1805 (25 page)

‘Not remain static long,' the Cornishman muttered, ‘aye, aye, zur.' He handed Drinkwater the lathered shaving brush. They exchanged glances of comprehension and Tregembo left the room. Behind him the orderly slammed the door and turned the key noisily in the lock.

The silly incident left Drinkwater in a good enough humour to shave without cutting himself and the normality of the little routine caused him to reflect upon his own stupidity. It was quite ridiculous of him to suppose that he, a prisoner, could have the slightest influence on events. The best he could hope for was that those events might possibly provide him with an opportunity to effect an escape. At least he had Tregembo as a go-between; that was certainly better than nothing.

All day Drinkwater sat or paced in the tiny room. Towards evening he was taken down to walk in the courtyard, seeing little of his surroundings but enjoying half an hour in the company of Quilhampton and the two midshipmen.

‘How are you faring, James?'

‘Oh, well enough, sir, well enough. A little down-hearted I fear, but we'll manage. And you, sir? Did you see Santhonax?'

‘Yes. Did you?'

‘No, sir. By the way, I trust you have no objections, but our gaolers have allowed Tregembo to look after us. I hope you don't mind us poaching your coxswain, sir.'

‘No,' said Drinkwater, brightening, ‘matter of fact it might be a help. He can keep up communications between us. Have you learned anything useful?'

‘Not much. From the way those French soldiers behave when a Spanish officer's about there's not much love lost between 'em.'

Drinkwater remembered the negligence of the two sentries in
acknowledging De Urias. ‘Good point, James.' He ought to have noticed that himself.

‘And I believe there has been an epidemic in Andalucia recently, some sort of fever, and as a consequence there's a shortage of food. Cadiz is like a place under seige.'

‘Good God! How d'you know that?'

Quilhampton shrugged. ‘This and that, sir. Listening to the guards chatter. You can pick up some of the sense. I thought something of the kind must have happened as we came through the countryside yesterday. Not too many people in the fields, lot of young women and children . . . oh, I don't know, sir . . . just a feeling.'

‘By heaven, James, that's well argued. I had not even noticed a single field.'

Quilhampton smiled thinly. ‘We ain't too well liked, sir, I'm afraid. “Perfidious Albion” and all that.' He was suddenly serious and stopped strolling. He turned and said, ‘D'you think we're going to get out, sir? I mean before the war's over or we're taken to France.'

Drinkwater managed a confident smile. ‘D'you know, James, that an admiral is worth four post-captains on exchange. How many lieutenants d'you think that is, eh? By God, we'll be worth our weight in gold! After the battle they'll be queueing up to exchange us for admiral this and commodore that.' He patted Quilhampton's arm. ‘Brace up, James, and keep up the spirits of those two reefers.'

‘Oh, Frey's all right; he's as tough as a fore-tack despite appearances to the contrary. It's Gillespy I'm worried about. Poor boy cried last night. I think he thought I was asleep . . .'

‘Poor little devil. Would it help if I had a word with him?'

‘Yes, I think so. Tell him how many admirals there will be to exchange after the battle.'

Drinkwater turned but Quilhampton said, ‘Sir . . . sir, do you think there's going to
be
a battle?'

‘Damn sure, James,' Drinkwater replied. And for that instant, remembering Nelson's conviction, he was irrationally certain of the fact.

It is very curious
, Drinkwater wrote in his journal,
to sit and write these words as a prisoner. I am far from being resigned to my fate but while I can still hear the call of gulls and can hear the distant noise of the sea which cannot be very far from my little window, I have not yet sunk into that despond that men who have been imprisoned say comes upon one. God grant that such a torpor is long in coming or fate releases me from this mischance
 . . .

He stopped writing and looked at his pen. Elizabeth's pen. He closed his journal quickly and got up, falling to a violent pacing of the floor in an effort to drive from his mind all thoughts of Elizabeth or his children. He must not give way to that; that was the way to despair.

He was saved from further agony by the opening of his door. A strange officer in the uniform of the Imperial Navy stood behind the orderly. He spoke English.

‘
Capitaine
Drinkwater? Good evening. I am Lieutenant René Guillet of the
Bucentaure
. Will you 'ave the kindness to follow me. It would be advisable that you bring your 'at.'

‘This is a formal occasion?'

‘
Oui
.'

