Harry Heron: Into the Unknown

by Patrick G Cox

  “I see that, sir,” said Harry, still amazed at the turn of events. Carefully placing the tablet on the desk, he hesitated then asked, “What of my appointment as a midshipman of this ship? Or Ferghal’s as a....” He struggled for the word. “TechRate, I think you call it.”

  “Those appointments are also a form of protection. In today’s world, you are too young for your rank, and Ferghal is too old for his. Plus, as you haven’t a university degree, and you haven’t followed the usual training at a Fleet College, a few rules have had to be bent—to breaking point in some instances.” He smiled. “It’s taken more than a few favours being called in, but now it’s a challenge for you and O’Connor to give it everything you’ve got and to show the doubters and naysayers you have what it takes despite your youth.”

  “I see, sir.” Harry frowned. As he understood it, he was appointed on a trial basis. If he failed—or worse, if Ferghal failed—they would both lose their position and the respect of their officers. “I hope we can meet your expectations, sir. I should not wish to let the Captain down—or you.”

  “No need to worry. We aren’t going to let you sink or swim alone. In fact, we don’t intend to let you sink at all. Surgeon Commander Myers and the science team have some ideas to help, so my orders, for now, are to see to it that you work with them and become proficient in your role.”

  Richard stood and waited as Harry took the cue and stood as well. “For now, you have the best guardian one could ask for—the Captain himself. He intends to make sure you three are looked after no matter what happens going forward. For obvious reasons, he can’t be seen to be favouring you, but he is taking a very personal interest in seeing you successfully fulfil your duties.

  “However, I must also point out to you that the Captain will not intervene on your behalf if you are in breach of any of your duties when we decide you are ready to take them on, or if you commit any offence under the discipline codes.”

  “I understand, sir.” Somehow, the knowledge that he and his friends were now wards of the Captain made him feel considerably more hopeful of the future, but it also concerned him. He glanced at the tablet again and recalled the Captain’s home address with a slight pang. “I hope that he will allow me to see the old house again someday.”

  “I’m sure he will when the time is right,” said the Commander. “He has to be careful that no accusation can be levelled at either of you of favouritism or nepotism on his part. Nor can there be a suggestion of your having taken advantage of your relationship to him. I am sure you can see the danger in that.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand.”

  “Excellent. Carry on, Mr Heron. Surgeon Commander Myers is eager to get started.”

  Richard held out his hand and waited for Harry to grasp it for a firm handshake.

  Releasing the hand, Harry stepped back and saluted. “Sir, if I may ask, do the others know this?”

  “If you mean O’Connor and Gunn, the answer is no. I shall leave it to you to tell them. My fellow heads of department know of course. There is no need for anyone else to know unless you choose to divulge this information.”

  Watching the young man leave, Richard wondered when the Captain would show Harry the plaque on his office bulkhead. His link chirped, jolting him from his reverie. Duty called. The days ahead would be interesting indeed.

  “I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU,” Harry said when Danny and Ferghal joined him for their evening meal. He’d wanted to share this development with Ferghal all afternoon, but now he could do so with both his companions. “The executive commander informs me that we are made wards of the Captain. The Captain and his brother-in-law, a barrister, I think, have arranged this.” He smiled. “So our Captain is also our guardian—though we must not presume upon it.”

  “I cannot believe we are now under the care of the Captain. What is a guardian in law? What of our parents?”

  Harry shook his head and frowned. “Since we are now four hundred years from our parents’ time, they are no longer there for us. If my enquiries of the ship’s mind are right, the Captain, as our guardian, is now in the position of a father to us. In my case, that seems rather straightforward—he is a descendent of my brother James. I am my own guardian’s twelve times great-uncle!”

  Harry laughed at Ferghal’s stunned expression, while Danny glanced anxiously from one to the other, trying to figure out what they were talking about. He could hardly contemplate this unbelievable coincidence.

  “But what of Danny and me?” Ferghal asked.

