True Colours (The Third Book in the Fighting Sail Series)

by Alaric Bond

Sure enough, dawn found them clear of danger. The wind had risen with the light, and Caulfield ordered the boats in as the freshly set topsails began to fill and the ship leaned over to the stiffening breeze. With a reduced crew most of the able hands had taken a turn at rowing, although one night without sleep, made doubly worse by backbreaking exercise, was no reason for the usual routine of the ship to be interrupted. The sound of holystones scraping across the deck echoed about Pandora but there was also smoke from her galley chimney signalling that breakfast, and blessed rest, was not too far away.

  Banks was once more on the quarterdeck, although he had slept for three straight hours once the immediate threat was over. Caulfield, who had remained on deck throughout, touched his hat respectfully as the captain joined him.

  "Master reckons we’ll be clear of the estuary afore long, sir."

  Banks noticed that Caulfield was looking decidedly seedy; clearly he would have benefited from a few hours rest. He glanced up to the taught sails to hide a slight awkwardness.

  "I’ve spoken with the bosun, sir," Caulfield, misinterpreting the captain’s look, added hastily. "Say’s he’ll have everything straight aloft afore noon."

  "Yes, I just sent for the carpenter," Banks removed his hat and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, before replacing it. "No damage from last night’s little escapade in his department, and he regards the repairs to the quarter gallery as pretty well finished; they were going to take the staging down this morning, we just made it a little easier."

  Caulfield smiled politely, "’t’will be a pleasant surprise for them."

  Fraiser approached and touched his hat. Banks noticed the dark lines below his eyes, and once more felt mildly guilty for taking his rest.

  "You’ll be wanting a course, sir?"

  "I will, master. But first I have to thank you for your assistance last night; it really was a splendid effort."

  Fraiser nodded seriously. "Thank you, sir but I in turn had excellent support. Now where would you be aheading?"

  "Yarmouth, Mr Fraiser. We should run in with Admiral Duncan and the rest of the North Sea Fleet there; let us hope Norfolk has a different set of problems to those of London."

  * * * * *

  Lieutenant King knocked lightly on the deal door to the cockpit that, until a few months ago, had been his own berth. Manning looked up from the table and beamed as he entered.

  "What cheer, Robert? You don’t mind me dropping by?" King asked, rather awkwardly. "Just wanted to wish you joy of your warrant."

  "Pleasure to see you," Manning stood up from his chair, reached inside his coat pocket, and withdrew a sheet of paper. "Almost as good as seeing this." King accepted the document with the reverence it was offered, and nodded wisely as he looked it over. It was printed on paper, whereas his own commission was parchment, but such niceties counted for little, and he knew full well what the recognition would mean to Manning, and was genuinely pleased for his friend.

  "How was London?" he asked, looking over the paper.

  "Noisy, crowded, and smelling of horses, apart from that I couldn’t say, didn’t see much more than the front office of Surgeons’ Hall, and an upstairs room in Mrs Suggett’s boarding house."

  King considered him quizzically. "I hear there were others recently arrived in town; you were not tempted to wander further?"

  "Never could keep much from you, could I?" he grunted. "Yes, I did call at Lombard Street, but could not tell where she might be. There was no word of her father at the hospital neither; methinks that one might have been snapped up by another."

  "It would be sudden if so."

  Manning sighed. "I fear not, Tom. The captain had designs on her from the start."

  "The captain – our captain?" It came as a genuine shock to King.

  "Aye, that’s the one; an’ who can blame him?" Manning’s laugh was short and without humour. "And who can blame her, now I thinks of it. I mean, given the pick between Captain Sir Richard Banks, with estates, income and position, and Surgeon’s Mate Manning, with nothing, why, there ain’t much in the choosing, is there?"

  "I would be sorry, but still think you might be mistaken."

  "Well, whether I am or whether I am not, it is hardly a subject I can discuss with my captain, is it?"

  "’t’would be an interesting conversation, to be sure."

