A Man of No Country

by Philip K Allan

  ‘Very true,’ agreed Nelson.

  ‘On that basis, I imagine that whatever the French are after must lie within the Mediterranean.’ The rear admiral smiled at his new frigate captain.

  ‘Very ably reasoned, Captain Clay,’ he said. ‘That is why, when we head back into that sea tomorrow, I shall require that you take your saucy little frigate and press on ahead of our three lumbering seventy-fours. I want you to go back to the southern coast of France once more, and find out for me what those French Devils are about.’

  *****

  It was mid afternoon, and the Titan stood in across the Gulf of Lions towards the French naval base at Toulon. The rugged coast of Provence loomed to the north of them. Dark hills of pine forest combined with rocky cliffs near the coast, while behind them rose a jagged line of patchy, scrub covered mountains. Spring had come at last, to give some warmth to the sun as it shone down on the waters of a Mediterranean that had turned blue in response. The arctic blast that had covered the ship with frost last time they had sailed these waters had been replaced with a gentle zephyr from the south east. The elegant frigate had spread lofty pyramids of snow-white sail to catch what wind there was as she slid through the rolling sea towards the land.

  ‘You seem to be in very good humour, sir,’ said Preston as his captain came up the companion way to join him on the quarterdeck. ‘I do not recall ever having heard you hum a tune before.’

  ‘Was I doing that aloud?’ exclaimed Clay. ‘I thought that was only in my head! But why should I not be content? Fine weather at last, an independent commission, and on top of all, the Vanguard brought a deal of letters from home, including a considerable correspondence from my wife and sister. I have just passed a very agreeable hour devoted to their study.’

  ‘How are matters at home, sir?’ asked the lieutenant.

  ‘In general very well,’ said Clay. ‘My wife is in good spirits, and my sister Betsy’s second novel has been published at last. She tells me that the first reports have given it a warm welcome and inconsequence sales are brisk. It is named The Bramptons of Linstead Hall and she has sent me a copy.’

  ‘The wardroom will be pleased,’ said Preston. ‘We all very much enjoyed her last work, particularly Tom Macpherson.’

  ‘Ah yes, The Choices of Miss Amelia Grey. Although I am not sure if I should be wholly pleased at the knowledge that my marine commander finds romantic novels quite so diverting.’ The two officers were still chuckling over this when they were joined by a stern-faced first lieutenant.

  ‘You seem discontent, Mr Taylor,’ said Clay. ‘Does this change in the weather not agree with you?’

  ‘No, sir, the weather is perfectly tolerable. I have just met with the master at arms. I am afraid to say we have had another robbery.’

  ‘Damnation, Taylor!’ exclaimed Clay. ‘What the bloody hell is going on!’

  ‘Was it money that was taken again, sir?’ asked Preston.

  ‘Yes, nearly twenty shillings,’ explained Taylor. ‘This time the victim was John Waite, Forecastle man in the starboard watch. That makes five such thefts now.’

  ‘I know Waite, he is in my division, sir,’ said Preston. ‘He can be troublesome when he puts his mind to it. We shall have problems unless we can find the cutpurse.’

  ‘I dare say we will,’ said Clay. ‘Nothing spreads discontent in a crew like thieving. They start to look upon each other with suspicion. We need to get a grip on this. Has the master at arms made any progress with his investigations?’

  ‘Very little, sir,’ said Taylor. ‘He suspects that one of the newer hands must be behind it, as we had no such problems before they joined, but he has no conclusive proof.’

  ‘And of course no sailor on the lower deck would ever think of offering information to him,’ exclaimed Clay, his hands working with exasperation.

  ‘Why is it always just money, I wonder?’ said Taylor. ‘An old hand like Waite would have other possessions of value he has accumulated over his time at sea.’

  ‘Because coin can’t be traced, I imagine, sir,’ said Preston. ‘If one of the hands was found with a piece of stolen scrimshaw, it would be easy to identify the criminal.’

  ‘I daresay you are right,’ said the captain. ‘So what do you gentlemen suggest we do?’

