Into Uncharted Seas

by E. C. Williams

  “For intelligence, I think. We believe we've rolled up their entire network on Nosy Be, so they may have taken the boat in order to interrogate her crew.”

  “On that subject, I've been meaning to ask you: what kind of person spies for the pirates? What was their motivation?”

  “Money, in most cases. The man we captured, the key figure in the ring, was a captive Kerg seaman who had converted to Islam, and so was motivated by ideology. He had been landed on a beach at night, blended into the population, and got a job on the waterfront in Hell-ville. The rest didn't know much – most didn't even know that the information they provided was intended for the Caliphate – innocent dupes, for the most part.”

  “So what would fishermen know that would be useful to them?” Dave wondered aloud, then went on to answer his own question. “At a minimum, that Joan is in drydock, that Albatros and Roland are at sea on a cruise, and that Scorpion is the only vessel of the squadron still in Nosy Be waters.”

  “Bingo,” Dallas said. “And maybe some general information about the militia's plans for island defense. All that's supposed to be secret, but on an island this small it's impossible for the Regiment to move units around without the population noticing.”

  “Well, maybe the fishermen will resist giving any information...”. Dallas was shaking his head before Dave could finish the sentence.

  “We can't count on that. Without training, no one can resist interrogation for long.”

  “Torture, you mean?”

  “Well, I wouldn't put that past the pirates, of course, but it's hard to resist patient, persistent questioning even if undertaken without any physical pressure. I know I can get anyone to talk, given enough time, without laying a hand on him. So we now have to assume that the enemy knows everything a Nosy Be fishing boat skipper might reasonably be expected to know.”

  Both young men were silent for a few moments, then Dave said, “So we can expect a raid in force at any time.”

  “That's my conclusion. I've alerted militia HQ, of course, and the entire Regiment has been put on full alert.”

  “Andilana's the logical point to attack – which means they may try to take us by surprise by passing the island well to the west, out of visual range of the AEWS, and descend on some other point on the coast – maybe even Hell-ville.”

  “And Scorpion's our only means of giving us any advance warning. Dave, you've got to get to sea as soon as possible and patrol to the north-west.”

  “We've just completed topping up our stores and water. I was going to give each watch a few hours ashore to stretch their legs, but luckily all hands are still aboard, busy in the hold. I can get under way within a couple of hours.”

  “Good. The AEWS will stay aloft regardless of wind conditions, and emergency comms procedures are in effect: the AEWS station will broadcast a warning en clair if she spots enemy vessels, rather than phoning it in to militia HQ. If you sight them, do the same, then shadow the enemy force and keep us advised of its movements.”

  Dave stared at Dallas for a moment, then said softly, “Hank, you do realize, don't you, that I can neither out-run nor out-fight a big pirate gun-dhow? And that as soon as I broadcast a warning they'll know I'm in sight?”

  Dallas stared down at the table, unable to meet his friend's eyes. “Yes, Dave – it's a suicide mission, I know. That's why I came in person instead of sending the news by radio. I can't order you to do it – as a staff officer, I can't give orders to an officer of the line. But Captain Ennis gave me verbal orders to that effect to pass on to you. He'll give them on the record, in a radio message, if you like.”

  “No, no, Hank – I trust you, and it's plain we don't have any other option. I would appreciate it, though, if you just made a note in my log for the record.”

  “No problem.”

  “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go make preparations for getting under way.”

  The two officers went topside, gasping with relief as the fresh ocean breeze began to dry their sweaty clothing. Dallas stepped into the chartroom, and made a note in the log, as promised, then came back out on deck. The little sprit-sail skiff that had brought Dallas out to the Scorpion was standing off and on, waiting for him. He waved it in, then turned to Schofield.

  “Good luck, Dave, to you and the Scorpion. She's a lucky ship – I think you'll come through this okay.”

  “Thanks, Hank.” They shook hands, and he saw Dallas over the side and into the skiff, and watched it for a few moments as it sailed away, in toward the town, his mind in a turmoil. Then he turned away, strode the few steps to the hatch opening, and shouted down it for Landry. When his XO climbed up and looked at him questioningly, Dave said, “Change of plan, Chief. We have to get under way right now. Call one watch up for that – leave the other to finish re-stowing the hold.”

