At the end of the passage the three officers came to a gate of iron, plated, strapped and studded across. Lieutenant Leigh found the appropriate key on the ring, after moments of anxious fumbling, and unlocked the gate. Cautiously he pulled it open. Sunlight streamed like molten metal into the passage, and the three men blinked and shaded their eyes in the glare. A moment, then the gate was pulled open all the way, and they stared out. The gate gave on to an empty cobbled courtyard, a long oblong space surrounded by high stone walls. The smell of fresh horse dung drifted over the walls, and the saline smell of the sea. In the open air the booming thud of waves was more distinct. A brisk wind was coming in from the west, from the sea, and all three men turned their faces instinctively in that direction.
'Topsail breeze,' murmured Rennie, sniffing it. 'Fine topsail breeze.'
Shouts of command now echoed over the opposite wall, and the solid rhythm of marching feet.
'A drill?' wondered Rennie.
'Perhaps a parade?' James. 'Or simply the changing of the guard.'
'What o'clock is it, I wonder?' Lieutenant Leigh, shading his eyes and looking toward the sun.
'About noon, I should say.'
As if in answer there came the thudding boom of a cannon, and further bawled commands.
'Aye, noon.' Rennie.
For a moment or two the prisoner and his two guards stood irresolute at the open gate, then the gate on the far side of the courtyard was thrust open with a rattling clank, and Rennie and his companions were obliged to act. Lieutenant Hayter gave a series of hoarse, hectoring commands in French, and pushed Rennie forward on the cobbles, Lieutenant Leigh bringing up the rear with his musket. From the far gate emerged a long line of prisoners, all manacled, and at once Rennie recognised them as Expedient's crew. They looked very dirty and downcast, and were dazzled by the sunlight, but otherwise unharmed.
'Do not show any sign of recognition,' murmured Rennie over his shoulder. 'Do not look in their direction.'
The large party approached the centre of the yard as the small party marched briskly toward them, and the far gate. There were three guards with the large party, all armed with muskets. These guards now herded their charges toward the long wall on the north, where they began to trudge in disconsolate lines up and down. Several of them clearly recognised Captain Rennie, and drew him to the attention of others. But Rennie ignored them, holding himself stiffly erect as he was marched away over the cobbles by his escort. The three guards with the other prisoners barely glanced toward them. Two of them stood against the wall, their muskets leaning beside them, and lit their pipes. The third turned to the wall, opened his breeches and urinated.
'Those men will not trouble us, if we are decisive.' Rennie, over his shoulder. 'Give the order to wheel about, and march me back toward them.'
'Eh?' James, immediately behind him.
'We will rush them.'
'Christ's blood, sir. They are all armed.'
'Surprise, Mr Hayter. The essence of an action. We will rush them as soon as we are level with their position.' All muttered urgently over his shoulder. 'Mr Leigh.'
'Sir?'
'Bayonet the man that is pissing. Aim at his throat. Mr Hayter, you will seize his musket, and bayonet the guard next him. The third fellow will surrender at once.'
James sucked in a deep breath, and gave the order in French to turn about. The little group duly wheeled, and began marching back across the square. As they drew level with the three guards standing at the wall, Rennie:
'Now!'
Lieutenant Leigh raised his musket, dashed straight at the guard turning from the wall and buttoning his breeches, and ran him through the throat. The guard fell with a desperate throttled gasp, blood spraying from his neck.
James ran at full stretch straight toward the musket leaning against the wall, snatched it up as the second guard began to react, and plunged the bayonet straight into his heart. The man stared at James appalled, then sight vanished from his eyes. He coughed once, and slumped, and the steel blade slipped bloodily free.
The third guard stumbled back along the wall, knocked over his musket, and:
'Non ... non ...'
He slid down the wall in a terrified crouch.
'Tie him.' Rennie. 'And for Christ's sake untie me.' Holding out his manacled hands.
A ragged cheer from the ship's crew, now crowding round.
'Silence!' Rennie, forcefully but not loudly. 'We must go very quiet and careful now, lads, if we are to get out of this with our lives.'