  "Oh, I could write; her father’s business must be registered I think, but for what reason? She was quick enough to go and, were she wanting to be with me, there would be little obstacle."

  King pursed his lips and nodded seriously. "Except you are at sea, and she would not know where Pandora is bound. And were she even to try and join you, women are not officially sanctioned aboard a man of war. Besides, she has an ill father to attend. Apart from that, I agree, there is nought to stop her."

  Manning grinned despite himself. "Well, what do you think I should do?"

  "It is no good asking me. My problems with the ladies are roughly equal to that of money; the lack of both galls me greatly. But I should not count this a lost cause, Robert. You clearly went well together, and I will not have it that the captain, whatever his position or intentions, could seriously alter that."

  * * * * *

  They sighted the squadron just after three bells in the afternoon watch. The wind had stayed strong and constant, and Pandora was well into the North Sea, heading north-north west; roughly following the English coastline that was close enough to larboard to be seen. A group of local men from the watch below had gathered on the forecastle and were pointing out landmarks and towns as they passed, and when the cry came from the foremast lookout, they greeted the news with obvious interest. King had the watch, and immediately sent Dorsey aloft with a glass to confirm the report. The men on the forecastle switched their attention to the sighting, and began to chatter and speculate amongst themselves to the extent that the master at arms had to order them quiet.

  "Liners, I’d say, sir; at least three, and what could be a frigate," Dorsey had descended and stood in front of Caulfield and King as he made his report. "Can’t tell the number rightly as they’re sailing in close order and still hull down on what looks like a reciprocal course."

  "Colours?" King asked, as Banks joined them. Dorsey shook his head.

  "Couldn't say, sir. Pen’ants, to be sure, but nothing I could distinguish."

  The likelihood was strong that any group of warships sailing as these were would be British; almost certainly some of Duncan’s North Sea Fleet heading for the anchorage that Pandora had so recently departed.

  "But you think they’re on the opposing course to us?" Banks asked.

  "Near as I could tell, sir. They’re a point off the starboard bow, an’ probably a mile or more further out to sea."

  Banks nodded. "Very good, Mr Dorsey; kindly return, and keep me informed." Dorsey saluted and made for the shrouds as Banks turned to Caulfield. "Take her two points to starboard."

  The first lieutenant touched his hat as he gave the order and the ship began to alter course. The yards creaked as the braces kept them in the off shore wind, and soon Pandora was heading away from the coastline, gathering up precious sea room should the squadron prove hostile. But there was certainly little to concern them for now; were this to be the full scale invasion that all England feared, the seas would be littered with transports and barges. And even if it did turn out to be an enemy force bent on attacking London, Banks could not believe that Parker and his cronies would be able to maintain control over the average British seaman in the face of such an outrage.

  "I can see British colours now, sir." Dorsey was once more at the maintop and his voice brought a modicum of relief to the quarterdeck. "Though they look to be ensigns of the red."

  The officers looked to each other in confusion; as an admiral of the blue, any ship under Duncan’s command would fly the blue ensign.

  "You should be able to see them from the deck any time." Dorsey continued, and sure enough a small forest of masts came
into view, followed shortly afterwards by faint, fuzzy outlines, that soon grew into the hard and sharp hulls of warships bearing down on them.

  "They’re making a signal!" It was fortunate that Dorsey was also in charge of communications. All waited while he rifled through his book, and reported the correct private recognition code for that day.

  "Make the reply with our number." Banks muttered to Rose, Dorsey’s deputy, then stepped forward and began to examine the ships carefully with his personal glass. It was just possible that they were the escorting force of a convoy, and might not be aware of the chaos they were heading for at the Nore. Were that the case it was his duty to warn them. After several minutes inspection he was still uncertain, and finally lowered his telescope, before bellowing once more to the maintop. "Are you certain of the ensigns?"

  "No, sir," Dorsey replied, after a pause. "No, I was awry. They appear to be plain red flags, like what we saw at the Nore."

