Beneath the aurora nd-12

by Ричард Вудмен

  Other men tumbled all about him, a 'veritable cascade of seamen and marines', he afterwards wrote in his full report of proceedings, Templeton among them, keening in a curious, high-pitched squeal as he cut dangerously left and right with his sword.

  "Ere, watch it, Mr Templeton,' somebody sung out, clear above the howls of rage and the screams of the dying.

  Drinkwater engaged a second Danish marine, cut at the man's forearm and winged him, advanced a half step and grasped the musket's muzzle, ducking under the bayonet and jabbing his hanger at the soldier's stomach. The man cried out, though his voice was lost in the general bedlam and Drinkwater was conscious only of the gape of his mouth. The musket dropped between them, Drinkwater withdrew and slashed down at the marine's shoulder as he fell, parried a pike and felt the flat of a cutlass across his back.

  He half-turned as the weapon was thrust again, flicked his own hanger and pricked the seaman's hand as he lunged with the clumsy cutlass. The severed tendons cost the man his grip. Drinkwater grunted with the speed of his response, raised his sword-point and, as though with a foil, extended and withdrew. Blood ran down the hapless sailor's face and his breath whistled through his perforated cheek as he fell back.

  A musket or pistol was discharged close to him. Drinkwater felt the fierce heat from its muzzle and a stinging sensation in his ear. He cut right, parried a sword thrust and bound the blade; bellowed as he thrust it aside and slid forward, driving his sword home to the hilt in the soft abdomen of a man he had barely seen in the press of bodies.

  He was conscious of an officer, of two officers, threatening him from the front in defiant postures. He was running short of wind, but Templeton was on his right and he shrieked, 'Here, Templeton, to me!'

  Drinkwater engaged, crossed swords and felt the Danish officer press his blade. Drinkwater disengaged with a smart cut-over, but was thwarted as the Danish officer changed his guard. Drinkwater dropped his point and reverted to his original line, extending without lunging. The Dane grinned as he parried high and extended himself. Drinkwater was drawing his breath with difficulty now, he ducked clumsily and fell back, expecting a swift reprise, but the Dane would not be drawn and stood grinning at the panting Drinkwater.

  Drinkwater's puzzlement was brief. On his flank Templeton was whirring his blade with such fanatic energy that his opponent was confused, or would not be drawn, and maintained a defensive position.

  Then, in the hubbub and confusion, Drinkwater realized, drawing breath in the brief and timely lull, that the two officers were defending a man seated behind them in a chair.

  It was Dahlgaard and he was pale as death, a pair of pistols in his lap.

  'Captain Dahlgaard!' Drinkwater shouted, 'I see you are wounded! You can do no more! Surrender, sir! Strike your flag and stop this madness!'

  'No!'

  The officer from whom Drinkwater had just escaped howled his commander's defiance.

  Drinkwater fell back a step. Templeton had drawn off and suddenly pulled a pistol from his belt. He fired at the officer he had been fighting and, as the Danish lieutenant fell, he stepped quickly forward and thrust savagely at Dahlgaard.

  The officer who had defied Drinkwater's call to surrender, seeing what was happening, made to strike Templeton but lost his balance.

  Drinkwater was on him, lunging forward with such speed that he, too, lost his footing and slammed into the Dane, his hanger blade snapping as he drove it home.

  As Drinkwater fell to his knees something struck him on the shoulder. The blow was not hard. He sat back on his haunches and looked up into Dahlgaard's face. The Danish captain's eyes were cloudy with pain, his face wet with perspiration. Blood ran from the new wound Templeton had inflicted in his upper arm. Between these two men, instigators of the carnage all about them, Dahlgaard's young lieutenant was pinioned to the deck by Drinkwater's broken sword-blade.

  Breathing in gulps, Drinkwater realized the injured Dahlgaard had struck him with one of his pistols. It had already been fired.

  'I strike my flag,' Dahlgaard called, his voice rasping with agony.

  'You surrender?' Drinkwater gasped, uncertain.

  Dahlgaard nodded. 'Ja, ja, I strike.' The Dane closed his eyes.

  'They strike!' shrieked Templeton. 'They strike! They strike!' And heady with victory Templeton ran aft to cut the halliard of the Danish ensign.

