In Northern Seas

by Philip K Allan

  ‘I will get Mr Preston to arrange for a party of men to line the side, ready to boom us off if we should drift too close, sir,’ said Taylor. He closed his telescope and looked around. ‘Now, where the devil is Mr Preston?’

  ‘Here, sir,’ said the breathless lieutenant, running up. ‘My apologies, but descending the mast proved a deal more challenging than climbing it.’

  Clay ignored the flurry of activity that now engulfed the frigate, and stared after the departing French ship. The Hirondelle was no more than a grey shadow as she made good her escape. A sudden flurry of thickening snow masked all trace of her, and when it cleared she had vanished.

  ******

  ‘She was the Fair Prospect of Whitby, sir,’ reported Taylor, from his chair on the far side of Clay’s desk. ‘Three days out from Hamburg with a cargo of timber, which accounts for how readily the fire took hold.’

  ‘By Jove, ain’t that the truth!’ exclaimed Vansittart, who sat on the lockers that formed a bench seat beneath the cabin’s windows, nursing a glass of Clay’s Madeira. ‘I never saw such a damned blaze! If I hadn’t witnessed the highly creditable way you naval coves acted, I wouldn’t have believed it possible to rescue a soul.’

  ‘Thank you for your good opinion, sir,’ said Clay. ‘We do practice fighting fires regularly, and the men treat it with a deal more seriousness than most of our drills. Perhaps being obliged to serve on a wooden ship, stuffed tight with powder, concentrates the mind wonderfully. Yet for all our efforts, we could not save the vessel. How are the crew that we did rescue, Mr Taylor?’

  ‘Mr Corbett does not hold out much prospect for the three that were most badly scorched, sir,’ reported the first lieutenant. ‘He has dressed their wounds with goose fat, and given them sufficient rum and laudanum to ease their suffering. The others are in a better state. The ship’s master is named Isaiah Hockley. He was only slightly hurt, and his daughter was unharmed. Three other crewmen have minor wounds, from which they should recover presently.’

  ‘At which point you will doubtless press them into the navy?’ chuckled Vansittart. ‘Out of the fire, but perhaps back into the frying pan, what?’

  ‘Three prime seamen that are now without a ship, sir?’ said Clay. ‘I would be disappointed in Mr Taylor to find they were not on the Griffin’s books already.’

  ‘Your clerk read them in an hour ago, sir,’ confirmed the first lieutenant, rubbing his hands. ‘Two able seamen and a carpenter’s mate. If we have concluded, Mr Hockley desires to see you. Shall I have him shown in?’

  ‘If you please, Mr Taylor,’ said Clay.

  Isaiah Hockley proved to be a small, sprightly man, with grey hair and a pronounced Yorkshire accent. Apart from a sizable burn in the sleeve of his coat, and dark smuts on his britches, he seemed otherwise unharmed as he came into the cabin. When Clay stood up and held out his hand, he grasped it with both of his.

  ‘Bless you, sir!’ he exclaimed. ‘I was praying hard for deliverance when those French devils were firing into my poor Prospect, and praise the Lord, there you were, appearing out of the snow storm, like an avenging angel!’

  ‘Eh... indeed,’ said Clay, trying to rescue his hand. ‘It is very good to make your acquaintance, sir. Mr Taylor, my first lieutenant, you will have met, I don’t doubt. May I also name the Honourable Nicholas Vansittart? He is one of the members of parliament for Hastings, and is travelling aboard this ship.’

  ‘Good seaport is Hastings,’ said Hockley. ‘I am very glad to meet your honour.’

  ‘Likewise, I am sure,’ said Vansittart, eyeing the burnt sleeve.

  ‘Apologies for my state of dress, gentlemen,’ said the merchant captain. ‘I regret my sea chest went down with my ship. If I had been able, I would have shifted my coat at least.’

  ‘No matter, sir,’ said Clay, showing him to a seat. ‘I am sure we all quite understand. May I offer you some refreshment? A glass of something?’

  ‘I am not a drinker, sir,’ said Hockley. ‘But I would gladly take some tea.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Clay, glancing at his steward. ‘Would you oblige the captain please, Harte?’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Harte. ‘Hot tea it is. Fetched from the galley.’ He departed with an audible sniff on his journey through the ship.