Drinkwater was led into the same room in which he had been interviewed by Santhonax. Santhonax was there again, but standing. Sitting at the table signing documents was another man. After a short interval he looked up and studied the prisoner. Then he stood up and walked round the table, addressing a few words to Guillet who came smartly forward, collected the papers and placed them in a leather satchel. The strange man was tall and thin with an intelligent face. He wore a white-powdered wig over his high forehead. His nose was straight and his mouth well made and small. He had a firm chin, although his jowls were heavy. Drinkwater judged him to be much the same age as himself. He wore a long-skirted blue uniform coat with a high collar and corduroy pantaloons of a greenish colour, with wide stripes of gold. His feet were thrust into elegant black half-boots of the type favoured by hussars and light cavalry. Across his waist there looped a gold watch-chain from which depended a heavy gold seal.

‘Introduce us, Colonel.' His voice sounded tired, but his English, although heavily accented, was good.

Santhonax stepped forward. ‘Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater of the Royal Navy, formerly commander of His Britannic Majesty's frigate
Antigone
 . . .'

‘Ahhh . . . 
Antigone
 . . .' said the stranger knowingly.

‘On his way to take command of the
Thunderer
,' Santhonax's voice was ironic ‘but taken prisoner
en route
.' He turned to Drinkwater, ‘May I present Vice-Admiral Villeneuve, Commander-in-Chief of the Combined Squadrons of His Imperial and Royal Majesty Napoleon, Emperor of the French and of his Most Catholic Majesty King Ferdinand of Spain.'

The two men exchanged bows. ‘Please sit down, Captain.' Villeneuve indicated a chair and returned behind the table where he sat,
leaned forward with his elbows on the table and passed his hands over his face before resting his chin upon the tips of his fingers.

‘Colonel Santhonax has told me much about you. Your frigate has made as much of a name for itself as
Euryalus
.'

‘You do me too much honour, sir.'

‘They are both good ships. The one was copied from the French, the other captured.'

‘That is so, sir.'

‘Colonel Santhonax also tells me you informed him that Nelson commands the British squadron off Cadiz. Is this true?'

Drinkwater frowned. He had said no such thing. He looked at Santhonax who was still standing and smiling, the candle-light and his scar giving the smile the quality of a grimace.

‘You did not deny it when I said he was with the British fleet,' Santhonax explained. Drinkwater felt annoyed with himself for being so easily trapped, but he reflected that perhaps Santhonax had given away more. In any case, it was pointless to deny it. It seemed that Villeneuve would assume the worst, and if the worst was Nelson, then no harm was done. He nodded.

‘Nelson
is
in command, sir,' he said.

He heard Villeneuve sigh and felt he had reasoned correctly.

The French admiral seemed abstracted for a second and Santhonax coughed.

‘And several ships have gone to Gibraltar?' the admiral asked.

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Where is the
Superb
?' asked Villeneuve. ‘She had gone to England for repair, no?'

‘She had not rejoined the fleet when I left it, sir.' Drinkwater felt a quickening of his pulse. All Villeneuve's questions emphasised his desire to hear that Nelson's fleet was weakened by dispersal.

The admiral nodded. ‘Very well, Captain, thank you.' He rang a little bell and Guillet reappeared. Drinkwater rose and bowed to the admiral who was turning towards Santhonax, but Santhonax ignored Villeneuve.

‘Captain Drinkwater!'

Drinkwater turned. ‘Yes?'

‘I am leaving . . . to rejoin the Emperor tonight. You will send the picture to the Rue Victoire will you not . . . when you return to your ship?' Santhonax was sneering at him. Drinkwater remembered Camelford's words: ‘Shoot 'em both!'

‘When I rejoin my ship . . .'

The two men stared at each other for a second. ‘Until the next time,
au revoir
.'

Walking from the room Drinkwater heard a suppressed confrontation between the two men. As the door closed behind him he heard Santhonax quite clearly mention ‘
Le spectre de Nelson
 . . .'

Tregembo's brief visit the next morning disclosed little. ‘They've got their t'gallants up, zur. Frogs and Dagoes all awaiting the order, zur . . . and pleased the Frogs'll be to go.'

‘There's nothing new about that, Tregembo, they're always getting ready to go. It's the goin' they ain't so good at,' Drinkwater replied, lathering his face. ‘But how the hell d'you know all this, eh?'