  Wearily Drinkwater heaved himself to his feet. He felt the madness ebb, heard the cheering as though it came from a great way away. He was sodden with sweat and breathing with difficulty. Lightly he placed his hand on Dahlgaard's shoulder.

  "Tis the fortune of war, Captain Dahlgaard, the fortune of war.'

  Dahlgaard opened his eyes and stared up at Drinkwater, blinking. 'He was my sister's son, Kaptajn Drinkwater, my sister's only son ...'

  And Drinkwater looked down at the body which lay between them, oblivious of Templeton who bent over the Odin's taffrail, the blood-red and white Danish colours draped about him, vomiting into the sea below and weeping in a rage at his own survival.

  CHAPTER 16

  To the Victor, the Spoils

  November 1813

  Lieutenant Frey climbed wearily out of the boat, up the frigate's tumblehome and over the rail on to Andromeda's quarterdeck.

  'The Captain's in the cabin, Frey, and asked if you would report when you arrived.'

  Frey nodded to Lieutenant Jameson and went below. He found Drinkwater sitting having a dressing changed on his arm by the surgeon.

  'Help yourself to a glass, Mr Frey, you look quite done in.'

  'He still has a fever,' put in Kennedy.

  'I'm fine, Kennedy, just a little tired.'

  'Who isn't... ?'

  'I didn't know you had been hit, sir,' Frey said quickly, re-stoppering the decanter.

  'It's nothing. A scratch. A Yankee galled me as I swam away from the General Wayne. My exertions yesterday reopened it ...'

  'It needed debriding', said Kennedy severely, 'before it became gangrenous. Your face is a mess, too; you'll likely have a scar.'

  'Stop clucking, Mr Kennedy. Thanks to your superlative skill, I will mend,' said Drinkwater, silencing the surgeon. 'Now, Frey, tell me about your expedition, what of the two Americans?'

  'The General Wayne burned to the waterline and settled where she lay. The other, the Hyacinthe — a French-built corvette — drifted ashore after her cable burnt through and then blew up. Her remains continued to burn until there was little left of her, or her contents. As for the matter of the truce, I had no trouble in landing my party. The commandant of the fort, a Captain Nilsen, or some such, is making ready to receive the wounded from the Odin. He was especially solicitous for Captain Dahlgaard. I understand they are related in some way.'

  Drinkwater recalled Dahlgaard's dead nephew and dismissed the morbid thought. 'And you mentioned the Kestrel?'

  'Yes. They seemed relieved not to have been entirely deprived of a means of communication with Bergen, or Copenhagen for that matter. I formed the impression that the Americans are an acute embarrassment to them.'

  'I am truly sorry for the Danes,' Drinkwater said. 'Captain Dahlgaard was a most gallant officer ...'

  Kennedy sniffed disparagingly at this assertion. Drinkwater ignored the man's infuriating importunity.

  'And what arrangements have you concluded?'

  'That all the Danes are to be landed and that we hand over the Kestrel immediately prior to our departure. A truce is to obtain until we are seaward of the narrows, thereafter they may communicate with Bergen.'

  'Very well. In the circumstances we must count that as satisfactory. Captain Dahlgaard may be sent ashore as soon as is possible.'

  'I took the liberty of permitting the one launch left to the Americans to pull out immediately and take off the worst of the wounded.'

  Drinkwater nodded. 'That was well done. Birkbeck has completed his survey of Kestrel and has condemned her as totally unfit for further service. Properly we should destroy her, but I
do not think their Lordships will judge us too harshly for leaving this place with a measure of magnanimity towards our beaten foe.'

  Kennedy sniffed again as he completed his work.

  'Physician, I suggest you heal yourself, said Drinkwater, 'instead of making that ridiculous noise.' Kennedy scowled as he added, 'Thank you for your solicitude.'

  Frey watched the surgeon leave and turned to Drinkwater.

  'Sir, there is a matter of considerable importance I have to discuss with you ...'

  'If it is to do with a prize-crew ...'

  'No, no! Though I should like to know what arrangements you are intending.'

  'You will take the Odin home. We will stay in company and make for Rattray Head, thereafter I will signal Leith, or London, depending upon the circumstances. But come, what is this matter of such importance?'

  'Gold specie, sir.'

