The shadow of the eagle

aboard this ship last autumn when he took Andromeda over from Captain Pardoe: not that Pardoe was aboard very often; he spent most of his time in the House of Commons and left the ship to the first luff...'

'Who was killed, I believe,' interrupted Marlowe.

'Yes. We had trouble with some of the men — it's a long story'

'I gathered they were mutineers,' Marlowe said flatly.

'Ah, you've heard that, have you?' Birkbeck looked at the young officer beside him. 'Now I understand why you made that remark about incitement.'

'Well, the temper of the men is a matter I should properly concern myself with.' Marlowe invoked the superior standing of a commissioned officer, as opposed to the responsibilities of the warranted sailing master.

'Indeed it is, Mr Marlowe. But you might also properly concern yourself with the temper of your commanding officer. I fear you may have fallen victim to a misapprehension in misjudging Captain Drinkwater. Consider his late achievement. Last autumn, as soon as he came aboard this ship, which had been kept on guard duties and as a convoy on the coast where her captain could be called to the House of Commons if the government wished for his vote, we went a-chasing Yankee privateers in the Norwegian fiords. We took a big Danish cruiser, the Odin. It was scuttlebutt then that Drinkwater had some influence at the Admiralty and was wrapped up in secret goin's on. You heard what he said about that woman who came aboard the other night and that she was mixed up in some such business. I've no doubt the matter we are presently engaged upon is exactly as he told us.'

'I had no idea,' mused Marlowe for a moment, then added, 'So, you consider we might see some action?'

Birkbeck shrugged. 'Who knows? Captain Drinkwater seems to think so. Perhaps just by cruising off the Azores we will prevent all this happening, but if Boney escapes, God help Canada.'

'We are playing for very high stakes ...'

'Indeed we are.'

'But she's an old ship and lacks powder and shot...'

'What d'you think we can do about that?'

'I, er, I don't know. Put into Plymouth?'

'It's a possibility ...'

'But?'

'Not one he'll consider.'

'Why not?'

'It would delay us too much; we'd be subject to the usual dockyard prevarications, difficulties with the commissioner, warping in alongside the powder hulk, half the watch running ... No, no, Drinkwater will avoid that trap.'

'Well Gibraltar's too far out of our way' said Marlowe with a kind of pettish finality, 'so what will Our Father do?'

'Can't you guess?' Birkbeck grinned at the young man.

Irritated, Marlowe snapped, 'No I damn well can't!'

Birkbeck was offended by Marlowe's change of tone. 'Then you'll have to wait and see!' he replied, and left the first lieutenant staring after him as he made his way below.

Lieutenant Hyde of the marines sat in the wardroom reading a novel. It was said to have been written 'by a lady', but, despite this, it rather appealed to him. He was an easy-going man whose lithe body conveyed the impression of youth and agility. In fact he was past thirty-five and conspicuously idle. But whereas military officers were frequently inert, Lieutenant Hyde was fortunate to be able to persuade his subordinates into doing their own duty and a good bit of his own. Moreover, this was accomplished with an enthusiasm that bespoke a keenly active and intelligent commanding officer.

The secret of Hyde's success was very simple; he possessed a sergeant of unusual ability and energy. Sergeant McCann was something of an enigma, even between decks on a British man-of-war which was said to be a refuge for all the world's bad-hats. Sergeant McCann was as unlike any other sergeant in the sea-service as it was possible to be; he was cultured. In fact the novel Lieutenant Hyde was reading was rightfully Sergeant McCann's; moreover the sergeant was diligent, so diligent that it was unnecessary for Lieutenant Hyde to check up on him, and he was well acquainted with the duties required of both a sergeant and an officer. This was because Sergeant McCann had once held a commission of his own.

A lesser man would have let bitterness corrode his soul, but Sergeant McCann had nothing left in the world other than his work. He had been born in Massachusetts where his father had been a cobbler. At the age of sixteen his father had been dragged from their house and tarred and feathered by 'patriot' neighbours for the crime of opposing armed rebellion against the British crown. By morning McCann was the head of his family, his mother had lost her reason and his twelve-year-old sister was in a state of shock. Somehow he got his family into Boston and when that city was evacuated they fled to New York along with a host of loyalist refugees. Young McCann volunteered for service in a provincial regiment, fought at the Brandywine and earned a commission at Germantown. In his absence his mother took to drink and his sister became mistress to a British officer. McCann went south and fought with Patrick Ferguson at King's Mountain, where he was wounded and taken prisoner. After a long and humiliating captivity he found his way back to New York, but no sign of his family. After the peace, in company with other loyalists, he crossed the Atlantic in search of compensation from the British government. In this he was disappointed, and found himself driven to all manner of extremities to keep body and soul together. Finally he entered the service of a moderately wealthy family whose country seat was in Kent. He stuck the subservient existence of an under-footman for three years, then joined the marines of the Chatham division. McCann learned to blot out the past by an intense concentration upon the present. Lieutenant Hyde called him 'my meticulous sergeant' and thus he was known as Meticulous McCann.

Owing to severe losses among the marines during the preceding cruise, Lieutenant Hyde, Sergeant McCann and a dozen additional red-coated lobsters had been sent aboard Andromeda at Chatham shortly before the frigate sailed on her escort duties. The combination of the elegantly languid Hyde and the pipeclayed mastery of McCann was thought by the officer commanding the Chatham division to be ideal for such a ceremonial task.

'Is that damned book so entertaining, Hyde?' Lieutenant Ashton now asked.

'It is very amusing,' Hyde replied without looking up from the page, adding, 'Shouldn't you be on deck?'

'Frederic has relieved me. He's under the impression I am acting as his clerk. Anyway, old fellow, I hate to disturb you from your intellectual pursuits, but the Meticulous One awaits your attention.'

'Really ...' Hyde turned a page, chuckled and continued reading.

'Do please come in Sergeant.' Ashton waved the scarlet-clad McCann into the wardroom, then turned to the marine officer. 'Hyde, you infernal layabout, you quite exasperate me! Sergeant McCann is reporting to you.' Ashton rolled his eyes at the deck-head for McCann's benefit.

Skilfully bracing himself against the heel and movement of the ship, McCann crashed his boots and finally attracted the attention of his commanding officer. Hyde affected a startled acknowledgement of his presence.

'What the devil... ? Ah. McCann, men ready for inspection?'

'Sir!'

'Very well.' Hyde put his book, pages downwards, upon the table and got up. He seemed to the watching Ashton not to need to adjust his tight-fitting tunic, but rose immaculate, preened like a sleek bird. He winked at Ashton, picked up his billy-cock hat and preceded McCann from the wardroom. Watching the pair leave, Ashton was shaking his head in wonder at the contrived little scene when a door in the adjacent bulkhead opened and a tousle-haired Frey poked his head out.

'What the deuce is all the noise about?'

'Oh, nothing, Frey, nothing, only Hyde and the Meticulous One.'

'Is that all?' said Frey, preparing to retreat into his hutch of a cabin just as the ship heeled farther over. 'Wind's shifting,' he said, yawning. 'Isn't it your watch?'

'I do wish people wouldn't keep asking me that. The first lieutenant has relieved me.'