The Flying Squadron by Richard Woodman

Author:Richard Woodman [Woodman, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Historical, War & Military, Sea Stories
ISBN: 9781574090772
Google: erPCNNZKvm4C
Amazon: 1574090771
Publisher: Sheridan House
Published: 1999-09-30T14:00:00+00:00

10 - September 1811 - The Parthian Shot

They lay in this limbo of uncertainty for eight days, one, it seemed to those disposed to seek signs amid the random circumstances of life, for every deserter. The fall of the year came slowly, barely yet touching these low latitudes, so the very air enervated them and the pastoral beauty of the scene was slowly soured by idleness and a lack of communication with the shore.

The Patricians, unpatrician-like, still pulled their miserable guard round themselves, while the Stingrays regularly ferried their commander ashore. It was clear to Drinkwater that although Shaw might have spoken to Stewart about the advantages accruing to an honest, open, apple-pie handover of the British deserters, the appeal had fallen on deaf ears. Since they now caught no more than an occasional glimpse of their men, Drinkwater knew that Stewart was guarding his prizes closer still.

To keep the pot boiling Drinkwater dispatched Frey in the launch for a three-day expedition along the Virginia and Maryland shores and Stewart had, perforce, to send a shadowing boat. As for Arabella, Drinkwater saw her three or four times as she rode out. Once they exchanged greetings, she with a wave, he with a doffing of his hat, but on the other occasions, distance prevented these formalities.

The lack of hospitality on Shaw’s part discouraged Drinkwater and, when he sent an invitation to Shaw and his daughter-in-law to dine as his guests aboard Patrician (Lieutenant Gordon’s questing boat-party having disturbed a covey of game birds), it was declined on the grounds of Mr Shaw’s absence.

Drinkwater tried to convince himself all parties awaited the outcome of negotiations before re-establishing amicable relations, but he knew the matter of the deserters had come between them all. As for Arabella herself, he thought she wished to distance herself from him and respected her wishes. Besides, he had no desire to make a fool of himself.

‘Why did Vansittart have to go via Baltimore, sir?’ Frey asked on his return. He had made his report and he and Drinkwater had been consulting a chart, Frey tracing his aimless track along the shores of Chesapeake Bay. ‘The Potomac leads directly up to Washington.’

‘A matter of formalities, I suppose,’ replied Drinkwater absently, filling two glasses. ‘Perhaps they did not wish him to see the defences of Washington, or reconnoitre so obvious an approach.’

‘He’ll come back the same way, then?’

‘I imagine so. I’ve really no idea.’

‘I wish we were back, sir,’ Frey said suddenly.

‘Back? Where?’

‘In home waters, off Ushant, in the Mediterranean, the Baltic, anywhere but here. God, we’re not liked hereabouts.

‘We’re an old enemy, Mr Frey . . . Tell me have you executed any watercolours lately? I believe you were working on a folio . . .’

‘Oh, those, no, I have abandoned the project.’ Something wistfully regretful in Frey’s tone prompted Drinkwater to probe.

‘Not like you to abandon anything.’

‘No, maybe not, sir, but this occasion proved the rule.’

‘The wardroom’s not the most conducive place, eh? Do ‘em in here, I could do with a little society.

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