Havelock sighed. He had lost men and officers before but this enterprise was starting to demand too high a price. "Very good, Mr Kennedy. Gather a few men and make a quick search of this ship. Watch out for any remaining crew below decks and report to me of her condition."
As men, both French and British, began to scatter across the deck to their duties or off ship to the boats waiting below, Havelock and Guillot were left alone. It was the French Captain who broke the silence between them.
"A fine series of attacks, Captain Havelock," he said. "You will no doubt be commended upon your return to Portsmouth. Or do we go to London?"
"You know I will not tell you that yet. And this mission has had a heavy price."
"C'est la guerre," said Guillot simply. He paused, thinking, and then continued. "The name Havelock. Have I heard it before?"
"Perhaps. My grandfather..."
"Ah, yes, Admiral Havelock. The scourge of the Southern Seas, the Terror of the French."
"I am familiar with my own family's history, Monsieur."
"And brave butcher of colonists..."
Havelock gave Guillot a sour look but the Frenchman pretended not to notice.
"Yes, the name Havelock is well known to the French Navy. And now his grandson sails the same seas where those tortured souls met their end. I wonder if you will survive to be feted in England?"
Something about Guillot's tone made Havelock's expression change to one of curiosity.
"Is there something you want to tell me?"
Guillot shrugged. "A man must live with his own conscience, and maybe his family's as well. As I said, we are at war. Then as much as we are now. In any event, it is no longer my place to avenge the deaths of my countrymen."
"I am not sure I understand."
"Perhaps there is nothing to understand. You are the victor and I am but your prisoner."
Havelock was not sure if the man was mocking him. A little frustrated, he pushed on. "Is there anything about the state of this ship you will tell me?"
"I have nothing to hide from you now, Captain. I am a French officer alone on an English ship."
"And?"
"Your first attack against us was most impressive," Guillot said. "A fine de-masting shot. I presume that was deliberate. Still, as you now know, we had the advantage of this island which we used to make repairs. You'll find she still sails well, as we had prepared new masts sometime earlier. There are still gun carriages to replace or repair and some regions of the hull are not all they should be. Still, the Elita will get you to England, and with good speed. Just don't think of taking her into battle, though I presume that is not your plan, given how few men you have."
"I guessed as much. Most efficient, Monsieur, you are to be commended for your efforts."
"All wasted now, with the Elita in English hands."
"As you say, it is war."
Havelock continued to watch the French crew depart the frigate with their escorts, the landing boats slowly travelling to the beach to offload their prisoners and take on British wounded. Seeing his wounds, one crewman offered to bind his leg, and Havelock gratefully accepted. After a few minutes, Kennedy emerged from below decks and, saluting Havelock with a crooked finger, he made his report.
"It's a pig sty, Sir. In fact, I wouldn't keep me pigs in these conditions."
Havelock cast a sideways look at Guillot, but the Frenchman seemed unapologetic.
"We can make her proud during the voyage home," Havelock said.
"It will take the whole trip and then some, and that ain't me grumbling, Captain. It really is that bad. The great cabin is in good shape though and the galley is well-stocked. You'll be eating fine, if you can live with the stink, Sir."
"My least concern right now, Mr Kennedy. Any surprises?"
"Both gun decks are a mess. At a push, we can put up a fight, but I wouldn't want to meet anything more than an armed merchantman on the way back. Didn't see any stragglers but I would want to do a more thorough search later."
"Granted."
"And the hold is a pit of foulness, Sir. Not sure what we can do about that until we put into port. Still, it seems fairly full - should make the lads happy, with prize money and all."
"Then it seems like we have been successful in our mission. Start organising the watches, Mr Kennedy, and then... what is going on there?"
The first boat had returned to the Elita and its crew, including Lieutenant Corbin, were just clambering onto the main deck. One of them was drenched in blood and seemed to be raving. Though his shipmates tried to calm him down and attend to his wounds, he refused to be placated.
"The Cap'n, I gotta see the Cap'n!"