  “Aye aye, Skipper.” Landry turned and bellowed down the hatchway, “Starbowlines on deck for getting under way. Larbowlines stay below and get all secure for sea.” The seamen of the starboard watch boiled up out of the hold and went to their stations at anchor windlass and main halyard. With them came their division officer, Midshipman Chen. He and his counterpart of the port watch, Midshipman Devan, were both volunteers from Reunion. They were competent young men in their early twenties, with seagoing experience and the minimal formal education required of officers. Todd Cameron was missed, but these two were a more than adequate replacement for him. Each had quickly proven his ability to take charge of a watch, and was added to the watch bill. With Landry, this allowed the officers to stand only one watch in three, and left the Captain free of watchkeeping duties

  The Scorpions did not enjoy the luxury of electric power on their little dhow. The anchor had to be heaved up the old-fashioned way, with the primitive winch operated by teams of two men, each with a long bar. Alternately, on each driving gear of the winch, the men shipped their bars, heaved downward, and unshipped just as the other team was beginning to heave. They quickly found their rhythm, and the slimy lengths of anchor cable came aboard steadily, fed down the hatchway of the anchor locker and coiled away by two other hands. Mr. Chen, in charge forward, leaned over the headrail and periodically shouted out the amount of anchor line remaining, reading the markings on the cable.

  Meanwhile, the sail was being raised by another set of seamen, heaving on the main halyard. Even with a three-fold purchase, the long boom and huge sail were a great weight, and it was no easy job. But their timing was good; by the time Chen signaled “up and down”, meaning the anchor line led vertically with the bow directly over the anchor, the sail was a-peak, and Dave ordered, “Sheet in”. The dhow swung up into the wind, gathered headway, and plucked the anchor out of the ground. The Scorpion had anchored right in the mouth of Andilana harbor entrance, so he was able to immediately order the helmsman to “steer due west”.

  Landry, who had been overseeing the mainmast gang with a critical eye, strolled aft and said, “Where to now, Skipper?”

  “Dallas brought the news that we can probably expect a raid very soon. He guesses that the pirates may swing far to the west, to try to avoid being sighted by the AEWS, then hit the island from the west or south, probably in darkness. Our mission is to provide the earliest possible warning.”

  Landry digested this for a few moments, then said calmly, “We're not likely to live very long after we send that message, Skipper.”

  “I know that, Chief. I wish we had had the time to allow every one to write and mail a last letter home. But we had to get underway immediately.” The two were silent for awhile, gazing out to sea. Then Dave said, “Ah, well, we'll do our duty, Chief, and see what happens next. We might get lucky.”

  “That's the spirit, Captain,” Landry replied, but privately he thought: we don't have a chance in Hell.

  The news went round the dhow fairly quickly, but Dave was pleased to note no affect whatever on the ship's routine. The anchor was stowed, the larbowlines finished in the hold, then closed the hatch and covered it wi
th its tarpaulins, and petty officers roamed around the vessel topsides and below, making sure that all was secure for sea. The Scorpion sailed westward on a broad reach in a gentle sea, following the sun as it gradually sank toward the horizon.

  Dave set triple lookouts, bow, masthead, and stern, with orders to report anything they saw, however insignificant it seemed. Then the vessel settled down to searching the breadth of the Mozambique Channel.

  Dave set a search pattern that assumed that a pirate force aimed at a raid on Nosy Be would sail down the African coast to a point due west of the island, then sail east, to avoid detection by the AEWS, of which the Caliphate Navy was surely aware by now. Of course, there was also the possibility that the pirates would sail directly to the island, if in fact they now knew that the Kerg squadron was at sea to the east of Madagascar. If that turned out to be the case, the militia would be given ample warning to mobilize and mount a beach defense in force. Scorpion would then be irrelevant, or nearly so, to the ensuing action, likely unable even to put in an appearance in time to fight. Leaving aside the fact that this would allow Scorpion to survive, it was the best possible outcome for the island. The Andilana harbor was far too shallow for ocean-going vessels – so shallow, in fact, that the gun dhows could probably not even approach near enough to bombard the town with much effect. As in the Moonlight Battle, months before, the enemy would have to land fighters in small boats, which would be very vulnerable to the kind of vigorous beach defense the militia could now mount.