  ‘And how is your daughter bearing up, after her ordeal?’ asked Clay.

  ‘Sarah? Oh, I have no concern on her part, sir. We breed our lasses to be hardy in the North Country. Not that she doesn’t possess all the accomplishments that a young lady should, mind, but she has travelled with me many a time since my wife passed away. She has endured no end of storms and such like at sea, without complaint, so I daresay she will do very well.’

  ‘That must be a comfort for you, Captain,’ said Clay. ‘Might I trouble you for the particulars of your encounter with the Hirondelle, so I can conclude my report to the Admiralty?’

  ‘Now, let me order my thoughts,’ said Hockley, passing a hand through his thin grey hair. ‘We left the estuary of the Elbe River three nights back, and were heading for home. Then last night the snow started to fall, until it were that thick it might as well have been fog.’

  ‘We encountered much the same from four bells,’ said Clay.

  ‘Aye, that would be about right,’ agreed the Yorkshireman. ‘The Fair Prospect is... your pardon, was... a swift enough ship, so I generally sail alone and hope, with the help of the Good Lord, to stay clear of trouble. If that doesn’t answer, I also carry a brace of big carronades up on the forecastle to keep ne’er-do-wells at bay. I had ordered the bell to toll and the gun to fire each ten minutes or so, being fearful we might run onboard another ship in the snow. I suppose the clamour we were making was how that cursed privateer got wind of us.’

  ‘Doubtless so,’ said Clay, making a few notes. ‘Ah, here is your tea.’

  ‘Which it may be tepid, havin’ come so far, sir,’ muttered Harte as he handed it across.

  ‘Most welcome, smiled the merchant captain, spooning sugar into his cup and then taking a sip. ‘Now where was I?’

  ‘The privateer was about to attack?’ prompted Taylor.

  ‘Aye, so she was,’ said Hockley. ‘They appeared out of the snow to starboard, coming straight for us. I dare say she hoped to board before we knew much about it, but my lads were having none of it. Thanks to my orders to fire that regular warning shot, the carronade was manned already. My first mate was a former quarter gunner in a John Company ship, and a couple of my people had served in the navy, so they knew how to handle themselves, thank the Lord. First shot took a cracking great lump out of the Frenchman’s foremast, after which she drew off to batter us a little first.’

  ‘That was handsomely done, by Jove!’ exclaimed Vansittart. ‘I do wish that more of our commerce would show such pluck.’

  ‘Perhaps if the navy refrained from pressing so many of our people, we might be able to, sir,’ said Hockley, looking at Clay. ‘I dare say you’ll have already taken those of my lads that survived?’

  ‘As the law of the sea requires,’ said Clay. ‘Pray continue with your account, sir.’

  ‘We were giving those devils as good as we got, but it was one piece against six. Two of my crew were killed outright, and then our foremast came down. I had just resolved to surrender, but no sooner had I ordered our colours to be struck, when out of the snow came salvation in the form of your ship. After which, I believe you know the rest.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Clay. ‘How was it that your ship took fire?’

  ‘It began close to the bow,’ explained Hockley. ‘Given that is where the mast came down, I suppose some of the wreckage must have got in the path of our carronade. The flame from the barrel could very easily have set it ablaze. None of my men survived from that part of the ship, so I can offer you nothing more definite.’

  ‘Even so, I dare say your conclusion is correct,’ said Clay. ‘Thank you for assisting me. I just regret that we were unable to save The Fair Prospect.’

&
nbsp; ‘My ship’s boat was destroyed by a shot from the Hirondelle early in the engagement, sir,’ said Hockley. ‘So we were left with no means of escaping the flames. In rescuing my daughter, you recovered what was most precious to me onboard, for which I will forever be grateful.’ He held his hand across the desk, and shook that of Clay’s once more. Vansittart blew his nose loudly on a large calico handkerchief.

  ‘It occurs to me, Mr Hockley, that you and I may be of similar stature,’ he said, returning the cloth to his coat pocket. ‘Would you do me the honour of accepting the loan of some of my clothing?’

  ‘That is very obliging of you, sir, but I do not envisage being long in your company,’ said Hockley. ‘A fine ship like this could make Hamburg swiftly enough, from where I can get new clothes and a passage home. I can shift into seamen’s slops until then.’

