"Baltic Mission" - читать интересную книгу автора (Вудмен Ричард)8 Friedland'No, Mr. Rogers, no wine, I beg you.' Lallo put out a restraining hand. Rogers, his fist clamped around the neck of the decanter which he had ordered the negro messman to bring, looked from one to another of the gunroom officers. They returned his stare, watching his pale face with its faint sheen of perspiration showing in the dim light of the gunroom. 'God damn and blast you for a set of canting Methodisticals,' he said. 'God damn and blast you all to hell,' and drawing back his arm he sent the decanter flying through the air. It smashed on the forward bulkhead and in the silence that followed they could hear Rogers's laboured breathing. 'Mr. Rogers . . .' began Fraser, but he was instantly silenced by Lallo. They watched as Rogers calmed himself. After a pause Rogers ceased to glare at them all, picked up his knife and fork and addressed himself to his plate. In an embarrassed silence the others dutifully followed suit. For fifteen minutes no one said a word and then Rogers, flinging down his utensils, rose from the table and stumped out. His exit provoked a broadside of expelled breath. 'Phew! How long will he go on like this?' asked Fraser. 'If he isn't damned careful he'll end up with the other irredeemable tosspots in Haslar Hospital.' 'That was what I tried to tell you, Mr. Fraser,' said Lallo, 'when you interfered.' 'I'm damn sorry, Mr. Lallo, but I couldna tolerate him being trussed like a chicken for the table.' 'I was not aware,' said Lallo archly, 'that there was any love lost between you.' 'Nor there is, but...' 'The captain ordered me to restrain him. It was out of kindness, to avoid too public a humiliation for the man.' 'But was all that really necessary?' 'In my opinion yes. Despite being anorexic, which was attributable to his reliance on strong drink, he was quite capable of doing himself and myself a great deal of damage in his ravings. The aboulia ... the loss of will-power associated with addiction, disturbs all the natural processes and inclinations of the body. He was by turns lethargic and extremely violent. At times he was almost cataleptic, but at others his strength was amazing.' Lallo paused, then added, 'I'd say the treatment, though drastic, was successful.' He turned and looked down on the deck where the broken decanter lay amid a dark stain on the planking. 'At least he resisted the stuff.' 'Well, it was a damnable thing ...' said Fraser. 'It was a damnable thing that you had a man gagged yourself for the use of strong language the day before yesterday ...' 'That's preposterous ...' 'And furthermore,' Lallo interrupted, 'I'd diagnose your own condition...' 'For goodness sake, gentlemen,' put in Quilhampton, raising his voice to overcome the rising argument, 'I conceive Mr. Rogers to be upset because we let the Danish ship go. He has never enjoyed much luck in the way of prize-money.' 'There would have been nothing very certain about making any out of that Dane,' snapped Fraser. 'Condemning neutrals usually turns upon points of law. It isn't the same thing as taking a national ship or a privateer.' Lallo was grateful for the changed mood of the conversation. 'What 'No,' said Fraser after a pause. 'The Dane, Frederic Nielsen, claimed he was carrying secret papers for London, or some such nonsense. The fellow was adamant and I don't think the captain believed him. Then ...' 'Go on ...' Fraser shrugged. 'Well, he suddenly looked closer at the papers and appeared to change his mind. Bundled Nielsen and myself out of the cabin and a few minutes later came up, handed the papers back to the Dane and let him go.' 'Just like that?' asked Lallo. 'Yes. Or that is how it seemed to me.' 'I wonder ... mused Quilhampton, attracting the attention of the other two. 'You wonder what, James?' asked Fraser. 'Have you any idea what's afoot?' 'The captain's been mixed up in this sort of thing before.' 'What sort of thing?' asked Fraser. 'Well, secret operations and suchlike.' 'Can't you be more specific, James?' Fraser's curiosity was plain and almost indignant. Quilhampton shrugged. 'Who knows ...?' he said enigmatically. 'Oh, for Heaven's sake, James!' 'Well, ask Hill. They were both on the cutter 'What the devil's the matter?' 'It's Hill! I've forgotten to relieve him again!' Quilhampton grabbed his hat and trod in the broken glass from the smashed decanter. 'Damn! Hey, King! Come and sweep up this damned mess, will you?' Drinkwater paced up and down the deck as the hands went aloft to stow the sails. Drinkwater, irritated by all these trivial considerations, swore, consoled himself that Quilhampton was as good a man as any for the task, and made up his mind. He passed orders for the preparation of the launch for a lengthy absence from the ship and summoned the third lieutenant to his cabin. 