The shadow of the eagle

CHAPTER 16 Rules of Engagement

May 1814

'Mr Frey, sir!'

'Ah, Mr Paine...'

'Message from the captain, sir.' Paine paused to catch his breath and caught Ashton's eye. Smoke still lingered on the gun-deck and the atmosphere was acrid with the stink of burnt powder and the sweat of well over a hundred men. Having reloaded, most of the guns' crews had squatted down and were awaiting events. Some chewed tobacco, others mopped their heads and a low, buzzing chatter filled the close air. Frey, standing upright between the beams of the deck above, stretched. His face was already grimy, but his expression was one of cheerful expectation.

'Well,' he prompted, 'what's the news?'

Ashton joined them. He ran a grubby finger round the inside of his stock. Paine noticed he had yet to shave.

'Captain's compliments, gentlemen,' Paine said diplomatically, 'and to say the gun crews acquitted themselves very well. He don't know how much damage we've done, but we ain't, beg pardon, we haven't suffered anything bar a few holes aloft. We're in chase of the Russian again and Captain Drinkwater says to keep it up. He'll do his utmost to continue manoeuvring and hitting from a distance. He says to be certain sure I tell you not to waste powder and shot and to make every discharge count.'

Frey looked from Paine to Ashton with a smile. 'That seems perfectly explicit, eh Josh?'

'Yes,' said Ashton, yawning. By rights the third lieutenant should have been turned in after standing his watch; he was beginning to feel the cumulative effects of his punitive regime of watch-and-watch.

'So round one's to us, eh young shaver?' Frey said light-heartedly. 'How long before we've caught up with the Gremyashchi? We can't see her from down here.'

'About an hour, may be a little more. We've reset the courses.'

'We can see that from the waist,' Ashton said with a cocky air, indicating the open space amidships and the bottoms of the boats on the booms. Sunlight shone obliquely through the interstices, the shafts prominent in the lingering gunsmoke, oscillating gently with the motion of Andromeda.

'Very well, Mr Paine,' said Frey, 'pass our respects to Captain Drinkwater...'

'And tell him we've suffered no casualties down here and are none the worse for the experience,' added Ashton.

'Except for a crushed foot,' Frey corrected reprovingly. 'Poor little Paddy Burns tried to stop a recoiling 12- pounder.'

Thinking of the bare-legged powder-monkeys, Paine grimaced and Ashton said callously, 'The damned little fool got in the way.' Frey pointedly ignored Ashton and nodded dismissal to the midshipman before he turned to cross the deck and peer out of a gun-port to see if he could catch a glimpse of the pursued Gremyashchi. As Paine made off, Ashton called him back.

'Mr Marlowe all right, Mr Paine?'

'Mr Marlowe, sir? Why yes ...'

'Good, good.' Ashton paused, but Paine waited, puzzled at the question. Ashton realized the need of an explanation was both superfluous and demeaning, especially to a midshipman, and waved Paine away, but Paine's own solicitude had been awakened.

'Sir!' He arrested Ashton's turn forward and Frey looked up from his position crouched by the gun-port.

Ashton swung round and stared at the importunate midshipman.

'What happened to Burns, sir?' Paine asked.

'Kennedy's taking his foot off now,' Ashton said coldly and, turning on his heel, resumed his walk forward.

Paine ran back up to the quarterdeck where he caught Drinkwater's eye. 'Beg pardon, sir, both Mr Frey and Mr Ashton send their respects and perfectly understand your orders.'

'Very well.'

'And they've had one casualty'

'Oh? Who is it?'

'A powder-boy, sir,' Paine said, recalling just in time Captain Drinkwater's proscription of the term 'powder- monkey', especially by the young gentlemen.

'Which one?' Drinkwater asked.

'Burns, sir.'

'Burns...' Drinkwater frowned. 'Oh, yes, I know the lad; dark hair and a squint. Was he killed?'

'No, sir, a recoiling gun-truck crushed his foot. He's in the surgeon's hands at the moment.'

'Thank you, Mr Paine. And you, are you all right?'

'Perfectly, sir, thank you.'

Drinkwater nodded and then resumed his scrutiny of the Gremyashchi on their port bow; the Russian frigate was nearer now and Paine was aware he had been absent from the quarterdeck for some time, so much had they shortened the distance. They would be in action again soon and a moment of panic seized him and he blurted out, 'Beg pardon again, sir, but I'm very sorry ...'

Drinkwater turned and looked at the youngster in some surprise. 'What on earth for, Mr Paine?'

'For making such a mess of getting that flag hoist aloft, sir.'

Drinkwater's smile cracked into a brief laugh and he patted the midshipman on the shoulder. 'My dear Mr Paine, think nothing of it. As far as the enemy was concerned, I think you managed the business most ably. As a ruse-de-guerre I imagine it achieved its objective.'

Paine's incomprehension was plain, but he did not question Drinkwater's reply. On any other occasion he would have been dressed down by one of the officers for making so abysmal a hash of the simple task. Action, it seemed, was played to different rules, those of engagement he supposed, so he resumed his station, puzzled but happier. He had survived what Mr Frey had called the first round; perhaps he would be lucky and survive the second.

Lieutenant Hyde took advantage of the hiatus to look to his men. Instructing his two corporals to issue more cartridges and ball, he ordered Sergeant McCann to make his rounds of the sentries posted throughout the frigate.

'See the boys are all right, Sergeant, and make sure they don't feel left out of things.'

McCann ignored the deck sentinels at the after end of the quarterdeck. They were always stationed there, action or not, to maintain a guard and to throw the life-preservers over the side if any unfortunate jack fell overboard.

Below, on the gun-deck, there was a sentry at the forward and after companionways to ensure no one ran below without authority. By this means the cowardly or nervously disposed were kept at their stations and prevented from seeking the shelter of the orlop deck. Only stretcher parties, officers or midshipmen carrying messages were permitted to pass the companionways, along with the powder-boys like Paddy Burns, who carried ammunition up from the magazines and shot lockers to satisfy the demands of the gun-captains.

McCann ascertained there had been no problems with either of his men at these posts and went below where, in the berth-deck and the orlop, other solitary marines did their duty despite the mayhem raging on the decks above. Spirit room, outer magazine, the stores and the hatchways to the holds, each had its guard and every man professed all was well, one asking to be relieved for a moment while he in turn eased himself. McCann obliged then left the comforted soldier to his miserable, ill-lit duty in the mephitic air of the hold.

McCann returned up the forward companionway and walked aft along the gun-deck, exchanging the odd remark with several of the gun crews.

'Cheer up, Sergeant,' one man chaffed, 'what've you got to be glum about up there in all that sunshine and