In Northern Seas

by Philip K Allan

  ‘So I take it that the negotiations did not proceed well then, sir?’ asked Clay.

  ‘Refused every proposal we made,’ said the diplomat. ‘Paris must have put the fear of God into him. Bill Drummond has never seen Bernstorff show such pluck.’

  ‘That would be Mr William Drummond, our ambassador at the Danish Court?’ asked Clay.

  ‘He was our ambassador,’ said Vansittart. ‘But he will be asking for his passport tonight and will return to London to report. Fact is that Bernstorff is prepared to hazard all on us not having the bottom for war. He don’t believe we have the nerve for it. It will presently be the turn of Admiral Parker and Lord Nelson to disabuse him of his view.’

  ‘Have we failed altogether then, sir?’ said Clay, twisting his glass between his long fingers. ‘It is to be war after all.’

  ‘War with the Danes, certainly, but the dashed ball ain’t over yet, Captain, only the first dance.’ Vansittart drained his glass of madeira and held it out towards Harte. ‘You’re forgetting the activities of my sadly battered valet.’

  ‘How is he, sir?’ asked Clay. ‘Still in the sick bay?’

  ‘He will live,’ said Vansittart, ‘although he was in a sorry state last night. Barely conscious, reeking of drink, and with his nose broke. He says that one of your crew was responsible.’

  ‘The drink was poured over him by my coxswain, sir,’ confirmed Clay, ‘as a ruse to smuggle him past the soldiers who were patrolling the waterfront. Meanwhile, the most extraordinary rumours are circulating on the lower deck. There is talk of your man attempting to murder a Danish civilian by throttling him with a lanyard of some description. Did he mention that at all?’

  ‘I am not in the habit of heeding idle gossip, Clay,’ said Vansittart.

  ‘Nor I, but the particulars seem so strange in this case, sir,’ continued the captain. ‘I am used to hearing of fights with fists or cudgels, even knives on occasion, but strangulation? It is the sort of thing one thinks of happening at the court of some Oriental potentate. Not in a tavern brawl!’

  The two men looked at each other for a long moment. It was the diplomat who broke the silence first.

  ‘Perhaps we should let that particular hound continue to slumber, what?’ he suggested. ‘The main thing is that he has returned, with important intelligence for us.’ He leant forward and dropped his voice. ‘He made visits to several of our key adherents at court. It seems there is precious little support for Bernstorff’s pro-French stance, but the Crown Prince is terrified by Russia. So that is where the solution to this sorry mess lies. If we can persuade Tsar Paul to abandon this ridiculous League of Armed Neutrality, then the Danes, Swedes and the rest will follow.’

  ‘I see, sir,’ said Clay. ‘And how do we do that?’

  ‘Why, we must make haste and proceed to St Petersburg,’ said Vansittart. ‘Russia is the trunk of this confederation. Hew that down, and all the branches will fall with it.’

  Chapter 8

  Aurora

  ‘Is your ship some cursed prison hulk, where I am to be held until I have served my time, Captain?’ demanded Isaiah Hockley, leaning across Clay’s desk the following morning.

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Clay. ‘And for my part, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to be rid of your damned impertinence! Prison hulk, indeed! I see that the unfailing gratitude you pledged when this ship was the agent of your rescue has now worn thin. But pray attend to Captain Holst, here. I have no part in this. It is the authorities in Copenhagen that will not allow you to leave the Griffin.’

  The Danish naval officer was almost as brilliantly uniformed as during his last visit. Only the red and white ribbon and glittering order were missing.

  ‘I regret the inconvenience to you and your daughter, Mr Hockley,’ he said, ‘but there is no question of anyone leaving this ship. The city is in uproar! British spies running through our streets, a patrol of agents assaulted in an alleyway, and an attempt made to strangle one of our citizens, all in a single night! The Chief Minister’s instructions permit no exceptions.’

  ‘You’re quite certain that these sailors weren’t from the Liberté, captain?’ offered Vansittart. ‘The damned Frogs will try anything to stir up ill feelings between those who should be friends, don’t you know?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Holst. ‘It is a group of five British sailors that are sought for in connection with these matters. They should be easy to trace. One is described as exceptionally tall and strong, and another is a negro. Does anyone from this ship match that description?’

