Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead

by Sean Thomas Russell

  The little ship was hove-to off the bay sometime after midnight. The sky had been clouding since the sun had set, and a series of squalls appeared to sweep down from the mountains, laying the little schooner over on her beam end and drenching the crew with rain. It was the kind of night, Hayden knew, on which boats could be launched from inside the bay and would be upon the schooner before they were seen. Watches were set and men armed, though keeping locks dry in such weather was not easy.

  Hayden paced about the unlit deck, damp through and surly. The schooner carried but a single lamp, its light shielded from the shore, so that the Themis did not run them down if she did return. Of course, the squalls would hide that light altogether, so Hayden had lookouts on the seaward side, searching desperately for the sight of a ship.

  The winds shifted about the compass rose, forcing Hayden to put down an anchor, which would make any escape that much more difficult.

  An hour passed, and Hawthorne appeared beside Hayden, matching his pace.

  ‘Mr Archer would choose this night to play coy!’ the marine observed.

  ‘Perhaps he did not receive our invitation …’

  ‘The Royal Mail is going to hell, Captain, there is no question.’ The two continued to pace along the starboard deck. ‘How long will we wait?’

  ‘Another hour – no more. I want to be distant from this shore when light comes.’ A gust struck them suddenly from the south, and the ship seemed to stagger to starboard. ‘I do wish this weather would pass. It is all but impossible to see another vessel, and we are at some risk of dragging ashore.’

  Hawthorne considered this a moment. ‘It is also difficult to know what to wish for, Captain. If Mr Archer returns, we will once more be subject to the whims of the vainglorious Sir William Jones. If Archer does not return, then he will be under Jones’s command, which could turn out very badly. On the plus side of that ledger, if Archer does not return, you, Captain Hayden, will be free to rescue or not rescue royalists – whichever you see fit – without either consulting with, or interference from, the redoubtable Captain Jones.’

  ‘I, for one, am hoping that the Themis appears this night. My ship and crew are in danger of harm or loss while under the command of Jones. And Archer is at risk to do irreparable harm to his career, for it seems Jones never suffers the consequences for his poor decisions. Either he is actually as dear to the royal family as he would have everyone believe, or he is charmed.’

  ‘In my experience of men like Jones – and Sydney Smith – their luck runs out eventually.’

  ‘Those two gentlemen appear to have been granted a boundless supply of good fortune. While other men I know have only the opposite – and, often as not, undeservedly so.’

  The hour crept, haltingly, by. When Hayden could wait no longer he ordered sails set and anchor weighed. A froward gust caught the schooner as she weighed, pressing her toward the shore but, small and handy as she was, the crew quickly had sails drawing and way on. In an instant she was racing through the dark, throwing spray across the deck, a runaway, carrying her riders with her. The squall did not last, but the wind continued to change its direction without rhyme or warning, so that for a time the little ship would be laying her course and then, not a moment later, she would be hard on the wind going some other way.

  Out of the darkness, a sodden Louis appeared – hatless, hair plastered to his forehead.

  ‘I do not wish to be a bother, Captain …’ he began, and then appeared to run out of words.

  Hayden and the young Frenchman contemplated one another and then Hayden said, ‘I have taken my ship and crew into danger on more occasions than I care to name, but I never like to undertake enterprises that both my heart and my head tell me are doomed to failure. Rescuing your people is just such an enterprise, Louis.’

  The young man nodded. ‘These people, Captain, they have no other hope—’

  Hayden raised a hand to stop him. ‘I have not said I would not do it … I have only told you how I perceive the dangers and the likelihood of success. Here is how it will be managed. We will arrange signals to be made by lamps. Once I have received a single from you that you deem it safe, I will send a small boat to the beach with but a single man, or perhaps a pair. You will meet them and, if all is well, you will greet them with a certain phrase I will give you. If you deem it unsafe you will offer a different greeting or, if you can, you will warn them away before they land. I will not commit boats and crews until I have been twice reassured that my people are not in danger. Do you understand?’

  ‘I do, Captain, completely.’

  ‘We will shape our course away from Guadeloupe this night, but in such a way as to allow us to return to your beach after midnight. We will take you ashore as silently as we can and then return the following night if you think you can gather together some of your people and have them there at that time.’

  ‘I will bring them there, Captain. You have my word.’

  Hayden contemplated the Frenchman a moment in the dark and then said, ‘I should not be so quick to give my word in an enterprise as uncertain as this.’

  Twenty-four

  The north-east trade swept up and over and funnelled between the island’s mountains, producing inconstant winds that swirled and sometimes died altogether. After sunset the trade took off a little and left, along the coast, a narrow band of calms and small, sudden gusts. Laying-to in such conditions was difficult, but Hayden felt they had no choice – the noise of both dropping and raising anchor would easily travel to the shore and to the small islands to their south. They had set Louis ashore the night previous and now returned, hoping he would bring his promised fugitives from injustice … and that he would not bring a company of French soldiers.

  The two boats from the Themis, and a smaller boat belonging to the schooner, had been lowered into the water further from shore to reduce the chances of anyone hearing. They were brought alongside now, and manned. Wickham, a marine and the strongest oarsman aboard went down into the smaller boat. The other boats were lightly manned in anticipation of bearing back refugees.

