The only thing James could do was clap on to a stay and stand appalled as the command was obeyed, and all his work of bringing the ship to a safe course, and the greater probability of survival, was dashed to pieces.
'God help us. God help us all.' As the sea battered the turning bow, surged over the lee rail, and swept aft in a swirling flood.
*
Within moments of going about Expedient fell on board the French frigate. That ship had also begun to turn in pursuit, and the two commanders, intent on destroying each other, thus nearly achieved their design without firing a shot.
Expedient struck the French frigate amidships on the starboard side. A heavy, grinding crash and shudder, and Expedient's bowsprit speared at an angle across the French ship's waist. Her cutwater smashed into the wales and gunports. Shards of timber splintered away and dropped into the boiling sea. Netting hung torn. Both ships lost momentum and began to be carried by the wind and waves nor'-east with the storm. The French frigate had been weakened by the shock of the collision, and had sprung serious leaks below. Her light, lean lines were ill-constructed to withstand such a thudding impact. Expedient – oak-built at Chatham – was a sturdier, stouter sea boat, and she withstood the concussion better, but not unscathed. Already damaged and limping before the storm, she was now in mortal danger. Both ships would founder if they did not extricate themselves from this awkward, tangled embrace. Already the French frigate was swinging beam on to the full fury of the storm, and as she was brought to the full peril of this condition she would likely – if she foundered – drag down Expedient by the head.
This did not happen.
The force of the wind swung the French frigate with such surging power that Expedient began to be carried astern, and this movement caused her to wrench clear. She lost her spritsail yard, her figurehead and her boomkins, and her hawse holes were torn open on the starboard side. A great part of her beak and her cutwater were severely mauled. But she was free.
Expedient staggered away, staggered into a fortuitous wearing movement, pitching and sluggish, and Rennie and Hayter – gifted a moment of pure good fortune – bellowed instructions fore and aft, and succeeded in making chance into deliberate action. Expedient wore, and again ran before the wind. Astern of her the French frigate lay wallowing and crippled, beam on to tremendous seas. Within a few moments she disappeared in the darkness, and Expedient was again alone in the storm. A last, desperate wail came from far astern, borne on the rushing air.
'They are calling for help, sir.' James, cupping his hand to his mouth.
'I hear nothing.' Rennie, turning his face to the wind, beads of water flying from his cloak.
'They will founder ...'
'There is nothing can be done for them, Mr Hayter. We must save ourselves, now.'
'Aye, sir.' And to himself: 'Thank God, thank God.'
'Five foot of water in the well, sir!' Bernard Loftus, ducking his head as he came on deck to make his report. 'I do not reckon the pumps can keep up! She has sprung a further leak forrard with the force of the impact, and she is by the head!'
'The pumps must keep up, Mr Loftus! The pumps will keep up! We will all stand our turn, every man that is on his legs! Half a glass each man, Mr Hayter, turn and turn about! You will go with Mr Loftus and take your turn immediate! Both of you! Jump!'
Neither man thought to object or bridle at this instruction. To tell an officer to jump was a fundamental breach of sea etiquette, but etiquette was not the question now. The question – pounding and echoing in every man's head – was: 'Will I survive? God's love, will I live through this night?'
Hours of frantic, exhausting toil at the pumps, and below in the hold Mr Adgett and a small crew did their utmost to plug and caulk and seal. The water in the well rose to six foot, six foot and a half – and then slowly began to fall. Expedient was deeply by the head, dangerously so as the following sea lifted her stern and pushed her damaged bow below the surface. She was sluggish in answering the helm, but she was alive. And slowly as the pumps gained, the storm drained itself of all its ferocity and strength, and blew itself out.
At dawn the sea was a rolling grey wilderness, but it was no longer gale-whipped and terrifying. The grey sky, low overhead, added nothing of cheer to the scene, but in least there were no flashes of lightning, no crashing broadsides of thunder. Cloud scudded and roiled over the heaving dulled sheen of the sea. Expedient dipped and sluggishly rose under triple-reefed topsails, and ran on.