  ‘Might we not attempt something when the hands are all at divisions one Sunday?’ said Taylor. ‘We could hold everyone on deck and have the marines go through their possessions. Anyone found with an excessive amount of money could be required to give an explanation.’

  ‘When would you propose to do it?’ asked Clay.

  ‘Next time we are at anchor in port. That way it would include everyone, idlers as well as the watches.’

  ‘We could try it, sir,’ said Preston. ‘But I doubt we shall catch this ne’er-do-well so easily. To have robbed five men undetected in a packed lower deck speaks of an uncommon ability. I imagine he will have placed his ill gotten gains somewhere the Lobsters will struggle to find.’

  ‘But isn’t that just it?’ exclaimed Clay. ‘The lower deck is so full of eyes, and more than capable of acts of summary justice for those they catch. What is it that drives a man to run such an awful damned risk for a few shillings?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Taylor. ‘Let us try a search of the ship on the next suitable occasion, and see what that reveals.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said the captain. ‘Breathe no word of this to anyone. It must come as a surprise to the men if it is to have any chance of succeeding.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ said the two officers.

  ‘Good. Now let us see what secrets Toulon has to offer up.’

  The shore was much closer now. Mount Faron loomed up behind the city, its steep slopes streaked with forest and the summit a dome of bare grey rock. Two headlands extended out towards them, each one with a well constructed fortress on it. Clay looked at their walls and ditches to judge the range. Through his telescope he could see the lines of heavy guns that pointed towards him, and even a few of the crew as they hurried to their posts at his approach. In the bay beyond, he could make out the city walls and bastions that encircled Toulon. The large outer harbour and naval dockyard were out of sight, tucked behind one of the headlands, but they should be visible from the masthead now, he concluded.

  ‘No closer, Mr Preston! Bring her head round and back the foretopsail, if you please,’ ordered Clay. ‘Mr Russell, Mr Butler! Up you go, gentlemen, and report on what you can see.’

  The two youngsters scampered up the main mast shrouds as the ship swung up into the wind and came to a halt. Now the Titan was stationary, she rocked in the waves that slopped heavily against her sides, rolling her this way and that with a chorus of protest from her rigging. The officers looked up at the masthead, where the two midshipmen clung on. The gentle motion of the ship at deck level was being amplified by the hundred-and-fifty-foot mast, so that the two young officers swung through a dizzying arc of sky.

  ‘Rather them than me,’ said Clay, with a queasy feeling in his stomach from just looking at them. Armstrong came up to join the others.

  ‘I sincerely hope that neither of them has been excessive with their dinner, sir,’ said the American, ‘with the wind as she presently lies, we shall be directly in the firing line.’

  ‘Well, they do not intend to tarry up there,’ said the captain, as he watched first Butler and then Russell swoop down the backstays, risking the skin of their hands with the speed of their descent.

  ‘They have been very quick,’ muttered Preston. ‘I hope they have not let the ship’s motion prevent them from completing a thorough job.’

  ‘Sir, sir!’ called Butler, the first to reach the deck. ‘They have gone!’

  ‘Now Mr Butler,’ growled Taylor, rounding on the excited youth. ‘You know better than that. Make your report in proper form to the captain.’

  ‘Sorry Mr Taylor, sir,’ replied the midshipman. Both young men pulled their uniform jackets straight and stood at attentio
n in front of Clay.

  ‘Sir, Mr Russell and I examined both the inner and outer harbour. The majority of the French warships we previously observed have departed, as have all the transporters. All we saw was a single ship of the line and two small craft moored in the outer harbour. None of them appear ready for sea.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Butler,’ he said. ‘Mr Preston, have the ship put before the wind directly and lay us on a course to rendezvous with the rest of the squadron. We must find Admiral Nelson at once and tell him that the French are out.’

  Chapter 8

  Storm

  The following day, the Titan sailed south towards her rendezvous with the rest of the squadron off the west coast of Sardinia. Ahead of her the sky became increasingly threatening. It was still blue overhead, but to the south was a mass of dark cloud that boiled and flickered with the occasional silver thread of lightning. The sea too was becoming wilder, with endless chains of big green waves surging across her path. They broke against her bow with a solid crash that checked her progress and threw columns of white water high into the air to thunder down on to her streaming deck.

