Raging Sea, Searing Sky

by Christopher Nicole

  Lew stood up, tucked his cap under his arm and went through the opened door. There were several men in the room, but he had eyes only for Admiral Sims, who occupied the centre of the floor, in front of his desk, his granite face and jutting beard as formidable as ever; Lew had in fact never met the admiral, but he had seen enough photographs of him. And now this man held his career, perhaps his very life, in the palm of his hand.

  Spring sunlight drifted through the window behind the admiral, and with it came the roar of London traffic. Lew had only arrived in the capital the previous night, under guard, having spent the previous two months in Portsmouth, under officers’ arrest, a position he had found himself in before he had even left Ireland. He had not known it was all going to take so long, and it hadn’t even happened yet; this was hardly a court martial.

  It had been a time bomb for reflection, and for a counting of one’s friends and enemies. Fortunately, it seemed he had few of the last. Father had written congratulating him on taking an almost sinking ship to port, as well as winning the fight with the U-boat. So had Dan and Captain Grant, and Hashimoto had been in to see him whenever possible. Brenda had also written, regularly, her letters still curiously breathless and uncertain, filled with half expressed sentiments, but she too had been entirely on his side. ‘If they cashier you,’ she had written, ‘I think I’ll emigrate.’

  Yet the fact was that he had committed mutiny on the high seas in time of war. Nor would he be the first McGann to be cashiered. His great-great-grandfather, Toby McGann, had been courtmartialled and cashiered — under much less admirable circumstances, to be sure: Toby McGann had disobeyed orders because of a woman. The woman he had eventually married and who was therefore his ancestress as well, Lew recalled. And Toby McGann had come back to fame and fortune, in that very Navy, re-enlisting as an able seaman.

  Would he have the fortitude to do that? Somehow the world of 1918 seemed a much more sober place than the world of 1812.

  He stood to attention in front of the admiral, while Sims looked him up and down. ‘You may be interested to know, Ensign McGann,’ he said, after a moment, ‘that it is the decision of the Navy Board that there will be no court martial. Lieutenant Hallstrom has been persuaded to withdraw all charges against you, and has accepted the fact that you acted properly in taking command on becoming aware of his temporary incapacity. You are now therefore confirmed in your rank.’ The hard mouth broke into a smile and he held out his hand. ‘I congratulate you.’

  Lew didn’t know what to say, as his back was slapped and his hand wrung by the other senior officers present.

  Sims waited for the hubbub to quieten, while he returned behind his desk. ‘But I have more to tell you than that. You have been breveted lieutenant, Mr McGann, and President Wilson has been pleased to accept our recommendation that you be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honour, both for your gallantry, and your seamanship, in bringing USS Carlton to port in extreme conditions.’

  Lew opened his mouth and then closed it again. No McGann had ever before been awarded the Medal of Honour.

  ‘I may say, McGann, that you are the youngest man ever to be granted either the rank or the medal,’ Sims went on. ‘Just how old are you, anyway?’

  ‘I shall be nineteen in September, sir.’

  ‘It’s a young man’s world. Now tell us, lieutenant, did you really bring Carlton to port with her bows under water?’

  ‘Well, sir, we were unable to make sufficient repairs to keep the sea out, and when the storm was at its worst, we had to steam into it for some time to avoid being overwhelmed. We took a lot of water then, and I guess the pumps weren’t able to cope.’ He grinned. ‘When I abandoned the idea of making Plymouth and put into Cobh instead, I was worried we might ground in the river before we could get a berth.’ What memories that had brought back, of being taken there on the fishing boat after the Lusitania.

  ‘As I said, a brilliant feat of seamanship,’ Sims commented.

  ‘I would not have made it but for the help I received, sir,’ Lew said. ‘I would like to mention Engineer-Lieutenant Martin Benelli, and Lieutenant Hashimoto Kurita, without whose assistance the ship could not have been saved.’

