“Aloft, sail loosers!” the master called into his speaking trumpet.
Finally, the anchor heaved, and sail was loosed, tumbling down like falls of water, Hayden thought. The fore-topsail backed, pressing against the mast.
Midshipman Williams stood by the rail, staring down into the water.
“Do we make sternway, Mr Williams?” Hayden asked.
The boy spat down into the water and watched the little cloud as it dissipated. “Not yet, Mr Hayden …” Then, after a moment, “Aye, sir.”
“Put your helm over, if you please, Mr Dryden.”
The wheel spun and the ship moved aft. Hayden looked around, gauging the distance to each vessel, assuring himself for the fifth or sixth time that they had room enough to manoeuvre.
A little brig had appeared at first light and anchored too close astern of them in an awkward arrangement. He could see her commander ordering men to veer more cable, but Hayden was confident they would stand clear of her.
The head of the ship appeared to fall off onto the starboard tack, and the headyards were braced around. Sails filled with a thup—a sound no sailor ever forgot. For a moment the ship made leeway, then her great mass began to slide forward, passing near the bow of the brig. Hayden nodded to her commander as the ship passed. The mizzen and jib were quickly set to balance the vessel.
“Stand by!” Barthe called up to the yardmen. “Let fall!” And the main and fore course cascaded down, bellying immediately to the small wind. The sand-glass was turned and the ship’s bell rung. Staysails flew up their respective stays, and the ship heeled but a little, and then stiffened. The Themis passed among the convoy, her new paint rain-slick and shining dully in the fading light.
There was something a little forlorn in the scene: the gale-battered ships lying to their anchors in the quiet bay, like seabirds with heads tucked beneath their wings, the single frigate standing out into the channel as darkness threatened. Hayden felt both pride and sadness mix in his breast: pride that it was his ship setting out to carry war to the enemy, and sadness … he knew not why. There was a loneliness to the scene—all the ships with their crews hunkered below out of the weather, the lone frigate going forth.
The Themis stood out into the channel, and was not four miles from shore when the wind died away, leaving the ship rolling in the seas left behind by the gale. Hayden took hold of the mizzen shrouds.
“Look at this slop!” the master cursed. He cast his gaze around the horizon. “And where is our wind?”
“It will find us by and by,” Hayden said, “and this will go flat at the turn of the tide.”
Muhlhauser clung to the shrouds nearby, his face ashen and shiny. “And why should the tide turning flatten the seas?” he asked.
Barthe pivoted toward the poor man, his face kindly. “When you have wind blowing in one direction while the tidal current runs in the other it results in steep seas, but when the tide turns, the sea will flatten in a moment. I have seen it many times. Have you not, Mr Hayden?”
“Many times, as you say, Mr Barthe. And this sea is just left-overs from the gale. It will not last.” The ship pitched and rolled terribly, and the sails began to slat fiercely. Hayden braced his feet and gazed up.
“I think we shall have to get the sails off her, Mr Barthe, or they will flog themselves to rags.”
“Damn this sea to hell!” Barthe swore. “Mr Franks? Call the hands, if you please. We must have the sails off her.”
The clouds tore to ribbons overhead, and the sun blazed through just as it set, going down into the sea in flames and glory. It was dark before the Jacks descended from the yards, muttering imprecations against the “fucking bloody sea.” The work aloft had been hard with the ship rolling, not steadied by the wind in her sails. Men went to their much-delayed suppers then, and Hayden’s servant brought him coffee, which he drank with his rump backed up against the rail and his feet spread like sheers.
After several hours of flailing about, the wind filled in from the north-west, and the crew made sail again. With the favourable wind, the Themis easily laid her course.
“The French coast by morning,” Hayden said to Wickham, who was midshipman of the watch. “What is she making?”
“Just less than four knots, sir,” Wickham reported.
“Well, perhaps by mid-afternoon.”
The two stood by the rail, staring out at the last shreds of daylight. Around them, the familiar noises of a ship under way offered some comfort, though the forlorn cries of gulls pierced through.