'Now, Mr. Q,' he said, indicating the chart and Mount's borrowed atlas. 'See, here is Konigsberg. You are to take the launch, which is being provisioned for a week, and make the best of your way there. I shall provide you with a letter of accreditment to the effect that you are a British naval officer. Your purpose is to ascertain the truth and extent of a report that the French suffered a defeat at Heilsberg.' Drinkwater placed his finger on a spot on a page of the atlas. 'You 'Yes, sir.' 'Very well. Now, I suggest that initially you search out a British merchant ship. There will almost certainly be at least one in the port. Do that first. Do not land until you have made contact and obtained advice from a British master. The port is Prussian and there may be Russian troops there. You would do well to avoid any problems with language and your best interpreter will be the master of a British ship who will have an agent and therefore someone acquainted with local affairs.' Drinkwater remembered Young and Baker and added, 'Sometimes, I believe, these fellows have quite an effective intelligence system of their own.' 'What force will I take, sir?' 'Twenty-four men, James; no marines, just seamen.' 'Very well, sir ... May I ask a favour?' 'Well?' 'May I take Tregembo, sir?' 'Tregembo?' Drinkwater frowned. 'You know I dare not expose him to any unnecessary danger, I shall never hear the last of it from his wife ...' Drinkwater smiled. 'Well, Konigsberg is supposed to be a friendly port, sir. I cannot see that he can come to much harm.' 'True. Why do you want Tregembo?' Drinkwater paused and saw Quilhampton's hesitation. 'Is it because you do not trust the temper of the men?' Quilhampton shrugged, trying to pass his concern off lightly. 'One or two may try and run, sir. They are still somewhat mettlesome. With Tregembo there they will be less inclined to try. Besides, I shall have to leave the launch.' 'You will take two midshipmen, Dutfield and Wickham.' 'I should still like Tregembo.' Drinkwater raised his voice. 'Sentry! Pass word for my coxswain!' A minute or two later Tregembo arrived. 'You sent for me, zur?' 'Aye, Tregembo. Mr. Q here wants you to go in the launch with him to Konigsberg. To be particular, he has requested you go. I'd like you to accompany him.' 'Who'll look after you, zur?' Tregembo asked with the air of the indispensable. 'Oh, I expect Mullender will manage for a day or two,' Drinkwater replied drily. Tregembo sniffed his disbelief. 'If you'm want me to go, zur, I'll go' 'Very well.' Drinkwater smiled. 'You had better both go and make your preparations.' An hour later he watched the launch pull away from the ship's side. On board For two days All the officers were on the quarterdeck and Mount, as if disbelieving the boy's report, ascended the mast himself to confirm it. 'But what the devil does it mean, Mount?' asked Hill. 'Your atlas shows Heilsberg as to the south and west of Konigsberg. If the Russkies threw the French back, what the hell is smoke and gunfire doing at Konigsberg?' He crossed the deck and checked the wind direction from the weather dog-vane to the compass. 'That gunfire isn't coming from anywhere other than east.' 'It means', said Drinkwater, 'either that Heilsberg was wrongly reported or that the French have counter-attacked and reached Konigsberg.' 'Bloody hell!' 'What about Quilhampton?' And Tregembo, thought Drinkwater. Should he send another boat? Should he work 'I think that we can do little but wait, gentlemen,' Drinkwater said, and turning he made his way below, to brood in his cabin and fret himself with anxiety. For two hours an uneasy silence hung over the ship, then Frey, suspended in the rigging with the ship's best glass, hailed the deck, his voice cracking with excitement. 'Deck there! Deck there! The launch, sir! It's in sight!' His frantic excitement promised to unseat him from his precarious perch and it was only with difficulty that Hill persuaded him that his own safety was more important than the precise bearing of the launch. But Frey would not desert his post and kept the image of the launch dancing in the lens by lying full length on the furled main-topgallant. It was he, therefore, who spotted the reversed ensign flying from the launch's peak as she approached the ship. 'She's flying a signal for distress, sir!' Once again all were on deck; the waist and fo'c's'le were crowded with 'Mr. Comley!' Rogers called sharply and with no trace of his former debility. 'Stir those idlers! Man the yard and stay tackles! Prepare to hoist in the launch!' 