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.
PART THREE
Caging the Eagle
'Napoleon in the Isle of Elba has ... only to be patient, his enemies will be his best champions.'
CHAPTER 14
St Elmo's Fire
Drinkwater had experienced no such premonition as Lieutenant Frey. The appearance of the Gremyashchi had finally laid to rest the vacillating anxieties and uncertainties of the preceding days, replacing them with a firm conviction that Hortense's report was about to be fulfilled. Nor did he consider Captain Count Rakov would divert the Antwerp ships from their purpose, as was the opinion of Lieutenant Hyde in the wardroom below. Drinkwater's assessment was quite otherwise: Rakov was on the scene to guarantee the matter. There would be no bloodshed, no international incident, Bonaparte would simply be removed from the Bourbon French ship bringing him to Flores, transferred to one of the Antwerp squadron and conducted to the United States.
It was quite clear that the only certain rendezvous where this could be accomplished without attracting undue attention was off the Azores, and the fact that no proper arrangements had been concluded with the Portuguese captain-general at Angra do Heroismo, was evidence none was necessary, for there had never been any real intention of landing Bonaparte in the first place. And to guarantee the Tsar's plan, revealing the sly hand of Talleyrand, the Bourbon commander of the French naval ship carrying the former Emperor into exile would not be accosted by a couple of Bonapartist pirates, but a squadron operating under the ensign of Imperial Russia.
It was a cleverly conceived plan, but, concluded Drinkwater, this embellishment made his own task acutely difficult. It was he alone who would have to assume responsibility for thwarting the Tsar's intention. Not that he entertained any personal doubts as to the rightness of this challenge. It was clearly not in British interests to have the foremost soldier in the world free to command troops in the United States. A successful invasion of Canada would be a disaster for Great Britain, and Drinkwater did not need the protection of Prince William Henry's orders to buttress his own moral doubts, only to afford protection from those in the establishment who might regard his action as intolerably high-handed.
What now nagged him was the impossibility of the task. At least two well-armed ships had sailed under the command of this Admiral Lejeune, and while Drinkwater might have had a chance to outmanoeuvre them, they were now reinforced by the Gremyashchi, a powerful frigate in her own right, which alone would be more than a match for Andromeda. He was conscious that the action his zeal had now made inevitable could end only in defeat. If any premonition disturbed the tranquillity of Nathaniel Drinkwater during those tedious days in late May, it was that death would take him at the moment of his country's hard-won victory.
In the circumstances such a death would not be without dishonour, but he doubted much credit would accrue to his actions to warm his widow's heart. Poor Elizabeth; she did not deserve such a fate. To be left alone to manage his small estate, not to mention the dependants he had foisted upon her, would be a terrible legacy. His death would, moreover, burden her with the promised annuity to Hortense!
The thought appalled him. In his headlong dash into the Atlantic, thoughts of an early death had not really occurred to him, for he had lived with risk for so long, and while he had intimated in the letter he had sent to his wife by the Trinity Yacht that complications had been introduced into their lives by recent events, meaning those at Calais, he had withheld details as being best dealt with face-to-face. Now he could not even leave her a second letter, for the chances of its being discovered after a bloody action were next to nothing.