Pushing it from his mind, he considered his position. The learning was slow going and hard, and he knew that if he was finding it so, it must be worse for Ferghal. “What is to become of us?” he whispered into the darkness.
Here, in the privacy of his own berth and his own cabin, he could confront his uncertainties and fears. He could give in to his longing to return to his family. Not yet seventeen, he’d held responsibility for his division from the beginning of his career less than five years previously. Now he felt responsible for Ferghal’s fate and to a lesser extent, Danny’s, and the thought of it nearly overwhelmed him. He knew he could deal with storms, sail handling and battle, but this challenge was of a different order. To himself, he said quietly, “I cannot—I must not—show my uncertainty. I must be strong and master these tasks and hurdles.”
AT HIS HOME IN SCRABO, MAJOR HERON CONTEMPLATED the letter from Cousin Henry that he had just received in response to his enquiry regarding the current location of HMS Spartan. He absolutely had to know the fate of his son Harry and his ship, and thus far, answers had been slow in coming.
The letter in his slightly trembling hands quite possibly would provide the information he needed.
He settled into his favourite wing chair by the fire and perused the letter carefully. The ship was reported to have called for repairs at Delagoa Bay on the East Coast of Africa. One of her consorts, HMS Rajasthan, had been detached there, and had arrived only the day before his cousin wrote, with despatches and letters for the Admiralty. The letter mentioned an engagement south of the island of Ile d’ France, but the details were confused, to say the least.
He looked up as his eldest son entered. “What news from Cousin Henry, Papa?” Warming his hands briefly, James asked, “Has he news of Harry?”
“His ship is expected, if God permits, within the next month.” He offered the letter. “It depends on the length of time it needed to repair some damage she suffered in an engagement.”
Quickly scanning the neat but cramped handwriting—Cousin Henry did not believe in using more paper than necessary—James frowned and said, “But no news of Harry, I see.”
“Nothing.” The Major sighed and gazed at the fire to collect his thoughts. “Just some mention of some extraordinary weapon that destroyed one of a pair of French ships, and presumably damaged the Spartan. It all sounds quite fantastical and difficult to believe. He has no details of it or of the damage, but mentions the Reverend Mr Bentley. Harry wrote of him and his interest in the sciences, you may recall. The Reverend hopes to give a lecture on it to the Royal Society.” Standing, the Major frowned. “If there is no word from Harry or of the ship by the end of the month, I shall go to London. Time I renewed some of my acquaintance there.”
“Not a good season to travel, Father.”
“I know, but the dreams I’ve had of late are troubling me. I cannot ignore them.” Taking several paces back and forth in the cramped room, he stopped to stare out of the window. “Strange, I do not think him dead, but rather that he faces something unknown....”
A LIGHT RAIN DAMPENED THE DECKS and the men’s spirits as Captain Blackwood brought HMS Spartan to her assigned mooring off the entrance to Fareham Creek. The late spring rain seemed to fit exactly the mood as the sails were swiftly brailed up and the great anchor splashed down on the Captain’s signal. Ahead of the ship, the guard boat curtseyed gently as the port mooring officer resumed his seat in the stern sheets and the oarsmen gave way.
The boat swung about so that she idled down the side of the weather-beaten seventy-four as she settled to the pull of wind and tide against her anchor. Watching the busy figures snugging down lines, harbour stowing the great sails and preparing the boats for lowering overside, Captain Blackwood felt a glow of pride in his men, his ship. Though sadly depleted in numbers by the toll of sickness, battle and accidents, his crew were still able to perform their duties with precision. They had left this same port together in the brief interlude of peace brought by the now defunct Treaty of Amiens, and now they returned to it in a war resumed and, perhaps, more bitter than before.
His coxswain coughed politely behind him, his dress sword and boat cloak held ready. Already the ship’s one remaining midshipman stood at the entry port carrying the despatch case for the flagship where she lay at her anchors a quarter mile away. Even as he threw on his boat cloak, the midshipman descended into a waiting boat, which cast off immediately to make a swift round of calls to the flagship, the Port Admiral and the dockyard.
