The muskets of the guard, fired at the flickering lights.
James, unarmed, ran to where Juliette lay concealed by a rock, and found her gone.
'Juliette! – Juliette!' Staring round him, then peering up at the cliff again. 'Juliette!' No answer, no sign of her. He twisted to look seaward – and saw the lantern of a boat. Nay, two lanterns, by God. Rennie had somehow read the situation correct, had anticipated their desperate need, and sent two boats in through the dangerous channel. Thank God for a man of action, a sea officer of sharp understanding.
'Boats ahoy!' Hands cupped, bellowing as if through his speaking trumpet on deck. 'Lay out with a will, lads, and take us off! We are under attack upon the beach! Cheerly! Cheerly now, for the love of Christ!' And turning up the beach he bellowed in French:
'Félix! Monsieur Félix! Bring your party down to the water! Our boats have come, and we must go into them!'
The royal party began to hurry down the shingle in the darkness, stumbling and clattering. A puff of sea breeze on James's face as he turned again to the boats. A whistling whirr by his ear, and a musket ball pocked the water beyond. Crack! The sound of the shot, and James ducked down. Crack! Crack-crack! A ball struck a rock in a snap of sparks. Another spun away whining into the darkness. The attackers were firing from on high.
'Hurry! Make haste, for the love of God!' James ran up the beach, slipped and nearly fell, and:
'Juliette! Juliette, where are you!'
Crack! Crack! Crack! Answering shots from the royal guard, fired up the cliff face. One of the lights high above went out, and a moment after a lantern pitched down on to the shingle, tumbled end over end and came to rest in a spill of broken glass.
The royal party came toward James in the darkness, and he was forced back down to the water's edge by several of the guard.
'I must find Juliette,' he protested. 'I must find Madame Maigre.'
'You will assist Their Majesties into the boat, Lieutenant.' M. Félix, accompanied by the officer James had spoken to earlier. 'Juliette must make her own way.'
'But where has she gone to? I must look for her.' Attempting to push past this officer, who cocked his musket and stood in James's path.
'There is not time. We must get into the boat.' And M. Félix, pistol in hand, forced James backward down the shingle.
'Oh, very well. I will do as you ask, but then I must certainly find her.' And he turned and went down to the water. Cupping his hands: 'Boats ahoy! Who is in command!' In English.
Although the boats were now very near to the beach, and James could make out white paint along the wales, as well as the two lanterns, no reply came from either craft. The ripple of oars was the only sound.
'You there, in the lead boat! Who is in command? Tom Makepeace, are you there?'
No reply, only the rhythm of oars in thole pins, and the splash of the blades. Doubt, combined with fear, coiled and clawed in James's guts. He peered at the boats, and now heard – low but distinct over the water – a voice in French:
'Leve rames!'
'Christ Jesu ...' Murmured. 'They are French boats.' Turning, bellowing: 'Take cover! Take cover! These are not our boats! They are National Guard boats!'
Crack! Crack!
The royal guard fired past James at the incoming shapes of the boats. Confusion as the royal party retreated. James followed, reflecting briefly that he had never yet got close enough to see any member of the royal family, that they had always been so shielded that his only impression of these demi-gods, whose lifeblood he was attempting to save, was of cloaks and hats and hidden faces, in shadowed light.
Crack! Crack-crack!
Further shots from the guards now, as they fired up at the lights still descending the cliff.
'How in God's name did they know our signal?' James, muttering to himself as he stumbled and slipped on wet shingle, crouching down to avoid being hit by a stray ball. He peered over his shoulder, and saw that the boats were now gliding right in to the water's edge. Soon he, and Félix, and the royal party entire, would be trapped between two superior forces – one from the sea, and the other from the cliff.
'What I would not give for my sword and a brace of sea pistols!'
A shout now behind him, across the water. An unmistakably English shout.
'Ahoy there, ashore! Take cover!' A moment, then: 'Take aim! – Fire! Fire! Fire!'
Followed almost immediately by the most welcome sound James had heard in all the days since this fraught business had begun.
Crack! Crack!
Half-pounder swivel guns, firing canister. Explosions of spray. Splintering thuds. A shriek.