“Does it feel strange to you, sir?” Wickham asked. “Going to war against your mother’s people ?”
The question took Hayden by surprise.
“I’m sorry, Mr Hayden,” Wickham said quickly. “Have I been too familiar?”
“No, Wickham. It’s just not a question I’ve ever been asked, though perhaps I have been anxious to answer it. I suppose, in a way, my left hand has gone to war against my right, given my parentage, but one can feel compassion for the French and none for their government, for I will own that I had some sympathy for the French people when they overthrew Louis, but the revolution has gone awry … the so-called leaders of the revolution have fallen upon each other. In Paris the Jacobins and the mob have ascendancy, and much evil must come of it, I believe. It is imperative that the French are beaten before they carry their bloody revolution across the breadth of Europe—even across the Channel. To the extent of my knowledge, none of my French relations serve in the Navy, so I am unlikely to ever have to stand against them directly, which I admit is a comfort.” He patted the rail. “Despite the great disparity of the populations of the two nations, I have faith in Britain’s wooden walls, Mr Wickham, and in those who man them.”
Hayden could barely make out the boy’s silhouette in the darkness, but did see him nod.
“How came you to be a midshipman on the Themis, Wickham?”
“My mother has known Mrs Hart all her life, I think. They are upon Christian names, and have been since girlhood. As I have three elder brothers, it was either a parsonage or the Navy for me. I feared the parsonage might be a bit dull, so I begged Lord Westmoor to let me join the Navy. Captain and Mrs Hart came often to our home before the war, and I thought him quite the greatest man I had ever known. Far greater than my poor father, who was only an earl.” The boy laughed; an infectious, child’s laugh. “I know a little more now. If I pass for lieutenant I will seek a position aboard a flagship.”
“You will pass. How long until you are nineteen?”
“Three years, sir.”
“Not long, and you could almost certainly earn your commission at eighteen, as the examining board is not likely to be too diligent about establishing your age.”
“Was your examination exacting, Mr Hayden?”
Hayden remembered the three captains seated before him in the deathly quiet room. How stern and intimidating they had seemed. “Yes, they posed me any number of perplexing questions. It seemed to me after a while that they wanted me to fail, but I did not, and in the end the senior captain on the examining board paid me a very fine compliment, saying that he had never known a midshipman to stand up to such a rigorous grilling. Then he corrected himself, and said, ‘I mean a lieutenant.’ ”
“I have heard of midshipmen passing upon being given a good character by a captain on the examining board.”
“Yes, and they are commonly the most deficient lieutenants in the fleet!” Hayden said with passion. “It takes a great store of knowledge to properly run a ship, Mr Wickham. Be certain that you have mastered your trade before you sit your exam, on the chance that they pass you without question. You don’t want to be one of those blockheads who cannot take a ship from anchor without ruin trailing in his wake.”
“No, sir,” Wickham said. “It is my intent to know my trade most thoroughly, Mr Hayden, so if they tax me as they did you I shall answer up smartly and to every one’s satisfaction.”
“Good for you, Wickham. Now trail
the log, if you please, and tell me that we are still making just shy of four, then change the lookout aloft, for I do believe I hear him snoring.”
“Aye, sir.”
Hayden wakened to a knock on his cabin door, and the face of Madison, holding a lantern in his hand. The lieutenant swayed in his cot, a dense fog of sleep obscuring his thoughts.
“What is it, Madison?”
“Two sail due south, Mr Hayden,” the boy said excitedly.
The lieutenant sat up. “What o’clock is it?”
“Sun’s not quite up, sir.”
Hayden rubbed a knuckle into his eye. “If you would be so kind as to light my candle, I shall be on deck directly.”
“Aye, sir.”
A moment later Hayden ran up the companionway ladder and a midshipman put a glass in his hand. Pale turquoise washed the eastern horizon, though overhead stars glittered. A few frayed clouds, dark as smoke, spattered the sky. Hayden could still sense the gale in the air—a desultory dampness, and hollow quiet, the sea cloudy and drab.