Lieutenant Leigh unfastened the manacles and leg irons, and Rennie rubbed his wrists.
'Three of you will shift into the uniforms of these guards. You, there. And you. And you.' Pointing. 'You will then take up their muskets, and with Mr Hayter and Mr Leigh escort the rest of us. You there, Whittle.' To another seaman. 'What lies beyond the far gate, lad?'
'A parade ground, sir. A great square, upon which the garrison soldiers make their duty to their commanding officer, in marching ranks. And the cliff and sea is directly beyond it, sir.'
'How many soldiers?'
'I do not know, sir.'
'At a guess, then.'
'Above an hundred, I should say. Maybe an hundred and a half.'
'And how many are we?'
'There is seven'y-four of us, sir.'
'So few?' Glancing round. 'What became of all the others?'
'They's all dead or wounded, sir. And the stan' officers is held in another place, I b'lieve, sir.'
'Dear God ...' Quietly, then turning: 'Where is Mr Abey?'
Richard Abey pushed his way to the front of the group. His coat had gone and he was filthy dirty, but unhurt.
'I am here, sir.'
'I am right glad to see you, Richard. I am glad to see you all. Now then, Mr Hayter and Mr Leigh, and the other lads – jump now, shift into those coats – will escort the party out of that gate, and across the parade ground in the direction of the cliff. Should anyone intervene, or question what we are about, Mr Hayter will answer in French.'
'Very good, sir.' James, stoutly.
'And by the by, ye'd better fix that clear in your head, before we go out of the gate.'
'Yes, sir. Fix what in my head, exact?'
'What you are going to say if we are stopped. In French.'
'Ah. Yes.' Nodding.
'Well well, what are you going to say, Mr Hayter?'
'Latrine duty, sir.' Confidently.
'Eh? D'y'know where the latrines are, in this fort?'
'No, sir. But there's always latrines to be dug, or dug over, at a military establishment. I shall say: "Fatigue party of prisoners, for the new latrines!" I'll warrant it will not be questioned, sir, not even for a moment.'
'Pray God you are right.' A breath, another glance round, and: 'Very well, let us proceed.'
'Sir?' Lieutenant Leigh. 'What are we to do when we reach the cliff, sir?'
'Go down it, Mr Leigh, and find boats.' As if stating the obvious.
They were not stopped. The noon parade had dispersed and the parade square was deserted when the party of prisoners and their escort marched diagonally across it and arrived at the top of the cliff. Here the wind was stronger, and whistled over the clifftop in buffeting gusts. Beyond lay Brest Roads, to the south the Pointe des Espagnols, and the harbour and dockyard to the east. A forest of masts stood in the harbour, and it was there that Rennie looked, shading his eyes. He glanced back at the bulk of the fort, and the long stable block away on the north of the square. A flag snapped and rippled against the sun, high on the pole above the signal gun on its mound of earth. All seemed quiet, and orderly.
'They are at their dinner,' murmured Rennie to himself. 'That is why we are unmolested.' He ignored the pang of hunger that rose from his belly at the thought of food, and looked instead to the immediate task. And saw to his surprise and relief that there was a path cut into the cliff, leading down to the shore. There were iron stanchions and hand-ropes.
'Es
cort your prisoners down, Mr Hayter.'
They proceeded down the cliff to a rocky, shingled stretch of shoreline. Beyond the headland to the west was the open sea. To the east Brest Roads and the harbour. But there were no boats anywhere to be seen, and the whole of the shoreline away to the east was rocky, treacherous and difficult. Cliffs jutted, and outcrops of rock against which the sea dashed itself.
Rennie detached himself from the party and stood looking east a few moments, then walked along the shore to where waves heaved in and thudded themselves into spray against jutting rocks on the west. He stared out to sea, at the scudding whitecaps there. Presently Lieutenant Hayter joined him.
'Yes, James?' Over the booming of the sea, and the whistle of the wind.
'The people wish to know what we are to do, sir.'
'What have their wishes to do with anything, hey? It ain't for them to press me. Nor you, Mr Hayter.'
'Very good, sir.' Formally correct, his back straight.
