The Gathering Storm

by Peter Smalley

  'I am only against your association with him, my dear. Never against you yourself.'

  'I did not mean James and me. I meant the whole of the royalist cause in France. What did the revolutionists promise you in return for your treachery and betrayal?'

  'I am tired now. I think I may rest a while, until we come to the coast.' M. Félix yawned. 'Perhaps you should do the same, my love. We have a long way to go, after I have conducted my little inquisition.'

  'What did they promise you?' Bitterly.

  'Sleep. Sleep. It will refresh your beauty.'

  He settled back against the upholstery, and closed his eyes.

  They came to the coast at mid-morning, and Juliette was aware that they had passed through marsh country only because – a little after dawn – M. Félix had raised one of the blinds to peer out of the carriage. A stretching, watery landscape under a wide sky, the glassy reflecting water divided by long earthen banks, marching into the distance. She had shivered in the chilly air. She was dressed only in a shift, and James in shirt and breeches – clothes M. Félix had taken up from a chair and brought with him when he dragged them naked from their bed. They had been obliged to scramble into these clothes as they were put into the carriage in the lane.

  Now the carriage drew up in stunted scrub at the end of a long track, above a wide beach of sand and shingle. The vessel M. Félix had spoken of – a small brig – lay at anchor a cable offshore, a single topsail bent to aid the anchor. A boat lay beached at the shoreline, but there were no seamen with the boat, nor anywhere in sight. James climbed out of the coach, hobbling painfully, his legs and his mouth gag untied by the coachman. M. Félix had already untied Juliette's hands and feet. James was ashen pale, dried blood staining one side of his face. Blood was crusted on his shirt. Juliette watched him anxiously as he hobbled to the top of the beach. He winced as he went, and twice nearly fell. Juliette moved to help him, but was at once prevented from doing so by M. Félix, who held her arm.

  'Stay away from him. Your life is with me now, my dear.'

  'Will you not give us something to eat and drink?'

  'We will eat when we go aboard the ship.'

  An onshore breeze blowing over his face gave James some relief, and he recovered sufficient to call to M. Félix:

  'Will you untie my hands a moment, monsieur?'

  M. Félix barely glanced in his direction. 'Nay, I will not.'

  'I wish to make water, and cannot unbutton.'

  'Then you must either hold your water – or be made wet, like an infant.'

  'This is intolerable!' Juliette flashed at M. Félix. She moved toward James. 'I will aid you.'

  M. Félix strode after her, gripped her arm and restrained her. Bending fiercely to her:

  'Do not go near to him now, nor ever again! Do you hear!'

  And Juliette twisted and spat in his face.

  A terrible gleam came into his eye, and without wiping the spittle from his face he struck her a sharp, knuckled blow to the side of her head, sending her reeling to her knees with a cry.

  James saw that the coachman was distracted by the horses, and he ran at Félix from behind, stumbled and nearly fell over a tufted mound of earth, and crashed heavily into M. Félix with the full weight of his body. M. Félix pitched over with a grunt, and Juliette leapt clear of him. Catching up a flat, heavy stone she dashed it against his head. He grunted again, tried to get to his knees, and James stumbled up and kicked him with all the force of vengeance as hard as he could in the crotch.

  The coachman, hearing the commotion of the assault, ran round from the front of the coach, a bridle in his hand. Juliette scrabbled in the pocket of M. Félix's coat, found a pocket pistol, and snatched it out. As the coachman advanced, dropping the bridle and pulling a pistol from his waistband, Juliette cocked her weapon, raised it and

  crack

  shot him through the forehead. His head snapped back, his knees buckled, and he fell dead.

  James, glancing toward the boat, and away along the beach:

  'There are seamen somewhere nearby ashore, that came in the boat. They will have heard that shot. We must take the carriage and escape before they come.'

  'Yes, we must get away.' Nodding, and glancing at the ship.

  'We'll take him with us.' Nodding at M. Félix, who lay doubled up, gripping his crotch in agony. 'He wished to ask me some questions, and certainly I will like to reciprocate, and ask some of him. And now, my love, for the love of God untie me so I may go behind the coach and unbutton.'

