Cut and Run: The Fourth Book in the Fighting Sail Series

by Alaric Bond

  “Commissioning pennant on one ship at least,” he bellowed. “An’ I think I can see another's masts beyond.”

  “Land ho, land on the larboard bow!” It was different voice. The lookouts were changed with every even bell, and clearly the previous man was remaining aloft at the end of his trick. One of them must have had the sense to continue scanning the horizon, even though an important sighting was being reported elsewhere. Paterson made a mental note to find out who and commend him for it later.

  “That must be the Rock of Lisbon, or Cape da Rocca, as the chart has it; the headland to the north of the entrance to the Tagus,” he explained to Nichols. “We stood out to sea last night in case it came across us earlier than intended. The Portuguese are supposed to maintain a light, but there seemed little to be gained in taking chances. We put back at four bells in the forenoon watch in the hope of sighting it.”

  “Then we're home and dry,” Nichols said, a thin smile on his face.

  Paterson snorted. “That might be pressing things a touch,” he said. Nichols had been out of action since Pevensey Castle's recapture, and could know little of her condition, although even he must be aware of the damp and mouldy hold that was already starting to smell abysmally. Elizabeth moved slightly, and Nichols’s attention swiftly moved back to her. Paterson looked away, not wishing to intrude upon them.

  “But at least we've found Lisbon,” he said, watching the horizon for the first sign of the ships. “And the British fleet come to that, so I'd chance that we are one stage closer.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Gentlemen, that is indeed quite a tale.” Admiral Sir John Jervis, Lord St Vincent and commander-in-chief of the Mediterranean fleet, sat back in his chair and considered matters for a moment. King used the brief pause to look about; he had been in so few first rates, and Victory's great cabin was certainly one to remember. Stout beams, yet tastefully furnished, she carried an air of understated power and, despite her advancing years, was still considered one to be of the best sailers in the fleet.

  “Your prize, Mr King, she is sound?” A senior captain whose name King had missed was addressing him, and he switched back to the real world with a jolt. “Yes sir. I'd say she would show a fair turn of speed.” The man spoke in hushed tones to Jervis, who nodded readily.

  The summons had come from the admiral barely a quarter of an hour after Pevensey Castle dropped anchor. Patterson was unusually subdued, as well he might be, his first official duty as a ship's captain being a meeting with a commander-in-chief. But Drayton seemed unusually familiar with Lord St Vincent, giving his report in a casual, almost conversational, manner that was quite at odds with anything expected in the Royal Navy. King wondered if they had met before, although Jervis had made no mention. But then he was not known as a man who greeted acquaintances particularly warmly.

  “Well, I congratulate you on your capture,” the admiral continued. “I have no doubt that the prize court in Gibraltar will move swiftly, and I hope to see her flying His Majesty's flag before so very long. I am sure Mrs Drayton will find the revenue welcome.”

  “Indeed so, my Lord.” Drayton nodded politely, and King's suspicions were confirmed.

  “Heaven knows, the smaller ships are at a premium on this station,” Jervis continued. “Admiralty thinks that, just because we are not on the other side of the world, all matters must be referred to them for consideration. I'd spend all my time sending messages back an' forth if they had their way, and the public must be aware of what is about before I am.”

  “The mood in England is hopeful, my Lord.” Of the three men seated before the admiral, Drayton was by far the most relaxed. “After Camperdown, and your own victory, the Navy is held in high esteem.”

  Jervis considered him carefully. “No ill feelings following Tenerife?”

  “Not that I am aware; more concern for Admiral Nelson and his wound.”

  “Ha, that young pup will be up again afore so very long. I could use him now if the truth be known. We cannot be called the Mediterranean fleet and be denied its use, what?”

  Drayton nodded. “I should say not, my Lord.”

  “In fact, the information I have just obtained makes the matter of communication even more important.” The admiral regarded the three men contemplatively. “I was about to make myself unpopular by requisitioning that Company packet that docked today,” Jervis smiled briefly. “But instead might be presuming upon your prize, in anticipation of the court's decision, of course.”