‘There are Bretons in the guardroom, zur. I unnerstand 'em. Their talk, like the Kurnowic it is, zur . . .'

‘Ahhh, of course.' Drinkwater smiled as he took the stropped razor from Tregembo, recalling Tregembo's smuggling past and the trips made to Brittany to evade the excise duty of His Majesty King George III. ‘Keep your spirits up, Tregembo, and tell Mr Q the same.'

‘Aye, zur. Mr Gillespy ain't too good, zur, by the bye . . .'

‘No talk!' The orderly, red-faced with fury, shoved Tregembo towards the door.

‘Very well,' acknowedged Drinkwater. ‘But there's very little I can do about it,' he muttered as, once again, the door slammed and he was left alone with his thoughts.

Meat and wine arrived at midday. He walked with the others after the hour of
siesta
, finding Quilhampton downcast and Gillespy in poor spirits. Today it seemed as if Frey was bearing the burden of cheering his fellow prisoners. At sunset a silent Tregembo brought him bread, cheese and wine. As the shadows darkened in the tiny room, Drinkwater found his own morale dropping. In the end it became irresistible not to think of his family and the ‘blue-devils' settled on his weary mind. He did not bother to light his candle but climbed into the bed and tried to sleep. A convent bell tolled away the hours but he had fallen asleep when his door was opened. He woke with a start and lay staring into the pitch-darkness. He felt suddenly fearful, remembering Wright's death in the Temple. He reached for his sword.

‘Get dressed please,
Capitaine
.'

‘Guillet?'

‘Please to 'urry,
m'sieur
.'

‘What the devil d'you want?'

‘Please,
Capitaine
. I 'ave my orders. Dress and come quickly with no
noise.' Guillet was anxious about something. Fumbling in the dark Drinkwater found his clothes and his sword. Guillet must have seen the slight gleam of the scabbard mountings. ‘Not your sword,
Capitaine
 . . .'

Drinkwater left it on his bed and followed Guillet into the corridor. At the door of the guardroom Guillet collected a cloak and handed it to Drinkwater. Drinkwater threw the heavy garment over his shoulders.

‘
Allez
 . . .'

They crossed the courtyard and, with Guillet taking his arm, passed the sentry into the street. ‘Please,
Capitaine
, do not make to escape. I have a loaded pistol and orders to shoot you.'

‘Whose orders? Colonel Santhonax's? Do not forget, Lieutenant Guillet, that I have given my parole.' Drinkwater's anger was unfeigned and Guillet fell silent. Was it Santhonax's purpose to have him murdered in an alleyway?

They were walking down a gentle hill, the cobbled roadway descending in low steps, the blank walls of houses broken from time to time by dimly perceived wrought-iron gates opening onto courtyards. He could see the black gleam of water ahead and they emerged onto a quay. Drinkwater smelt decaying fish and a row of gulls, disturbed by the two officers, flapped away over the harbour. Guillet hurried him to a flight of stone steps. Drinkwater looked down at the waiting boat and the oars held upright by its crew. The lieutenant ordered him down the steps. He scrambled down, pushed by Guillet and sat in the stern-sheets. The bow was shoved off, the oars were lowered and bit into the water. The chilly night air was unbelievably reviving.

A mad scheme occurred to him of over-powering Guillet, seizing his pistol and forcing the boat's crew to pull him out to
Euryalus
. But what would become of Quilhampton and the others? The French, who had treated them reasonably so far, might not continue to do so if he escaped. In any case the plan was preposterous. The lift of the boat, as the water chuckled under the bow and the oars knocked gently against the thole pins, evoked a whole string of emotional responses. The thought that Santhonax was ruthless enough to have him murdered was cold comfort. Yet Guillet seemed to be pursuing orders of a less extreme nature. Nevertheless Drinkwater acknowledged the fact that, removed from his frigate, he was as impotent as an ant underfoot.

The boat was pulled out into the
Grande Rade
, among the huge hulls and towering masts of the Combined Fleet. Periodically a sentry or a
guard-boat challenged them and Guillet answered with the night's countersign. A huge hull reared over them. Even in the gloom Drinkwater could see it was painted entirely black. He guessed her to be Spanish. Then, beyond her, he saw the even bigger bulk of a mighty ship. He could make out the greyer shade of lighter paint along her gun-deck. He counted four of these and was aware that he was looking at the greatest fighting ship in the world, the Spanish
navio Santissima Trinidad
.