  But before Juliette could untie James's hands, four horsemen came at a gallop along the track toward them. In desperation Juliette raised the discharged pistol, pointed it at them, and then let it fall from her hand. In moments she and James were surrounded and helpless, the leading man had dismounted and helped M. Félix to his feet, and fate had again reversed itself.

  *

  Rennie had managed to hire a horse from a stable at Lambeth, and ride to the Admiralty in Whitehall. His purpose was to obtain aid from Their Lordships, by one means or another, to rescue Lieutenant Hayter and his companion. He believed that their captors would seek to escape to France in a small private vessel. His view was that Mr Mappin would also seek to mount a rescue, but through the Secret Service Fund, not the Royal Navy.

  He was proved wrong. When he came to the Admiralty he found Mr Mappin already there, with exactly the same purpose.

  'We can aid each other, Captain Rennie, and thus aid our friends. I have had great difficulty in persuading the clerk to allow—'

  'They will never give us a commissioned ship, you know.' Over him, on the stair where they had met, leading up to the boardroom and other offices.

  'But we must have a ship. How else are we to prevent—'

  Again over him: 'This ain't an Admiralty matter, strictly speaking. From the beginning it was subterfuge, and intrigue, with dubious intent. To date, it has not met with great success.'

  'Dubious intent! To save two of our bravest—'

  'My dear Mappin, I am with you, I am with you. But we must approach the thing correct. Never forget that when it comes to ships, the men that occupy this building will never like to agree to dubious intent. Not twice, in the same cause. We must find the right man – Commodore Maxwell.'

  'Maxwell? Never heard of him.' Shaking his head impatiently, gripping the banister.

  'He looks after the official charts, you know. He's an old friend of mine, since the late American war. Bravest man I ever knew. Lost a leg in '82, and has found his place here ever since.'

  'Charts! What can a man that husbands charts do for us in this emergency, good heaven!'

  'Mr Mappin, you are agitated. Pray calm y'self, sir, and attend me. Commodore Maxwell will give us our warrant, d'y'see?'

  'Warrant?'

  'Aye.' Greatly more at ease in these surroundings, in these circumstances, than the usually imperturbable Mappin. 'Toby Maxwell will write out a warrant enabling us to seize a private ship in His Majesty's name, in an emergency, in the nation's interest.'

  'But can he do that? How? On what authority? What has it to do with charts? Listen now, we must find the First Secretary, and ask him to arrange—'

  'Mr Mappin!' Harshly, fiercely, as they reached the top of the stair.

  'Eh?'

  'There ain't a moment to lose! Cease jabbering, sir, and follow me, will you!' It was not a request.

  They found Commodore Maxwell drinking coffee at the table in his little office, his crutch resting on the back of his chair. Presently, having been introduced to Mr Mappin, and listened to Rennie's rapid explanation and request:

  'In course I am not permitted to accede to any such wild and irresponsible notion, you know.' Writing out the warrant, and sealing it with wax.

  'In course, in course, my dear Toby. Understood. And thank you. Come on, Mappin! We must go to Dover right quick, as soon as we've found you a horse!'

  'Dover? Portsmouth, surely?'

  'Dover!' Already out o
f the door.

  *

  Juliette was made to wait in her shift, with the four men, at the boat. Their horses, and the carriage horses, had been turned loose. Three seamen had also appeared, returning from far down the beach to the west with a musket and a brace of rabbits. All of them were now obliged to wait on M. Félix's pleasure, while he interviewed Lieutenant Hayter in the carriage.

  The leader of the four horsemen, a lean dark man with sour breath, said to Juliette:

  'Why does he not question the prisoner aboard the ship? We are wasting time lying here, when we could have weighed by now and put to sea, out of reach.'

  'You do not think I am a prisoner?'

  'We are returning you to France, but you are not an enemy, madame.'

  'A prisoner, but not an enemy. You see no contradiction, monsieur?'

  'We are instructed to give you every protection, madame.'

  'Pfff. If I tried to run away, you would shoot me down.'

  'No, indeed, madame. Even though you have shot one of us, we would never shoot you.'

  She turned away from him, and lifted her face to the sea breeze. And glanced anxiously at the carriage, where it stood isolated above the beach, the dead coachman lying beside it.

