Under Enemy Colours

by Sean Thomas Russell

  The young commander of the brig was also present, as were Bourne’s two senior lieutenants and his sailing master; all as excited as Hayden himself.

  “I will round the island from the south and engage the frigate. There is a little brig to the north—I think she might once have been ours. I have marked her place. We shall put the Lucy on her, then I’ll have no worries of being raked by her guns while I board the frigate, for even six-pounders are deadly when fired through the stern gallery at close range. Once we have engaged the first ships, the others could cut their cables and run for L’Orient, so we might have to chase them down. I should hate to sink any of them, for they are valuable as they are and I don’t like to murder Frenchmen any more than I must.” He glanced quickly at Hayden, then back to his chart.

  Hart shook his head. “I am touched by your concern for the lives of Frenchmen when our own English crews shall be subjected to much worse from the guns ashore. Forgive me, Bourne, but it is not a serviceable plan. Come, you must admit, there will be much loss of life aboard our ships.”

  Bourne straightened as much as the low deckhead would allow. “I am not much afraid of the fortress guns, for we will slip in at dusk, if this wind holds. It will take the gunners ashore just that much longer to find us, for it will be difficult for them to perceive where their first few shots strike the water. Once we have laid our ships alongside the enemy’s the shore gunners will be unable to fire upon us for fear of striking their own. But the shore batteries should not much concern you, Hart, for it is my suggestion that you lie off the northern tip of the island, in plain view, to discourage the transports running for port.”

  Hart could not completely conceal his surprise. “It is a small part you ask me to play,” he grumbled, as though he were not delighted with the prospect of prize money for so little effort.

  “Well, my crew profited from your enterprise at Brest. We shall repay you in kind. It is my hope that the mere sight of the Themis will stop the French transports from attempting to make L’Orient, but they might fool us and cut their cables, thinking that you cannot intercept all three. We shall see. If the Lucy can disable the brig quickly without sustaining substantial damage, then there will be two British ships for the chase.”

  “The Lucy is more than equal to a French brig, sir,” Lieutenant Philpott offered. “I am confident of it.”

  Bourne smiled kindly upon the young man, but then turned his attention to Hart. “I do have one other request, Hart. Although Lieutenant Philpott is prepared to take on a French three decker if I would allow it, I have decided to override his enthusiasm. With all due respect to Lieutenant Philpott, who is an excellent officer, and as acting commander of the Lucy has performed admirably, it is my preference to have a man of more experience in charge of the Lucy. Would you allow Lieutenant Hayden to take command of the brig?”

  Hart glanced at Hayden, then back to Bourne. “What happened to the brig’s original captain?”

  “As we chased these ships in behind Belle Île, Captain Wilson had the terrible misfortune to have been struck by one of the French frigate’s eighteen-pound balls, which killed him instantly, may God rest his soul.”

  Hart shivered visibly. “Have you not a lieutenant of your own to whom you can grant command of the Lucy?”

  “Neither is as experienced as Mr Hayden, and I should like to have them aboard when we engage the frigate.”

  Hart appeared to dither a moment and then nodded. “Then I shall put Mr Hayden temporarily under your command, and may we all be the richer for it. Eh?” He laughed, as though they were all brothers sharing equally in the enterprise.

  But Bourne laughed, too, no sign of censure upon his pleasant face. “I might also ask if you could spare a dozen good men to crew the Lucy, for she is not over-manned and might well find the French resistant to her intentions.”

  Hart nodded. Hayden thought Bourne might ask anything of Hart as long as he spared him taking the Themis into action. Bourne must have known Hart would resist any attempt to put him in danger, so devised this ancillary role for the Themis. Hart had, rather quickly, given up his argument that the shore guns would kill too many Englishmen, once his own valuable life had been exempted from that particular risk.