  “In your case, Ferghal, the Captain has guardianship because you are, or were, a dependent of my father according to his will.” Turning to Danny, he added, “And you, Danny, have been adopted by the Captain—or rather, his brother-in-law has adopted you and assigned guardianship to the Captain. Marvellously tangled, I think.”

  “Aye, tangled is a good description,” Ferghal said, trying to sound chipper. His feelings were very mixed, his mind in a whirl. He missed his father and mother so much that it hurt. He could be no one’s ward or son but theirs, but he could not say so to his obviously delighted friend. Stuffing down his feelings, he put on a brave face and said, “I think it will take me a while to become accustomed to being someone else’s responsibility and not my father’s, even if the Captain is well connected....”

  His voice trailed off, and Harry noted his friend’s downcast face and quick swipe at his eyes.

  “I share your feelings, my friend. I suppose we’ll have to make the best of it,” Harry said.

  “What’s adopted, Mr Her’n?” Danny asked. “Do I ’ave to leave t’ ship?”

  Distracted by Ferghal’s reaction, Harry had forgotten Danny. “It means you now have a father and a mother, I think. Mr L’Estrange and his wife live in Dublin, and have taken you as their son.” He smiled at the boy’s bemused expression. “You have a family now.” A new thought occurred to him. “Mrs L’Estrange is the Captain’s sister, and since he is my nephew and she my niece, you are now also a member of the family. We’re cousins now, Danny!”

  Danny’s face screwed into a frown of concentration as he tried to grasp this. “I be t’ son of t’ Capting’s sister an’ her husband? But they be nobs, too grand fer t’ likes o’ me.”

  “They don’t think so, Danny.” Harry smiled. “Do you not remember your mother hugging you and rocking you to sleep, or your father telling you stories by the fire?”

  The boy frowned in concentration. “Me Mam were allays workin’ an’ me uncle’d no time fer a brat, he said. Soon’s he thought I were big enough, he brung me to t’ ship, an’ you took me to t’ bo’sun, Mr Her’n.” He shook his head. “I never had much family. Not as I remembers least ways.”

  Shocked to hear this, Harry hesitated. Ferghal hastened to say, “Well you have one now, yonker. Seems we all have a new one to be part of.” He glanced at Harry. “Maybe Mr Heron can help us get used to it, and show us how to do it.”

  Gratefully, Harry nodded. “Capital idea, Ferghal, we’ll do it together.” He smiled. “For now, it’s time to turn in.”

  The three said their goodnights, and once again, Harry was awash with the feeling of being responsible for his friends when he was barely finding his own footing. He longed to be aboard the Spartan, making his way home with prize money in hand and a great tale to tell his family. Oh, what bliss to feel the ship beneath his feet as it rose and fell with the swell of the sea. He yearned for fresh air, sunshine and a brilliant blue sky stretching all the way to the horizon, with the rolling green hills of Ireland just beyond. But, above all, how he wished he could see his parents, and share all his adventures with them in the old house under Scrabo.

  THE ARRIVAL AT THE OLD HOUSE IN SCRABO of a letter from Captain Blackwood conveying his condolences and the news that Harry and Ferghal had apparently perished in an engagement some five months previously had cast County Down into gloom. Susan Heron, Harry’s mother, was devastated, but she put a brave face on and did
her best to comfort Ferghal’s mother in her grief. Additional letters from Captain Blackwood and Cousin Henry, who had enclosed a letter from the Reverend Mr Bentley, confirmed the news but raised several new questions.

  Major Heron and Sean O’Connor, Ferghal’s father, stood by the stone fence near the stable having a smoke and making sense of the news as best they could.

  “Sean, I wish I knew the truth of this.” Major Heron shook his head. “There is talk of some strange device—a terrible weapon, they think, that damaged the Spartan and took our sons’ lives, but no one knows whose weapon. That is the puzzle.”

  “Aye, Major.” Sean frowned as he stared down the Lough. “It makes no sense to make a weapon as dangerous t’ yer own as to t’ the enemy.”

