The Gathering Storm

by Peter Smalley

  'No? That is a pity.'

  Rennie stood waiting, and Mr Mappin sat him out, until Rennie became uncomfortable. He knew that Mr Mappin very probably had the power to insist. At last:

  'What good reason could you give to me, Mr Mappin? What is behind this? Spying? Hm?'

  'If you will like to take off your hat, Captain Rennie, and sit down ...'

  Rennie stood silent a moment longer, then sniffed, pulled off his hat and sat down. Brusquely:

  'Well?'

  'Thank you.' The half-smile, and Mr Mappin turned his head briefly to the door. 'We must not deprive the admiral of his quarters longer than he would like.' Returning his gaze to Rennie. 'When your sailing instructions come, they will make no mention of any name. You are to say nothing of this meeting today to anyone, nor make any mention of an impending arrival. The day before your departure to survey the French coast, the person I have chosen will come to you. He will not appear until after dark. You will take him into your ship, and he will then tell you the reason behind this scheme.'

  'D'y'mean that he will carry written orders?'

  'I do not. Nothing is to be wrote out specific. Nothing. He will tell it to you.'

  'Hm. Hm.' Rennie pursed his mouth, shook his head, sighed. 'Mr Mappin, ye've not told me who you are. Nor admitted who your masters are, though I am in no doubt you are acting upon their instruction. Ye've given to me no written orders. Ye've refused to divulge a single compelling reason why I should accommodate you in this.' A sniff. 'In the absence of a confirming document of some kind, from the Admiralty ... I must say no to you.'

  'Ah. Must you? Again, that's a pity.'

  'For you, perhaps. Not for me, sir.' Rennie had again got up on his legs. Seeing that his bluff was not in fact going to be called, he then had no option but to leave Mr Mappin in the office and go downstairs. The admiral was not in the lower rooms, when Rennie glanced into them, nor was his clerk Pell.

  With a shrug Rennie had stepped out into the air. He thought of James Hayter, and Mr Mappin's contempt for him, and now regretted that he had not taken James as supernumerary, even if only to thwart the bloody glib-talking little tailor's fop and his wretched requests. And there the matter had rested until Admiral Hapgood gave him permission to weigh and put to sea on Expedient's brief shaking-out run.

  When the French coast was clearly in view, Rennie took the con, and ordered that his ship be brought about, to run before the wind on the return to Portsmouth. Boats must be swung out and towed as part of the exercise. As the ship heeled true on the new heading:

  'Mr Tangible!'

  'Sir?' Attending.

  'We will beat to quarters, and clear the ship for action!'

  The boatswain lifted his call, and the piercing tones echoed across the deck. Immediate feverish activity. The rattle of the marine's drum. The thudding of many feet. Curses. From below, the crash and clatter of mallets as bulkheads were struck and stowed, and cabin furniture. Lieutenants and middies to their sections. Guncrews assembled. Powder and shot to hand. And now:

  'Silence on deck!' Tom Makepeace.

  The creaking of rigging, of bolt ropes and canvas, of timbers, and the sighing of the wind; the rinsing, rushing wash of the sea; the cries of seabirds high over the trucktops.

  'Cast loose your guns!'

  Tackles loosened, sponge rammers and handspikes laid ready.

  'Level your guns!'

  Quoins thrust in, and bedded.

  'Out tompions!'

  Red stoppers pulled out of muzzles, and dropped hanging on lanyards.

  'Run out your guns!'

  Crews at the tackles, heaving. Breeching ropes hauled through and bent.

  'Prime!'

  Priming wires thrust down vents and cartridges pierced. Horns tipped by gun captains and fine grain poured. Pans primed.

  'Point your guns!'

  Gun captains kneeling at flintlocks and sighting.

  'Larboard battery – FIRE!'

  BANG BANG-BANG-BOOM BANG-BOOM

  BANG BANG.

  The eighteen-pounders.

  THUD THUD THUD THUD

  The thirty-two-pound carronades.

  Shuddering timbers. Whirling clouds of smoke and grit along the deck, and ballooning from the ship's side. Explosions of spray to the south as roundshot smashed heavy into waves.

  'Reload!'