  ‘I am afraid there is no question of our diverting to go there,’ said Vansittart, before Clay could say anything. ‘This ship is on urgent government business. In a few days’ time we shall be undertaking a mission on the Danish coast, after which we must make haste to enter the Baltic.’

  ‘Would Copenhagen serve as a place for us to set you down, Mr Hockley?’ said Clay. ‘I daresay clothes and a passage home can be secured from there.’

  ‘Do I have a choice, sir?’ asked the merchant captain.

  ‘None, I fear,’ said Vansittart.

  ‘Would you kindly extend the hospitality of the wardroom to the captain and Miss Hockley, Mr Taylor?’ said Clay. ‘At least for the next week or so.’

  ‘It will be a squeeze, sir,’ said Taylor, blowing out his cheeks. ‘We already have Mr Vansittart, and I am not sure we can provide accommodation suitable for a lady.’

  ‘Have no fears about Sarah,’ said Hockley. ‘She is quite accustomed to life afloat.’

  ‘I will have the carpenter reduce the size of the cabins, sir,’ concluded the first lieutenant. ‘I am sure we shall manage.’

  ‘Capital!’ muttered Vansittart. ‘Smaller bloody cabins!’

  Chapter 5

  Jutland

  The following evening the wardroom of the Griffin had been transformed, so that it managed to look both magnificent and distinctly cramped. It had been decorated with one of the frigate’s smaller naval ensigns. What was a modest looking flag when aloft, was in reality an enormous and stubborn bolt of material that had been dragged down two flights of ladders and squeezed through the cabin door. A small portion of it had been pinned across the stern bulkhead, while all the remaining swathes were heaped on the deck beneath. In addition to the flag, ribbons of red, white and blue now decorated the door handles of the officers’ cabins. Other ribbons had been woven in a crisscross pattern around the solid column of the mizzen mast that ran down through the middle of the room, and straight through the polished surface of the wardroom table. This had been laden with silverware, borrowed for the occasion from the captain’s steward, glittering glass, and yet more ribbons. The warm light of candles played over it all, and winked back from the polished buttons of the officers as they awaited the arrival of their guests.

  ‘Is dinner ready to be served, Britton?’ asked Taylor of the wardroom steward.

  ‘Aye, that it be, sir,’ he confirmed. ‘Biggest fishermen’s pie you ever saw. I had all the hands from Brixham casting lines off the bow through the forenoon watch. I pledged a tot of rum for each tub of fish, which answered a deal better than I reckoned on.’

  ‘Good, so we have plenty of vittles,’ mused Taylor, returning his attention to the table. ‘Will we truly be able to accommodate everyone? With a servant behind each chair, we shall be packed closer than meat in a pie.’

  ‘The captain is a tall man, I grant you, but fortunately Mr Vansittart, Mr Hockley and his daughter are all small persons,’ observed Charles Faulkner, the frigate’s aristocratic purser, who regarded himself an expert on matters of social etiquette.

  ‘If it helps with the seating arrangements, I could sit next to wee Miss Hockley,’ said Lieutenant Thomas Macpherson, pulling his marine officer’s tunic a little straighter, and giving a final twist to his glossy black sideburns.

  ‘No, Tom, as an artist, I believe I am best equipped to converse with her on the finer accomplishments,’ said Lieutenant Blake. ‘She is our guest, so we surely want to put her at her ease.’

  ‘In which case I should sit beside her, John,’ said Richard Corbett. ‘It is with me that she is best acquainted, since I have treated both her and her father as a physician, you will recall.’

  ‘She will not want such unpleasant memories stirred up, man,’ protested Blake.

  ‘If it’s the finer things you wish for, what could be more diverting than my tales of life in the Highlands?’ asked Macpherson.

  ‘We are in the German Sea!’ protested Blake. ‘She has only to look over the side to observe the fog and sleet of your damned Highlands!’

  ‘What a pity l am shortly to be on watch,’ observed Armstrong. ‘I shall miss you all squabbling to catch her eye, like roosters in a barnyard.’

  ‘Roosters in a barnyard?’ queried Macpherson, his face colouring.

  ‘Gentlemen, calm yourselves, please!’ said Taylor. ‘Less of this unseemly tumult, I pray! I have already determined the places at the table, and I have no intention of changing it now. Miss Hockley will be seated here, between myself and Mr Preston.’