  ‘It could be any number of my men, I am afraid, Captain,’ said Clay, his face a mask.

  ‘How peculiar,’ remarked Holst. ‘A ship entirely crewed by blackamoors and giants. Very well, until they are found and handed over to the authorities, no one will be allowed to come ashore.’

  ‘But... but my daughter and I must return home,’ pleaded Hockley. ‘It is imperative that we leave this ship! We took no part in the events of last night.’

  ‘Imperative perhaps, but also impossible,’ said the Danish officer. ‘There can be no exceptions, sir.’

  ‘As it happens, this ship will be departing Copenhagen in the next hour, Captain Holst,’ said Clay. ‘I was going to request a pilot, unless you have decided to replace the navigation markers?’

  ‘I am sure that a pilot would be in order, sir,’ said the Dane. ‘I will have one sent across as soon as we have concluded here. I imagine that you will be returning home, via the Sound?’

  ‘Not at all, we shall be heading east.’

  ‘Further east!’ groaned Hockley, sitting down and holding his head in his hands. ‘Within the hour!’

  ‘I am sure you know your business, Captain, but I must warn you that the sea in the eastern Baltic will only just be clearing of ice,’ said Holst. ‘Most of the coasts and ports there will be frozen for some weeks yet.’

  ‘Nevertheless, that is where we must go,’ said Clay. ‘I also wish to remind you that as Copenhagen is still a neutral port, the rules of war do not permit you to allow hostile ships to depart within a day of each other.’ Clay pulled out his watch, and flipped open the cover. ‘If we sail a little after six bells this morning, can you assure me that the Liberté will be prevented from following us before, let us say, eleven tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I will gladly pass on your request, Captain,’ said the Dane, bringing his heels together. Clay looked sharply at him.

  ‘I may have phrased it as a request, but surely there can be no question of Denmark not complying?’ he queried. ‘Or was I wrong in assuming Copenhagen to be still neutral?’

  ‘It is, for now,’ said Holst, extending his hand out to Clay. ‘Have a prosperous voyage, Captain.’

  ‘What am I to do?’ said Hockley, as Harte escorted the Danish captain out of the cabin.

  ‘What are you to do?’ repeated Clay, rounding on the merchant. ‘I daresay you will continue to enjoy the considerable hospitality that has been extended to you by the officers of this ship. I have never heard of such a damnable want of gratitude!’

  ‘But my daughter, and Mr Preston...,’ began the merchant captain.

  ‘Your daughter will doubtless continue to be treated with the utmost courtesy,’ said Clay. ‘As for Mr Preston, he is a gentleman whose conduct has been beyond reproach, unless you have some accusation you wish to make?’

  ‘I have no specific charge,’ said Hockley. ‘My observations were more of a general—’

  ‘So nothing beyond a general dislike then?’ said Clay. ‘If you find the society of my officers so repellent, then perhaps I should have you set adrift as soon as we are clear of Danish waters, by God! Now get out!’

  ‘New money,’ observed Vansittart, as Hockley left the cabin. ‘They may be able to ape the airs and graces of a gentleman for a while, but in time their behaviour betrays their origins. Anyway, now that dreadful man has left us in peace, perhaps we can converse with some degree of freedom. What was all that ban
dying with Captain Holst over the Liberté?’

  ‘She is a swifter ship than the Griffin, sir,’ said Clay. ‘I wanted to secure a day’s head start to prevent her from interfering with our mission. With time against us, the last thing we need is a battle with her. Do you believe the Danes will prevent her sailing?’

  ‘Without me or Drummond here to watch them?’ snorted the diplomat. ‘I trust Bernstorff to defy Paris as I would an adder-fanged, as the Bard would have said.’

  ‘In which case, we may well encounter them on the way, sir,’ said Clay.

  ‘Would you have the beating of her if you had to?’ asked the diplomat.

  ‘In my old ship I would say yes, for certain, even though the French have much the bigger frigate, sir,’ said Clay. ‘But the Titan’s people were all veterans who knew their duty well. A third of these Griffins have yet to taste a proper battle.’

  ‘So the Liberté could win?’