  ‘Why is there such a damnable swell running?’ asked Blake, who struggled to keep his footing. Armstrong looked about him and sniffed at the freshening wind.

  ‘A sea like this is the harbinger of ill weather in these waters,’ he said. ‘It is the dog that arrives before his master. The storm that lies ahead of us is the cause. Pray God it is not headed in our direction.’

  ‘We should strike down the top hamper, in case it does,’ said Blake, looking up at the masts. He turned to the midshipman of the watch. ‘Run along and find the captain, Mr Russell. Give him my compliments, and ask him to come on deck and look at this weather.’

  ‘It does look troublesome, Mr Blake,’ said Clay, when he’d come up on deck. He stared at the mass of black clouds to the south, and sniffed at the wind. It was starting to blow with a curious chill to it, like the breath from a tomb. What to do, he wondered to himself. By rights I should be rushing to the rendezvous with our news of the French, yet I have no desire to plunge into the heart of such a storm. He looked back at his officers, and found that Blake and Armstrong were both watching him.

  ‘Ah, hmm…,’ he said, while he gathered his thoughts. ‘Let us get the top gallant masts off her for now, Mr Blake. As for this storm, let us hope it shall clear from our path presently.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Blake, picking up a speaking trumpet. ‘Mr Hutchinson! Call all hands to strike down the top gallants, if you please!’

  ‘Christ, I am soaked,’ moaned O’Malley a little later. ‘There are haddock in the fecking sea as is less wet.’ He was one of a party of hands on the forecastle, and they were taking the brunt of the waves that crashed against the frigate’s bow. Another one thudded home, and a moment later a fresh cascade fell all around him.

  ‘And why are we after sailing towards this fecking storm any ways?’ he complained to Rosso, who was stood next to him. ‘Shouldn’t we be letting it pass?’

  ‘Stow that noise, O’Malley,’ said Josh Black, the petty officer in charge of the men. ‘If you’re dismayed by a little water, why the fuck did you ever come to sea?’ The other seamen grinned at this and the muttering Irishman took his place amongst the line of sailors.

  With the selective deafness to bad language that all good naval officers possess, Lieutenant Preston continued to watch the party of men that worked high up in the foremast. He too was taking his share of each successive wave. Much of the water poured off his oilskins, but enough had penetrated to ensure that he was now soaked to the skin as well.

  ‘Ready, Mr Hutchinson?’ he called through his speaking trumpet. Up in the foretop the grey-haired boatswain waved his hat. ‘Very well, Black, have your men haul away.’

  ‘Clap on,’ roared the petty officer. The men braced themselves to pull on the line. Josh Black watched the sea with care, waiting for the optimum moment. ‘Heave away!’ Above their heads the foretop gallant mast jerked free from its cap and swung in the air.

  ‘That will do,’ said the lieutenant.

  ‘Easy there!’ yelled the captain of the forecastle. ‘Lower away. Handsomely now,’ he growled as another wave struck the ship’s bow and soaked the men afresh. The last of the frigate’s upper masts was swayed down, till it settled amongst all the other spars and yards on the skid beams. Another party of men lashed it into place and Preston turned towards the petty officer.

  ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘Make good here to Mr Hutchinson’s satisfaction. I must report to the captain.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Black, knuckling his forehead in salute. ‘Coil that line properly there, Rosso. O’Malley, go aloft and see if the boatswain needs any help to secure the cap.’

  ‘Mr Preston, sir!’ shouted Trevan. ‘There be something off the starboard bow.’ Preston followed where the Cornishman pointed. To one side of the ship was a swirl of white, where the waves broke over a dark curved shape in the water.

  ‘Whale, sir?’ queried Black.

  ‘Not one as I have ever hunted, Mr Black,’ Trevan said. ‘Besides, your whale blows and then dives. He don’t hang around on the surface, like.’

  ‘Trevan is right,’ replied the lieutenant. ‘That looks to me like the hull of an upturned ship. Can anyone observe any sign of life?’