  A sigh swept about the quarterdeck; and Banks and Caulfield exchanged glances. So the problem had spread; it was yet another case of mass mutiny, although this time the ships were actually at sea.

  "Ford here thinks he recognises Lion, sir - wait, there’s another signal." Dorsey’s voice cut into their thoughts with an edge that made every man shudder. "They’re ordering us to alter course and await a boat."

  "I’ll be damned if I do!" Banks snapped back. "Take her a further point to starboard and add all the sail she will carry, Mr Caulfield. I want us as far from those traitors as we can be!"

  Caulfield touched his hat again, and soon Pandora was cutting a cloud of mist with her stem as she powered through the rising waters of the North Sea.

  "There’s a gun sir!" Dorsey’s voice again; and all on the quarterdeck turned to catch the brief cloud of smoke before it was dissolved by the wind. It came from one of the leading ships, but they were still considerably out of range. Presumably it was nothing more than a blank charge to call attention to the signal, although all in Pandora had experienced enough British shot in the last twenty four hours to want for more.

  Banks thrust his hands deep into his pockets as unreasonable anger welled up inside him. They had been at war with France for over four years, throughout that time other enemies had joined the fight against Great Britain, but to have had to run from their own ships twice in a day was quite intolerable.

  Then he felt the welcome sting of spray on his face as Pandora’s speed increased further, and his ill temper began to ease. She was a fast ship, and he prided himself in how he handled her; certainly no vessel under the doubtful control of mutineers would be able to catch them, and he could roam the high seas with relative impunity. But even one set up as she was; well commanded and manned, if not by a full crew, at least by men with loyal hearts, even she would need supplies and support from the shore eventually. And he was ordered to rendezvous with Duncan; he might evade this squadron, possibly keep at sea for many weeks, but eventually he must approach a British port again, and once more Pandora would have to face the menace of the mutineers.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE officers met in the great cabin that evening, Banks sitting in the middle of the table with Caulfield and King to either side of him and Fraiser and Newman opposite. They had all dined recently and the decanter of port and sweet biscuits that Dupont had left went untouched.

  Banks cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, we have important matters to discuss and, considering the circumstances, I felt it better to call a meeting, so that all would be equally aware of the situation."

  King glanced down at the table. Clearly Banks was considering a deviation from normal routine, and wanted to be sure he had the backing of every officer; he might also be trying to protect his own neck in a later enquiry or court martial, if what he was planning went terribly wrong.

  "It would appear that the ships we sighted this afternoon are continuing south, to London, or possibly Portsmouth. What happens to them there is not of our concern although, considering our reception and recent departure from the Nore, we have to assume that port is effectively closed to us." There were general nods of agreement as Banks continued.

  "The carpenter reports the majority of repairs complete. He was still to carry out some minor finishing to the quarter gallery, but I think we will survive very well with the ship as she is." In fact the major item that needed replacing was his personal privy, but this was not the time to mention such matters.

  "As regard to men, we are more than twenty down on compliment, which is a fair number to be adrift. However, what we do have are almost exclusively trained hands; moreover, they have proved themselves loyal – something that cannot be valued too highly in the current climate."

  "Sir, the surgeon reports the purser unfit for duty," Caulfield interrupted.

  Banks raised an eyebrow. "Anything serious?"

  "He declined to say, but felt he should be exchanged at the earliest opportunity."

  "Very well; I think Mr Soames’ duties, important though they might be, need not concern us for the time being. I am sure a replacement can be found who will stand for him."

  King hurriedly scratched his nose as a wicked thought occurred; Soames’ position should be easy to fill; there must be cheats and swindlers a plenty in Pandora’s crew.

  "Has something amused you, Mr King?" the captain asked suddenly.

  "No sir." King said, the attention effectively suppressing any remaining humour.