Thinking of the letters in the mail pouch for the dockyard post office, he clipped his sword into place beneath his cloak. “Thank you, Tomkin. I’ll be down in a moment.”
There were many letters to the families of the officers and warrant officers who had died during the long commission, and letters from some of the seamen to their families, such as the ones written by Midshipman Heron to his family before his disappearance. At least they will now have these last lines from their loved ones.
Nodding to his First Lieutenant, he said, “I shall be with the Admiral for about an hour, I expect, Thomas, and then I must ashore to convey our requirements to the dockyard. I expect the purser will need a boat to arrange our replacement stores.”
“I will see to it, sir,” Lt Thomas Bell replied. “I expect we will have to find some replacements for the wardroom and gunroom, and I should think we will have to take whatever the poorhouse and gaols can provide to fill our quota of the men we need.”
“Indeed! I shall make representation to the Admiral for some lieutenants to assist you as soon as may be. I regard the work you and the other officers have done since the engagement in the Indian Ocean as of the first order. I do not have to tell you that. I expect too that the Admiral will confirm Mr Bowles as Lieutenant. Perhaps Mr Tanner will also have a chance if a Board of Examiners can be arranged.”
Captain Blackwood walked toward the entry port, acknowledging the trill of the side party’s pipes and the salute of the Marine guard.
“And perhaps, Thomas, a command for you,” the Captain added. “God knows you have earned it!”
THE INTERVIEW WITH THE ADMIRAL lasted a little more than an hour. Captain Blackwood was well received, the Admiral in an expansive mood and much inclined to dwell on the positive achievements of the small squadron. The mystery of the lost midshipman and two young seamen seemed of little interest to him as he weighed this against the destruction of one powerful enemy frigate and the capture of another. He was full of praise for the repairs carried out in Delagoa Bay and the valuable intelligence gathered on the long voyage home.
“Capital stuff, Captain! By God sir, you have made the bleaters sit up and take notice!”
“Thank you sir, I hope that we may have an opportunity for a refit, as the ship has several defects that need attention.”
“So I see from your returns. As it happens there is at present an opportunity for you to have her docked and the underwater repairs done. I will make the order to the dockyard on your behalf. But I warn you that it will necessarily be a short refit. I have great need of every ship I can put into service at present. The Grand Armeé is camped, even now, just across the channel, and their fleet is likely to attempt an engagement to force the crossing at any time.”
“I understand, sir, which raises another question. I have temporarily promoted one of my midshipmen to act as Fifth Lieutenant, a position he has fulfilled admirably for six months now. My remaining midshipman is due for promotion, and I have every confidence he will make a fine officer if given the opportunity. Had I been in a position to do so, I would have sent him home with the prize, but it was not to be. As you can see, I had two more die in action or of wounds resulting from the action against the L’ Revolution, and of course, young Mr Heron’s disappearance leaves the ship almost devoid of midshipmen.”
“I am of the opinion that I can certainly do something for the two who remain to your complement then. Your voyage seems to have been singular
ly hard on young men of that position—but I will see what can be done to appoint some to you. I shall have my clerk draft a commission for your Mr Bowles, and I will consider appointing Mr Tanner to a suitable commission as well. I am sure we can arrange for him to sit his examination if need be.”
The Admiral paused then added, “I expect that your First is also due a reward. I have a sloop about to be recommissioned, the Kestrel, twenty-four guns, a small ship, but a step toward bigger things, I should hope.” He smiled, adding, “But I expect that will remove him from your ship just as you need him most.”
“Indeed, sir, but Thomas deserves this appointment, and my remaining officers are quite capable of managing until he can be replaced.”
“As to that, I think I can provide you with a suitable replacement,” said the Admiral. “It so happens that I know a young man who is chafing to have a chance to leave his present appointment on the Port Admiral’s staff and would leap at the chance to join your ship. I will arrange it. A great pity about the young midshipman—Heron, was it not? The device that caused his disappearance and the other boys’ is unlike any we have record of and must be studied by the Royal Society, no doubt. You will have written to his parents, I take it?” He nodded on receiving the affirmation and Captain Blackwood’s assurance that he was well acquainted with Midshipman Heron’s family, and would handle the matter accordingly.