  Frey breathed the words with a quiet satisfaction, as though not daring to frighten them away. Comprehension dawned slowly on Drinkwater.

  'Aboard the Odin?'

  Frey nodded conspiratorially. 'I was in a lather of apprehension whilst I was away, but it is quite safe. Captain Dahlgaard had made especial provision for it and I do not think many of his people knew. It was in a small lazarette below his cabin ...'

  'And had, I think, come out of a similar lazarette in the General Wayne,' said Drinkwater, remembering the empty space into which he had rolled the little barrels with their lethal filling of fine-milled black powder. 'But how did you come by it?'

  'When we boarded and you attacked aft,' Frey explained, 'my party went for the wheel and then the gun deck. I had hoped to take the gunners in the rear, but too few of our fellows followed me. Most of the Danes on the upper deck fell back on their quarterdeck and we got below without encountering much resistance. The gun deck was reeking with smoke and we got the hatches down amidships and aft before, I think, anyone was aware of our presence. When I secured the after hatch to prevent anyone coming up from below, we were seen and set on by the aftermost gun crews. There were about a dozen men with me at that time including Fisher and we had a hard few moments of it, being hopelessly outnumbered and totally unsupported.' Drinkwater could imagine the scene: the noise and confusion; the Danish gunners blazing away, half-deafened, the gun deck full of smoke and then someone spotting the strange intruders.

  'Go on,' he said.

  'It was curious, but the Danes had left the after bulkhead down. Fisher got the cabin door open and we retreated into Dahlgaard's quarters, leaving four of our number outside. None of the after guns in there were manned ...'

  'Well I'm damned! I never noticed, but forgive me; do go on.'

  'Dahlgaard had emptied the cabin space of furniture, though, and it struck me that there was a reason why he had not completely cleared the after part of the ship for action. At the time I gave it no further thought, beyond welcoming the respite, expecting the Danes to burst through the flimsy door at any moment. In fact the fire beyond the bulkhead slackened and then ceased. A few minutes later, things having fallen silent, we ventured out to find the ship had struck her colours. I think those men who were not still at the guns had been called away to defend the upper deck just at the point when you gained the upper hand.'

  'Go on.'

  'After you left me prize-master I posted guards and went back into the cabin to seize the ship's papers. Dahlgaard had left a bunch of keys, a pair of pistols, a telescope and a number of other articles one would have supposed he ought to have had disposed about his person. I found them on the stern settee. I tried the keys and found they fitted the usual lockers and also a lazarette hatch. I think Dahlgaard underestimated us, sir, thought he could dispense with the aftermost guns in order to preserve intact what lay below his cabin.'

  'The specie?'

  Yes. A dozen chests of it. Gold ingots ... I have no idea how many.'

  'And you placed a guard on it?'

  'Mr Fisher. I locked the poor fellow in. I have just been aboard, before reporting to you. He is all right; he stuck to his post after I impressed the importance of it upon him, though he is very hungry.'

  'Does he know what he is guarding?'

  Frey shook his head. 'No, not exactly; only that it is important.'

  'Twelve-year-old boys take much for granted, including the presumed wisdom of their elders, I'm glad to say. And the Danes made no attempt to regain it, not even during your negotiations?' Frey shook his head. 'No. I thought better than to draw their attention to it.'

  'Quite.' Drinkwater frowned, then said, 'Perhaps Dahlgaard and his lieutenants were the only ones to know of it, and I suppose the Americans themselves may well have physically shifted the stuff. The fact that it was concealed in wooden boxes would have prevented all but a few officers from knowing its true nature. It would also explain the protracted length of time taken to tranship that cargo. I imagine Dahlgaard insisted the Americans surrender the gold before he released the arms. There was certainly much toing and froing between the ships, and the Odin would have been stuffed with the arms shipment. Her crew must have been heartily sick of having their freedom impeded by so much cargo.'

  Frey looked puzzled. 'I'm sorry, Frey,' Drinkwater added, 'you ain't party to all the ramifications of this business. I will tell you all about it when we anchor in British waters.' Drinkwater smiled wanly. 'You'll have to possess your soul in patience until then, but suffice it to say the Danes were only acting as carriers, which may explain their indifference to the gold's fate. It was destined for Paris, not Copenhagen.'