  “My plan is simple,” Bourne began, “and I’m sure you will all see that immediately. I will take my ship and beat down the seaward side of Belle Île—there is just enough daylight left for me to manage it. Take your ships around the northern tip and into the channel between Quiberon and Belle Île. When I round the southern end of the island I will have the wind behind me, and come up rather quickly on the French frigate. Once I have engaged her, both of your ships should make for the little French brig, but the Themis will sheer off and stay just out of effective range of the guns ashore. It is my hope that the guns will waste some time firing at the Themis, allowing the Lucy to come alongside the French brig and board or disable her. If my crew can do the same to the frigate, the transports will all be ours, and they will know it, too.” He looked up from his chart where he had been watching the battle play out in his mind’s eye. “If the transports cut their cables and try to run, their capture will fall to you, Hart. Are we in accord?”

  All the officers present gave their assent.

  “Darkness will fall not long after you have engaged the frigate,” Hayden observed. “If we are to chase the transports—and maybe the frigate too, if she runs—we should have some means to tell friend from foe.”

  “Two lanterns, one above the other, on the main topmast,” Bourne offered, “and a blue flare shewn on the stern every five minutes for half a minute. Will that answer?”

  The others nodded. There was no time for even a toast, as there was only enough daylight left to manage the affair.

  Hayden returned to the Themis with Hart, to find his dozen men and retrieve his pistols. Neither man spoke as the barge made its way quickly back to their ship, hove-to nearby. Hayden found himself regarding the distracted captain as the Jacks plied their sweeps. The lieutenant had known incompetent officers in his time. He’d met men of limited understanding—too many, in truth—and captains who could manage a ship in the most desperate conditions but had not the least notion of how to fight her. But outright cowards were very rare in His Majesty’s Navy. For the briefest moment he almost felt pity for the man—but then he remembered Aldrich, face-down in the surgeon’s cot.

  Hayden followed Hart over the side of their ship, where the captain called for the officers to join him in his cabin.

  As he passed, Hawthorne drew Hayden aside. “Will we fight? Has Hart agreed?”

  “Yes and no. Hart will no doubt explain your part in a moment. As for me, I am for the brig-sloop, and I will take a dozen good men with me.”

  The hastily called council of war convened in the captain’s cabin, a place few were invited for anything but ship’s business. Hart quickly laid out Bourne’s plan, presenting it as though he had played a significant part in its creation. A chart was laid on the table, and with the reflected sunlight playing on the deck beams overhead, Hart sketched in the positions of the anchored French ships.

  “Should we not attack the transports when Captain Bourne and Mr Hayden take their ships into action?” Barthe asked. “We could put our ship between two of the transports, anchor, and force them both to haul down their colours. The third ship could be dealt with thereafter, and the last is disabled.”

  “Bourne and I have considered all eventualities, Mr Barthe,” Hart said, “and agree that this plan is the best. It is too late to change it now, at any rate.” The florid-faced captain looked around at his gathered officers. “We will, of course, go to Captain Bourne’s or Mr Hayden’s aid should it be required. After all, a few guns ashore will not unnerve the likes of us, eh?” He chuckled a bit too loudly. “A night’s work, gentlemen, and we shall all have some coins to rattle in our purses. Are we cleared and in all respects ready for action, Mr Landry?”

  “We are, sir.”

 
“Mr Archer, will you find a dozen men to accompany Mr Hayden aboard the brig?”

  “I will, sir.”

  Hayden thought Hart was doing a passable imitation of a decisive commander—an imitation of Bourne, to be more precise. It was a wonder how greatly the man’s spirits had lifted when it had become clear he would not be involved in the actual fighting.

  An hour later Hayden climbed down into one of the cutters, and as soon as he settled himself in the stern sheets, picked out Lord Arthur Wickham seated in the bow.

  “Mr Wickham,” Hayden began sternly, “I hope you have no designs to even set foot upon the deck of the Lucy.”

  “I have the captain’s sanction, Mr Hayden!” Wickham countered.

  “Why does that seem so very unlikely to me?”

