The Shadow of the Eagle

by Richard Woodman

  ‘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 coul
d 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.

  To the Governor of Flores,

  Santa Cruz-Sir,

  I have the Honour to Command His Britannic Majesty’s Frigate

  Andromeda presently arrived off this Island under the Express Orders of Admiral of the Fleet, His Royal Highness, Prince William Henry, Duke of Clarence and Earl of Munster.

  Being thus engaged upon a Singular, Special and most Urgent Service, I call upon the Ancient Amity which has Subsisted between our Two Nations since time immemorial and has been Crowned with Victory in the Late War by the Exertions of the Anglo-Portuguese Armies Commanded by His Grace the Marquess Wellington and Marshal Beresford.

  To this end, Sir, you will have been informed that Napoleon Bonaparte, lately Emperor of the French, is to be Exiled in the Island of Flores, and kept here until the End of the Term of his Earthly Existence.

  However, Information has been made known to His Britannic Majesty’s Government that an Expedition has lately been fitted out at Antwerp, and that the Purpose of this Force is to Abduct the Person of Napoleon Bonaparte and to Convey him to America or Canada where his Ambition may yet cause more Misery and Extend a War which His Majesty’s Government wish to Terminate as Swiftly as Possible.

  This letter comes to you by the Hand of an Officer and I desire you, Sir, having Regard for all the above Circumstances, to inform this Officer whether you have yet taken possession of the Person of General Bonaparte, how he is Accommodated, and whether any Inhabitants of the Island who may have been Fishing Offshore, have reported the Presence of any Men-of-War belonging to any Foreign Power.

  I also Request that, upon Receipt of this Despatch, should the said General Bonaparte be already Resident on the Island of Flores, you Undertake to keep a Close Watch upon his Person, his Associates, Staff and Servants. This I Charge you with Under the Terms of the Several Treaties of Mutual Help existing between our Two Nations.

  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:

  I Regret that my Duty prevents my Calling upon you in Person at this Time, but Trust that you will Afford the Bearer of this Despatch, Lieutenant Jos. Ashton, every Confidence with which you would Honour me.

  I am, Sir, your Obedient Servant,

  Nathan’l Drinkwater,

  Captain, Royal Navy

  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.’