Far to the south he could just make out two grey irregularities on the horizon. He focussed his glass there, bracing against a carronade as the ship rolled.
“Well, it is impossible to say what they are, but we could hope they are French transports blown up-channel by the gale, and now desperate to make some westing. Certainly we should make a closer inspection.” He quickly searched the horizon in all directions, then lowered his glass. Mr Barthe had been roused from his berth as well, and stood bleary-eyed before him.
“What does the weather-glass say, Mr Madison?” Hayden enquired.
“Rising, sir.”
“Excellent.” Hayden took a quick but careful look around the horizon, assessing the condition of the sea, the sky, the wind. “We will require more sail, Mr Barthe. And we must shape our course to intercept these ships: west-sou’west, I should think. We’ll beat to quarters in one hour.” He glanced up at the main-top. “But I want a close watch kept. It wouldn’t do to be surprised by an escorting frigate catching up with its charges,” he waved his glass at the horizon, “or by these two turning out to be frigates looking to prey on a lone English thirty-two.”
The rest of the midshipmen tumbled up onto the deck then, pulling on jackets as they came, hats left behind in the rush.
“Are there ships, sir?” Wickham cried out. All their faces were flush with excitement.
“Have you never seen a ship before?” Barthe demanded, apparently offended by their high spirits.
“But this close to the French coast,” Williams said, “they must be French.”
“Or neutrals, or part of an English squadron, or any number of other explanations.” The master turned around to look over his shoulder at the distant ships, only just visible in the frail light. “Go about your duties, now, and don’t make a nuisance of yourselves. It will likely be a lot of bother over nothing.”
The midshipmen retreated from the master, gravitating toward Madison, midshipman of the watch.
They all focussed their glasses on the distant sails. “What does Mr Hayden make of them?” Wickham asked Madison quietly.
“He’s only said that we shall make a closer inspection …” the boy whispered, “but possibly transports.”
This received a little buzz of excitement and approbation.
Landry appeared then, as did Dr Griffiths.
“Sail, Mr Hayden?” Landry asked.
The first lieutenant handed Landry his glass and pointed toward the horizon.
The little man gazed through the brass tube a moment, then lowered it. “I shall inform the captain.”
“He has only just fallen asleep, Mr Landry,” Griffiths asserted. “Could you not wait until you know what ships these might be? Likely there will be no reason to call him, as we well know.”
Landry stood there, wavering on the deck, his narrow brow pressed into creases. “Captain Hart’s orders are to call him whenever we see ships that might represent a threat to the Themis.”
Barthe stood nearby, and Hayden saw him roll his eyes. “These might or might not,” the master said. “Why don’t we draw a little nearer, and if we are at all uncertain as to their nationality, we can call the captain.” But then his patience ebbed like a tide. “Good Lord, Mr Landry, is it necessary to call the captain every time we wipe our noses?”
“Mr Barthe!” the offended lieutenant rejoined. “I am only following orders! You, of all people, know the price of provoking Captain Hart’s displeasure.”
“And you think to gain his approval by waking him because sails have been sighted? This is the English Channel! It is a veritable highway of shipping!” Barthe turned to the doctor in exasperation. “Dr Griffiths, you say the captain is not fully recovered?”
“He passed his stone,” the doctor said carefully, “but is in need of much rest now, or migraine will certainly result.”
The master turned back to Landry. “There can be no harm in leaving him in peace for a little while. When we draw near the chase, we will call him if it is necessary. Will that satisfy you?”
“I will bear any blame,” Hayden said, sensing Landry’s anxiety.
“Oh, Captain Hart will choose whom to blame, Mr Hayden,” Landry answered, “not you.” He glanced back at the horizon. “In an hour it will be light and we shall have some sense of what ships these be. Then I will call the captain.” The little lieutenant thrust the glass back at Hayden and quit the deck, his manner stiff with anger.