  Sims nodded. ‘Their conduct has been noted and will be remembered. Now, lieutenant, I want you to return to Queenstown.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Carlton has a new commander, Mr McGann. You. You fought her. You know her. So she’s yours. Your orders are to bring her across to England, and there have her repaired, and then take her to sea again.’ Another smile. ‘I’m afraid I cannot say that you are the youngest man ever to skipper a United States warship. I think that honour belongs, and will always belong, to Midshipman David Farragut, who actually commanded a prize at the age of twelve. But I would say you are the youngest captain afloat in this navy at this time. So I will wish you God speed.’

  *

  Lew had no idea whether he was standing on his head or his heels. He immediately contacted the Japanese Embassy, located Hashimoto, and they went out and got drunk together. Next day he was on his way to Ireland, and a reunion with Benny and the skeleton crew who had remained with the battered ship. Escorted by a British destroyer, they brought her across to Plymouth where she went into dry dock. It was eight months before she was ready for sea, but they were an intensely happy eight months for Lew. It seemed that all the frustrations and mistakes of his brief life, and all the mishaps and miseries too, had come together to make one splendid finale. At eighteen? He wasn’t prepared to look further than that.

  But for the moment, life for him had become one long paean of glory. He went up to London to receive his Medal of Honour from the hands of the ambassador; Benny accompanied him to get the Distinguished Service Cross, which was also given to Hashimoto. Father brought the Vermont into Plymouth for fuel and they were able to have a couple of days together, which were about the happiest of Lew’s life, because Father was so obviously so very proud of him. And Brenda’s letters were warmer than ever before, as if his fame and fortune had reassured her of their future happiness. Indeed, apparently everything was being prepared for the wedding the moment he got back to the States, and she wrote glowing accounts of her gown and lists of bridesmaids and guests...Captain Grant had decided it would be foolish to wait until the end of the war. And then, as Brenda wrote, ‘I intend to make you the happiest man in the world.’ He did not doubt she could do that.

  And it was going to happen sooner than he had ever imagined. The one frustrating thing about that whole magnificent year was that he had barely got Carlton to sea for her trials when they were radioed to return to harbour: Germany had surrendered.

  Lew put into Dover, which happened to be the nearest port to his position, and found the town going mad with excitement. He looked at Benny and Johnnie Pearson, his new executive officer, and they looked back at him.

  ‘I’ll stay with the ship, sir,’ said Midshipman Halton. ‘It’ll be a pleasure.’

  Lew had the crew draw lots to decide who got shore leave in these exceptional circumstances, and then turned them loose on the town. The three senior officers took a packed train to London, being hugged and kissed by every woman they encountered, and found the city in an even greater euphoria than the seaport. It was definitely a night to remember, as they moved from pub to pub to hotel to hotel. They lost Benny to a blonde fairly early on, and Pearson also disappeared about two. At three Lew was sitting at a bar of a somewhat exclusive private club — which had this night opened its doors to anyone wearing the uniform of an officer — watching the dancing on a crowded floor when there was a great cheer. ‘She’s going to do it,’ someone shouted. ‘She’s going to do it.’

  He wondered who she was, and what she was going to do.

  ‘Well, I’ll be Goddamned,’ one of the barmen said, as men hurried forward with a table which they set up in the centre of the floor, the crowd drawing back, stamping their feet and clapping their hands. ‘She really is going to do it. You know who th
at is, Yank?’ he asked, as Lew was showing no great interest. ‘That’s Lord Gerrard’s niece, that is. Christ, but she’s a wild one.’ Lew set down his glass and slowly turned on the seat. The throng was still clapping and chanting, and now he saw two men helping May on to the table. She was wearing a green evening gown, cut low both front and back, and her magnificent hair was loose and clouding her shoulders. She had kicked off her shoes, and now she stood on the table, head back, laughing at the men and women beneath her. A glass of champagne was in her right hand, and this she emptied on the head of the man nearest her, before dropping the glass as well.

  Presumably she was tight, Lew thought, suddenly feeling desperately sober. But the sight of her had paralysed his mind. She was so incredibly lovely, so much more lovely than he remembered, and so vibrant, and alive.

  ‘She’s a looker,’ agreed the barman. ‘I’ve seen her do this before. Sailor, you are in for a treat.’