Rennie squared his shoulders, sniffed, and: 'We will walk to the east along the shore. Under escort, in course, just as before. A party of prisoners.'
'Along the shore, sir?' Glancing there.
'Yes. Yes. Along the shore, Mr Hayter.'
'Forgive me, sir, but it is very rocky indeed beyond this section. Waves pound the whole of that part of the coast.'
'As I can see with my own eyes, that are perfectly good. We will proceed east, Mr Hayter, without the loss of a moment. We must discover boats if we are to penetrate the harbour and reclaim our ship.'
'Shall I give the order, sir?'
A long glance at his lieutenant, then Rennie: 'Nay, I will talk to them a moment, James, and urge them to their duty. We are all tired and hungry, and we cannot afford to lose heart. Must not, under any circumstance. I mean to prevail in this, and they must understand me, and follow me willing and in good cheer.'
*
When they had gone less than a quarter of a mile along the broken shore to the east, Rennie and his party were obliged to pause. There was no path beyond the next cliff, which plunged straight down into the sea. Lieutenant Hayter consulted his captain, the two men standing away from the main group, many of whom now lay down, tired and hungry as they were.
'Surely we must go back, sir ... ?' James, keeping his voice low.
'Retreat? Don't be a damned fool. D'y'think they will take kindly at the fort to what we have done there, hey? It can only be a matter of time before those dead guards are discovered, and the alarm raised. We must proceed, and find and commandeer boats.'
'Aye, boats. But where, sir?'
'Boats abound on these shores, I am in no doubt.'
'I do not think they are quite so plentiful ashore as you suppose, sir ...' He broke off, staring past Rennie. '... However, they are numerous enough at sea.'
Rennie turned to look, and saw a large, three-masted chasse-marée running east into the harbour, not more than two cables off. She was transom-sterned, rigged with lugsails, and a headsail on her flat-steeved bowsprit. They could see men on her deck. She was almost as large as a naval cutter.
Rennie nodded. 'She is just the vessel for us, by God. Hail her, Mr Hayter, if y'please.'
'Yes, sir. Erm, what should I ... ?'
'Say that we are a party from the fort, stranded by the tide and the pounding sea, and so forth, and ask them to take us off. When we are aboard, we will overpower them.'
'Very good, sir. Only I will not tell them that.' James cupped his hands at his mouth, and in bawling French:
'Ahoy, the chasse-marée! We are from the fort, and we are trapped by the tide! Please aid us, and take us off!'
The chasse-marée lost way. An indistinct hailing shout, in answer. James repeated his plea, and to his great relief saw that the vessel was altering course, and standing in toward the shore. But she did not sail all the way in, and James was entirely understanding of her master's reason. The shore was very rocky and dangerous, there was a stiff breeze and a heavy chop, and to attempt to bring the chasse marée any closer in would risk her safety.
'I fear he cannot take us off, sir.' Aside, to Rennie.
'Don't be so damned womanish, Mr Hayter. Y'must convince the fellow to take the chance. We are desperate, say to him, and will drown if he don't save us.'
James did not like to be called 'womanish', but he did as he was told, and renewed his efforts. In English, urgently, to the group on the shore: 'Remain lying down, as if injured.' And in French, hailing the chasse-marée: 'We have injured men, and they must be treated or they will die! Please help us, and take them off!'
Presently a small boat was hoisted out and lowered, and two men and a young officer began to pull toward the shore, the boat pitching and tossing hazardously.
'This will not do,' Rennie said, in a low, urgent tone. 'A small boat will not answer. You must induce them to bring the vessel itself—'
Over him, very firmly, James: 'If several of us get into that boat, sir, we can overpower the crew of the chasse-marée by a surprise assault. As we did at the fort with those guards. That is all we may hope for under the circumstances.'
'But you will need all four of you that have muskets. How will you explain—'
Again over him: 'No, sir. One guard, myself, with a musket. And three men posing as injured – with hidden bayonets. Whittle, Thoms, and Denton.' Indicating three young and strong able-seamen.
As the boat neared the shore, Rennie hesitated, looking at the boat and then at his people. A breath, and then he nodded. 'Very well. That must be our plan, then.'