  'Ah, I see. Payment from the Yankees to the French for the arms being shipped into the American privateers.'

  'Exactly so.'

  'And kept damn quiet by those Danish officers in the know.'

  'Yes.'

  'I imagine there can be few of them left,' Frey said, 'judging by the carnage on deck.'

  'No.' Both men were briefly silent, than Drinkwater returned to the matter in hand. 'You had better take Danks and four marines with you as a special guard. Keep Fisher, take Ashley and pick your prize crew, sixty men. We will weigh as soon as possible. Rattray Head is to be the rendezvous.'

  You don't wish to tranship the specie aboard here, sir?'

  Drinkwater shook his head again. 'No. The fewer people who know about it the better. It is safe enough in your hands. Besides, I don't want to wait a moment longer.' His last sentence was an excuse. The truth was, there was something obscene about the thought of tucking the gold under his own wing.

  'I rather think you have made your fortune, sir.' Drinkwater shook his head again. 'I doubt it. I'll lay a guinea on it becoming a droit of Admiralty, Mr Frey, but you may at least have the commission for carrying it.'

  And a brief gleam of avarice came into Frey's eyes, the first manifestation of mundane emotion since he had announced the death of James Quilhampton.

  Mr Templeton looked up at the figure silhouetted against the battered remains of the stern windows. The seated clerk was shivering with cold and persistently glanced at the blanket forming an inadequate barrier to the open air which whistled with a mournful moan through the shot-holes in Andromeda's starboard quarter.

  Captain Drinkwater's silence grew longer, past the point of mere reflection and into an admission of abstraction. Templeton coughed intrusively. Drinkwater started and looked round.

  'Ah ... yes ... Read what you have written, Templeton,' Drinkwater commanded.

  'To the Secretary, and so on and so forth,' Templeton began, then settled to read: 'Sir, I have the honour to report …'

  Head bent and stoop-shouldered beneath the deckhead beams, his hands clasped behind his back, Drinkwater paced ruminatively up and down the shattered cabin as Templeton's voice droned on through the account of the past weeks. He was compelled to live through those last hours in Quilhampton's company and forced to recreate from the spare words of his report the frightful minutes crawling through the hold in search of Malaburn. Finally Templeton concluded the details of th
e final action which culminated in the capture of the Odin as a prize of war.

  '... And having, subsequent to a survey by Mr Jonathan Birkbeck, Master, condemned the Kestrel, cutter, as unfit for further service, her stores and guns having been removed out of her, she was, by my order, turned over to the enemy as an act of humanity in order that communication might be opened with Bergen and the removal of the wounded to that place be effected.

  'Having taken in my charge the former Danish frigate Odin and placed on board a prize-crew, Lieutenant Frey in command, the said Odin did weigh and proceed in company with HBM Frigate Andromeda, leaving the Vikkenfiord shordy before dark ...'

  'Very well. Add the date.' Drinkwater paused while Templeton scratched. 'Is that all for the time being, sir?'

  Drinkwater had yet to account for the dead, to write their collective and official epitaph.

  'Yes, for the time being. It is getting dark.'

  'The evenings draw in swiftly in these high latitudes, sir.'

  'Yes,' Drinkwater replied abstractedly. 'It is time we were gone, while this favourable breeze holds.'

  'Mr Birkbeck says the glass stands very high and the northerly wind will persist for many days.'

  'Does he now?' Drinkwater looked at Templeton as if seeing him for the first time in weeks. Templeton was not usually prone to such abject ingratiation. You are taking an uncommon interest in nautical matters, Mr Templeton.'

  'Sir?'

  The sarcasm struck Templeton like a whip and he turned his face away, but not before Drinkwater had seen the unaccountable effect his words had had. Nor could Templeton disguise the withdrawing from his sleeve of a pocket handkerchief.

  Drinkwater was about to speak, then held his peace. He had been too hard on a man not inured to the fatigue of battle. A man of Templeton's sensibilities might receive hidden wounds, wounds of the mind, from the events of the last few days. For a moment Drinkwater looked at his clerk, remembering the rather supercilious man who had brought the news of Bardolini's landing that night at the Admiralty. Drinkwater felt the stirrings of guilt for, had he not insisted that Templeton sail aboard Andromeda, the wretched fellow might never have been subjected to the rigours of active service.