  The schooner lay a little more than half a mile from the shore, in twenty-five fathoms. To the south the Islets à Goayaves were darker masses, distinguished from the black waters because they reflected no glimmer of starlight. To the east lay a small, open bay and a narrow beach, toward which Hayden stared, waiting for three quick flashes from a lantern.

  The eyes tended to play tricks, Hayden knew, if one stared intently enough into the darkness. Shapes appeared where there were none, and sometimes little flickers that were manufactured in the brain, or so he had come to believe. He also strained to hear the sound of oars, or of a musket’s lock being cocked. There were no sounds but the breathing of the men, and the breeze rolling down off the nearby mountains, hissing and whispering through the trees, then rippling the waters so that the occasional hollow plunk sounded against the sides of a boat.

  ‘Sir,’ one of the crew whispered, and raised a hand in the dark, indicating a place somewhat north of where Hayden had been looking.

  Three flashes, a count of twenty, then three again. Hayden ordered the man standing by with a lantern, hidden from the shore, to return the signal. He then leaned over the side.

  ‘Mr Ransome, keep a good offing until Mr Wickham rows back out and assures you it is clear. Mr Wickham, if you have the slightest suspicion that things are not as they should be, do not press on. We are under no orders to rescue these people, and I will leave them on the beach before I see my crew put at risk.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ Wickham responded, very softly, and then the boats were away.

  Immediately, Hayden began to pace the length of the ship, fearing the flash of sudden musket fire or even guns aimed at the schooner. It was a foolish and dangerous enterprise – the kind of thing Sir William might arrange, had he any interest in rescuing French royalists. Hayden paused a moment to watch the boats dissolve into the darkness and realized what he felt was a growing sense of appr
ehension.

  Wickham sat in the stern, manning a small tiller, Bentley rowed, and a marine named Cooper crouched in the bow holding a musket, another ready to hand and a brace of loaded pistols in his belt. They rowed toward a dark shore where they did not know what might await them – a gathering of frightened and grateful French, or a line of marksmen with muskets pressed to their shoulders. Bentley worked his oars for stealth rather than speed, keeping the blades low to the water on the return and slipping them through the surface like sharpened knives. The little boat made hardly a sound as it went, barely a little ripple of wake trailing behind.

  Wickham gazed past Bentley at the shadowed shore beyond, thinking as he did so that, if there were anything out of the ordinary awaiting them, he would never know. He also strained to hear any warning sounds, though he hardly knew what they might be. A muffled cough reached them, causing him to flinch, but then he told himself that soldiers hiding in ambush would not cough for their lives. This was some innocent – one of Louis’s royalists, he hoped.

  A long quarter of an hour, bracing for musket fire the entire time, brought the familiar sound of waves lapping the shore. The boat slid to a gentle stop and Wickham was out and pulling them back, then turning them around so that a quick retreat could be made. He was about to scramble back aboard when he heard a near-whisper in the dark.

  ‘C’est moi. Louis.’

  Wickham let out a long breath and took another in to a relaxed chest.

  ‘Is that you, Wickham?’

  ‘Yes. How many?’

  ‘Only ten, but I will have more tomorrow – twenty, perhaps. They have brought what little food they can.’

  ‘I will send the boats immediately. Gather them on the beach. Tell them to say nothing.’ Wickham pushed the boat for two steps and then swung himself over the side and took hold of the tiller.

  ‘Slowly,’ Wickham whispered to the hand at the oars. ‘Better to take five minutes more but preserve silence.’

  Bentley slacked his pace. In a few moments they found the cutter and the barge, under the command of Gould and Ransome respectively.

  ‘It appears safe,’ Wickham whispered. ‘God speed.’

  He did not hesitate but set Mr Bentley back to his oars. He did not want to linger near the shore any longer than he must. Although Captain Hayden made great effort to hide it, Wickham sensed that he had strong misgivings about this entire enterprise, and if his captain felt this way Wickham was more than a little concerned. He would not draw a full breath until they were under sail and a mile from shore.

  Wickham’s boat appeared out of the darkness and was quickly alongside.

  ‘All well, Mr Wickham?’ Hayden whispered down into the boat.

  ‘All appears well, sir,’ came the reply.

  The occupants of the boat came silently up and over the rail. Two of the crew took charge of the boat, streaming it with care so that it did not strike the topsides. A very long half of the hour dragged past, and finally the boats took form out of the darkness and a moment later were alongside. Children were handed up, and then women and men. A few precious belongings followed, and last, the boats’ crews.

  ‘So few,’ Hayden whispered to Ransome.

  ‘Yes, sir. Louis said he would bring twenty tomorrow.’

  The ship was got underway and shaped her course immediately to the west to gain as much offing by full light as they could manage. They would then sail north to give them a good slant for returning on the trade.

  When they were an hour out from shore, Hayden addressed the gathered French, who had been instructed to sit down on the deck.

  ‘You may speak now, but quietly,’ he told them in French.