  ‘Nothing is certain in a sea fight, sir,’ said Clay. ‘And much depends on how you measure victory. She has only to knocked us about sufficiently to prevent our reaching Russia. We are very much on our own, now. If she brought down one of my masts, the nearest friendly port where I might find a replacement is back in England.’

  ‘I suppose that is so,’ mused Vansittart. ‘How long will it take us to reach St Petersburg?’

  ‘With a fair wind, and no ice, five days, sir,’ said Clay. ‘But the wind is more certain than the lack of ice. Holst was right, the open sea may be free here, but it will be very different farther east.’

  ‘Their fleet in Reval will still be frozen solid for some weeks, but the Russians do try and keep some sort of channel open to their capital,’ said Vansittart. ‘It’s quite a sight how they achieve it, with dashed great fires set on the ice, and no end of serfs all sawing blocks of the stuff to be dragged away.’ There was a knock at the door, and a pleasant-faced midshipman entered in response to Clay’s call.

  ‘Yes, Mr Russell?’

  ‘Mr Taylor’s compliments, and a pilot has just now come on board, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ said his captain, rising to his feet and taking his hat from Harte. ‘Will you kindly ask Mr Taylor to summon all hands and prepare to weigh anchor. I will be on deck directly.’

  ******

  The last of the clinging grey mud of Copenhagen had been scrubbed from the frigate’s bower anchors, and the smell of the city had been left far behind them. The frigate sailed into a wide expanse of clean, cold sea, driven by a breeze blowing from the southwest. She could have been sailing across an ocean at the dawn of time, so empty was the sea around her. The air was cool, but not as chill as it had been, with perhaps a hint of spring to follow the long northern winter. Away to the south was the coast of Prussia: low, flat marshes and empty beaches, still gripped by the snow of winter. To the west was Sweden, a rockier shore of grey stone and black forest, its harbours choked with ice. The frigate made a long, sweeping turn towards the north, shaking out her topgallants as she did so amid a thunder of flapping canvas. Now she sped on, her big sails bulging scoops of white as they caught the wind, and the green sea foamed in a line behind her.

  Lieutenant Edward Preston stepped out of the wardroom, with his pea jacket buttoned close and the cuff of his empty sleeve pushed deep into his left hand pocket. He climbed up to the main deck and returned the salute of the marine who stood guard beside the door to the captain’s quarters. Then he set off up the next ladder way, which opened onto the quarterdeck. As his head cleared the level of the deck, the breeze pulled at his hat, forcing him to pause and let go of the rope handrail so he could jam it down a little more firmly. As he did so, he saw Sarah Hockley stood by the rail, her long mane of chestnut hair flying and whipping in the breeze and a look of delight on her face.

  Almost before he realised what he was doing, he had turned around and run back down the steps, returning to the gloomy space beneath the quarterdeck. The marine guard gave him a quizzical look, unsure whether he should salute the officer afresh, having barely completed his previous one. Preston walked across the deck, then turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction. In front of him was one of the frigate’s main battery of bulky eighteen-pounder cannons. Aware of the marine’s eyes on him, he made himself look over the guns breeching while he gathered himself. Out of the corner of his eye he could see two startled crewmen, who had been deep in conversation nearby, but now stood frozen in the presence of an officer.

  Come on, he urged himself, she is only a girl! Why shouldn’t he share the quarterdeck rail with her? Hadn’t his friend Tom Macpherson not urged him to meet with her, and declare how he felt? Perhaps the crowded deck of the Griffin in the middle of the day was not the place for such a sensitive topic, but he could at least converse with her. He slapped the cold metal of the cannon with decision, and turned back towards the ladder once more. Through the slats he saw the bandy, stockinged calves and heavy buckled shoes of Isaiah Hockley climbing purposefully up to the quarterdeck. A less pleasant memory came back to him. Hockley, his face pinched with fury as he bellowed “The man she weds will be whole, not some cursed cripple!" He paused a moment longer, and then took the ladder that led back to the lower deck, and the sanctuary of the wardroom.

  ‘He must have heard us, to be suddenly poking around here,’ whispered William Ludlow, as he peered after the lieutenant’s disappearing back. He was the smaller of the two men disturbed by Preston, a lithe figure, with gaunt features framed by bushy dark sideburns. Although dressed as a sailor, his lack of pigtail marked him as a recent recruit.

