incident which occurred on the mole at Santa Cruz yesterday ...' began Marlowe, only to be interrupted by an incredulous Ashton who rose and asked:

'You are what?'

'Oh do sit down Ashton,' said Hyde laconically, 'and pray don't be too tiresome, I have other things to do.'

'The day you actually accomplish them will be witness to a damned miracle,' Ashton snapped unpleasantly. 'I asked a question and I demand an answer.'

'I think, Josiah,' Marlowe cut in quickly, 'you should heed the advice you have just been given. You shall demand nothing, and sit down at once.' Marlowe took no further interest in Ashton and turned to Hyde. 'I wish you to sit with me, Hyde. We will commence our examination at two bells; Mr Birkbeck, I should be obliged if you would relieve Ashton of his watch this forenoon, in order that we can carry out this duty without delay. He may substitute for you after noon.'

'Very well, Mr Marlowe.' Birkbeck drew his watch from his pocket and stared at it a moment, then he rose, went briefly into his cabin, reappeared and went on deck.

As soon as he had gone, Ashton began to expostulate. 'Look here, Freddy, is this some kind of a joke, because if it is ...'

'It's no joke, Josiah. I'd be obliged if you would clear that boat-cloak and bundle of papers and remain in your cabin until called.'

'By God, I'll...!'

Ashton stood up again with such force that he cracked his head on the deck-beams above and ducked in reaction with a further torrent of oaths. Then, seeing he was cornered, he snatched up his cloak and papers, and withdrew into his cabin, shutting the door with a bang.

'Knocked some sense into himself at last,' remarked Hyde with a grin as Frey entered the wardroom, his hair tousled.

'Hullo, I hope you lubbers haven't done with breakfast yet; I'm ravenous. Sam!' The messman having been summoned, Frey was soon spooning up a quantity of burgoo and molasses, drinking coffee and pronouncing himself a new man, whereupon Marlowe opened the proceedings by summoning Ashton from his cabin. The third lieutenant was quizzed as to the exact nature of his orders and Hyde noted down his reply. He was then told to cool his heels in his cabin, to which order he resentfully complied, giving Marlowe a malevolent glare.

Midshipman Paine was then called and permitted to sit at the table. He admitted having been asked by the boat's crew if they could nominate two of their number to obtain some fresh bread.

'Why do you suppose the boat's crew wished to purchase bread, Mr Paine?' Marlowe asked.

'Because they were hungry, sir, and could smell fresh-baked bread from a bakery across the harbour.'

'And how did you think they were going to pay for this bread, the scent of which so fortuitously wafted across the harbour?' queried Hyde.

'Why sir, from money which they had brought with them.'

'Isn't that a little unusual?' asked Marlowe.

'That they had money, sir?'

'Yes.'

Paine shrugged, 'I didn't think so, sir. I believe it was no more than a few pence.'

'Did any of the marines contribute?'

'I'm not sure, sir. I don't think so.'

'Where was Sergeant McCann at this time?'

'He had posted himself on the beach as one of the sentinels, sir.'

'So he was not party to any of the discussion in the boat.'

Paine shook his head. 'No, sir, though it wasn't really a discussion.'

'Did you think there was any ulterior motive in the men's request, Mr Paine?'

'You mean ... ?'

'I mean, did it, or did it not occur to you that the men might have come ashore with ready money in order to buy liquor?' Marlowe asked.

Paine flushed. 'Well, sir, yes, it did occur to me, but the smell of the bread persuaded me that...' The midshipman's voice tailed off into silence.

'How many men contributed money towards this bread?' Marlowe enquired.

'I can't be absolutely certain, sir, but about a dozen.'

There was a brief pause while Hyde made his notes and then he looked up and asked, 'Did you make a contribution towards the bread, Mr Paine?'

Paine coughed with embarrassment and his Adam's apple bobbed uncomfortably. 'Yes,' he murmured.

'Speak up, damn it,' prompted Hyde, dipping his pen.

Paine coughed again and answered in a clearer voice, 'Yes sir.'

And it was bread you were investing in, I take it?'

'Oh yes, sir.'

'Why?'

'I was hungry, sir.' A thought appeared to occur to the midshipman and he added, 'I was jolly hungry, and I thought the men must be, too, since they had had a long hard pull from the ship, sir.'

'So you thought that justified disobeying Mr Ashton's order?'

