Ричард Вудмен - Baltic Mission

'The trade and its disappointments seem to keep you in good humour, Captain Young.'

'Aye, and in tolerable good pocket,' Young added familiarly. 'We had better anchor then . ..'

'Aye, Baker and I will work our way inshore a little, if you've a mind to close in our wake.'

'It won't be the first time I've worked a ship through ice, Captain,' said Drinkwater returning Young's ready smile. 'Mr. Q! Have the kindness to see Captain Young to his boat.' He could not avoid having his wrist wrenched again by the genial Northumbrian and felt compelled to dispel his anxiety by more of the man's good-natured company. It would do him no harm to learn more of the Baltic for he might yet have the convoy of the whole homeward trade at the close of the season. 'Perhaps you and Baker would do me the honour of dining with me this afternoon, Captain. 'Tis a plain table, but...'

'None the worse for that, I'm sure. That's damned civil of ye, Captain Drinkwater. And I'll be happy to accept.'

'Very well. Ah, Mr. Q ...'

As the little jolly-boat pulled away, Drinkwater raised his hat to Young and then, his curiosity aroused after the conversation, he fished in his tail-pocket for the Dollond glass and levelled it at the distant smudge of land. The sand-spit that separated the open sea from the great lagoon of the Frisches Haff was pierced at its northern end, allowing the River Pregel to flow into the Baltic. Twenty miles inland lay the great fortress and cathedral city of Konigsberg, once the home of the Teutonic knights and later a powerful trading partner in the Hanseatic League. Now it was the most eastern possession of the King of Prussia and the only one, it seemed, that contained a Prussian garrison of any force to maintain King Frederick William's tenuous independence from Napoleon. As such it formed an important post on the lines of communication between Russia and the Tsar's armies in Poland, a depot for Bennigsen's commissariat and the obvious destination for one hundred and sixty thousand muskets, with bayonets, cartridge and ball to match.

'Beg pardon, sir, but the brigs are hauling their mainyards.'

Mr. Quilhampton recalled Drinkwater from his abstraction. He shut the glass with a snap, aware that he had seen nothing through it apart from grey sea, ice and the blue line of a featureless country. It seemed odd that history was being made there, among what looked no more substantial than a streak or two of cobalt tint from Mr. Frey's watercolour box.

'Filling their sails, eh, Mr. Q? Very well. Do you do likewise. And you may pass word to rouse up a cable and bend it onto the best bower. We shall fetch an anchor when those two fellows show us some good holding.'

Captain Young's forecast proved accurate. Within a few days the ice began to melt and disperse with dramatic rapidity. A soft wind blew from the south-east, bringing off the land exotic fragrances and stray birds that chirruped as they fluttered, exhausted, in the rigging. From here the boys were sent aloft to chase them off and prevent them fouling the white planking of Antigone's decks. The relative idleness of the enforced anchorage served to rest the men, settling those new-pressed into a more regular routine than the demands of passage-making allowed, and Drinkwater detected a lessening of tension about the ship. His warning to Rogers seemed to have been heeded and he felt able to relax, to consider that their earlier problems had been part of the inevitable shaking-down necessary to the beginning of every cruise.

As the ice broke up, the three ships moved closer to the estuary, and ten days after their first anchoring, Drinkwater began to send boat expeditions away to determine the effect of the thaw upon the fresher waters of the Frisches Haff. A few days later local fishing boats appeared and then there were signs of coastal craft beyond the sand-spit that was in sight of them now. And then, quite sudenly and with unexpected drama, proof came that confirmed that navigation was open up the Pregel to the quays of Konigsberg itself. While Drinkwater was breakfasting one morning an excited Midshipman Wickham burst into his cabin with the news that a large and 'important-looking barge' was coming off from the shore. Hurriedly swallowing his coffee, Drinkwater donned hat and cloak and went on deck.

Lieutenant Fraser had already caught sight of the unmistakable flash of scarlet under a flung-back grey cape and the ostentatiously upright figure of a military officer standing in the big boat's stern. He had had the presence of mind to man the side, Drinkwater noted, as he joined Fraser at the entry.

'My congratulations, Mr. Fraser,' he said drily. 'Your vigilance has improved remarkably'

'Thank ye, sir,' replied the Scotsman, sensing the captain's good humour, 'but to be truthful I think yon gentleman was of a mind to draw attention to himself.'

'Yes.' Drinkwater nodded and stared curiously at the approaching stranger. 'He seems to be British, and in full regimentals,' he remarked as the boat came alongside below their line of vision.

A twitching of the baize-covered man-ropes, and then the cockerel plumes, bicorne hat and figure of a British colonel rose above the rail to a twittering of pipes, stamp of marines' boots and the wicked twinkle of sunshine upon Mount's flourished hanger. The officer saluted and Drinkwater tipped his own hat in response.

'Good morning, sir. This is an unlooked-for pleasure. Permit me to introduce myself. Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater of His Britannic Majesty's thirty-six-gun frigate Antigone.'

The newcomer managed a small, sharp bow. 'Your servant, sir. Robert Wilson, Colonel in His Britannic Majesty's Service, attached to the headquarters of His Imperial Majesty's armies in Poland and East Prussia.' He held out a paper of accreditment taken from his cuff and stared about him with an intelligent and professional interest.

Drinkwater gave the pass a cursory glance and said, 'Perhaps we should adjourn to my cabin, Colonel Wilson ...' 'Delighted, Captain ...'

The two men went below leaving an air of unsatisfied curiosity among the men on deck.

In the cabin, as Mullender poured two glasses of wine, Drinkwater checked Wilson's pass with more thoroughness. 'Please be seated, Colonel Wilson,' he said and then handed back the document with a nod. 'Thank you. How may I be of service?'

'You have two brigs with you, sir. The Nancy and the ... Jenny Marsden. They are filled with a consignment of arms and ammunition for the Russian army, are they not?'

'They are indeed, Colonel,' said Drinkwater, relieved that Wilson had come off to assume responsibility for them. 'Are you intending to see them to their destination at Konigsberg?'

'I shall do what I can, though Russian methods can be damnably dilatory'

'Then I am doubly glad to see you.' Drinkwater smiled, 'And I'd welcome reliable news of the action we heard had been fought in February. I have been concerned as to the accuracy of the reports I had from the Swedes and the safety of such a shipment if left at Konigsberg.'

Wilson stretched his long legs and relaxed in his chair. 'You need have no fear, Captain. The Russian outposts confront the French all along the line of the Passage. They have not moved since Eylau...'

'So they were held?

'The French? Oh, good God, yes! Had they been under Suvoroff, well...' Wilson sipped his wine and shrugged. 'Were you there?'

'At Eylau, yes. The Russians fought with great stubbornness and although Bennigsen left the field the French had been fought to a standstill; Boney himself had had the fright of his life and the Grand Army were dying in heaps pour la gloire. Their cavalry were magnificent of course, but even Murat was powerless to break the Russkies.'

'Will Bennigsen complete the matter when you come out of winter quarters?'