On the quarterdeck a pale, unshaven Rennie glanced aloft, then turned and stared at the riding sea astern. Presently:
'We can bring her home, now. She will swim to England, now.'
James wiped his sleeve over his forehead and face. Scarcely above a whisper:
'Aye, sir. Home again.'
Three long and difficult days and nights followed, the pumps clanking and sluicing by the hour, and bone-weary men growing so exhausted they fell down stupefied and numb, and had to be carried below to Dr Wing. The lighter wind continued, and on the morning of the fourth day Expedient sighted the Isle of Wight. She rounded the Foreland and sailed into Spithead just after noon. Rennie made his signals but ignored the responding signalled instruction to take up a mooring number. Instead he sailed right on into the harbour and the dockyard, fearful that if he remained far out at Spithead his ship would sink under him.
He was fortunate in that the tide was favourable, a dry dock was available – a seventy-four having just been released into the Great Basin – and Expedient was floated in, was secured, and the work of dismantling her rigging begun. Sick and injured men were sent over to Gosport and the Haslar Hospital in boats. The remainder – the pitiful remainder – of the people went ashore. Captain Rennie and Lieutenant Hayter made their way to the port admiral's office to make their duty to him, and finding him absent repaired to the Marine Hotel in the late afternoon.
At the hotel Rennie wrote a letter to his wife Sylvia – who had gone home to Norfolk with the proviso that she would return at once to Portsmouth should Rennie wish it – saying that he would come to Middingham as soon as he was able. He gave a shilling to a boy to take it to the evening mail coach, and then joined his lieutenant, who was preparing to take that same coach to London.
'You go up at once, James? Tonight?'
'I think I must see Mr Mappin without delay, sir. First thing tomorrow.'
'You have secured a seat in the coach?'
'Here is the porter, now.' He took the paper ticket, and gave the man a coin.
Rennie nodded, sniffed, and: 'Yes. Yes. I think I had better come with you. That will be best. Waiting here to see Happy Hapgood ain't a good scheme. He will do nothing but admonish and complain, and blame – when he has no comprehension of anything.'
'You go to the Admiralty ... ?'
'We will make our duty to Mappin together, and give our report direct to him.'
'Our report, sir? Surely—'
'Our report, James.' Firmly. 'About this damned nearly impossible task we was given. And then I have a great number of questions I wish to put to Mr Mappin. He has not told me the truth, nor even half of it, and I mean to know the reason.'
'Sir, I do not wish to tell you your duty, but now that we are ashore in England mine is to the Secret Service Fund, while yours is surely to Their Lordships – ain't it?'
'Mappin is the man behind the commission. He has arranged it all. We will go to him together. You there!'
'Sir?' The porter, returning.
'Here is a guinea. Go to the George Hotel, and get me a seat in the mail coach.'
'Tonight, sir? I don't know as I can, sir. The coach is nearly always—'
'I will add another guinea when you bring me the ticket. Go on up to the George. Jump, man, jump!'
At precisely six o'clock the two sea officers, one in civilian clothes, the other in his dress coat, stepped up into the London coach outside the George Hotel in the High, and settled in their seats. The cries of ostlers clearing the way. C
oaching horns. The horses took the strain under the whip, turning and clopping on the dusty cobbles, and the coach swung north along the street, swaying on its springs.
*
James came awake, and saw through the open window a wide green space, and the sky. At the horizon the sky was a dull pale pink, merging into pale yellow, merging into pale pure blue above, against which a stand of trees spread delicate and intricate, in a host of subdued greens, gently shimmering in the early light. This early moment of the day, mute except for the soft twittering of birds, was the only true moment of peace in life, he mused. Soon the activity of man would break in and over it, and quiet tranquil glory would vanish. Man must always disturb and destroy such halcyon moments; by his nature he was both urgent and clumsy, however particular or fine-honed his purpose.
James turned his shoulder toward the window a little further, and attempted to sit up. At once he was assailed by dizziness, and fell back on the pillow. He attempted to suck in a lungful of pure air, and was reduced to panting for breath. His head ached, he felt suddenly cold, he found that he was trembling.
'Good heaven, I am fevered ...'