  But Dave, putting himself in the mind of the Caliphate leadership, didn't think this scenario was very likely. He agreed with Hank Dallas: they would make an indirect approach, to maximize the possibility of complete tactical surprise, and mount a raid on Hell-ville rather than Andilana or some other coastal town. Sinking the shipping in the always-crowded harbor of Hell-ville, and burning the town, would inflict a crippling blow on Nosy Be's economy. But if the Scorpion could provide the earliest possible warning, perhaps as much as two or three days, at least some sort of defense could be prepared.

  Scorpion was a good four days' sailing from the African main. If she closed the coast without sighting the pirate force, she would go about and cruise back in the direction of Nosy Be.

  It looked like being a tense few days.

  Sam Bowditch re-read the radio message just received from Lieutenant Dallas on Nosy Be with mounting dismay. Albatros and Roland were now nearly a week's sailing from Hell-ville. If the raid was as imminent as Dallas thought, there was no possibility the squadron could return in time to affect the outcome. Nevertheless, they had to try.

  Sam rushed on deck and shouted to the watch officer, “Mister Munro, signal Roland to stand by to reverse course. Execute when you're ready to do the same. Waste no time!”

  Munro didn't. Within less than a minute, the signal soared to the masthead and preparations had been made to tack and fall off on the reciprocal course. Sam stared anxiously at the Roland; she promptly acknowledged the signal. Captain Murphy ran a taut ship.

  “Execute,” Sam ordered, and the schooner came up into the wind, tacked, and fell off on to a northerly course. Drifter and square topsail were set. He looked back at Roland in time to see her accomplish the same maneuver with commendable promptness.

  “Make to Roland: 'close on flag to within hailing distance'.” Sam then watched as Roland came up a bit onto a converging course. The two vessels had been just within signaling distance when they had changed course, and Murphy, noting that Albatros didn't reduce sail to allow Roland to catch up quickly, had of necessity adjusted his course the minimum possible, so as to keep up with the flag. Accordingly, it took nearly an hour for the two vessels to come with hailing distance.

  The Roland approached Albatros's starboard quarter, and Sam saw Murphy walk forward to the Roland's bow, megaphone in hand. Sam assumed that Roland's radiomen had copied the message he had just received, so he wasted no time re-hashing its contents.

  “Ben, we've got to return to Nosy Be immediately,” Sam bellowed through his own megaphone. “We'll make no effort to keep together if it means a sacrifice in speed – if we're separated, get there as fast as you can on your own.”

  “Aye aye, sir – a race home it is. Good luck, Commodore.”

  “Same to you, Ben.”

  Albatros, with her greater waterline length and sail area, should have been significantly faster than Roland, but the latter had much finer lines than the tubby Albatros. So they kept pace with one another for the balance of the day. But by sunset it was plain that Roland was falling behind very gradually. They raced on through the night, Sam pacing the quarterdeck, unable to sleep, and at sunrise they saw Roland far astern.

  Scorpion sailed on to the westward for two tense, frustrating days, sighting not one sail, friend or enemy. Luckily, the weather stayed fair, with a moderate breeze out of the south.

  Dave paid close attention to navigation, as currents in the Mozambique Channel could be tricky. He and the two midshipmen took morning and evening stars and the noon sight together, comparing their results. As he suspected, he detected the presence of a current, setting north at about one knot, and adjusted course accordingly.

  Then, on the morning of their third day out of Andilana, at first light, the masthead lookout shouted down, “Deck, there! Sail two points on the starboard bow.” Dave grabbed his telescope, kicked off his shoes, and shinnied up the boom to its juncture with the mast, where the lookout was perched. Gripping the boom tightly with his knees, he raised and focused his telescope in the direction the lookout had indicated. There he saw, just nicking the horizon in the northwest, two white triangles – the sails of a two-masted dhow. As he stared, he began to make out another, astern of the first. Then, long minutes later, he could see a third.