“You know Mr Landry is right, Mr Barthe,” Hawthorne said. He stood a few feet away, his red jacket like a sunrise. “The captain will not be pleased.”
“Nor would he be pleased if you woke him, nor if you woke him in one hour, or in two. Let the man have his rest. The ships will likely be neutrals or English cruisers, then we will simply carry on—without our poor eyes being damned, for once.”
Barthe departed, calling hands to make sail. As the light grew it became apparent that the ships were closer than Hayden had first thought. A hoist of signals went up from the nearer ship, and they wore almost in unison, heading toward the French coast.
“Well, I think that answers one of our questions,” Archer declared. “They are not English cruisers.”
“Indeed they are not!” Hayden agreed. “I think we shall have to call the captain, Mr Archer. They are making for Le Havre, and with a little luck we might overhaul them. Let us beat to quarters. Ah, Doctor, your arrival is most propitious. May we wake Captain Hart? Our chases have turned tail and are running for the French coast.”
“I shall inform him myself, Mr Hayden.”
The drummer took his place and began the roll that caused every heart to pound. Men came streaming up the hatches, some rushing aloft with buckets on long painters to soak the sails, others freed the guns, while men and boys began moving eighteen-pound iron balls up to the shot racks on the gun-deck. It was the first time Hayden had seen all the men respond with a will. They were of one mind about prize money, apparently.
Hayden left Archer in charge of the quarterdeck, and made his way forward to have a better look at the fleeing ships. A few moments later, Hart arrived with Landry and the doctor in tow. The captain’s colour was improved, but he looked like a man struggling to wake from a deep sleep, and with the temperament to match.
“What do you mean, Mr Hayden,” he demanded, “beating to quarters without my express instructions?”
“Enemy ships are in sight, Captain Hart. I am only following naval custom.”
Hart shook his head. “And where are these ‘enemy ships’?”
Hayden handed the captain his glass and pointed. The sterns of the ships were quite visible now. Through the glass, men could be made out, staring at the English frigate through their own glass eyes.
Hart raised the glass and regarded the ships briefly. “French frigates,” he announced, lowering the cylinder. “Mr Barthe!”
The master stepped forward.
“Alter our course for Brest
.”
“But with all due respect, sir,” Hayden responded, his jaw tight. “When seen abeam they appeared to be transports. It would seem prudent to take a closer look. Certainly frigates would not turn tail so quickly when they have the greater number.”
Hart turned his hazy blue eyes on his first lieutenant. “They are frigates, sir, as any fool can see! Would you have us take on two French thirty-eights with more than double our weight of iron?”
Hayden could barely control his own rage. “Certainly I would chase them, in hopes of catching one while the other was distant.”
“That is why you are still a lieutenant,” Hart said cruelly. “You have not the common sense to command a ship.”
Hart thrust the glass into Barthe’s hand and spun on his heel. “We are for Brest, Mr Barthe,” he announced loudly. “And for God’s sake, leave off beating to quarters!” Hart stormed back along the gangway and in a moment he was below, leaving his stunned officers gathered on the foredeck.
So that is why they call him Faint Hart, Hayden thought. The lieutenant had never been aboard a ship where the captain had acted thus—with the enemy clearly in sight.
Landry turned on Hayden. “I warned you, Mr Hayden. The captain tolerates no defiance of his orders.”
“But those are French transports, almost without doubt, not frigates, as any landsman can see.”
“Not according to Captain Hart, who has been at sea longer than either of us.” Landry turned and marched back along the deck in the wake of his captain. The midshipmen hesitated a moment, then, gazing down at the deck in disappointment, went off about their business, leaving Barthe and Hayden alone on the forecastle.
The same disappointment was upon the faces and in the carriage of every man aboard. Hardly a word was muttered, but words were not necessary. The sail trimmers slunk to their places without energy, and the men on the quarterdeck began housing their guns, shaking their heads as they did so.
Under Enemy Colours Page 13