  ‘Next to you!’ exclaimed Blake. ‘But you’re old enough to be her father, George!’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Taylor. ‘Which makes me a much more suitable chaperone for her than any of you satyrs! May I also remind you that her actual father will be present?’

  ‘I must say, she does look rather fetching in the sailor’s clothes I provided for her,’ said Faulkner. ‘There is something about a filly in trousers. It ain’t quite proper, of course, but even so...’

  The talk in the wardroom faded as the officers all toyed with the vision presented by the purser. In the resulting quiet a series of bell strokes sounded through the ship.

  ‘I must relieve Mr Preston on watch,’ announced Armstrong, buttoning up his pea jacket, and heading towards the door. ‘Shall I tell the lucky dog who his companion at the table is to be?’

  ‘If you wish,’ said Taylor. ‘Now, our guests will be here presently. To your places, gentlemen!’

  No sooner had Armstrong departed, than there was a knock at the door, and in came the guests. First into the wardroom was the object of the officer’s discussion. Miss Sarah Hockley was an attractive young lady, as tall as her father, with a pleasant smile and hazel eyes. Her rich brown hair was piled up onto her head, with a few curls allowed to trail down one side of her face. Only on close inspection could it be seen that her hair was pinned in place with the thinnest copper nails owned by the ship’s carpenter. Disappointingly for her many admirers amongst the frigate’s younger officers, she was dressed once more in the pale yellow frock she had worn when she left the burning Fair Prospect. She was followed in by her father, looking a little stiff and awkward in Vansittart’s fifth best coat, followed by its owner, impeccable in the height of fashion. The final guest was Clay, in the full dress magnificence of a post captain of the Royal Navy, all dark blue broadcloth, white silk and sparkling gold braid. During the flurry of introductions, Lieutenant Preston managed to squeeze in behind him and make his way to his place at the table.

  ‘Your pardon, Miss Hockley,’ he said. ‘I barely recognised you out of seamen’s clothes.’

  ‘In truth, Mr Preston, it is something of a relief,’ she said. ‘Your sailmaker did his best to tailor them for me, but they still fit very ill. But I will admit that trousers are much superior to skirts for moving around a ship.’

  ‘They most certainly are,’ agreed Preston. ‘Sailors abandoned britches and stockings for them long ago. Although I did notice on my last visit home that the fashion for trousers had spread ashore. Is that not so, Mr Faulkner?’ The purser considered this for a moment from his place across the table.
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  ‘Amongst the flashier sort they might, I daresay, but I can’t imagine them catching on in the ranks of the superior classes,’ he offered. ‘My father will go to his grave in britches, I have no doubt. Ah, here comes the wine at last. I confess to being quite parched.’

  The volume of conversation around the table dropped as the servants behind each chair, ship’s boys for the most part, stepped forward to pour the wine.

  ‘Come now, Rankin,’ said Vansittart quietly. ‘You know better than to pour from the left.’ His valet squeezed his bulky frame round to the other side of his master’s chair.

  ‘Your pardon, sir,’ he muttered.

  ‘So I understand you to have invited us all here to celebrate a notable date, Mr Taylor,’ said Hockley, indicating the flag and ribbons. ‘What, pray, is the significance of the fourteenth of February?’

  ‘Surely every unmarried person, at least, will be familiar with that date,’ said his daughter, colouring a little. ‘A date connected with a certain saint beginning with “V”?’

  ‘I should certainly hope so, Miss Hockley,’ enthused the first lieutenant. ‘Only four years have passed since the navy defeated the Dons off Cape St Vincent. It was the most splendid of victories, and was fought upon this very day.’

  ‘Then let that be our first toast, gentlemen,’ said Vansittart, raising his glass. ‘The Royal Navy and their noble victory off Cape St Vincent.’ Glasses were drained with enthusiasm, and calls of “Hear him!” rang out. Several of the officers drummed their hands on the table.

  ‘You seem disappointed, Miss Hockley,’ said Preston. ‘Did you have another saint in mind?’

  ‘Are you seeking to tease me, sir?’ she demanded, noting the twinkle in his eye.

  ‘A little, perhaps,’ he smiled, before leaning closer to whisper in her ear. ‘I knew all the time the true significance of the date.’

  ‘I am pleased to hear it,’ she said, appraising him over the top of her wine glass.