The Torrid Zone (The Fighting Sail Series)

by Alaric Bond

  “I am here in my capacity of host, Lady Hatcher,” Booker said smoothly. “It is clear that there has been some disagreement between you and Captain Banks; if I, and Major Morris, can sort matters out, then that would be much for the better. And I am sure that is what we all would like,” he added, with slightly more emphasis.

  “I fail to see how my late husband's death, caused as it was by this fellow's incompetence, can be talked away with a few sugared phrases,” Lady Hatcher snapped.

  “I gave orders and made arrangements for your entourage to be kept in safety,” Banks said firmly. “That your husband ignored them was his concern, not mine.”

  “Well frankly, sir, I am surprised that you should have chosen to bring the enemy to action at all,” Morris said. “Your ship was charged with despatches, was she not? Does that mean for nothing in the Royal Navy? The Dear knows that frigate captains are renowned for their inability to turn down a fight, but surely carrying such important passengers should have persuaded you to be slightly less foolhardy?”

  Banks had not expected such an outright assault, but was mildly relieved that the young officer's accusations could be so easily wiped aside.

  “All captains, be they frigate or otherwise, are allowed a degree of discretion, as far as carrying despatches are concerned,” he said stiffly. “And, although such a thing was more out of courtesy than obligation, I did approach the governor before engaging the enemy, and he gave his full and wholehearted support.”

  “And where did such an interview take place?” Morris asked.

  “In the governor's cabin,” Banks replied, as a chill feeling of concern began to make itself known within his stomach. “Lady Hatcher was also present, as was her husband's manservant.”

  “I can recall no such meeting,” the woman replied haughtily. “And you will have a good deal of trouble finding anyone else to back up your story; both Terrance and Malcolm are now dead: died upon your ship, and while in your care.”

  In the face of barefaced lying Banks found himself taken aback. He felt his face grow hot and went to speak, but on catching the eye of Lady Hatcher, thought better of it. Fortunately Booker guessed the problem, and stepped in.

  “If there is any discrepancy here I am sure it can be disregarded,” he said. “As Captain Banks has made clear, he was under no obligation to speak with your late husband in the first place.”

  “Well I would say that is for a court of enquiry to decide,” Morris said with an air of finality. “You can bandy words and rules about as much as you wish, but the Board of Directors may not be so easily hoodwinked.”

  “There is no attempt to hoodwink, Major Morris,” Booker retorted. “Indeed I would caution you against making such an accusation.” The young man swallowed, but said nothing. “But we had hoped that such formalities might be avoided. Indeed it would seem to be a waste of Company time and effort. And to suggest that the Board of Directors are to be involved can only...”

  “The Board of Directors will surely be involved,” Lady Hatcher interrupted. “And I dare say the Admiralty shall also be interested in Captain Banks' conduct. Indeed I should be surprised if he is not called to answer at court martial.” She paused, and set her eyes firmly on the captain, her smile filled with an evil intensity. “In fact I am certain of it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Shore boat approaching, sir,” the midshipman told him, and Banks turned back from the open grating that seemed to have been claiming his attention for most of the morning. Whether Scylla was careened in Sandy Bay, or some other method was found of reaching her damage, she would have to be lightened and they had already made a good start. The holds were now empty of just about everything, apart from two week's supply of preserved meat. Even their fresh water which, after several months in storage, was anything but, had been pumped over the side. Two new casks from St Helena had been taken aboard and, with the sun unusually hot overhead and no restriction having been placed upon drinking, one was already almost empty. All agreed that the local product, made even tastier by being transferred from its source through several miles of lead piping, was far superior to even that found on the Isle of Wight.

  The forecastle lookout hailed the boat, and Banks moved across to be by the larboard entry port when his visitors arrived.

  Henry Booker was up first, followed by Brady from the dockyard, who had already made the journey three times that morning. Banks greeted them warmly; Scylla's people had done well, but their efforts were more than matched by the Company's men, who had taken to lightening the stricken ship with a will.

  “Thought I should come aboard and blacken my nose a little, Sir Richard,” Booker told him. “That is if I am not in your way?”

  “No, I am pleased to see you,” Banks replied. “And would be happy to show our progress if you wish it.”

  “Brady has kept me informed, but yes, I should like to see for myself.”

  Banks led them back towards the open grating. “As you can observe, all but the lowest tier of beef and pork has been cleared,” he said, staring down into the black void below. “We should not wish to go further until news is heard from Sandy Bay,” he explained. “And still have topmasts set up, as you have doubtless noted.”

  Whether or not Henry Booker knew enough about nautical matters to recognise the fact was not revealed, but he nodded seriously.

  Brady, the dockyard superintendent, spoke.

  “All the preserved meat you have sent ashore is safely stored, Captain. We have more if you wish to supplement, but that will have to be arranged with Mr Stubbs, the store keeper.”

  “Who has already been instructed to provide everything you require,” Booker interrupted. “There was some question of rope, and other boatswain's stores, I believe?”

  That was another reason why topmasts were still in place. Banks had hoped to start re-rigging the ship as soon as was feasible. Having access to what was an apparently endless supply of fresh cordage would make this possible.