The Admiral rose and extended a hand. “Good day, Captain Blackwood. Your despatches will be well received in the Admiralty, and now I must ashore myself—I am due to take a post chaise to London tonight to see the First Sea Lord.”
WITH HIS ROUND OF THE DOCKYARD COMPLETED, Robert Blackwood returned to the ship, which was already being prepared for docking.
“The Admiral’s clerk wasted no time, it seems, sir.” Mr Bell replaced his hat as the salute died away.
“So it seems. He must have dictated the orders while he prepared to go ashore.” Smiling, he asked, “And what of your news, Thomas? I suspect you have new orders as well.”
“I have, sir, my own command. I am given the Kestrel, twenty-four guns.” He laughed. “A very different prospect after this fine ship.” He sobered for a moment. “I shall be sorry to leave the Spartan, sir.”
“Nonsense, Thomas. Now, you will wish to be away to see your new command. Send Mr Rae to me.” He smiled. “And my gig is at your disposal.”
“Thank you, sir.” Lieutenant Bell was surprised by the generosity of this gesture. “I should tell you, sir. Midshipman Tanner was summoned to the flagship an hour since.”
“Excellent. Let us hope he acquits himself well then.” Gripping his former First Lieutenant’s shoulder, he said, “Walk aft with me, my friend. Your new command may be small, but with twenty-four guns she will be well placed for some exciting work and the opportunity for prize money.”
“Indeed, sir!” Thomas beamed, following his Captain into the great cabin. “I thank you for the support and opportunity you have given me, sir.”
“Nonsense, Thomas, you have earned this and more. I suspect that had we been in home waters instead of the East, you would have made this step long before now. Congratulations, my friend. It is very well earned.” He looked up as there was a knock on the door, which swung open to reveal a somewhat flushed Midshipman Tanner.
“Yes, Mr Tanner?”
“Sir, I am just come from the flagship.” He seemed to be in a state of shock. “I am made Lieutenant, sir, appointed to the Kestrel!”
“I see, Mr Tanner,” said the Captain gravely. “I shall be sorry to lose you. You have served very well in this ship, and I consider your appointment well earned.” He smiled and winked at Thomas Bell, adding, “I take it you have knowledge of the Kestrel’s commander?”
“No, sir, I am told only that she is fitting out and will be commissioning again in a few days. Her commander is yet to take up his appointment.”
“Well, Mr Tanner, it would be well to meet your new Captain, would it not?”
“Indeed, sir, and I should like to apply to you for leave to join my new ship as soon as possible so that I may be there when the Captain arrives.”
“I think I can do better than that, Mr Tanner. I can arrange for you to be with him when he does.” Unable to contain his amusement any longer, he said, “Mr Tanner, meet Captain Bell, your new Commander!”
Chapter 14
Adrift
“MIDSHIPMAN HERON, report to the Executive Commander.” The strange voice arriving via the small device clipped to his uniform startled him as it always did, though he strove to become accustomed to it. It had been a frustrating week. An overabundance of new information learned in such a short period had led to confusion and sometimes misunderstanding. Worse, it often resulted in short-term memory with no deep understanding of the material being studied. Harry’s temper was at times close to breaking point, and he only managed to keep it under control through his iron will.
Touching the device, he replied, “Aye, aye, sir.” The next problem he faced was finding his way to the executive officer.
“Through the key flat, Harry,” a midshipman named Hans Dinsen told him, reading Harry’s perplexed expression. He knew Harry well enough by now to know the young man would rather press on doggedly than ask for directions. “Take the ladder from the wardroom gangway up one deck. You’ll find his office just forward of the ladder.”
“Thank you, I’m much obliged to you,” Harry said.
“Think nothing of it,” Hans added with a smile. “I’m on my way to the command centre, so I’ll point you in the right direction.”
“I wonder what he wishes me to undertake,” Harry said.
“You’ll soon know.” Hans grinned. “Regular slave driver, the exec.”
Racing up the ladder, Harry touched the door interface. “Midshipman Heron reporting, sir.”