  King stiffened slightly in his chair. His command of the privateer had lasted a little less than two weeks, and yet he was already aware of strange proprietary feelings towards her. The senior captain also appeared uncomfortable. “This might not be the best time to talk further, my Lord.”

  Jervis grunted. “I see no point in hiding matters. The French have been open enough, and it'll be common knowledge with the mob in a week or so.” He relaxed further in his chair and set his powdered wig straight. “There is movement at Toulon. Massive armament, and more ships assembling by the day. The country's being swept clear for supplies; even the northern Italian ports are affected. It’s clear they have invasion in mind; maybe Naples, Portugal, some even say Africa.”

  “Africa?” Drayton asked, surprised.

  “Egypt, to be precise.” Jervis considered him thoughtfully. “Fastest way to take your empire in the East, don't you think?”

  “It would be utterly devastating, my Lord,” Drayton replied, genuinely shocked.

  “Well, we will know little while we stay this side of Spain,” Jervis continued. “Gibson, in Fox, is currently at Gibraltar. We should look in at Toulon without delay, 'though it might be polite to advise the admiralty if I intend to re-enter the Med. Not that their lack of knowledge will alter any plans, of course, but I will have complied with my orders by informing them. Your capture is larger than the usual, but will suit well enough, and her use will not weaken the British force in any way.”

  King felt his body tense further as his heart began to pound inside his chest. He had yet to see the privateer under full sail, and already she was to be taken from him. Taken and probably handed over to some dolt of a lieutenant who was bound to treat her roughly and know nothing of her ways.

  “I could take her back to England, my Lord.”

  It was hardly customary for junior officers in the merchant marine to offer suggestions to a commander-in-chief, but, if Jervis was surprised by King's suggestion, he failed to show it.

  “I thank you for your offer, sir, but regret this is a government matter, and as such the command must go to a Navy man.” He switched his attention to Paterson. “I will see your ship taken safely to Gibraltar; there should be an escort available within a day or two.” The old man's eyes twinkled. “But rest assured, we will relieve you of your prisoners before then.”

  “Thank you, my Lord.” They were almost the first words that Paterson had spoken; it was quite unusual for him to remain so quiet. King took a sideways glance at his friend. His face was slightly flushed, and he appeared apprehensive. It was even possible that the occasion overawed him, although that was hardly in his nature. But King was feeling in no way intimidated. The pain of losing the privateer was stirring him into action, and he found himself wriggling in his seat in an effort to break back into the conversation.

  “I trust that you gentlemen will find any provisions you need ashore, but if not you may apply to the fleet. I shall not see you go short after such exploits.” Jervis was attempting a smile now, and it was clear the interview was coming to a close. King felt the disappointment growing, even though he fully understood that there was nothing intrinsically wrong with what was being planned.

  Finally he could contain himself no longer. “Sir…my Lord, I should be happy to captain the prize. I hold a commission as lieutenant in the Navy, and know the ship well.”

  This time Jervis’s look held a measure of annoyance. “You hold the King's commission, sir?” he said, the inc
redulity obvious in his voice.

  “I do, my Lord.” King hesitated as all eyes in the room considered him. “And I have served under you.” He drew breath. “I was at Cape St Vincent.”

  “Were you indeed?” Jervis was growing dangerously intense. “What ship?”

  “Pandora, my Lord.”

  The expression lightened slightly. “Ah, Sir Richard's little frigate; much missed on this station, but she fared well under Adam Duncan, I hear.”

  “I was with her until she paid off, my Lord.”

  “So you were at Camperdown?” the senior captain asked.

  “Yes, my Lord…sir.”

  “But you wear the uniform of a Company man, and a midshipman at that!” Jervis considered him closely, and King could only blush.