  “Exactly, Sean. Captain Blackwood thought it was a French device, but he learned that they thought he had launched it upon them.”

  “And our lads died because of it.”

  “Aye.” Hesitating, the Major considered carefully, recalling the latest version of his dream. “Yet I cannot accept that they are dead.” He took a few puffs of his pipe. “You know the sight runs in my family. We have a vision when one of ours is in danger. It takes different forms, but it usually presents itself in dreams to warn of danger, illness, injury or death.”

  Sean O’Connor nodded. “I recall. Ye told me o’ Harry’s birth afore t’ letter came t’ Gibraltar. And again o’ t’ death o’ your uncle afore t’ inheritance that brought us ’ere.” He stuffed the bowl of his pipe from the Major’s proffered tobacco pouch and concentrated on lighting the pipe. “The dream were right on both.”

  “It usually is, but this time I cannot discern the meaning.” Blowing a cloud of smoke, the Major remained silent while they stared at the fishing boats working on the Lough. “In the dream, the stallion grazes on the side of a chasm that separates him from me. The chasm is a new feature of an oft-repeated dream—and never before have I seen the damned horse grazing.”

  Sean considered this. His employer was not a man given to flights of fancy, nor a man given to deep philosophising. He kept to himself the belief he shared with his wife that neither boy was dead. She too had the sight, as it was known, but as their Catholic faith frowned upon such things, they seldom discussed it with others, but he knew he could divulge his deepest concerns to the Major. “My Mary has t’ same feelin’, sir. She thinks Ferghal and Harry live, an’ are mebbe marooned upon some desert isle.”

  “My own feeling. I think they live, but they cannot return from where they find themselves.” Major Heron knocked out his pipe and replaced it in his pocket. “I shall go to London. Captain Blackwood writes that he remains there while his ship is refitted. Perhaps I can discover whether there exists an island in that area of the sea where the boys may have found safety.”

  THE TRAFFIC IN THE STRAND disturbed James Heron’s sleep, causing him to recall why he no longer found town dwelling attractive. Tossing and turning in the early morning hour, so early it was still dark outside, he was unable to return to sleep, so he got out of bed and readied himself for the day. When he descended the stairs to the morning room, he found his cousin Henry seated at the dining table and sipping tea, a rack of toast and a pot of jam before him. Helping himself to tea, James buttered a slice of toast and spread honey on it, taking a seat opposite.

  “My thanks, Henry, for accommodating me. This is the second time you have shown such warm hospitality to a member of my family. Susan and I were grateful for your assistance to young Harry in his quest to be appointed a midshipman.”

  Henry Heron smiled. “I was happy to do it, James. I will always remember Harry as a determined young man who took care of his own in a manner that reminded me strongly of someone else—even in the face of authority.”

  James laughed. “He wrote a little of his defence of Ferghal. I trust it did not discommode you too much.”

  “Not at all.” Henry smiled. “He’d have made a fine barrister had he wished, and his care of Ferghal was very much to his and your credit. He made an excellent impression on all who met him. Such a sad loss to us all.” He looked up as the butler entered bearing a silver tray with the morning mail. “Ah, the mail. Thank you, Heath.” Shuffling through the envelopes, his eyebrows rose. “Two are for you, James, one from Captain Blackwood, and one from a Mr Bentley.”

  Accepting the letters, the Major lifted the seal on the first and extracted the letter. “Excellent—Mr Bentley is delighted to meet and discuss his impressions of the weapon that took Harry from us.” Refolding the letter, he glanced at his cousin. “If it is convenient to you, I should like to invite him here so that we may talk privately.”

  “Of course, James. May I suggest the day after tomorrow—if he lives in town—as I have court to attend all day. The house will be at your disposal.”

  “Thank you, that is generous.” Lifting the seal of the second envelope, the Major opened the letter. “Ah, Captain Blackwood apologises. He is in Portsmouth, but would welcome a meeting if I should wish to see him there.”

  “The Mail has a regular service,” replied Henry, engrossed in his own correspondence. “I’ll have one of my clerks provide the schedule for you.”