  The band had struck up again, and May was moving her hips, sensually, while she laughed, and swung her head to make her hair fly to and fro, and as she did so, she slipped the strap from her left shoulder.

  Lew watched in horror, what she intended only slowly penetrating his consciousness. And she had done this before, in public? He remembered how she had once done it for him, in private, and felt his blood begin to seethe.

  May had slipped the right shoulder strap down as well, and was slowly gyrating round the table, still shaking her hips, holding the gown against her breasts with both hands. Lew left the stool and began to push into the crowd, but before he reached the table she had given a shriek of laughter and thrown her arms above her head, while the gown fell about her waist. In almost the same movement she had caught it again, to stop it falling right off, but she made no attempt to lift it into place; instead she shimmied to shake her breasts and make them bob.

  The onlookers cheered and stamped their feet and clapped their hands, and Lew reached the edge of the table. May had her back turned to him, while she slowly began easing the gown past her thighs — she appeared to be wearing only drawers underneath — but as she did so she came round again, and gazed at him; he was by some distance the largest man in the room. Her jaw dropped as she stared at him, and she hastily began raising the gown. Lew stepped forward, caught her wrist, and with a flick of his muscles pulled her across his shoulder. She gave a scream of mingled outrage and alarm, and men clustered round him.

  ‘Put that woman down, sir.’

  ‘What are you doing, sir?’

  ‘Let her go, sir!’

  A man stepped in front of Lew, and Lew put his hand over his face and pushed. The man staggered backwards, taking several other men, and women, with him as he tripped and fell.

  ‘You scoundrel,’ shouted another man, and caught his sleeve.

  Lew swung his arm and this one also fell over, accompanied by several companions. The noise was tremendous, but no one else in the drunken throng attempted to impede his progress, as he strode to the door and without waiting for his cap, out into the night. It was drizzling, and May gave a convulsive wriggle; she had not really fought him inside the club.

  Lew pulled her down and set her on the pavement beside him, hailed a cruising taxicab, and bundled her into the dry warmth.

  ‘Where to, guv?’ asked the driver.

  Lew looked at May, huddled darkly in a corner. ‘You’d better tell him,’ he said.

  ‘Why don’t you fuck off?’ she inquired.

  The driver switched on the light, and hastily switched it off again; May had not replaced her shoulder straps.

  ‘If you don’t go home and change you are going to catch your death of cold,’ Lew told her.

  ‘Oh...’ she gave a Mayfair address, and sneezed.

  ‘You’d better hurry,’ Lew suggested.

  ‘I am going to have you arrested,’ May told him. ‘For...for kidnapping.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

  ‘How can you come bouncing back into my life, as if you owned me? You don’t own me, Lewis McGann. You had your chance, and you didn’t want it. Why the hell don’t you leave me alone?’

  ‘This is the place, guv,’ the taxi driver said.

  Lew paid him, opened the door. ‘Come along.’

  May glared at him in the darkness. ‘You mean you’re coming up?’

  ‘Yes. You’re not fit to be out alone.’

  ‘You can’t come up. I don’t want you to.’

  ‘You mean there’s a man up there?’

  ‘Oh, go to hell.’ She got out of the taxi, shivered again, and ran into the lobby; the door was unlocked.

  Lew was at her shoulder, and the night porter gazed at them both uncertainly. He was as aware as anyone in London that this was an exceptional occasion but he had probably never seen one of his tenants barefooted and stripped to the waist. ‘Anything wrong, Miss Gerrard?’

  ‘Yes,’ May said, and remembered to hook her shoulder straps into place. ‘Throw this lout out.’

  The porter, who was not a very large man, looked Lew up and down.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Lew said. ‘You ignore her, and I’ll ignore you. Give me the key to Miss Gerrard’s apartment.’

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ May snapped.

  The porter scratched his head.

  ‘You seem to have mislaid your handbag,’ Lew pointed out, and waited while she sneezed again, several times. ‘And if you don’t go to bed soon, you will wind up in hospital.’

  ‘Actually, sir,’ the porter said. ‘If you were to ring the bell...’