  “Truly, sir. I approached Captain Hart, arguing that it was not possible to go safely to war, and he said I might as well proceed with his blessing as I would likely swim over to the Lucy anyway.”

  “If past experience is accounted for, this would seem to be true.”

  “You had need of another, anyway, sir,” Wickham said as the boat pushed off. “A dozen plus yourself made thirteen—a most unpropitious number. Now we are fourteen, and fortune sails with us.”

  “We have been relying too frequently on having fortune aboard, Wickham, but I hope you’re correct.”

  Eighteen

  They were piped smartly aboard the brig, Lieutenant Philpott tipping his hat to the new acting commander. Hayden immediately took Philpott aside.

  “I hope, Lieutenant, that you harbour no resentment over my appointment, which was as much a surprise to me as to you, I must say.”

  Philpott nodded in his precise manner. “It was not a surprise to me, Mr Hayden. Captain Bourne had made his intentions known to me before meeting with Hart. I have had the deuced bad luck of never having fought in a significant action in my short career. I agreed entirely with Bourne that, for the safety of the Lucy’s crew, a more experienced officer should have his hand on the helm. Do not devote a moment to concern over my pride, Mr Hayden. It has taken far greater blows than this and staggered but an instant.”

  Hayden smiled in spite of himself. “You are a protégé of Bourne’s, I see.”

  Philpott looked slightly embarrassed, the automaton becoming more human. “It is difficult to be around such a man and not see the wisdom of his methods.”

  “Yes, if we become half the seaman Captain Bourne is, we shall be all right, I think.” Hayden glanced up at the sun. “We haven’t a great deal of time. I should like to look over the ship and see for myself your preparations.”

  The Lucy was not large and Hayden quickly had the measure of her. Twenty six-pounder guns constituted her armament, along with two swivel guns that could be moved either fore or aft or to either side of the deck. She was an odd little vessel, neither fish nor fowl—larger than a single-decked brig; almost a ship sloop but for her double-masted rig. Her guns sat higher above the water than on a conventional brig, and her quarterdeck looked very old-fashioned, though handsome in its own way—like a well-turned-out dowager, Hayden thought.

  “She’s uncommonly handy, sir, and I think you’ll find her crew more than willing, though hardly more experienced than myself in close action.”

  As they rounded the tip of Belle Île, Hayden and Philpott stood at the rail, gazing out over the French ships in the roadstead beyond Le Palais. The French two-master could be seen swinging to her anchor behind the transports, the sleek frigate just visible beyond. Outside the village of Le Palais, a citadel stood upon the heights, and Hayden could see the mouths of the big guns, staring like unblinking eyes down at the British ships.

  “Strike a course east-sou’east, Mr Philpott. It is my intention to sail toward the Île de Hœdic, then come about when Bourne appears around the southern cape. It is about one league from the southern point to the Rade du Palais, where the ships lie. On this wind, it will take Captain Bourne half of the hour to reach the French frigate. I would like to engage the brig just before Bourne arrives, to draw fire away from him, if possible. We will have the wind on our beam and can make or shorten sail as needed, but either way, shall make straight for the Frenchman.” He glanced up at the pennant flying from the top. “If the wind does not shift, we shall be forced to take some fire as we approach, but it is my intention to sail across her stern and rake her once, then range alongside and fire another broadside. Can your crew work their guns so smartly?”

  “I believe they can, Mr Hayden.” Philpott said this with certainty, which gave Hayden confidence.

  “Then we’ll board and, if God wills it, carry her.”

  Philpott’s concentration creased his brow like a ploughed field. “I shall hold your men in reserve for boarding, Mr Hayden, if that suits you, though we may require a few hands temporarily to assist in reducing sail.”

  “They shall be yours, Mr Philpott.”