  'We are ragged, Mr Makepeace. Very ragged.' Captain Rennie paced aft to the tafferel, turned and paced forrard to the wheel, the great shadow of the mizzen and driver falling on the deck as the ship heeled.

  A few moments more. Frenzied activity. Shouts. A dropped bucket of sand.

  'Larboard battery ready, sir!'

  'And slow.'

  'Yes, sir – the guncrews have had very little practice as yet.'

  'Hm. I have disobeyed the port admiral in firing my great guns, Mr Makepeace. But as a commander at sea I felt it my duty to give the people a whiff of powder. Nothing like the stink of powder to sharpen a crew. Sharpen us all. We will not fire the great guns again, but we will continue to exercise them, until we are fit to call ourselves a fighting ship.' His hand to a back stay as the ship butted into a sudden lifting wave. 'Pray proceed.'

  'Very good, sir.' His hat off and on, and he faced forrard to raise his speaking trumpet. Light flashing on silver. The shadow of a rope striping his face.

  'Silence on deck!'

  *

  As he came ashore in his boat at the Hard, Captain Rennie saw a familiar tall figure emerge from the dockyard gates.

  Jumping ashore, wetting his shoes: 'Langton!'

  The figure hesitated, turned, and began walking rapidly and diagonally away down the wide expanse, toward a boat at the eastern end.

  'Captain Langton!' Waving. The figure took no notice. Rennie nodded to the midshipman in charge of his launch, and hurried across the Hard in pursuit of the retreating figure. He nearly tripped on a wheel rut, staggered, and feeling a fool hurried on, raising a hand then lowering it abruptly. Would not the fellow stop, good heaven?

  'Langton!'

  At last, puffing and sweating, Rennie did catch him up, and an embarrassed Captain Langton was obliged to turn and acknowledge his fellow officer.

  'Ah. It's you, Rennie. I thought it was some drunken fellow calling out.'

  'Drunken fellow ... no no, ha-ha, no no. I had wanted – that is, I had meant to seek you out before this, you know, and—'

  'Everything was explained.' Over him. 'It was all told to me, the whole thing.'

  'Ah. Ah. Very good. Then ... ?'

  'So in course there is no need for you yourself to explain it. Now.'

  'Well well, I had thought, you know, that it would – that it would sound clearer, and better, coming direct from me, d'y'see.'

  'Yes? Did you? I expect so.'

  'I can see that you are still angry with me.'

  'Angry? Nay, I am not. You acted as you did because you were under an obligation to do so. It was all explained to me, some time since, as I've said.'

  The difficulty between them had arisen when Rennie – required to do so by high official request – had provoked a spurious quarrel with Captain Langton after that officer had sat on a court martial which dismissed Rennie from the service for gross dereliction of duty. That too was spurious, unknown to Captain Langton at the time. Rennie had subsequently failed to appear at the appointed hour, having accepted Captain Langton's challenge to a duel. These actions had brought Rennie to disgrace – expiated only when the reason for his actions was at last made known. He had all the time been acting under official instruction, as part of a plan to overthrow a clandestine attack upon the nation's interest.

  Since then Rennie had meant to approach Langton in person, and apologise for having insulted him, but the opportunity had never arisen until now. Captain Langton had of course been apprised of all the facts long since, but harboured a niggling suspicion that Rennie's insults had been after all more than mere play-acting and pretence. Rennie had insulted him
so roundly and publicly – a bombardment of drunken epithets in a coffee house – that Langton could not in his heart, in spite of the information he had been given, quite believe in Rennie's innocence.

  Rennie took a further breath now, and: 'Then, then, if you ain't angry – the matter is all over and done. Will you have supper with my wife and me, at the Marine Hotel?'

  'Supper? I – I do not think I can. I must go aboard my ship.' Stiffly.

  'Perhaps – dinner, tomorrow?'

  'I do not think I can – tomorrow. We are giving a dinner aboard. A duty dinner.'

  'Ah. Ah. Then I will bid you good day. No doubt we will meet again, and perhaps I can persuade you to dine with us another time. You have not met my wife, I think?'

  'I have not had that honour.' Stiffly polite.

  'Mrs Rennie was a naval widow when we met. Sylvia Townend. I think you may have known her late husband.'