'Mr. Lallo,' said Drinkwater lowering his telescope, 'as far as I can ascertain there is nothing amiss with the launch itself. I can only assume the signal of distress refers to the people in the boat. I think it would be wise if you were to prepare your instruments.' A chilling foreboding had closed itself round Drinkwater's heart. The launch came running down wind, the men in her hidden behind the bunts of the loose-footed lugsails. She was skillfully rounded up into the wind and, sails a-flapping, came alongside The fit men clambered from the launch up Drinkwater waited until Quilhampton reported. His eyes followed the inert body of Tregembo as, his shoulder slung in a bloodstained and makeshift bandage, he was taken below. He was therefore unaware of a dusty stranger who stood upon the deck ignored amidst the bustle. 'Well, Mr. Q? What happened?' James Quilhampton looked five years older. His face was drawn and he was filthy. 'I have your intelligence, sir, Konigsberg has fallen to the French. There has been a great battle, just two days ago. It was disastrous for the Russians. There is chaos in the port...' He paused, gathering his wits. He was clearly exhausted. 'I made contact, as you suggested, with the master of a Hull ship. We went ashore to gather news at a tavern much used by British shipmasters. To my surprise Captain Young was there, together with Captain Baker.' Quilhampton shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog of fatigue. 'To my astonishment their ships had still not discharged their lading ...' 'Good God ... but go on.' 'The fellows were debating what should be done, as the news had just arrived of the precipitate flight of the Russians. I said 'There is not much more to tell. I slept badly, the town was shaken throughout the night by artillery fire, and the bursting of the shells was constant. In the morning French cavalry were in the town. Young was not on board and I attempted to get his mate to sail and bring out Baker's ship as well. They would not move unless their respective masters were with them. I undertook to return to the tavern where it was thought they had lodged. I got caught in a cross-fire between some infantry, I don't know whether they were Prussians or Russians, and some French sharp-shooters. Tregembo and Kissel were with me. Kissel was hit and Tregembo and I went back for him. As we dragged him towards the 'Go on. What happened to you?' 'Oh, nothing, sir.' 'He unhorsed a dragoon, Captain, pulled the fellow clean out of his saddle. Drinkwater turned and was aware of an unfamiliar face. 'And who, sir, are you?' The stranger ignored the question. 'Your officer unhorsed the dragoon with that remarkable hook of his. You see, sir, they were pursuing me. I had evaded them in an alley and they took their revenge on your officer and men. However, as I swiftly made him out to be a seafaring man as well as an Englishman, I made myself known to him and assisted him in getting his wounded comrade into the boat.' 'I doubt I could have done it alone, sir,' explained Quilhampton, 'before the other dragoon got me. Fortunately the fellow missed with his carbine and we were able to get to the 'What is the extent of Tregembo's wound?' Drinkwater cut in. 'A sabre thrust in the fleshy part of the shoulder, sir. I do not believe it to be mortal.' 'I hope to God it ain't.' Drinkwater turned on the stranger. 'And now, sir, who are you and what is your business?' 'I think, Captain,' said the stranger with that imperturbable coolness that was rapidly eroding Drinkwater's temper, 'that this should be discussed in your cabin.' 'Do you, indeed.' 'Yes. In fact I insist upon it.' His cold blue eyes held Drinkwater's in an unblinking gaze. The man made a gesture with his hand as if their roles were reversed and it was he who was inviting Drinkwater below. 'Captain ...?' 'Mr. Q, get below and turn in. You, Mr. Frey, cut along to the surgeon and tell him to debride those wounds immediately or they will mortify' He turned to the stranger. 'As for you, sir, you had better follow me!' Drinkwater strode below and, shutting the door behind the stranger, rounded on him. 'Now, sir! Enough of this tomfoolery. Who the deuce are you and what the devil d'you mean by behaving like that?' The stranger smiled coolly. 'I already have the advantage of you, Captain. Your lieutenant informed me that you are Captain Drinkwater. Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater, I understand ...' A small and strangely threatening smile was playing about the man's mouth, but he held out his hand cordially enough. 'I am Colin Alexander Mackenzie, Captain Drinkwater, and in your debt for saving my life.' |
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