  ‘None, sir,’ said Black, shading his eyes. ‘Nor like to be with this sea running, poor devils.’

  ‘Yes there is!’ exclaimed the Cornishmen. ‘On the far side, sir.’ Preston looked carefully, and as the hull dropped into a trough he saw a flash of something amongst the foam.

  ‘I believe you are right,’ he said.

  ‘Well I’ll be buggered!’ exclaimed Black. ‘There are two of them, sir. Clapped onto a bit of wreckage, like.’

  ‘It must be tethered to the wreck by a cable,’ said Preston. ‘Keep an eye on them while I go and report it.’

  *****

  On the quarterdeck the captain was deep in conversation with Taylor and Armstrong. The three men formed a triangle of oilskin-clad figures next to the rail, with the ship’s master very animated as he pointed towards the weather ahead.

  ‘This storm is moving to the southwards of us, sir,’ Armstrong said. ‘It looks uncommon fierce to me. I would urge you to follow on its coat tails for now, rather than plunge into the heart of it.’

  ‘But I need to tell the admiral that the French are at sea!’ exclaimed Clay. ‘Time is against us, gentlemen.’

  ‘If the squadron are in the centre of that storm, they will have enough to occupy them already, sir,’ said Taylor. ‘I agree with Mr Armstrong. Even if we make all haste to the rendezvous, I doubt that we shall find the others out at sea. Those high-sided seventy-fours are much less weatherly than we are. They will have run for shelter like smoke and oakum.’

  ‘Sir, sir!’ said Preston as he came up to the group. ‘Your pardon, but we are passing a wreck of a ship off the starboard bow. I believe there are some survivors.’ The group of officers hastened over to the other rail and stared out to sea. ‘There, sir,’ said Preston, pointing towards the shape amongst the waves.

  ‘Yes, I can see,’ said Clay as he focussed his glass on the dome of wood. ‘The hull of some small merchantman that has foundered in the storm, I fear. And you say there are signs of life?’

  ‘On the far side. Do you have them?’

  ‘Yes, poor wretches. I mark two of them,’ said Clay. ‘Mr Blake, bring the ship up into the wind, if you please.’

  ‘What manner of rescue can we affect, sir?’ asked Taylor. ‘Any boat we launch with this sea running will be swamped in an instant.’

  ‘Let us stand in a little closer,’ said the captain. ‘And pass the word for my coxswain.’ Sedgwick came up onto the quarterdeck and knuckled his forehead towards his captain.

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, come to the rail here and direct your gaze at this upturned hull in the water,’ said
Clay. ‘Do you mark the two sailors off on the leeward side?’ The coxswain sheltered his eyes with his hand. It had started to rain now, but through the veil of water he could just make out the tiny figures lost amongst the huge waves. One of them waved an arm towards the frigate.

  ‘Aye, sir, I have them.’

  ‘We cannot launch a boat in this gale to pick them up, nor come any closer with the ship for fear of that hull striking ours,’ said Clay. ‘Yet if we do nothing, they will perish for certain.’

  ‘Do you want me to go and fetched them, sir?’

  ‘I do not ask lightly, Sedgwick, but I have nothing better to propose. It is such a burden that none of your shipmates will think ill of you if you was to choose not to attempt it. But few of them can swim, and none as well as you. I recall how you rescued Evans when he fell overboard in the Caribbean. But that was in calm weather, and this is anything but.’

  ‘Aye, but there will be a deal less sharks here about, sir,’ smiled Sedgwick. ‘If I can have a line about my waist so I can be pulled back onboard should I founder, I will try it. But I doubt if I will have the strength to make the journey twice.’

  ‘I understand,’ said the captain. ‘Mr Blake, pass the word for another volunteer swimmer if we have one in the crew. And two lengths of best Manila half inch line, if you please.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  *****

  A little later, Sedgwick stood in the main chains with the rain washing down across his naked arms and chest. Around his waist was the line, the knot out of the way behind him. A loop dropped down towards the sea before running back onboard to the group of anxious hands who held the rest of it.