  One man stood. ‘I am speaking for us all when I thank you, Captain …’ Words failed him, or perhaps his English was not up to the task. ‘You and your crew. We would all of us have died if you had not escaped us. We cannot thank you enough.’

  There was a moment of silence, and then Hayden realized that a woman was weeping.

  The tropical sun burned down upon the little schooner, turning the deck into a surface similar to a stove top. Although the sailors ran over it barefoot, Hayden could not hold his hand to the planks for more than a few seconds. An awning had been rigged amidships between the two masts and the French refugees huddled in its meagre shade. A few slept upon the unforgiving planks, some spoke softly, a few children played at cards, for finding themselves upon a ship was nothing but a great adventure to them. All ate and drank parsimoniously, the parents putting aside some of their own food for their children.

  On the south-east horizon the tops of Basse-Terre’s mountains – impossibly green and crowned with cloud – appeared to hang suspended. Sails could be seen here and there upon the blue, but none seemed to offer any threat, so the schooner sailed on, trying to appear to be hurrying north on some urgent errand of commerce. The officers, young gentlemen and marines had removed their coats to maintain this appearance of innocence, and they were all grateful for it.

  Forward, Wickham moved among the refugees, employing his excellent French and seeing to their needs as best he could. Two of the men stood and engaged the young nobleman in serious conversation, and immediately Hayden wondered if there was someone among them ill with fever. Fever aboard this small ship would be catastrophic.

  Hayden could see Wickham nodding, and then he gestured toward the stern – toward the captain, Hayden feared. Wickham stepped gingerly among the sprawled bodies and made his way quickly aft.

  ‘You have a most thoughtful look upon your face, Mr Wickham,’ Hayden said.

  ‘I have just been given rather unsettling information, Captain, if it proves true.’ Wickham turned and nodded toward the two men to whom he had been speaking, both of whom stood watching him expectantly. ‘Would you hear these gentlemen, Captain?’

  ‘If you think it important, yes. Send them aft.’

  Wickham waved to the men and Hayden retreated to the taffrail, where they might speak in something like privacy.

  The men were both dressed in expensive clothing that was now dirty, worn and, in some places, patched. Their very fine riding boots were in ruin and both men looked gaunt and fatigued to their very limits. They introduced themselves – life in the mountains had not eroded their manners – and thanked Hayden again for his kindness.

  ‘How might I be of service?’ Hayden enquired of them in French.

  ‘To begin, Capitaine, we must beg that you be most circumspect with the information we are about to impart. Many lives will depend upon your discretion.’

  ‘I am under some obligations to my service and King, but if I can keep your secret without compromising my duty, I will do so.’

  The Frenchmen exchanged a look, then one nodded. The younger-looking of the two was spokesman.

  ‘We have a friend, Capitaine, who has hidden his true beliefs so successfully that the Jacobins have recruited his services. He has secretly warned many a family to flee and saved them from capture. This man, at great risk, got word to us that a man we have all trusted and believed in has been playing us falsely. He is neither who he claims to be, nor does he hold the beliefs he so passionately espouses. In fact, he has been betraying us so cunningly that we did not suspect him.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear it, but I am not certain what I might do about it.’

  ‘Our friend believes that this man is in the pay of the English, Capitaine, and is a false informant. His name is de Latendresse and he styles himself a comte.’

  Perhaps Hayden did not hide his response to this news well.

  ‘Do you know this man, Capitaine Hayden?’

  ‘We have met. Do you have any proof of his treachery, other than the word of your friend?’

  The two men looked at each other again. ‘Nothing that a magistrate might hold in his hands. But once we were warned about him, suddenly there were a hundred small coincidences and things that we had explained in some other way that fit more easily into our changed view of him. Our frie
nd … he had no doubt. He had been in the room when de Latendresse betrayed a royalist family. These people were taken unawares and …’ He did not need to tell Hayden what had become of them.

  ‘My commander –’ Hayden searched for a tactful way of describing Caldwell’s attitude – ‘he has a great deal of faith in de Latendresse, I am sorry to say.’

  ‘Do not mention our friend to your superior! Our friend would be in very grave danger.’

  ‘You need not worry. I will not betray your confidence. There is a convoy anchored in the bay off Gosier … do you know how long it has been there?’

  Between them, they did a hasty calculation. ‘Nine days, Capitaine. We are quite certain.’

  ‘De Latendresse was reputedly on Guadeloupe in the last week. Could he have been on the island and not known the convoy had arrived?’

  The men tried not to smile. ‘The islands are very small, Capitaine. Everyone would know. We knew, and we were isolated deep in the mountains.’

  ‘De Latendresse did not reveal the arrival of this convoy to my people.’

  ‘That is because he is entirely false. He does not want the English to know that ships came from France bearing troops and guns.’

  ‘What do they intend for these fresh troops, I wonder?’

  The two men shared a look. ‘They will invade Dominica, Capitaine. Everyone says it is so.’

  Twenty-five

  The waning moon drifted through a long archipelago of clouds, casting its light down the sounds and channels between. It slipped, now and then, behind the pale islands, illuminating them in a soft glow. In the distance, the lights of Inconstant could be seen and, when the moonlight that flowed over the sea found her, Archer could make out the shape of the sails in his nightglass.