James ducked down, but before he covered his head he glimpsed the boat behind the two French boats, which had now beached. It was Expedient's pinnace, approaching at an angle to enable the best broadside coverage for her little guns.
Crack! Crack!
Canister shot raked the two beached boats in a hail of lethal metal. Further splintering thuds, and the chilling sound of shot smacking into flesh. Horrible screams.
The landing party in the French boats was now in utter disarray. Half of them were killed or gravely wounded, and the others wished only to preserve themselves from further murderous fire. The able-bodied survivors flung themselves ashore, abandoning the boats and their hapless companions, and ran for cover into the rocks on the southern side of the inlet.
A final 'Crack!' and a hissing scythe of shot, then:
'Cease firing! Cease firing!' Bellowed in the pinnace.
James jumped to his feet. 'Who is in command of the pinnace, there!'
'I am Lieutenant Leigh, in command! Who are you?' The voice, like James's, in carrying quarterdeck.
'Lieutenant James Hayter, Royal Navy! Beach your boat right quick, Mr Leigh! We are in desperate trouble here, and there ain't a moment to lose!'
More shots from the cliff, and when James glanced there now he saw that the bobbing lights were more than halfway down. The pinnace came in, and was held in the shallows by two seamen who jumped out at the bow. Lieutenant Leigh jumped ashore.
'You are Lieutenant Hayter?' Peering at James in the darkness.
'I am, Mr Leigh. Formerly of Expedient. We must—'
'That was Mr Tonnelier, hey?'
'Yes yes, I was. We must get our party off, as quick as you like. Quicker, by God.'
Merriman Leigh turned his attention to the large party now hurrying down to the water's edge, the guard at the rear firing back toward the cliff. In dismay:
'Christ's blood, Hayter, we cannot take all of these people in one boat. Where are Their Majesties?'
'In their midst, hid and protected. Look here now, we will have to take one of these French boats as well. Are ye double-banked?' Glancing into the pinnace.
'Aye, we are.'
'Then send some of your people into the other boat, and man 'em both single-banked.' Striding to the first French boat. 'This one.' But even as he tapped the bow of the boat with his hand he saw that the starboard gunwale was smashed, and the boat unseaworthy. Turning: 'Nay, we must go into t'other boat.' Splashing to the second boat, his clothes now thoroughly wet. The second boat was sound, aside from splintered timbers here and above the waterline. Groaning and dead men lay slumped on the thwarts. James looked at them briefly, made a face, and:
'Mr Leigh, we must clear this boat of dead and wounded.'
'D'y'mean – just leave them on the beach?' Coming to his side, peering into the boat.
'Mr Leigh, my task – and yours – is to get King Louis out of France. Kindly make this boat ready.' Pushing past him and striding a little way up the beach. Behind him he heard Lieutenant Leigh give the appropriate orders, and was relieved. Mr Leigh had allowed him to assume command without argument. Had Rennie instructed him to do so? James thrust these questions aside, and in French:
'Monsieur Félix! Bring your party down!'
An anxious glance at the cliff. The flashes of muskets there, and the crack of the shots. The
lanterns were now reaching the base of the cliff.
The royal party arrived at the water's edge, at the centre a huddled group, faces hidden, surrounded by guards, M. Félix, and Serge. No sign of Juliette.
Merriman Leigh, aghast: 'My God, there is upwards of twenty people here, Hayter.'
'Aye, Mr Leigh. We must get them all into the boats, if y'please, without the loss of a moment. And I must find one more passenger.' Treading away up the shingle before Lieutenant Leigh could protest. Over his shoulder:
'Do not shove off without me!'
But when he rejoined an anxious Lieutenant Leigh three minutes after, just as the cliff party began storming down the beach toward the water, James was alone. He ran, splashed, leapt.
Crack! Crack-crack-crack!
James tumbled into the already swimming boat, and:
'Give way together! Cheerly now, lads! Cheerly!'
And the two boats slipped away from the beach into grateful, disguising darkness.