Frowning, Havelock spoke quietly to Kennedy. "Bosun, bring that man to me."
The man seemed exhausted and though he had collapsed to the deck, he kept repeating his need to talk to his Captain. Kennedy tried to quieten him down but gave up as the man's protests grew in volume. Instead, Kennedy hooked an arm under his shoulder and, supporting the man's weight, walked him across the deck to face Havelock.
The man's eyes opened wide in relief when he saw his Captain. His face was a wash of blood and Havelock could see he had many more wounds across his body. He was amazed the man still had any strength left within him.
"Cap'n, thank the Lord! They slaughtered all of us, even chasin' us through the jungle!"
"Calm down, sailor," said Havelock, trying to quieten the man down with a steady, even tone. "Go slowly, you are not making sense. Are you saying there are still French crew from the beach who can fight?"
"No Sir, I wasn't fightin' on the beach. I was one of them that was left behind on the Whirlwind."
Even before the man's next words left his lips, a now familiar cold hand gripped the pit of Havelock's stomach.
"The Whirlwind, Sir. She's gone. Sunk,' he said, beginning to grow hysterical again. "That death hulk, the Deja, came speedin' out o' nowhere. It was on us before we could do nuffin'."
Seeing the few crewmen on deck look up sharply at this, Havelock grabbed the man's collar and jerked him hard. "For God's sake, man, keep your voice down!" Thinking hard, he man-handled the wounded sailor towards the quarterdeck and, dragging him up the stairs, faced him directly. He was aware that Kennedy, Corbin and Guillot had followed them.
"Now, calmly - and quietly - tell me what happened."
"Sir, it was dreadful, ain't never seen nuffin' like it. That death ship, it moved so fast. Its guns started blazin' and we felt the Whirlwind holed almost straight away. Then it smashed into us and the dead swept over us. We were too few! They just tore us apart, in minutes! Mr Hague was killed first, 'e was tryin' to hold 'em back!"
"There were survivors though?"
"A few of us jumped overboard and swam for the island - the ship was already lost and sinkin', Cap'n, I swear! But the damned zombies followed us!" The sailor panted for breath and swallowed before continuing. "We ran through the trees, tryin' to reach you but they took us, one by one. I 'eard the screams of me mates as they fell. One came at me, but I fought it off. Took its 'ead off, I did."
The man began coughing and Havelock motioned to Kennedy to take him below decks for care. Judging by the state of his wounds, Havelock guessed that he would not last the night. He looked at Corbin and Guillot. The Lieutenant seemed pale as he tried to make sense of the news. The Frenchman raised an eyebrow.
"The Deja? That name is also well known in the French Navy, Captain Havelock. Just what is it you have awoken?"
For once, Havelock had no answer.
"It seems as though the sins of the father will face justice after all," said Guillot. "I fear you have doomed every man on this ship."
"Captain Guillot, you will go below deck! I will instruct my Bosun to make you comfortable."
"A man of honour might offer himself in order to save his crew."
"That offer has already been made. It was deemed insufficient."
"Ah, then you already have some measure of the enemy
you now face?" said Guillot.
"More than you can imagine."
"I think this is something you cannot defeat."
Havelock was grim. "We'll see."
Guillot seemed ready to argue the point but instead, he shrugged then descended the stairs to the main deck to seek new quarters. Corbin was still silent and Havelock had to shake him by the shoulder to get his attention.
"Lieutenant, assemble the men," said Havelock.
"Sir, the Whirlwind..."
"Get a grip of yourself, man! We still have the Elita, a larger and more powerful ship. The mission will still be deemed a success by the Admiralty, but we have to leave now! Thanks to that man's ravings on deck, the crew will already know the fate of the Whirlwind and what pursues us. I must get them on side, and quickly. Call them to assemble. Now!"
Corbin started to move slowly away but he soon picked up pace and, after having found his voice, called for Kennedy to gather the crew on the main deck. Havelock impatiently waited for them to appear below him and noted that more than a few threw surly looks in his direction. He could not entirely blame them, for the night's expedition had already cost them many friends and comrades and now they had lost their ship. Corbin returned to his side on the quarterdeck as he began to speak, and some crew were still climbing on board from one of the landing boats, the cries of the wounded punctuated his words.