  Banks reached for his notes and studied them for a moment before continuing. "We are now approximately twenty seven miles into the North Sea, with a wind in the west that is blowing strong. Without that last point, I would be inclined to return to England, and make contact with the nearest semaphore station. It is conceivable that Admiral Duncan still retains loyal ships at Yarmouth Roads. However, considering our position, and the favourable weather, I intend to continue to the enemy coast and reconnoitre. It is possible that no British ship has been in the vicinity for some while, and I feel that our current situation should be taken advantage of," he sat back from the table and considered them. "So, what think you?"

  There was silence for a moment, and then Fraiser raised his eyes.

  "As I understand, we were instructed to meet with Admiral Duncan off Yarmouth," he looked to Banks, who nodded briefly. "Clearly conditions have changed somewhat since then."

  "For all we know Spithead has risen up once more." Caulfield interrupted. "There might be no Channel, nor North Sea Fleet protecting Britain."

  "Indeed," Fraiser continued. "But surely the salient point is that we were instructed to meet with Admiral Duncan. To my mind he is as likely to be at sea as at anchor, and might just as easily be found off the enemy coast. Besides, if we continue to the east it would only need a slight change in the wind to see us back to England, should we deem it necessary."

  "And that very change would favour the Dutch; they must be considered a major concern," Newman this time; the marine officer took a scholarly interest in politics, and of all of them, was probably the most up to date with current affairs – an important attribute, and one Banks had considered when asking him to the meeting. "Since the declaration of the Batavian Republic, Holland has been almost as great a danger to us as France. It is only speculation, of course, but there have been numerous independent reports of a French army assembling near Texel; The Times ran a piece on it, so we must consider it public knowledge. It appears they have been amassing transports of every description there for some while, and the Dutch fleet are also on hand."

  "The Dutch build sound ships and man them with professional seamen," Caulfield commented. "Their entire force might be a good deal smaller than ours, though most are centred in one place. Like as not they would be more than a match for anything Duncan has, even if he were in complete control. With the current state of mutiny…" he shook his head, unable to continue.

  "The North Sea Fleet is a relatively new force," Banks continued. "Certainly the ships are not the best, several are captur
ed prizes yet to be completely refitted, and the rest mainly older vessels that are not up to the rigours of foreign service."

  "I understand the intention was to reinforce the fleet," Newman again. "Probably one of the reasons we have been assigned to them; who knows, there might be more ships detailed, but with the problems at the Nore and Portsmouth, I dare say the system has been under strain."

  "Which brings us back to the point." Banks tapped the table firmly, and looked once more at his notes. "We could continue on this heading and raise the Dutch coast off Zeeland tomorrow. Then continue north, keeping a wary eye on the enemy as we go, finishing at the Texel. Admiral Duncan could be there, or we might meet him on our way. But in any instance we can show the flag, and see what’s about. Master, have you any further comments about the area?"

  Fraiser shook his head. "Shoal water’s always a problem thereabouts, sir. And there are sandbars a plenty at the edge of the Broad Fourteens, but happen we can weather those. I might add that the wind is favourable at present, but will not remain so when we are facing an enemy lee shore. The prevailing winds for that area are from the south west, and there is a strong counter clockwise current, but we cannot count on either."

  "Pandora has a shallow draft; certainly less than a seventy-four."

  "Indeed she does, sir. But I would not be confident of our charts, and the bottom thereabouts is unpredictable."

  Banks nodded. "Thank you, Mr Fraiser. Does anyone else wish to add?"

  No one caught his eye in the silence. "Well, I have caused enough trouble in the last few days to worry about creating more. Therefore I propose that we do not make for Yarmouth as instructed; instead we continue with our present heading until we raise Holland, and follow the Dutch coastline north. I gauge that the information we obtain will be worth our disappearing for a few days; if not the fault will be mine, gentlemen, I will not ask for any of you to back me; it is a decision I willingly take on my own."

  He looked about the room, conscious of mild relief on several faces. "So, let us continue, and see what the morrow brings."