  'Robert Townend? Captain Robert Townend?'

  'Yes.' Sensing a thaw.

  'Well, I did know him, years ago. But he was not then married.' Again stiffly.

  'Rennie felt that he must attempt a last time to make Captain Langton understand him, and thus forgive him. A breath, and:

  'Look here, Langton, I feel very badly about what happened. You was put to great trouble, and must've felt grievous wronged. All that dishwater about the duel, and so forth—'

  'Dishwater?'

  'Well well, it was more than dishwater, I grant you. It was deliberate deceit and insult. I wish you would allow me to give you a full explication, if not over dinner, then in least permit me to offer you a glass of wine—'

  'Captain Rennie, an explication has already been made. As I have tried to say to you, there is no need for further iteration. If you will excuse me, I must go into my boat.' Making to walk on.

  'Oh, good God, man.' In something like despair. 'Will not you unbend, and allow me to offer you my friendship?'

  Captain Langton paused, hearing genuine distress in Rennie's tone. He frowned, turned, and now his inherent good nature overruled all else. The frown became an awkward smile, and he held out his hand.

  'Very well. Very well.'

  They shook hands, to Rennie's great relief – and Captain Langton's. Neither was a man that liked to bear a grudge, or have one borne against him. Captain Langton, with a little jerk of his head:

  'You said some damned wounding things at the coffee house, old fellow. But I forgive you, as I should have done months ago.'

  'Yes, I was obliged to be inventive. I did say harsh things to you, and regretted them bitterly all the time I was saying them. Well well, what d'y'say we go there now, and drink a glass of wine together, at the very table where I sat on that day. Hey?'

  Captain Langton looked at him. 'To the coffee house? You cannot mean it? Go there?'

  'In course I do mean it, it's the best possible conclusion to a damnfool quarrel, invented by other men.'

  'To the coffee house, hey? Ha-ha-ha, yes, by God! To the coffee house, ha-ha-ha, capital. I will like to see their faces when we go in!'

  And the two sea officers strode together back across the Hard, laughing and talking as they went.

  FIVE

  Lieutenant James Hayter, RN, was in London on a private quest. He had heard, as seafaring men do hear these things, that the 800-ton East Indiaman Dorsetshire was in need of a mate, and that her master Captain Sprigg sought an officer with a record of service in the Royal Navy. James had got into touch with Captain Sprigg, and a date and time of interview had been arranged.

  James was lodging at Mrs Peebles's private hotel in Bedford Street off the Strand, an establishment known for its comfortable rooms, excellent table, and reasonable charges – where he in turn was known and always welcome. On the morning of his appointment with Captain Sprigg a written message was delivered to him at the hotel. As he ate his breakfast in the dining room he read:

  By hand

  Lieutenant James Hayter, RN, at Bedford Street

  Wednesday

  Sir,

  We do not know each other, & have never met, but if you will indulge me I shld take it as a great favour if you wld meet me at the Admiralty at 12 noon today, upon a matter of vital importance.

  Pray ask for me as you go in, & you will be directed to a side room where we can be private & undisturbed.

  Yr humble servant

  Brough Mappin

  Please do not take offence when I say that this is of infinitely greater moment – both immediately, & afterward – than yr intended interview with Captain Sprigg.

  James put down his coffee cup, glanced up as the serving girl brought his eggs and bacon, and when she had bobbed and gone he reread the letter.

  'Brough Mappin ... ? "We do not know each other."' Murmured to himself. 'Then how the devil does he know about Sprigg?'

  Mrs Peebles, stout in her green dress, came to his table, apologised for interrupting his breakfast, and enquired as to whether James would be requiring his room for longer than the two days engaged.

  'I am not entirely sure, Mrs Peebles, just at present.'

  'I ask simply because there is a gentleman coming to town tomorrow, with a party of friends, and they wishes to take half a dozen of my ten rooms, for a week. It is just that if you was going to be stopping on, sir, I—'

  'Yes yes, Mrs Peebles, I understand you.' Slightly put out. He glanced at the letter again, folded it away in his waitscoat pocket, and: 'I will do my best to let you know this afternoon.'

  'Thank you, sir.'