  In the carriage. M. Félix regarded James with a nearly detached stare. James's ankles had again been bound together, and his hands bound behind, and he sat opposite M. Félix on the upholstered seat. Although he was determined to show no sign of weakness nor humiliation, he was feeling very wretched and fearful. He feared the pain of torture. He feared a lingering, agonising death afterward. He feared for Juliette, and what might become of her when they took her back to France. Presently, M. Félix:

  'You are going to tell me the name of the man that is above M. Mappin.'

  James was silent, staring at his captor with what he hoped was clear contempt. He now drew breath to speak, and then did not.

  'Yes. Yes, I see. You do not intend to submit. It is a principle with some men – warriors, seafarers such as yourself – always to be heroic. Yes. They are simple-minded boys, these men.'

  From his coat he produced a small silk bag, from which he extracted a finely made pair of sewing scissors.

  'What I will do – unless you decide to tell me the name – is cut away the lids of your eyes.'

  James stared at him, and willed his breathing to grow slower. He could not stop the thudding of his heart.

  'You are wondering, I expect, why I do not take you aboard the ship, and deal with you there?'

  He moved suddenly to the seat beside James, who twisted and writhed away from him.

  'Yes, well, I could not perform the task delicate enough, afloat. The movement of the ship would cause additional injury.'

  A quick, jabbing movement, and one of the blades cut James's cheek. He winced with pain, gasped, and thrust himself as far into the corner of the seat as he could. M. Félix jabbed again, and caught James just above his ear. Drops of blood.

  'Like that, you see. Perhaps causing the loss, not just of the lids, but of the eyes ...'

  James shut his eyes, forcing himself to be steady, drew breath, and:

  'Very well, very well, I will tell you. The name of the man is Sir Robert Greer.'

  'Ah. Sir Robert Greer. Thank you, Lieutenant.' He wiped the scissors on his kerchief, opened the silk bag, and held the scissors poised over the little gaping silken mouth. 'But, you know ... I am nearly certain I heard that Sir Robert Greer ... had died.'

  A bleak smile, and he let the bag fall empty on the seat. It made no sound. Now he held up the scissors like tiny crossed swords.

  'You are a fool, Lieutenant. Sir Robert Greer would never have sanctioned the English part in the plan to save King Louis. He died, and the new man – the man you and M. Mappin obey – arranged it. You see? I know almost everything about you English ...'

  The smile left his face as if a mask had fallen.

  '... except that name.'

  Another lunge, and James turned his head desperately away. From the distance outside:

  crack-ack

  The unmistakable, echoing report of a long-barrelled musket.

  Shouts on the beach, and the sound of running feet. A pounding on the carriage door.

  'Monsieur Félix! Monsieur Félix! We must get into the boat, and escape!'

  M. Félix opened the door and snapped:

  'Who attacks us? How many?'

  The leading horseman, panting and pointing:

  'They are English revenue men, I think. A dozen or more, coming from the marsh. All armed.'

  'Then we must go.' Decisively, a quick nod. 'Bring him.' Jerking his head at James, exiting the carriage and running down the beach toward the boat.

  A distant shout now: 'Stop! In the king's n-a-a-a-me!'

  The sound of another warning shot, and for a brief moment James was inspired by the hope that the Excise men would take M. Félix and his party, and rescue Juliette and himself.

  The hope was soon dashed. The horseman dragged him bodily from the carriage, slung him over his shoulder and carried him at a staggering run down to the boat. The boat was dragged into the shallows and shoved off. All on shore jumped, tumbled and heaved themselves into it, it wallowed heavily, and was under way, every able man at an oar. James was able to glimpse the Excise party as they reached the carriage. Two or three musket balls kicked up little spurts of spray, but none was near the boat, and as the echo of the shots drifted away the boat rounded the brig and was under the lee, and bumping in under the chains on the swell, where it was secured with a line.

  Under his breath James muttered bitterly:

  'And now we are certainly lost.'

  He slumped in his bindings, his feet dragging in the sloshing water at the bottom of the boat.

  Presently he and Juliette were taken up the side ladder and into the brig, and they put to sea.