The three supposedly injured men – who were very dirty and wet, and looked suitably bedraggled – were given bayonets to hide in their clothes and carried limp by their shipmates down to the boat, that had now beached. James explained the situation in rapid French to the young officer, and helped get the prostrated men into the boat, then got into the boat himself. With seven men now aboard the little boat was laden very heavy, and nearly capsized as it headed out through the waves to the chasse-marée, which had anchored, her head to the wind.
Rennie watched them go and was filled with trepidation and doubt, which he concealed.
'Will they succeed, sir?' A voice at his side. Richard Abey.
'Yes, Mr Abey, in course they will.' With stout conviction, lifting his chin. 'I have every confidence in Mr Hayter.' Turning to the assembled men. 'We shall prevail today, never fear.'
They all watched the boat as it neared the chasse-marée.
'Mr Abey.'
'Yes, sir?'
'What became of our standing officers? D'y'know where they are held?'
'They were kept separate from the rest of us after we surrendered, sir. I do not know why.'
'Could they have been held in the ship, I wonder? Could they have remained aboard?'
'Perhaps that is possible, sir. I think they were marched forrard to the fo'c's'le.'
'Very good. Thankee, Richard. If they was still aboard – luck may be with us.'
On the beach they waited when the boat reached the chasse-marée, and the occupants went aboard, the injured lifted and carried. Long moments, then a furious eruption of activity on deck, men running and clashing, and the crack of a single musket shot.
Silence, and the chasse-marée rode the lifting sea. Those on the beach stared motionless. And at last came a voice.
'We have her! We have took her!' Lieutenant Hayter, appearing at the starboard rail.
'Thank God.' Rennie rubbed his hand through his sparse hair. 'Thank God he has done it.'
'We are going to bring her in as far as we dare! Wade out to us, and we will throw you lifelines, so that you may haul yourselves aboard!'
FIFTEEN
By the time all of Expedient's people had been taken aboard the chasse-marée, it was mid-afternoon, and Rennie was anxious to depart the vicinity of the fort. He had ordered the crew of the vessel bound hand and foot and taken below. It was very cramped below, and with so many men now aboard the vessel she was lo
w in the water and sluggish in answering the helm. Rennie was anxious that naval order should obtain, as soon as they were under way, and having discovered what little food was aboard, he ordered a late dinner, and then instituted a system of watches.
Lieutenant Hayter had ascertained, in conversation with the master of the vessel, that she was attached to the dockyard at Brest, and had been sent to the landing place of the fort, beyond the headland and the cliff which the Expedients had descended. The chasse-marée had carried a party of dockyard artificers, who were to make repairs.
'Repairs?' James had asked him. 'What repairs could naval artificers carry out at a military fort?'
'Well ... they were to repair the gallows there, I understand.'
'Good God. So they meant to hang us?'
'I do not know, Lieutenant.'
'Is our ship in the harbour at Brest?'
A brief hesitation, then: 'Yours is the frigate?'
'Yes, the Expedient.'
'She is there, moored near to the dockyard. Many people at Brest wished to see her burned and destroyed, but she is to be repaired, I believe.'
James conveyed this information to Rennie, in the cramped space he had taken as his 'great cabin' below, beneath the low framed skylight. Rennie nodded, eating a slice of blue cheese, and came to his decision. He had found the master's charts, and now tapped the largest.
'We will sail east, then double the Pointe des Espagnols, and run south into the depth of the roadstead, as if we had business at some farther landing place there. Then in the second dog watch, as the light fades, we will come about and run north, creep into the harbour itself, and find Expedient.'
'Very good, sir. You like this cheese?'
'It is very fair, as cheeses go. You do not care for it?'
'It is food, in least.'
'What is the fort called, where we was held? Did the master tell you, James?'
'He did, sir. It is called the Fort du Diable.'
'The devil it is.' And he chuckled. 'Very good, very good. Did you require the master to give you his hat and coat, as I asked?'
'They are here, sir.' Giving them to Rennie.
The Gathering Storm Page 22