  ‘No need to bleeding worry about that grunter, Bill,’ said Rankin, the second person present. ‘He were just looking over that there gun.’

  ‘Pretending to, if you ask me, Josh,’ said his companion. ‘There was a deal too much staring into space, an’ muttering to his self, for my liking. Proper spooked me, that did.’

  ‘Well, he ain’t here no more,’ said Rankin. ‘So do you want to earn yourself a bit of chink, or no?’

  ‘Always up for that, Josh, as you’ll recall,’ smirked the landsman. ‘What do you need fixing?’

  ‘Not what, but who. Sam Evans is who needs fixing,’ said the valet, his face hardening.

  ‘Easy there, Josh,’ urged Ludlow. ‘You’ve picked the wrong bloke to mill with, mate. I ain’t shy, but have you seen the bleeding size of him? Goliath ain’t in it! Why’s it got to be him?’

  ‘Look at my face,’ said his fellow Londoner. Even in the half light the bruising looked spectacular. ‘Evans did this, and no one lays a bleeding finger on Josh Rankin and walks away.’

  ‘But there you go, mate,’ whined his companion. ‘If he did that to you, what hope has I got?’

  ‘I ain’t expecting you to fight him,’ said Rankin. ‘Just a little thieving, like back in the old days. Pinch me some‘it small, but worth a bob or two from a shipmate. A ticker from one of the Grunters, maybe? I’ll stash it in Evan’s dunnage, and then we shop the bastard to the traps.’

  ‘I ain’t sure about this at all,’ said Ludlow. ‘Folk don’t take kindly to a cutpurse on a ship, an’ lower deck justice can be proper savage.’

  ‘Better and better,’ smiled Rankin. ‘So Evans might wind up getting a thrashing from his mates. I can’t wait to see that.’

  ‘But what if I gets caught?’ hissed the landsman. ‘Look around you! The barky’s too tight for such stuff. We couldn’t even have our bleeding chat, without some Grunter showing up.’

  ‘You left your bleeding balls on the quayside, when you came aboard?’ demanded the valet. ‘It were pretty close in Seven Dials. I don’t recall that holding you back any. Besides, it’ll be Evans as will be getting fingered.’

  ‘I am sorry, Josh, but you got the wrong bloke,’ said Ludlow. ‘It ain’t just Evans. He’s a dumb ox, but he’s got mates as is proper deep. That Able Sedgwick, for a start. The bloke’s writ books an’ the like. There ain’t enough chink in the Tower of London as would mak
e me run a risk like that.’

  The sailor started to turn away, but Rankin grabbed a fistful of shirt and pulled the landsman’s face close to his.

  ‘That depends on what price you put on your fucking life, William Ludlow,’ he snarled. ‘You weren’t just a snivelling little cutpurse, back in the day. There were no end of ill deeds you done for me, weren’t there? How do you suppose your new friends will feel when they find they’re sharing their mess with a murderer?’

  ‘That were back then, Josh,’ said Ludlow. ‘I ain’t like that no more. I left all that behind when I joined.’ Rankin patted him on his cheek and then let his shirt go.

  ‘I am your past, old cock, and I’ve just bleeding caught up with you.’

  ******

  It was the knocking that first woke Preston. He emerged from a sleep filled with pleasant images of Sarah Hockley, and sat up in his cot. The cabin was dark and close, but light from the lantern in the wardroom shone through the slats in the door, illuminating the interior with lines of orange and black. The gentle sway of the ship made them flow across the bulkhead, like the pelt of a running tiger.

  ‘Whose there?’ he asked, but there was no reply. Then the sound was repeated, more of a muffled thump this time and coming from the curved outer wall of the cabin. He pulled himself out of bed, and placed his hand against the inner skin of the ship. The officers’ cabins were down at the waterline, and he was used to hearing the gurgling rush of the frigate’s wake surging past, but this noise was quite new to him. Through ten solid inches of oak he felt the tremble of another blow, accompanied by a grinding sound.

  ‘What the devil can it be,’ mused the lieutenant, as he reached for his britches and began to pull them on.

  ‘Edward, are you awake?’ whispered Tom Macpherson from beyond the door. The shadow of the marine showed against the slats.