Again he attempted to sit up, clutched at the window sill, and succeeded in lifting himself into a leaning position against the wall by the window, the bedcovers falling from him.
'Whhhh ... I am cold ... whhhh ...' Shivering violently. He clutched at the covers, and pulled them up round one shoulder. He looked out of the window.
'What is this place?'
Beyond the trees now, the crowing of a cock. Answered a moment after by another, at a distance. Soon the cocks were in echoing conversation, each celebrating the other in the dawn.
'Where the devil am I ... ?'
The lowing of cattle away to the left of the trees, and the flat clanking of cowbells, then the call of a cowherd, urging them on.
A footfall outside the room, and the clatter of the latch.
'James?'
'I am here ... wherever that is ...'
'Y'don't recall? Coach threw a wheel, and we was put up at this farmhouse.'
Rennie came in and stood at the window. He was already shaved and dressed, carrying his hat. Peering out:
'Pretty enough country, but we must be on our way out of it in five and twenty minutes. Show a leg, James, hey?'
'I am not quite myself, I think ...' Passing a hand over his forehead. It was damp and cold with sweat.
'Eh?' Turning from the window.
'I think perhaps I have a touch of fever ...'
'Nonsense, it's the cider we drank last night. A glass too many. Two glasses. I felt the same until I swallowed a quart of tea, and now—'
'I tell you, I am fevered! I am shivering cold, and yet my head is on fire inside.'
Rennie looked closely at his friend, saw the sheen of moisture on his face and neck, and the dazzled look in his eye, saw the trembling of his limbs, and was dismayed. He betrayed nothing of this, and instead:
'We'll get you to London, and you will feel better. The coach—'
'London! I cannot go there. I cannot go anywhere. Whhh ... so damned cold. What o'clock is it?'
He slipped, his back to the wall, struggled a moment – and fell face down in the bed.
'James ... ?'
Rennie came to the bed, reached out a hand, then withdrew it. To himself: 'Nay, I had better not touch him.' And aloud:
'I'll just call down for hot water, and so forth.' Moving to the door.
James rolled over in the bed in a heavy flailing heave, half sat up and fell back. And now he was trembling uncontrollably.
'Whhh-hhh-hhh ... I heard shots! We must go ... go into the tunnel – whhh-hhh ...'
Rennie left the bedroom and clumped down the narrow stair. He found his way to the farmhouse kitchen, where the farmer's wife was preparing breakfast.
'Is there a doctor hereabouts? A local man?'
'A doctor, sir?' Breaking eggs into a bowl. 'Are you poorly?'
'Nay, I am not. Your teapot revived me. But my lieutenant is ... he is a little unwell today.'
The woman frowned, concerned. She wiped her hands on her apron, and:
'There is Dr Denfield at Headley Down, but that is near five mile ...'
'Five mile? Well well, I wonder if your husband could lend me a horse?'
'I'm sure he will.' Nodding. 'I will just arst him.' Coming round the table. 'He is in the yard.'
Rennie did not ride to Headley Down. A boy was sent, and an hour later returned to say that Dr Denfield would come as soon as he was able, he was attending a confinement. The coach, wheel repaired, had left half an hour ago, and Rennie – reluctantly, anxiously, fretfully – had remained at the farm.
'I should have gone on to London, but I could not leave the poor fellow lying here so ill with no friends.' As he waited for the doctor in the farmhouse parlour. 'Dr Denfield is a good man – is he?' Anxiously. 'A reliable man?'
'Oh, yes. We have known him near twenty year. He will always attend prompt, if he can.'
'Yes? Very good, very good. Hm.' Nodding, twisting to peer through the window.
'Will you like to eat a breakfast now, sir?'
'Eh? No no, thankee, madam. I am not hungry.'
'I has plenty of eggs left, look.' Kindly.
'No doubt you are fatigued from cooking for so many this morning, and so early.'
'Lord, sir, I am used to cooking early. A farm rises with the sun.'
'As does a ship, indeed. I will just climb the stairs again, and look in on my friend.'