“Come in, Mr Heron, and sit down.” Waiting until his visitor was seated, Commander Grenville pushed a tablet across the desk. “You’ve seen the scientists with these. Did they show you how to use one?”
Harry shook his head. “No, sir, but I understand a simple touch allows one to connect to some larger source of information.”
“That about sums it up, I think. Now then, I have it showing a document I want you to read carefully, please.” He waited as Harry studied the device. “It is the report submitted by Captain Robert Blackwood of the Spartan on the engagement in which you and your men Ferghal and Danny disappeared in 1804.”
Harry studied the unfamiliar script carefully. It took him several minutes to realise that, although the form of many of the letters were slightly different from what he was used to, the writing was quite easy to follow. He read the despatch describing how the one French ship had apparently been destroyed by an explosion and the other, engaged by Spartan, herself damaged by a strange device, had surrendered to boarders from the Rajasthan and Swallow after receiving serious damage when the seventy-four had succeeded in raking her.
He read of the loss of the Number 8 gun and the damage to the mainmast and other ship timbers, and of the repairs in Delagoa Bay. The report gave details of the long voyage home and of the deaths, injuries and sickness aboard, and, of course, of the disappearance of himself, Ferghal and Danny during the battle. Looking up, he said, “I do not understand how we may be here now, sir, or how I can be reading this record of my death. I hope I may one day know how this has occurred.”
“I think you will, Harry. We’re working on it.” The Commander pointed to the tablet. “Look at this series of words along the bottom of the screen, each next to the other, as if someone has placed pieces of paper sequentially in a book to mark several places. These words serve the same purpose. When you touch each one, a new report, or despatch if you will, fills the screen for you to read it.”
“Ah, I see, sir. That is a very clever system.”
“Yes, it is, and it eliminates the need for filing drawers and cabinets to keep tidy. Now, touch the
second from the left.”
Harry did, and the document he had been reading was replaced by another, one he immediately recognised. “Oh...this is my warrant as a midshipman. I’d thought it lost with our—er—vanishing.”
“It is an important historical document, and therefore was preserved for posterity using this system. All such documents pertaining to ships of the Royal Navy were preserved in this manner. Now, touch the next bookmark, Mr Heron.”
This document showed an extract of the Spartan’s Watch and Quarter Bill with his own name and those of Ferghal and Danny highlighted. Next to each was the notation DD—naval shorthand for Discharged Dead. Harry looked up in alarm. “I do not understand, sir. According to the Captain’s report and the ship’s Muster Book, we are dead.” He gestured. “Yet we are here and very much alive.”
“Exactly. You are alive. That record is four hundred years old, Mr Heron, yet here you are. Try the next bookmark. I think you’ll find that we have some new information on the situation.”
The next document showed Harry’s name and his correct place and date of birth—and declared that he was now the ward of one James O’Niall Heron, Captain and Commodore, North European Confederation Space Fleet, of Scrabo Manor, County Down, State of Ulster. Harry was so engrossed in the contents that he forgot himself and read the remainder of the entry under his breath: “The said Henry Nelson Heron, having been displaced in time and space by a malfunction in Near Earth Gate, Southern Hemisphere, Indian Ocean, and having been erroneously declared dead, is hereby declared to be alive.” He looked across at the commander in amazement. “Sir, does this mean that I am, I mean the Captain is...?” He trailed off, at a loss for words.
“If you are asking if you are now in the care of the Captain, the answer is yes, as are Ferghal O’Connor and Daniel Gunn.” The commander smiled at Harry’s astonished expression. “You are a very fortunate young man, not only because the Captain is a direct relative, but because he is also a man who knows when to use his connections. A number of people on Earth would dearly like to get their hands on you three for their own purposes, simply because you were in the year 1804 one minute and 2204 the next. The Captain has taken these steps to ensure that you have a legal existence and therefore the protection of the law, and thus cannot be subjected to enquiry and study as if you were an alien specimen of some sort.” He watched Harry absorb the information. “He has also undertaken to give you and your men Danny and Ferghal a chance to fit into these most unusual circumstances.”
Harry Heron: Into the Unknown Page 13