  “Battle stations!”, he shouted, and there was an immediate bustle of activity. Not that the Scorpion, with her single 25 mm rifle, could hope to last long in an action with three heavy gun dhows. “Tack, and fall off on the reciprocal heading. Pass the word for the radioman.”

  Dave continued to search for long minutes until convinced that there were no more than three, then slid back down the boom, shouting again for the radioman, who appeared on deck as the little dhow settled on her new course.

  Dave scribbled a quick message, reporting the sighting, and as he returned the board to the radioman, said, “Ebert, get this out immediately, en clair; don't bother to encode it. Keep broadcasting until Nosy Be acknowledges.”

  Dave knew that taking the time to encode the message wasn't worth the delay in transmission. At least one of the pirate vessels would be radio-equipped, judging from past experience, and would certainly intercept it. And encoded or not, the Caliphate squadron's commander could easily guess its content. But he wouldn't necessarily know from what direction it came – if the Scorpion managed to be below his horizon by the time he started looking for its source.

  He took his telescope from his waistband, where he had tucked it in order to slide down the boom, and turned aft to stare at the enemy squadron. He realized that he was still barefoot, and said to the lee helmsman, “McGrath, just go fetch my shoes for me, will you?”

  Dave watched the tiny triangles formed by the enemy's sails on the western horizon, straining to detect any change in aspect. Finally it seemed that they had altered course to the east, but whether they were chasing the Scorpion, or had coincidentally simply made a pre-planned course change to approach Nosy Be was impossible to know.

  Well, maybe not impossible. He turned to the helmsman and said, “Fall off six points.” Chen, the watch officer, immediately shouted, “Ease the main-sheet.”

  The Scorpion fell off the wind until she was running free to the north-north-east. Such a large course change should be obvious to the lead dhow – if the enemy squadron had indeed detected her. Dave hoped to buy some time for the island by enticing the pirates to chase.

  He stared through his telescope until he felt his right eye begin to water with th
e strain, and switched the instrument to his left eye. Ten … twenty … thirty minutes passed, with no sign that the enemy squadron was deviating a single point from its course. Did this mean that they had not spotted the Scorpion? Or that the squadron commander was resisting any temptation to deviate from the most direct course to Nosy Be? Either way, it presented Dave with a temptation of his own: all he had to do to allow the Scorpion escape a fate which, up until minutes ago, seemed inevitable, was simply continue on this course. He considered this, then rejected it with a sigh of regret. It was his duty to keep the enemy squadron in sight as long as he could, to report its movements, and if an engagement was forced on him, to sell his life and the lives of his crew as dearly as possible.

  “Come up. Resume an easterly course,” he ordered. Chen acknowledged, and brought the dhow right up into the wind, as close as she could come. The breeze had veered a bit more easterly, but the Scorpion could still just maintain her heading.

  “Deck there: enemy squadron is tacking,” the lookout called a few minutes later. Dave raised his telescope and saw that this was indeed the case. The two-masted dhows, not as weatherly as the Scorpion with her single mast, had been “headed”. That is, the wind had come too far forward for them to maintain the course they were on. Following the old rule to “tack into a header”, the pirates had come about onto the port tack. This put them onto the “bad tack” for a lateen rig – the boom was on the windward side of the mast, distorting the luff and causing them to slow down and fall off the wind. To cure this, they were now going through the tedious all-hands evolution of shifting the boom to the lee side of the mast.

  Dave laughed out loud. Rules were useful, but a good seaman didn't follow them mindlessly. In this case, following the rule was stupid, because in these waters the prevailing wind was south-westerly, and never stayed east of south for very long. Before the day was out, the pirates would almost inevitably have to go about to the other tack, and go through the time-consuming process of shifting their booms all over again. The Scorpion was clearly gaining on them now, and would gain still more when they tacked again.