"Brave sailors of the King's Navy," he said, deliberately avoiding addressing them as the men of the Elita. "We have suffered many losses tonight but look at what you have achieved! This fine frigate had a crew that outnumbered us by more than two to one, and yet it is now in our hands. I swear to you, there are perhaps just two or three other crews in the entire fleet that could have done what we have. You are all heroes, the best of what is British and a credit to the nation!"
He paused and a deathly silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional cry or whimper from a wounded sailor. Most of the faces that looked up at him were expressionless, their owners thoroughly exhausted. Others glared with outright hatred.
"You have heard the... regrettable news of the Whirlwind and its demise. I, myself, am saddened by its loss. However, our mission is now complete, and we set sail for England! I have been informed that this ship's hold is full and so the prize money will flow like water when we return home. You will all be wealthy! Now, steel yourselves for one final journey as we make the trip home."
A few weary nods met his words, but otherwise the crew remained silent. Havelock inwardly cursed, knowing he would have trouble with discipline on the voyage home. Even the thought of great riches did little to raise the morale of his crew, and that meant more than one sailor was considering mutiny. The only consolation was that things would get easier the closer they sailed to England and the prize money they were all now due. Of course, he would have to face a court martial for the loss of the Whirlwind before any money would be paid, but that was something he would gladly face if he could just make it home safely.
"Mr Corbin, prepare to set sail."
The Lieutenant looked at him quizzically, leaning across to speak quietly.
"Sir, we still have wounded on the beach. We need just a little more..."
"Now, Mr Corbin," said Havelock, looking at him meaningfully. "We have no more time!"
Corbin opened his mouth to say something, then closed it as it dawned upon him just what Havelock meant. He glanced through the night towards the entrance of the cove, half-expecting to see the dark mass of the Deja lurking at its edge, waiting to send the Elita to the bottom of the sea. Reluctantly, he nodded.
"I understand, Captain." He turned to face the crew. "Prepare to set sail!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Together, Bryant, Murphy and Brooks stared at the wreckage of the lower gun deck, gazing at the smashed gun carriages, dislodged cannon and broken fittings. Their elation at having been given one of the heavy 24 pounders to work had quickly crumbled when they saw their working environment. Murphy had made a great show of clasping a rag to his nose and mouth as they went below decks but they were all staggered to see just how much damage had been done to the Elita during its duel with the Whirlwind.
"You can see now why the Frogs ran from us," said Brooks.
"Aye, lad," said Bryant. "Only a few of their big guns are still serviceable starboard. One quick turn from the Captain, and they would have been defenceless. And now we have to clean up the mess."
Murphy removed the cloth from his face but gagged and quickly replaced it. "Of all the foulness," he said, his voice muffled. "When did they last clean this ship?"
"It is entirely possible that it has never been properly cleaned," said Bryant, shaking his head in mutual disbelief. "They'll get some ventilation going once we set sail. Until then, you'll just have to get used to it."
"I ain't never gettin' used to this."
Brooks cast a look around the deck, eying up the huge guns that dwarfed those he was used to on the Whirlwind. He could already imagine the back-breaking work of resetting the heavy weapons back onto their carriages, and further down the deck, he could see two other gun crews debating the task as well. "So, where do we start?" he asked.
Bryant sighed. "Might as well take the nearest," he said. "Look, this one is only dislodged from its mountings. The carriage itself looks fine. Murphy, see if you can find us a good bit of rope. It will be easier winching the gun from the rafters than lifting it with our bare hands."
Murphy scuttled off into the shadowy recesses of the lower gun deck as Bryant bent low over the gun carriage to see if the wood had been split by the weight of its cannon. He became aware of a presence behind him and guessed a member of one of the other gun crews was looking for advice or a favour. He was about to stand up when an all too familiar voice floated down to him.