Paine's mouth twisted with unhappiness. 'No, not exactly, sir ...'

'Then do enlighten us, Mr Paine,' pressed Marlowe, 'what exactly you did think.'

Paine relinquished the role of martyr and confessed: 'I thought if only two men went, they would soon be back.'

'Soon be back... ?' prompted Marlowe, his face expectant.

'You know ... before Mr Ashton returned.'

Both officers sat back and exchanged glances. 'So you deliberately disobeyed Mr Ashton's order?'

'In a manner of speaking, yes, sir.'

'Why?'

Having placed himself at the mercy of his interrogators, Paine's attitude hardened and he fought his corner. 'I thought no harm would come of it.'

'But harm has come of it, Mr Paine,' argued Marlowe.

'Yes, sir, and I regret that and I take full responsibility for it. As a matter of fact, sir, I thought Mr Ashton's order unreasonable. The men could not desert, for the place is an island and for two men out of sixteen to run ashore for some bread, seemed, in my opinion, reasonable enough.'

Marlowe pressed his finger tips together before his face, sat back and regarded the midshipman in silence. Hyde pursed his lips and made a soft blowing sound.

'I had no idea Mr Ashton would make an issue of the matter with McCann, sir. I cannot allow the sergeant of marines to be involved. The truth is that having let Shaw and Ticknell go, I confess I made myself comfortable in the stern-sheets and was roused by the kerfuffle when Mr Ashton returned with the passenger.' Paine finally fell silent and looked down at his threadbare knees.

'Well,' began Marlowe, 'it seems Mr Ashton's wrath was misdirected. You realize what this means, Mr Paine?'

'The gunner's daughter, sir?' Paine's face twisted with apprehension.

'At the very least, my lad.'

Paine drew himself up in his seat. 'Very well, sir.'

'You may carry on. The matter will be refered to the Captain with our recommendations.'

Paine got to his feet. 'Aye, aye, sir.'

When he had retired, Marlowe turned to Hyde and said, 'That would seem to wrap the matter up then.'

'No, Mr Marlowe,' said Hyde, stirring himself, 'it won't do at all. Of course Paine must be punished, but Ashton's treatment of McCann remains reprehensible.'

'That's as may be, Hyde, but the crime was disobedience to Ashton's order and it was Paine, not McCann who was culpable. Ashton's intemperate conduct was unfortunate, but McCann is only a non-commissioned officer of marines.'

Hyde drew in his breath sharply. 'Mr Marlowe, that non-commissioned officer of marines once held a commission in a Provincial regiment and fought for King and Country as, I suspect, Lieutenant Ashton has only dreamed of. He was insulted, called a Yankee bugger, neither of which accusations can be substantiated and for which, had they been used to me, I would have demanded satisfaction!'

'I daresay you would,' observed Marlowe drily, 'but they weren't addressed to you. Anyway, what do you suppose we can do about it?'

'Get Ashton to apologize,' said Hyde in a voice loud enough to be heard on the far side of the flimsy bulkhead dividing the dining area of the officers' accommodation from their personal sleeping quarters. It proved too much for the eavesdropping Ashton, who wrenched the door open and made his appearance at this moment.

'Damn you, Hyde!' he snarled, 'You heard my orders and you've found your culprit. What more d'you want?'

'Well, old fellow,' said Hyde leaning back in his chair, 'since you ask, an apology to McCann.'

'I'll be damned first!'

'Very likely, but Ashton am I correct in thinking you flung the bread, not to mention four miserable bottles of wine — four, mark you, about the number you would drink in a good evening at Spithead, to be shared between at least a dozen men — that you flung this bread into the harbour?'

'Of course.'

'Why "of course"?' persisted Hyde.

'Because they had no business buying it.'

'Ashton, have you never drunk French brandy?'

'Why yes, but...'

'Which you had no business buying, I daresay ...' Hyde sneered and Ashton coloured, realizing he had taken the bait. Beside Hyde, Marlowe smiled.

'And which you would have defended as your own, no doubt,' Marlowe added, whereupon Ashton shot the first lieutenant a look of such pure venom that Hyde was certain Marlowe had hit upon some incident in their mutual past.

'So you will not apologize to McCann?' Hyde pressed.

'The devil I will!'