  “There were not the opportunities, my Lord. And I wanted so much to be at sea.”

  “Yet now you wish for your rank returned? That speaks little for whoever it was who saw you made in the first place, and nothing for your new employer.” Jervis was positivity glaring now, his eyes ranging about the room as if in search of a target. “When a man is promoted to lieutenant, the least his country can expect is a few years' duty. What numbskull approved your commission?”

  King swallowed. “You did, my Lord.”

  A short bark that might have been a laugh made everyone jump slightly, and Jervis leaned forward in his seat. “I made you?” he asked, aghast. “I granted your commission? When, sir? When did I do such a thing?”

  “Just last year; the January of 'ninety-seven, my Lord. I returned as prize master of a French frigate and our first lieutenant had died…” His voice trailed off as he realised that it might not be diplomatic to remind St Vincent of Pigot's death.

  “It comes back to me,” Jervis said a little more gently. “Sir Richard spoke well of you then, and he is a hard man to please. But that was nought but a few months past!” Jervis was more confused than angry now, and the other men shuffled uncomfortably. He shook his head as if in wonder. “Do you care so little for your rank, and the service in general, as to come and go like a common tradesman?”

  Drayton broke in. “Mr King has performed well in the Company's employ, my Lord. Indeed, his will be a great loss, but it was clear from the beginning that he is a Navy man, and will never truly settle to the life of a trader.”

  “Then it is his bad luck to have made that choice,” Jervis replied sullenly.

  “It is due to Mr King's actions that we were able to retake Pevensey Castle, my Lord,” Drayton persisted.

  “Indeed, so I understand; but there are many capable officers ready to give their right arms for such a command. They have not left the service for self-betterment, and are entitled to their chance as much as any.” Jervis brooded for a moment. “As much as any, and more than some.”

  “Except that the chance was created by Mr King.” Paterson's sudden contribution took them all by surprise. Even he wore a look of mild astonishment.

  “Beg pardon, sir?” Jervis queried, his eyes again wide and dangerous.

  “I said that he created the chance, my Lord; and yet it appears he is not to benefit by it.” Paterson's words were spoken quite clearly, and he more than equalled the admiral's stare. “It might not speak well of him to have left the service, but it could also be said that it was the fault of the Navy that a man so qualified and experienced could not be found employment.”

  There was a slight intake of breath from the senior captain, but Paterson was well into his stride by now, and continued quite unabashed.

  “I have served with Mr King for some while. He is an exceptional officer: I find it strange, and not a little worrying, that one such as he should be allowed to rot on the beach for want of a berth.”

  “This is not the time to discuss the merits of the Navy, sir!” The senior captain spoke with an edge to his voice; at any moment the conversation might turn into a full-scale argument.

  “I should think there never will be, sir,” Paterson replied. His complexion was returning to normal now, in fact he appeared completely relaxed. “There are many defects in both our promotional systems, but I submit that the merchant service has no pretence.”

  “Pretence?” Jervis was eyeing Paterson sharply.

  “Positions in the East India Company may be purchased; it is a well-known fact, and one the Navy likes to taunt us with at every opportunity. Yet your own system is just as corrupt, if not so open.”

  “Mr Paterson, I fail to see quite…”

  “Mr King is a capable officer who has proven himself in action, yet he was forced to leave the Navy and serve elsewhere in order to put bread upon his table. There are young lieutenants aplenty in his position. Good men, but brushed aside to allow the sons of admirals, peers and politicians to take up valuable seagoing positions in their place. If it is a system that you approve of my Lord, then I am surprised.”

  For several seconds no one said a word. Then Jervis sat back in his chair and regarded the mate.

  “It is an honest opinion, Mr Paterson, I grant you that. And I thank you for sharing it with me, 'though I chance that you might not have been quite so bold were you directly under my command.” His face hardened slightly. “But still I have responsibilities, and it would go badly were I to show favouritism outside of the service.” He nodded again, and seemed to consider the matter again, before leaning forward and rising from his seat.