*
Rennie stood alone at the tafferel, his head bent and his eyes closed, and his right hand gripping his left elbow across his body, the whole of him tensed like a spring. He was not aware of quite how coiled up he was in defence of his thoughts against his immediate surroundings. As soon as he had heard the gunfire from the beach he had ordered the ship cleared for action, had contemplated sending in another boat and then decided against it, had fretted and paced in a fever of anxiety, and had at length withdrawn into himself and gone aft. The ship lay quiet, guncrews waiting in readiness along the sand-strewn decks. Rennie's thoughts – driving out all miserable visions of calamity and disaster at the beach – lay with his wife Sylvia, and she in his imagining lay in their bed at home in Norfolk, under a peaceful starlit sky, to the sounds of owls and nightjars and the distant barking of a fox at the edge of the wood. He could hear these night-wafted sounds quite distinct in his head ... and now he was brought back. He became aware of someone approaching on the quarterdeck. He opened his eyes, lifted his head with a clearing sniff, and:
'Yes, Mr Abey? Why are you not at your station? Is the boat's lantern in view?'
'No, sir. Asking your indulgence, I – I thought I heard a sound just now.'
'What sound? From the beach?'
'To the west, sir, farther out to sea. Like a kind of clattering, very brief.'
'To the west?' Swinging round, striding to the larboard rail. He brought his glass to his eye and peered into the darkness. Nothing.
'Did ye see a light?'
'No light, sir. Only a very brief clattering sound.'
'Did anyone else hear it?' Raising his voice slightly and calling: 'Mr Souter.'
That officer attended, coming up the ladder and treading aft.
'Did y'hear anything, Mr Souter, out to sea?'
'No, sir, I did not.'
'Very well, thank you. Let me know the moment there is any sign of the boat.'
'Aye, sir.' Lieutenant Souter's hat off and on, very correct, and he returned to his station, pausing briefly at the binnacle to take up his glass and remove it from its case.
Rennie raised his own glass and peered again to the west, and again found nothing in the darkness there. He peered a moment longer, frowned and was lowering the glass when vivid orange flashes lit the sea.
BANG BANG BANG-BANG-BANG BOOM-BANG
Grapeshot smashed through Expedient's larboard rigging in a stuttering, clipping, shredding turmoil of flying metal. At the breast-rail Mr Souter coughed as if punched in the ribs, stumbled, and fell to the deck. The junior midshipman Mr Nicholas, coming aft on the larboard gangway, was spun like a puppet, lost the use of his legs, and pitched into the waist, his hat flying over the side. Ropes and blocks broke and tumbled. Shouts, moans, confusion.
'Mr Abey!' Bellowed.
'Sir?' Half-deafened, a sleeve torn off, his own hat gone.
'Return to your station and stand by! Mr Loftus!' Seeing a powder boy: 'You there, find the master, and—'
'I am here, sir.' Mr Loftus, attending, kicking away a tangle of rope.
'We must cut our cables and beat west, Mr Loftus, and go straight at our opponent. We cannot lie here and allow ourselves be smashed to splinters.'
'Aye, sir.' Turning, bellowing: 'Hands to make sail!' Striding forrard. 'Spare numbers to remain at their guns! Topmen aloft! On the fo'c's'le there! Stand by with sea axes to cut the cables!'
Further flashes, but these from a new direction. From the south, flickering in reflection on the sea.
BOOM BOOM BOOM-BANG BOOM-BANG-BANG
Roundshot zoomed and droned past Expedient and kicked up explosions of spray beyond. No shot hit home, and Rennie closed his eyes in a silent prayer of thanks. Had his stern and rudder been smashed, all hope would instantly have been lost.
Within a short space of time – that seemed an eternity to Rennie – Expedient swung clear of her cut cables, and caught what little breeze there was to make headway westward. As a roundshot broadside exploded out of the darkness from that direction she was head on to it, and most of the shot went wide of her except for one apparently glancing strike forrard. But she had suffered grievous damage from the first fire, to her rigging and to her people, and Rennie was by no means sanguine she could survive the night, even though she had assumed the condition of a belligerent ship, and stood prepared. A boy had brought a message from the surgeon: thirty-six men wounded, and four killed, including Mr Souter. Attacked from the west, and the south, Expedient had only one ally – the dark, that would soon recede as dawn too became her pursuer. Beyond all that, beyond the immediate heavy danger to his ship and the need to fight his way clear, was the fact that Rennie had been obliged to leave the pinnace behind, to abandon that boat and the momentous duty it embodied to heaven knew what peril, alone upon the sea.