Hyde completed his note. Marlowe sat forward and closed the proceedings. 'I believe we asked Sergeant McCann to hold himself ready for questioning. I do not think that will be necessary at this juncture.'

'I shall go and tell him so,' said Hyde, rising and fixing his eyes on Ashton. 'You are a lesser man than I had hitherto thought, Josiah. McCann would have forgiven you a momentary loss of temper. By refusing to withdraw you remark, you not only affirm it, you make him an inferior, and I am not persuaded he is. Certainly not now.'

Hyde swept from the wardroom without a backward glance, leaving Marlowe with a fuming and humiliated Ashton. For a moment the two officers sat in silence, then Ashton rose and leaned over Marlowe.

'I wish', he said menacingly, 'I had words adequate to describe what I feel for you, Frederic, and I wish I could express the pity I feel for Sarah!'

But if Ashton thought the contempt in his voice could intimidate Marlowe, mention of his sister was a sad miscalculation. Marlowe's spirit was no longer cowed, and he stood slowly and with a new-found dignity to confront his future brother-in-law. 'I pity her too, Josiah, but I have at least the consolation Sarah chose me.'

And with this Parthian shot Marlowe left the wardroom to report to Drinkwater. As for Ashton, he turned to find Frey standing in the open doorway to his cabin regarding him with a cold stare.

CHAPTER 13 A Long Wait

Angra do Heroismo,' observed Birkbeck, staring through his glass at the principal port on the island of Terceira. Once again Andromeda was hove-to and awaiting one of her boats, the port quarter-boat commonly called the red cutter, which had been sent in under the command of Lieutenant Frey to convey Mr Gilbert ashore. It was anticipated that it would be absent for some time and in the interim Captain Drinkwater was in his cabin, dining early with Mr Marlowe and discussing the fate of Mr Midshipman Paine, who slouched disconsolately about the quarterdeck, awaiting the captain's verdict.

Although relieved as officer of the watch by Lieutenant Ashton, Birkbeck remained on deck, watching the red cutter as it swooped over the wave crests and vanished in each succeeding trough. Its worn lugsails were only a shade lighter than the grey of the sea, which had forsaken its kindly blue colour after the wind had swung back into the south-west again. Although only a moderate breeze, this had first veiled the sun, then at noon brought in a layer of thickening overcast which presaged rain and turned the sea a sullen hue.

Finally, Birkbeck could see the cutter no more as it passed into Angra. He shut his glass with a decisive snap and made his way below.

In the cabin, Drinkwater toyed with his wine glass as Marlowe concluded his report.

'So, sir, the nub of the matter is that Paine disobeyed Mr Ashton's explicit order and while Ashton may have acted in an intemperate manner, falsely accusing Sergeant McCann of being the culprit, it is Paine who must be punished.'

Drinkwater grunted. 'Yes, I suppose so. What have you in mind?'

Marlowe considered the matter for a moment and said, 'A dozen strokes, sir.'

'A pity. I thought the boy had promise. This will be a humiliation for him.'

'I had thought of that, sir. It doesn't have to be done over a gun. I can turn the midshipmen out of the cockpit...'

'Or the officers out of the wardroom. But the purpose of the punishment is as much to deter others as to strike at the guilty'

'The others will all know, sir.'

'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.

And then it occurred to Drinkwater that something must have happened to Hortense, for how else could Rakov have followed so swiftly in their own wake? It seemed that while the war was over, the old game of cat and mouse would go on, though who was now the cat and who the mouse, remained anyone's guess.

For Sergeant McCann the fact that Lieutenant Ashton was compelled to stand watch-and-watch held no more satisfaction for him than the beating of Mr Paine. Ashton's double insult had wounded him deeply, vulnerable as he was, reinforcing his feelings of inadequacy as well as affronting his sensibility. These feelings were exacerbated by Ashton's unrepentant attitude, manifested by the lieutenant's haughtiness as he nursed his own wounded pride through the tedious extra duties imposed upon him by Captain Drinkwater.

Under such stress, the predominant aspects of the temperaments of both men dominated their behaviour; the sergeant of marines nursed his grievance, the lieutenant cultivated his touchily arrogant sense of honour. And such was the indifference to private woe aboard the frigate, each man in his personal isolation formed dark schemes of revenge. Under the foreseeable circumstances, such imagined and impractical fantasies were no more than simple, cathartic chimeras.