  James went to his bedroom and wrote a note to Captain Sprigg, asking that the interview be postponed until the morrow, as urgent family business had taken him elsewhere. He paid a boy to deliver the note by hand to the shipping office.

  At noon he presented himself at the Admiralty, in his dress coat, and wearing his tasselled sword. He was shown to the side room mentioned in the letter, where he found Mr Mappin. His hat under his arm James advanced into the room, and Mr Mappin rose from his chair.

  'Mr Mappin?'

  'Lieutenant Hayter?'

  They bowed, and Mr Mappin indicated a second chair. A kneehole desk was the only other piece of furniture in the small, bare, plain room. James placed his hat on the desk, and sat down, easing his sword by his side.

  'Thank you indeed for coming, Mr Hayter.'

  'Before you say anything further, Mr Mappin, I must ask you a question. How did you know of my interview with Captain Sprigg?'

  'I have been trying to get into touch with you for some little time, Mr Hayter. I had thought that in your present circumstances you might wish to make yourself available to John Company, and so I made enquiries, and requests, and your name duly appeared.'

  'D'y'mean you bribed various persons in that company to forward my name to you? Clerks, and the like?'

  'Bribery is too harsh a word, I believe, for what was done.'

  'You think so? Well, no matter. My name came to you, and you found me at Bedford Street. And here I am, now.'

  'Indeed. And thank you again for your attendance.'

  'Why did you wish to see me? And why here, at the Admiralty? Are you employed here, Mr Mappin?' All with a sea officer's directness.

  'Am I? Nay, I am not. I work in another sphere.'

  'Then why—'

  Quickly, over him: 'If you will indulge me, Lieutenant, I think I will come to my point quicker if you will allow me to ask the questions, without interruption.'

  'Interruption?' Astonished.

  'I wish to ascertain something at once. You seek employment?'

  'As I think you know, else you would not have mentioned Captain Sprigg.'

  'And if employment were offered to you – in another quarter?'

  'Do you mean – the Royal Navy?' Puzzled.

  A brief impatient half-smile. 'No no, not the Royal Navy, Mr Hayter. We are talking, as I thought you had grasped by now, of the Secret Service Fund.'

  'Good heaven, why should I wish to join that?'

 
'Because you are a lieutenant on half-pay, with no other offers of employment.'

  'But that is damn' nonsense. When I got your letter I was about to meet Captain Sprigg, who would certainly have offered me the mate's berth in his ship. Who will offer it to me tomorrow, when I go to see him then.'

  'No. He will not.' Confidently.

  'What the devil d'y'mean?'

  'He has been asked to fill the position elsewhere.'

  'Asked!' Outraged. 'Asked by whom!'

  'By me, sir.'

  'Well, God damn your bloody impertinence!' Rising.

  'Perhaps we are impertinent, at the Fund.' Mildly. 'We are certainly underhand, and often criminal in our methods. We do not care how we obtain information, nor where. We do not give warning how nor where we may strike. Those who make mischief against us, in dark places, will certainly live to regret it – if they are not dead.'

  'And you want me to join you?' In wondering contempt, staring at him.

  'We do a great many things behind, that can never be acknowledged. We are devious, merciless, and determined to prevail.' His tone more emphatic. 'But we are not vicious, nor corrupt, nor malevolent men. We are at heart, and in fact, loyal servants of His Majesty the king. As are you.'

  'Don't compare yourself to me, sir! I am a sea officer, and everything I do must be above-board, sheeted home true and answered for, upon my oath!'

  'You shot a man, did not you, in your last command? That was in pain, and could not live?'

  'By God! You know that! And you dare to throw it in my face?' James drew his sword with a ringing hiss, and put it to Mr Mappin's throat. 'You miserable bloody wretch! Why shouldn't I run you through?'

  'I can think of two reasons. No doubt there are others, if I put my mind to finding them.' All with extraordinary self-possession, not a hair out of his place on his head, nor a wrinkle anywhere on his coat. 'First, I should be killed. Second, you would certainly hang, and thus we would both be dead. Not an happy end to our conversation. Hey?'

  James looked at the fellow a long moment, and then lowered his sword.

  'You take very grave risks, Mr Mappin.'

  'I am paid to. Risk is intrinsic to my work.'

  'Paid? You undertake your work from that motive?'