'God help them now, for I cannot. I must save Expedient, and then return and attempt to rescue them if I am able. That is the only hope for any of us this night.' To the sailing master, now standing at the helmsman's shoulder: 'Cannot we make more headway, Mr Loftus? We must get well clear of the coast to give ourselves sea room. Room to fight, and aim our guns. I cannot even see the enemy plain, only the flash of his broadsides.'
'We could put men into the boats, sir, and pull ourselves—'
Over him: 'Nay, that will not answer, when we have so many wounded, and short numbers on the guns as it is. Find me a wind, Mr Loftus.' Looking aloft at his shadowy canvas, nearly all of it limp.
'I will do my best, sir.' And under his breath: 'Even if I am not God Almighty, for Christ's sake.'
'If you please, sir.' Mr Abey, at his elbow.
'Why are y'not at your station, Mr Abey?'
'I come with a message, sir. Mr Makepeace is gravely wounded.'
'Tom? How bad hurt is he?' Gripping the boy's shoulder.
'He – he is calling for his wife, sir.'
'Dr Wing is with him?'
'Aye, sir.'
'Then he has been got below?'
'No, sir. He is in the forecastle, where the last shot struck. He took a splinter to his breast ...'
'Christ Jesu.' Quietly.
'Dr Wing wished me to inform you, sir.'
'Very well, thank you, Mr Ab—'
Flashes ahead, making a mirror of the sea, and almost simultaneously to the south.
THUD THUD THUD THUD-THUD THUD THUD
The spanker boom convulsed over their heads with a harsh crack, sending splinters and fragments of rope and metal spraying across the quarterdeck. Blocks fell. The boom sagged and tumbled to the planking, the sail torn loose from its lacing at the foot. The canvas bellied and floated a moment with the force of the shock wave, then hung useless on the thimbles. Farther forrard the tangled crashing of other rigging, yards and sails, and the cries of men in pain.
'Mr Tangible! Mr Tangible!' Rennie, rising from a crouch, his hat and coat covered in debris.
The boatswain did not respond.
'Mr Abey!' Rennie shook his hat free of fra
gments.
'I am here, sir.'
'Find Mr Dangerfield, and—'
'Mr Dangerfield is below, sir, wounded.'
'Badly wounded?'
'It is his leg, sir, I believe it is broke. His left leg.'
'Then he cannot come on deck ... How old are you, Mr Abey?'
'Fifteen, sir.'
'Well, you are very young, but we are in dire difficulty. I hereby appoint you master's mate, and raise your rank immediate to acting lieutenant. You are now my third, Mr Abey.'
'Oh, thank you, sir.' Astonished.
'Do not thank me, Mr Abey. Your responsibilities are grave, and your work arduous. Are ye ready and willing to do it?'
'Oh, yes, sir!'
'Very well. You will assume command of the gundeck. Which means that whichever battery is employed – or both – you will give the order to fire. You will double-shot your guns, at reload. And full allowance, you mind me?'
'Aye, sir.' Lifting his chin.
'We must make a reply to that blackguard south of us, and deter him a little. I cannot see him, but we will fire at the flashes of his guns. Stand by to fire as soon as you see them again.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Jump, then, Mr Abey – forgive me. I must not ask an officer to jump. Carry on, if y'please.'
'Aye, sir, very good.' His recovered hat off and on, absurdly formal in the confusion and destruction all about them, and he dashed forrard and down the ladder into the waist.
Rennie suppressed a sigh, and muttered: 'God go with you, lad.' He then strode forrard himself, and pointed at a powder boy extricating himself from a tangled fall.
'You there! Find the carpenter, Mr Adgett, and send him to me! And then find the boatswain!' Turning and coming aft again, kicking aside a twisted mass of rope and a smashed block:
'Mr Loftus! Mr Loftus! We must repair the boom, and bend the driver loose-footed!'
'I am at your service ...' Bernard Loftus, clutching his side, and white with pain.
'Good God, do not tell me that you are wounded.'
'It is just the wind knocked out of me, sir. I shall be all right directly ...'
The master clapped on to a stay and clung there a moment, his eyes tight closed.
Another series of muzzle flashes from the south, Rennie swung round to look, and immediately after came Richard Abey's cry from the gundeck:
The Gathering Storm Page 17