These disaffections were set against the burgeoning of Mr Marlowe who, under Drinkwater's kindly eye and with the tacit support of Frey, seemed to grow in confidence and stature in the following few days. Frey rather liked Marlowe, whose dark visage held a certain attraction, and had engaged to execute a small portrait of the first lieutenant, a departure for Frey, whose subjects were more usually small watercolour paintings or pencil drawings of the ship and the landmarks which she passed in her wanderings. As for Marlowe, his contribution to the relative success of Birkbeck and the carpenter in partially staunching the inflow of water by caulking and doubling the inner ceiling of the hull, had lent substance of a practical nature to his increased stature. It was thus easier for his fellow shipmates to attribute his former behaviour to indisposition, and for him to gain confidence in proportion.

With these small ups and downs mirrored throughout the ship's company as the men rubbed along from day to day, Andromeda lay to, or cruised under easy sail to the north of Corvo, never losing sight of this outpost of the Azores, yet ever questing for the appearance of strange sails approaching from the north.

But all they saw were the cockbilled spoutings of an occasional sperm whale and, at the southern end of their beat, the hardy Azoreans out in their canoas in pursuit of their great game, chasing the mighty cetaceans with harpoon and lance, so that the watching Drinkwater was reminded of the corvette Melusine and the ice of the distant Arctic.[10] Along with this reminiscence, came gloomy thoughts of the inexorable passing of time and the tedious waste of war.

For a dismal week, under grey skies alleviated occasionally by promising patches of blue which yielded nothing but disappointment, Andromeda haunted the waters north of Corvo and Flores.

'We haul up and down like a worn-out trollop on Portsmouth hard, draggling her shawl in the mud,' Hyde observed laconically, yet with a certain metaphorical aptness, leaning back in his chair, both boots on the table.

'Indeed,' agreed Marlowe, sighing sadly, thinking of Sarah and his child growing inside her, 'my only consolation is that our diminishing stores will compel Our Father to head for Plymouth Sound very soon.'

'I think', warned Frey, 'that he will hang on until the very last moment.'

'Well, that's as maybe, but the last moment will arrive eventually,' said the flexible Hyde philosophically.

'I do not think', Frey said with a wry smile, 'you quite understand how Captain Drinkwater's luck has a habit of running.'

'You mean you think we shall encounter these ships?' Marlowe asked.

Frey nodded. 'Oh yes; I have no doubt of it. They cannot long be delayed now and the presence of that Russian almost guarantees it. Why else did she turn up like a bad penny?'

Marlowe shrugged and twisted his mouth in a curious grimace of helpless resignation. 'Perhaps you'll prove to be right, perhaps not.'

'Well, if you ask me,' put in Hyde, 'I think it is a wild-goose chase. All right, the Russkie turns up and his appearance ain't coincidence, but neither is ours as far as he is concerned and my money is on his intercepting these so-called Antwerp ships and turning them back.'

'That would mean they had had the wild-goose chase,' laughed Marlowe.

'Or that's what we have all been engaged on,' added Frey, pulling out his pencil and sketch block.

'Well, let's drink to the damnation of His Majesty's enemies, damnation to Boney, wherever he is, damnation to the Tsar of all the Russians, damnation to despair and depression and anything else which irks you,' Hyde said, his books crashing on the deck as he rose to pour three glasses of blackstrap and pass them to his messmates.

'I do wish you would move with a little more grace and a little less noise, Hyde,' complained Marlowe good-naturedly.

'Sudden decisive action, Freddie, is the hallmark of the accomplished military tactician.'

'Or a lazy oaf,' Marlowe riposted, grinning as he accepted the proffered glass.

'Steady, or I'll be demanding satisfaction,' joked Hyde.

Marlowe pulled another face. 'One touchy sense of honour in a wardroom is enough, thank you,' he said.

'Don't forget Sergeant McCann,' prompted Hyde.

'Oh, he don't count...'

'Don't be too sure,' warned Hyde. 'He is no ordinary man.' And Frey looked up from his drawing with a shudder, catching Hyde's eye. 'You all right?' Hyde asked.

'Yes. Just a grey goose flying over my grave,' Frey said quietly.

'More likely a wild goose,' Marlowe added with a short laugh.

'Perhaps,' said Frey in a detached tone of voice that made Hyde and Marlowe exchange glances.