  *

  'Hard down with your helm, and keep your luff!' bellowed Captain Rennie in carrying quarterdeck. The helmsman of the merchant brig Puffin scowled at Rennie, and brought the vessel a point closer on the larboard tack as they ran down the Channel from Dover. There was a sharp chop running, kicked up by the southerly wind, and the little ship heeled steep, spray smashing up and fanning across her bow, and the rigging a-hum. Her pennant streamed and snapped from the trucktop of her main, and Rennie glanced aloft, bracing his feet on the angled deck.

  'What is our speed, if y'please?' To the boy running out the logship at the tafferel.

  'Five knots, sir.' Gripping the knotted line at the mark on the rail.

  'Ain't enough! Braces, there! And bowlines! Cheerly, lads, cheerly! Look lively, in the name of the king!'

  'Mr Mappin joined Rennie abaft the wheel, staggering as he tried to find his balance on the sloped planking. He was distinctly green in the face.

  'So far as I am able to ascertain ...'

  'Eh? What? Can't hear a word y'say, Mr Mappin!' Tilting his head.

  'So far as I am able to ascertain, there is only the signal gun aboard, Captain Rennie!'

  'Never mind, never mind. We had no time to be selective when we came to Dover. I would have wished for a cise cutter, with ten guns, but there was no such vessel available. We was obliged to take what we could get, and we have got Puffin, all 140 ton of her. Is there powder, Mr Mappin?'

  'Eh?' Lurching as the bow dipped into the chop, and a smash of spray swept over the deck.

  'Powder! For the signal gun!'

  'I could not say. I expect so.'

  '"Expect so" will not answer at sea, Mr Mappin. Discover it, yea or nay, and report to me, if y'please.' Striding under the brigsail boom and gripping the lee rail as he glanced again aloft. Sea water swirled at his feet, and spread in an angled wash across the deck. Mr Mappin saw this swirling water with queasy eyes, tried to quell the horrible disquiet that was rising within him, and only just managed to point himself seaward over the rail before disquiet became a violent cascade.

  'God preserve me f
rom lubberly men.' Rennie, but in his head. Aloud: 'Stand by to tack ship!' Striding to the wheel. 'Stations for stays!'

  The brig's small crew at their places, beginning to respect this hard disciplinarian for his seamanship, and readier now to do his bidding.

  'Ease your helm down – handsomely, now!'

  Jib sheets eased, the brigsail boom amidships. Rennie peered, craning his neck, was satisfied, and:

  'Helm's a-lee!' A long moment. 'Off tacks and sheets!'

  As sails spilled air and the brig came through the eye of the wind:

  'Maincourse haul!'

  And as she came round, foresails aback:

  'Let go and haul!'

  Yards braced and sails trimmed as she swung on to the starboard tack and began to run true, heeling into the wind.

  'Well done, lads! Handsomely done!' And to Mr Mappin, still clinging to the rail:

  'We'll catch 'em yet, hey, Mr Mappin! What say you?'

  But Mr Mappin was unable to express an opinion, or indeed say anything at all.

  'Aye, we'll catch 'em – if they are at sea.' Half to himself, nodding. By God but it was a pleasure to be back in his element, in command of a ship at sea, the clean smell of that sea in his nostrils as she beat to windward, the sun on his face as he looked aloft and trod the deck. Never mind the outcome on this day, never mind if it came to blood and fear. Here, now, he was as wholly alive as it was possible for him to imagine, and it made his heart sing.

  Almost gently to the helmsman, but not quite:

  'Luff and touch her, lad. Keep her up.'

  And a great sniffing breath, hands braced behind his back.

  Mr Mappin staggered away to the companion hatch, and went below. As his head disappeared Captain Rennie began to sober a little. If Mappin could not fight, that left only himself to do so. These merchant seamen – able enough in handling a ship along the coast of England – were not fighting men, and could not be expected to transform themselves into warriors at a moment's notice, in service of a cause they could not be expected to understand. Further, he had no guns. Well, a signal gun that would make a bang or two – provided powder could be found, and made into cartridge – but nothing else. Mappin – blast the fellow – had enjoined him to leave his sword behind at Bedford Street, and now he had only two pocket pistols, and an old cutlass he'd found in the captain's quarters.