  The ship was put on the desired course and sailed freely toward the small Île de Hœdic, the low peninsula of Quiberon licking out toward them from the north-east, Île d’Houat off their larboard bow. On their starboard quarter, the Themis took up her place under reduced sail. There was no doubt in Hayden’s mind that the crews of the French ships, and the gunners on the heights above, had their eye on the British frigate; the little two-sticker that scurried along before, like a lapdog on a leash, was hardly worthy of regard.

  Timing the appearance of Bourne would be critical. The great seaman had told them how long he believed it would take, given sea, wind, and tide, and Hayden did not think he would be far wrong. It was incumbent upon him and Philpott to be within striking distance of the French brig at that moment—about two and a half miles or a little less, they both calculated. This meant they would have to come about and take up the course of their attack before Bourne actually appeared, which was a bit of a risk, but there was nothing for it.

  Wickham came up then. “Is this your first action, Mr Philpott?”

  “I must admit that it is, Lord Arthur, though we did take some fire chasing the transports here, and damned unlucky that proved for Captain Wilson. Rest his soul. Is it your first, as well?”

  “No, sir, though until recently I was in the same position as yourself. Mr Hayden contrived to take a transport right in the throat of Brest Harbour—an enterprise I had the good fortune to join—and then we went ashore, where we fought several small actions with French regulars and fencibles.”

  The young lieutenant was clearly impressed. “It sounds as if you’ve had quite a time of it lately, Lord Arthur.”

  “Entirely due to Mr Hayden,” Wickham said. “He’d rather fight than drink gin, the Jacks say.”

  Hayden laughed. “I’d much prefer the gin, Mr Wickham,” he said. “Which proves you should never trust the wisdom of the foremast hands.”

  “Excepting Mr Aldrich, sir,” Wickham answered earnestly.

  “Aldrich is the exception to all rules,” Hayden agreed, his spirits brought low by the thought of the able seaman lying wretchedly in Griffiths’ sick-bay, his back flayed and bloody.

  From the fortifications on the Île d’Houat, a bloom of smoke mushroomed, followed by the sound of an iron ball scraping the sky. Twenty yards before the Lucy, it threw up a spout of water, alarming a little whale, which sounded with a splash. The first shot was quickly followed by another. For the next half hour the French kept up a fairly consistent cannonade, one ball passing through the fore-topsail of the Themis, but doing remarkably little damage otherwise. Hayden held his course and was somewhat surprised to see that Hart did the same. The lieutenant was taking some satisfaction from subjecting Hart to enemy fire, for it would be difficult for Hart to turn his more powerful frigate away while a lowly brig-sloop sailed through. The little ship was already taking the frigate’s rightful place in the action—Hart’s rightful place—and the least Hart could do would be to play his small part without shrinking.

  They held their course until they judged the ti
me right, then put the ship about. The battery on Île d’Houat did not give up its cannonade, and as the Lucy tacked, a ball pierced the sea so close alongside that it soaked the officers standing at the rail.

  Hayden wiped the salt water from his eyes with a sleeve, looked at Philpott, who was as wet as he, and they both began to laugh.

  “Damned Frenchmen …” Philpott managed. “They could see I wore my new coat!”

  The two lieutenants and the midshipman all doffed their coats and hats, which were taken away by Philpott’s servant. As Hayden had no second coat with him, all three gentlemen agreed they would have to fight in waistcoats.

  “The men aboard the Tenacious will think we have removed our coats out of fear of snipers,” Philpott said.

  “Then we shall be at pains to prove we are not shy,” Hayden replied.

  “On deck!” the lookout called. “Sail. South-by-east.”

  “It is Captain Bourne,” Wickham said excitedly, giving a little boyish jump.

  “And so it is,” Hayden said, scrutinizing the ship rounding Pointe de Kerdonis, the island’s south-eastern tip.

  As he watched, the Tenacious slipped into the shadow of the island, making sail as the wind took off a little with the setting sun. She looked ominous and formidable in the failing light, Hayden thought, and was happy he was not aboard the French frigate watching her bear down under a press of sail.