  “Thank you, I shall send a party with our requirements.”

  It was likely that anything supplied by an HEIC island depot would not come cheaply, but Banks had worries enough in other quarters. If he were to meet that Frenchman it was not just Scylla's hull that must be sound; reliable standing and running rigging was equally necessary. Should Lady Hatcher make the trouble he was already anticipating, quite how much was spent on providing the line was of no great concern to him.

  “The ship is riding several strakes higher already, sir.” Brady again. “But still I doubt her damage can be reached successfully.”

  “The guns have yet to be moved,” Banks replied. “Though I should have to wait until more is learned by the shore party before such measures are taken.”

  The idea of stripping his ship of her ordinance went totally against the grain. It would probably be necessary, and while they lay within the protection of the shore batteries, it need not cause him concern. Still, he had already decided that the cannon would be the last to be removed and, while there was a chance that Scylla would have to sail to the south of the island, he had every reason for them to be retained.

  Brady shook his head. “You won't find any good news from that quarter, sir,” he said. “Sandy Bay ain't right for what you have in mind; the prevailing wind is contrary and you'll find the bottom far too cluttered with rocks for a safe beddin'. Besides, what cannon we 'as there ain't powerful enough to cover a vessel of this size.”

  Banks had heard the same from other sources, but still felt that no one knew his ship, and what could be done with her, as well as his officers. Brady would be used to the confines of a dockyard and probably lacked the lateral mind necessary for serving at sea, while, as for advising on artillery protection, that was well out of his domain. King and Caulfield were far more informed sources and had also been eager to go, although why they could not have taken a cutter, and done the journey by sea was quite beyond him. Sarah had her theories, of course, but he preferred not to con
sider those at that moment.

  “If it is so, do you have camels available?” Banks asked.

  Booker seemed surprised by the question, while Brady appeared to understand, but looked doubtful. Camels were a possible solution: a pair of barges that could be flooded, then strapped to either side of the hull. In theory, when the water was pumped out the ship would be raised. Her damage might still not be accessible however, and Scylla would be vulnerable to a strong wind, but it remained a last resort.

  “Not as such, Captain.” the dockyard superintendent replied. “We've a heavy barge, larger than most, that might lift one side if you wished to lay her over; but that would inevitably obstruct the damaged futtock, and we don't have two.”

  “Two might not be needed,” Banks said quickly as inspiration struck. He was feeling a rush of blood run through his veins as if he were going into battle. Hearing that at least one suitable barge was on hand had started the thought process, and he began to speak even before a logical conclusion was reached. “What say we just use one?”

  Both men now appeared equally confused.

  “Use the one,” Banks repeated, thinking still. “And simply lift the stern?”

  “Lie it crossways under her counter do you mean?” Brady's eyes came alive as he caught Banks' thread. “We should have to remove the rudder of course, but there is no difficulty in that...”

  “Could it be raised sufficiently?” Booker asked, not totally following Banks' thinking, but knowing enough to get the gist.

  “If we shifted the sternmost guns for'ard,” Banks added, the energy flowing through him still. “I'd say we might even lift her clear of the water.”

  “Careening her would definitely be a safer, and more conventional option.” Brady was speaking slowly, and possibly regretting his earlier enthusiasm. “And if there is more to attend to on the hull...”

  “Three or more years of growth,” Banks answered. “Yet we may also clear some of that, if it can be reached,” he added quickly. The novel method might not be ideal, but any option was preferable to Scylla having to set sail and bring the Frenchman to battle with a crank hull.

  But Brady was clearly not one who came to decisions lightly, and continued to consider the proposition as he spoke. “If Sandy Bay is unsuitable, as I fear it may be, then I should say it worth the trying,” he said at last. “We still have to fix the barge in some way, and there is the added complication of keeping the bows from going under,” His eyes cleared suddenly, and he seemed decided. “But I should say it may work – if nothing better comes to mind,” he added, to cover himself.

  “Well, we shall know for certain before long,” Banks said, relief that a solution – any solution – might have been found, evident in his voice. “You are expecting them by nightfall, I believe?”

  Booker nodded. “By six at the latest, Sir Richard. It will not take them long, and my daughter is well acquainted with the roads, such as they are. I shouldn’t think they will run into any trouble.”

  * * *

  Trouble was also on Timmons' mind, although in his case he was not trying to avoid it. Both watches had been active since first light, with only a brief spell for breakfast and, despite the novelty of their surroundings and the work, which was both tiring, and monotonous, he was starting to feel some well remembered sensations deep inside.