  So there was a man up there, after all. He might have known, Lew thought, wondering why he was so angry. As May had said, he had opted out. But he hadn’t. She was the one who had opted out. ‘Okay,’ he agreed. ‘Come along.’ He grasped her arm.

  ‘You let me go.’ She attempted to slap his face and he caught her other arm. ‘Listen, you big bastard,’ she shouted. ‘I don’t want you in my flat. I don’t want you in my life. Will you bugger off.’

  Lew lowered his shoulder, placed it in her midriff, and straightened. She shrieked and went up with him. He let her arms dangle down his back and wrapped one of his own round her thighs. She screamed and attempted to kick but couldn’t because he was holding her too tightly so she drummed her fists on his back instead.

  ‘Ah...do you know Miss Gerrard, sir?’ the porter asked cautiously.

  ‘Know her? I saved her life, once. Wonder why I troubled. Which floor?’

  ‘The second, sir.’

  Lew nodded and climbed the stairs. May continued to curse and scream, but he doubted she was waking anybody up; he doubted anyone in London was actually asleep. And she ran out of breath long before he reached the second floor, by then he was breathing heavily himself; May was a well-built girl.

  Just ring the bell, the porter had said, and certainly there was a light on inside the flat. He pressed the bell, and set May on her feet. Her hair had clouded across her eyes and one strap had come down again. He pushed it back up for her, at the same time inhaling her beauty all over again.

  She tossed hair from her eyes. ‘You...fucking...’

  ‘Can it,’ he suggested. ‘Or I’ll prove you right, here and now.’ It was certainly something he wanted to do; he was not entirely sober himself.

  The door opened, and he looked at a woman, young, though not as young as May, with a somewhat pinched face and anxious eyes; she had curly brown hair and wore a dressing gown. ‘Miss May?’ she asked.

  ‘Hi,’ Lew said. ‘I’m Lewis McGann.’

  ‘Don’t let him in,’ May snapped. ‘Call the police. Call my uncle. Call...’

  Lew held her wrist and dragged her inside, closing the door behind him. The young woman backed across the room. ‘I think your mistress needs to be put to bed,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you’d like to do it.’

  The woman looked at May.

  ‘You just...’ May began to sneeze again, violently.

  ‘I think maybe the gentleman is right, Miss May
,’ the woman ventured.

  ‘You go ahead. I’ll just pour myself a nightcap.’ Lew went towards a well-stocked bar. Although he hadn’t started sneezing yet, he was soaked through. And he’d have to go back to that Goddamned club for his cap. And then catch an early train back to Dover. He looked at his watch; it was nearly three.

  May was still staring at him. ‘So take your drink, and get out,’ she said, more coherently than she had spoken for some time. The maid, or whoever she really was, had gone into the bedroom and returned with a heavy dressing gown which she was wrapping around her mistress’s shoulders.

  ‘I’d like to have a little chat, first,’ Lew said. ‘When you’re tucked in.’

  ‘You...’ she checked herself as a strange sound drifted through the apartment.

  Lew, who was pouring, put down the decanter and turned. It was not a sound he had often heard, but he had heard something like it before.

  ‘Oh, God,’ May said. ‘Oh God!’ Her knees gave way, and she sat on the settee.

  While the maid stared at her for a moment, then at Lew, all the colour draining from her face. ‘Holy Mother of God,’ she whispered, and crossed herself.

  And Lew both identified the sound and realised that she was not a maid, but a nanny. He crossed the room in three strides, looked into the bedroom, which was clearly May’s, and empty apart from furniture and clothes. He went down the corridor beside it.

  ‘No,’ May shouted. ‘No, you have no right. You...’

  Her voice tailed away because he had reached the door and was opening it. He switched on the light and the baby cried again, but it was awake anyway.

  He stood above the cot and looked down at it. It was very nearly two years since he had left May at Lyme Regis, and this child was just over a year old, he would have estimated. Of course that didn’t mean a thing, where May was concerned...and yet he had no doubt at all.

  The nanny stood at his elbow. ‘His name is Clive,’ she said. ‘Clive Lewis.’

  *

  Lew went back into the lounge. May still sat on the settee, shoulders hunched beneath the dressing gown. She didn’t look at him.