  “Gentlemen, I will not detain you longer, I am certain you have much to attend to, as indeed do we all. I congratulate you once more on your prize and will arrange for her transfer without delay. We can provide a crew. There are sufficient men who can be trusted to return to the fleet, as well as those whose injuries mean they are of no further use to His Majesty.” He paused and seemed to watch Paterson particularly carefully while the three men stood to leave. “Of course, this will in no way influence any conclusions that the court might arrive at. Your prize will be treated as a hired ship until a proper decision can be made, and you will be reimbursed in full for her use.”

  The admiral's eyes were still set on Paterson. “Were you in the King's service, sir?” he asked quietly.

  Paterson stopped in the act of turning to leave. “Me, my Lord? No, I regret not.”

  Jervis smiled and nodded. “No, I thought as much. Gentlemen, I wish you all a good day.”

  * * *

  Manning had sorted through the surgeon's instruments and taken those that belonged to him. Now there were only his personal possessions to collect. He walked through to the steerage mess and found Langlois sitting in his customary position at the small table. The man was sketching once more, although there seemed precious little in the room worth recording.

  “Patient on deck?” he asked, glancing up from his work.

  Manning nodded, “I believe so.”

  Langlois returned to the pad, his pencil loosely held and apparently moving of its own accord. His eyes were half closed and he seemed so relaxed that, for a moment, Manning wondered if he had been indulging in his own particular style of recreation.

  “Are you leaving us?” The words came from somewhere far away, but when the surgeon's mate turned, Langlois came readily from his trance and looked into his eyes.

  Manning cleared his throat. “Yes, Kate…my wife and I are heading back to England.” His tone was flat in an effort to dissuade further conversation.

  “I am sorry to hear it,” Langlois returned briefly to his work, but it was clear that the moment was lost, and soon he thrust the pad aside.

  “There is news,” Manning continued, despite himself.

  “Indeed? But not from England, I fancy?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. A packet arrived only yesterday,” Manning explained. “The wind that kept us from gaining the coast was fair for them; they made a quick passage. I believe there be post for all.” His ditty bag was full now, there were just the two aprons to collect from the store, and the purser to see. He really did not have time to waste on idle conversa
tion.

  “Not bad, I trust?” Langlois persisted.

  Manning picked up his belongings and was about to leave the room. “Bad enough; my wife's father is not well. She has expressed a desire to be with him once more.” He paused, then continued in a slightly lower tone. “It was fortunate that Pevensey Castle was recognised at anchor, otherwise we might not have heard until Madeira.”

  “That is sad indeed; she is a splendid woman.”

  The anger built up suddenly. Manning did not want for an argument, but there was something about Langlois, and his smooth manner, that always riled him. And this was probably his last opportunity to tell him so.

  “She is indeed a splendid woman, that is why I married her.” The words, though innocent enough, were delivered in such a way that they might as easily have been a dreadful accusation, and Langlois reacted instantly.

  “I do not doubt it,” he said, an expression of mild confusion on his face. “And you are to be congratulated—a lucky man indeed.”

  Manning paused. He knew he was being unreasonable. He had listened to all of Kate's assurances and was well aware of his own defects—inordinate jealousy had haunted him his entire life. He could not possess, create or achieve anything without the accompanying fear that it would be taken from him. And it was a sad fact that, the more valuable or dear the attribute, the greater his terror of its loss.

  “Marriage is a precious thing,” he said, hating himself a little as he did. “You might do well to remember that in the future.”

  There was a moment's silence as Langlois considered this, then his face reddened slightly.

  “I can assure you, Robert, I have never held any designs upon your wife,” he said. “She is a good friend, and I value her as such, no more.”

  “But the drawings; those sketches…” Manning waved his hands foolishly in the air. “You capture her so well, I…”

  “You cannot believe that somehow we are not in love, or at the least, that I am not attracted to her?”