  It was probably the recent kill that had sparked everything. Knocking off the molly had got his blood up and the anticipation of shore leave, with so much further potential, only served to maintain the pressure. And it was strange that physical work, such as he was now undertaking with the hoist, did little to quell any passion within him, the very reverse in fact. He was one of the team manning the falls, and with each cask of meat that rose slowly from the hold it was as if he was cranking up his own personal cargo. Possibly it did not help that Mitchell was working directly beneath. It would not take much, just the parting of a line or a slight slip by a loader, and the barrel in motion would come tumbling down upon his head. Such a thing might even be engineered easily enough, if Timmons could only replace one of the men guiding the barrels up. So much preserved meat landing on him from a height would do Mitchell no good whatsoever, and to be crushed by something heavier must be a fitting end for the big bear. It was simply a shame that Timmons had been detailed to the falls, but impatience was not one of his faults. The ideal opportunity would come, just as it had with Healey. He only had to wait for the right time and place to present itself.

  Strangely, as he considered this, there was no longer any animosity towards Mitchell. The man had crossed him, and would be accounted for; Timmons knew that, and the knowledge nullified his previous ill feeling. But the intent remained – nothing was going to take that away.

  * * *

  All that had been said about Sandy Bay was correct; it was useless. The beach, a brief stretch of black, volcanic sand, might have been acceptable were it not for the profusion of jagged rocks that were too large and numerous to be moved and, although there was a reasonable ridge above and to the east that would provide placement for a sizeable shore battery, only light cannon could be moved across such a rocky road. They might achieve something with the ship's own ordinance, but the task would take far too long to be considered viable. The final point was the one that had worried both King and Caulfield when studying the chart. There were twin, extended headlands that seemed specifically designed to make manoeuvring difficult; when combined with the prevailing south easterly wind, they were likely to see the ship wrecked, if not on beaching then when putting to sea once more. Neither officer had felt the need to cancel the trip however and, to some extent the day had not been wasted although, on finally seeing the area for themselves, both knew there was scant purpose in remaining any longer.

  “Will you be taking measurements?” Julia asked innocently, as she joined them.

  “I think we can see all that is needed,” King replied. “What say you, Michael?”

  Caulfield pursed his lips and nodded gravely. “Aye, it will not take her,” he said. “Any repair must be undertaken at the anchorage, unless...” his eyes swept round to meet Julia's in hope. “Unless you know of another likely prospect?”

  “I fear not,” she replied. “This island is known for its uninviting coast; it is possibly one of the reasons we have kept possession for so long, though strangely no ship has been lost off it, and few are ever wind bound.”

  “Then it shall have to be the anchorage,” King confirmed. “Even if the repair will not be as sound.”

  “If it be achievable at all,” Caulfield added gloomily, as concern for their ship finally overpowered any feelings each may have held for the girl.

  “Then there is nothing more to be said,” she stated with an air of finality. “We must make haste if the journey is to be completed in daylight; there is a way to go, as you are both fully aware.”

  They turned with her, and all three began to trudge back up the empty beach to where Jackson was waiting with the servants. And it was when they were almost halfway back that the girl pushed her hands through both men's arms, linking them as one in both hope and disappointment.

  * * *

  They began just before first light the following morning, when all the ship's boats were lowered, and her topmasts finally struck. Anchored nearby, the Company packet, a well-built, square-rigged, affair was also due out that day, so the dockyard was sufficiently occupied supplying her last minute needs. But Brady was as good as his word, and a heavy barge was being towed out to Scylla as the sun began to rise.

  “That's the last of the quarterdeck carronades removed, sir,” Caulfield informed Banks, while shouts and the occasional hammering from the stern signalled that work with un-shipping the rudder was also in process. “If you'll excuse me, I'd like to check on their stowage. We can't afford to have any go adrift should the wind rise.”

  Scylla's anchorage was actually well sheltered, but it was not entirely unknown for the steady south easterly to shift, and t
he first lieutenant was right to take every precaution.

  “Very well, then you may begin sending ashore those men that are not required,” Banks said. “Make certain there are marines in every boat, and please remind Mr Cherry, Mr Lewis and all accompanying midshipmen of my instructions regarding the men's behaviour.”

  Caulfield saluted smartly before disappearing forward. They had discussed the berthing arrangements the previous evening as soon as he and King returned with news of Sandy Bay. Booker had already allocated three block houses in the Jamestown barracks and Cherry, the marine lieutenant, along with his men and a handful of warrant officers, were fully primed with instructions and appropriate punishments if any of the hands proved unruly.

  But even without Scylla's marines watching their every move, Banks was not really expecting trouble. British seamen were known for their ability to conjure both drink and women seemingly from thin air but, with substantial stone walls separating them from the town, and upwards of a thousand East India Army officers and men also present, he felt that even they might find such circumstances hard to overcome.

  “How is her trim, Mr Fraiser?” Banks asked, turning to the sailing master who, he noticed, was standing by the bulwark and apparently staring morosely at the shore.

  “She is well up by the stern, sir,” the Scot said, his attention returning instantly to the matter in hand. “There are still the long eighteens in your quarters, and those on the half deck, but I think we may have sufficient as it is. Besides, it would be better not to take her higher until we are certain of support from the barge.”

  “Very good,” Banks replied. He began to pace the deck, noting as he did that the leg towards the taffrail was now decidedly uphill. A wrenching noise, similar to that of a small tree being felled, came from the stern. King and the carpenter were clearly making progress with the rudder, and Banks could only trust that the device would be as easy to replace later.