  “Thank you. That will be useful. For the moment, I wish to find a chart of that part of the ocean—if one exists.”

  “I suggest East India House. They have charts of the route to the East and must, of necessity, have that area.” Folding his napkin, Henry rose. “Now I must leave you. Heath will provide you with any directions you might need.”

  THE VISIT TO THE CHART ROOM AT EAST INDIA HOUSE proved extremely successful. It confirmed at least one of the Major’s fears. The area of the sea to the south and east of Ile d’ France was devoid of any known habitable islands until one reached the fortieth parallel, some considerable distance from the location of the sea-fight in which the Spartan was damaged and from which Harry and Ferghal disappeared. If Harry and Ferghal were alive, it would be unlikely they made it that far. The ocean currents, the winds and many other factors suggested otherwise.

  Deep in thought, the Major found his way back to the Strand where, on impulse, he followed the road toward Ludgate and the city. A talk, perhaps, with one of the East India masters who met at Lloyd’s Coffee House might be informative.

  Tomorrow he would see the Reverend Mr Bentley, and the next day take the Mail to Portsmouth to speak to Captain Blackwood. The feeling that his youngest son was not dead remained strong, but he could not see how the boy could have survived everything the reverend gentleman had described in his letter.

  He was distracted by his thoughts as he pushed open the door of Lloyd’s Coffee House and stepped inside, his eye already picking out the ship owners, masters and underwriters clustered in groups around the small tables. He spied what he was looking for, a vacant seat next to a pair of shipmasters.

  “May I, gentlemen?”

  The older of the pair nodded. “Seekin’ a passage or a cargo, sor?”

  “No, I thank you.” The Major indicated their empty cups. “Some coffee, and, I hope, some information concerning the sea route in the Indian Ocean.” He took his seat, gave his order for coffee, and the replenishment of the pot for his companions. “James Heron, formerly Major in the Royal Fusiliers, now of Scrabo Manor, County Down. My son was recently lost in a sea-fight south of Ile d’ France. I wish to know a deal more about the ocean thereabouts. Are there perhaps any islands not yet charted in that area?”

  The pair exchanged glances, and the elder of the two nodded. “I’ve sailed the route these forty years. Plenty o’ islands north o’ there. T’ Maldives, t’ Seychelles and plenty more best avoided, but there be naught I know south o’ Madagascar or Ile d’ France.”

  “Why do ye ask?” enquired the second man, adding, “Bluett, Master o’ t’ Lord Howard.”

  “Thank you, Captain Bluett.” The Major paused. “The circumstances of my son’s loss are strange. There is a chance he lives, but the onl
y possibility of that is if he found some island in that sea, or was carried, either in a boat or with the wreckage, to the coast of the continent. I wish to satisfy myself of these possibilities ere I embark on any further search.”

  The pair exchanged glances. “A hopeless case if a man did not have a boat—and even if he reached the shore, there are Arab slavers, savages and wild beasts to evade unless one reaches Delagoa Bay, sir.” They went on to explain how the wind and ocean current set toward the continent but drove any ship or wreck toward the south and west, and finally south toward the icy wastes of the Great Southern Ocean, where it once again drove in an easterly direction.

  The Major thanked the men and left the coffee shop enlightened but in dampened spirits. If Harry lived, he was unlikely to be found. The Major could hardly allow himself to envisage his son clinging to a piece of wreckage adrift in the sea, or scrabbling for survival on some wild island. He would rather believe that Harry had met a quick, honourable death in battle than to endure such a fate.

  Feeling overcome with weariness and a heavy heart, he made his way back home to Cousin Henry’s house.

  Chapter 15

  Implant

  THE ROUTE TO THE MEDICAL CENTRE took Harry and Ferghal down four decks into a familiar part of the ship. In the weeks they’d been aboard, there had been regular checks on their health, which Harry quietly enjoyed as MedTech Katerina de Vries was always chatty, and sometimes she flirted quite openly with him.