"Bryant, been lookin' for you, man," said Jessop. "We need to talk."
"I'm busy."
"You 'eard what 'appened to the Whirlwind. Too fine a ship to be lost to them dead Froggies. But that is exactly what the Cap'n 'as gone and done!"
Knowing he would regret it, Bryant stood up and faced Jessop, sitting himself on the gun carriage.
"I told you before, Jessop. I know what you are after, and I ain't interested."
"The Cap'n is leadin' us straight to our deaths," said Jessop insistently. "You know it and I know it. We've already lost a good two-thirds of our crew."
"At least." Murphy's voice rang out from somewhere in the shadows.
"At least! You see, even the little Irishman knows it!"
"Jessop, I am serious," said Bryant, pointing a finger towards the burly man. "This is hanging talk."
In return, Jessop rolled his eyes. "An' tell me this, Bryant. Just what is the difference between possibly 'anging from a yard arm and definitely getting' a rusty sword in the gut from a Frog who just don't know when to lie down an' die, eh?"
"I know what you are saying..."
"You want your old mate Murphy to die this day? Or Brooks? What about Brooks, eh, does the young lad deserve to meet 'is end?"
Uncomfortable at having been brought into the conversation, Brooks looked from Jessop back to Bryant, but stayed silent.
"You don't 'ave to do anythin'," said Jessop. "Just a word or two 'ere and there. I got me lads on side but the crew likes you. You'll pull the rest round."
"And then?"
"We'll take 'em by surprise!"
Bryant could not help himself from giving a short laugh. "Jessop, do you really think the Captain ain't expecting something? He has had too much sea beneath him to know something ain't up with the crew."
"Well, maybe," said Jessop. "But it makes no difference anyway. The officers 'ave been dyin' alongside us, an' there's just a few of 'em left. We'll take care of the Captain, and that Froggie officer too. Corbin'll 'ave to go - shame, as I sort of liked 'im. But it 'as to be done clean. All officers 'ave to go."
By now, the other two gun crews had heard what was being discussed and they moved up
the deck to lend their weight to the argument. All Jessop's men, Bryant could sense the mood turn dark quickly.
"It's them or us, plain an' simple," said one.
"Come on, Bryant," said another. "The Whirlwind 'as gone, an' that death 'ulk is in the area, we know. It's comin' for us right now."
"That's right," said Jessop, bolstered by his support. "We ain't got no choice. We act now, or die today!"
Taking a deep breath, Bryant stood up to stare Jessop squarely in the eyes. "My answer has not changed," he said. "I will not aid a mutiny in any way. But hear me well, Jessop - you are on a fool's errand with your plan. The Captain is smarter than you and, whether you believe it or not, he is tougher than you. If you attack him, he will cut you down. And then make mincemeat of your friends. We all saw how he fought against the French." He cast a meaningful look at Jessop's co-conspirators and was a little gratified that at least a couple of them began to look doubtful.
"Can I at least rely on your silence?" said Jessop, and Bryant saw the man begin to clench his fists, as if he were readying himself for a fight if he heard the wrong answer. Though he was not swayed by the implied threat, Bryant understood well the code upheld among shipmates.
"You are going to regret what you do, Jessop, but I ain't no tell-tattle. Go seek death at the Captain's hands if you must. I won't interfere."
"But I will." The new voice from the near end of the gun deck caused them all to whirl round in surprise. Jessop groaned softly when he saw the lithe form of the Bosun step into the lantern light.
"Ah, I ain't got no argument with you, Mr Kennedy," he said.
Kennedy did not miss a beat as he stepped up to Jessop and prodded him in the chest with a finger. "If you 'ave a problem with the Cap'n, you see me about it first. Get past me an' the Cap'n will hear your complaints."
Bryant moved back slightly as he saw Kennedy was poised on the balls of his feet, ready to react to any move Jessop made. He grabbed Brooks' sleeve and pulled him back as well.
Jessop grinned at Kennedy. "Ah, it don't 'ave to be like this," he said. "You can see what is goin' on, surely?"
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