'Are you sure I cannot aid him in any way? I will gladly—'
'It will be better if he is not disturbed.' Rennie, rather more sternly than he had meant, and he saw the look of doubt in the woman's eyes. He had told her that James was suffering from colic, but now he saw that she did not quite believe that any more.
'Very well, sir. I shall not interfere.' Politely.
'You are very good, very kind.' Rennie smiled at her, and went up the stairs.
James lay on his back on the bed, the covers thrown off on the floor. He was unconscious, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. Sweat dripped from his forehead on the pillow, and sweat had soaked through the bedding. His whole body trembled and shuddered.
Rennie bent to pick up the fallen covers, then held back. They were now contaminated. He glanced round, saw a cupboard, and found blankets. He heaped blankets over his shivering friend. James did not wake, and the shivering did not diminish.
Rennie stood anxious at the window, breathing the fresh air. Presently he heard the sound of hooves and wheels approaching, and he clumped rapidly down the stairs. He met the doctor coming up. A cramped mutual introduction on the narrow staircase, and Rennie took Dr Denfield up. He hovered in the doorway as the doctor examined the patient. Presently:
'Well, Doctor? Is it typhus?'
Without looking at Rennie: 'No, Captain Rennie.'
'It ain't ... ?'
'No, it is a returning bout of a tropick fever, I think. Your friend has been in the tropicks recent?'
'We have served together in tropick climates, but not recent. The fever he suffered was yellowjack, at the West Indies.'
'Yes?' A brief glance at Rennie. 'I cannot agree with you. He suffered a bout of malaria, and took it for something else. Had he suffered from yellowjack he would not be lying here. He would be dead.'
'Could he die of this – now?'
'He could, but I don't think it likely. Has he been under a very great strain of late? An arduous voyage?'
'Very arduous.'
'That is the reason. We need seek no further explication. Malaria is a returning disease, very capricious and vengeful, that may strike at any time, but in particular when the patient has been under strain. He must be kept quiet, fed very light, and then only fluids. Plenty of fluids.'
'Is he – a danger to others?'
'It will be as well to keep him separate. As a precaution, you apprehend me? I will say so to Mrs Temple, and to her husba
nd in his field, as I depart. They must be told it is fever, but I will reassure them it ain't typhus. Typhus we do fear, rightly so.'
'His son died of it.' Quietly.
'The patient's son?'
'Aye.'
'When?'
'Some little time since.'
'I see. Yes, I see. That is why you asked me if ...' Nodding briskly. 'This ain't typhus, thank God.'
'You are certain, Doctor?'
'Quite certain.' Another nod, and a quick little confident grimace. He rose from the chair he had pulled beside the bed, and came downstairs with Rennie. He spoke to Mrs Temple about the patient, reassured her, and explained the necessary requirements of diet and rest. He gave her a flask of physic. To Rennie:
'I will call again on the morrow, Captain Rennie. You will in course stay here at the farm?'
'In truth I ought make my way to London. I go there on very urgent business. I should like to summon his wife from Dorset to nurse him, you know, but she has been very ill herself.'
'Cannot your business in London wait a few days? You were travelling there together, were not you?'
'We were.'
'Listen now, it will aid him in recovery to see a familiar face when he wakes.'
'I expect you are right, Doctor, yes. The business in London must wait a day or two. In truth it cannot make any great difference now, in any case.' This last half to himself, with a sigh.
The doctor glanced at him curiously as he went out of the door into the yard, but said nothing. He climbed into his gig and was away. Only when the doctor was out of sight beyond the trees did Rennie recall that he had not offered payment.
'I am filled with embarrassment, Mrs Temple.' To the farmer's wife. 'What must the fellow think of me, that I did not offer to settle his fee?'
'But did he arst you for it, sir? Dr Denfield will never arst for payment until he is satisfied with his patient, look.'
'Ah.' A little rictus. 'Ah.' A breath. 'I am greatly obliged to you, madam, for allowing us to impose on your goodwill a day or two longer. Until my friend is able to get up on his legs.'
And he settled that obligation by placing a guinea on the sideboard, so that there should be no embarrassment as to board and lodging.
The Gathering Storm Page 26
