Ransome and Reverte were standing on the forecastle when Hayden arrived, having been alerted to the privateers shaping their course to the south.
‘They will draw nearer your port of Kingston,’ Reverte said.
‘Yes, but I doubt this channel is being watched as it was when we were enemies of your nation. It is unlikely we will meet English cruisers here now.’ Ransome caught sight of Hayden and he touched his hat. ‘Captain. There goes our quarry, slipping off down the Windward Channel, though I cannot think why.’
‘They never want to be becalmed again where the ships can anchor,’ Reverte said with certainty. ‘They have had too many bad experiences with that. Perhaps they also think they will find fairer winds in the Caribbean Sea. Who can say?’
Employing Reverte’s glass, Hayden quizzed the ships retreating down the wide channel. It was just over a hundred miles through to the other side, past the long peninsula that grew out of the south-west corner of Hispaniola. If the winds held – and the channel did not have its name for no reason – they would be through in a day.
‘We will shape our course to follow their own, Mr Ransome,’ Hayden ordered, lowering the glass but gazing yet at the distant ships.
Over the course of the last day, he had felt Angelita slipping away from him, as though she were beyond his grasp now, though, maddingly, he could see the ship that bore her off as it made its way toward the horizon, where it would disappear and she would be lost to him, utterly and irrevocably.
During the afternoon a high, gauzy cloud formed, dulling the day and drawing the colour from the sea so that it appeared a drab blue and, in the distance, grey. By sunset, the cloud had become denser and drowned the stars. A black squall swept down upon them out of the dark, pressing the ship over and throwing the sails about so that they luffed and shook. The helmsman put the ship before the wind and she went racing off toward the south-west, where, fortunately, they had sea room.
Hayden went to his berth sometime after the darkness had settled in, exhausted from his lack of sleep the previous night. Even so, sleep eluded him for some time and then it was fraught with nightmares and he woke often.
As was his usual habit, he rose before dawn, broke his fast and was on the deck before the first signs of light. All the planking was wet from rain, and the sails and rigging dripped.
Hayden stood with a hand on the binnacle, staring off into the south. Gould was officer of the watch and he appeared at that instant.
‘Where are our chases, Mr Gould? I cannot make them out.’
‘Nor can we, sir,’ the midshipman admitted.
‘And how long have they been out of sight?’
‘Two hours, sir.’
Hayden could hardly believe what he had heard. ‘And why did no one wake me?’
Gould stood, embarrassed and hesitant. ‘I – I do not know, sir. We expected them to reappear and then we would have woken you for naught, Captain.’
‘And what is our position?’
‘Perhaps five miles north-north-west of Cap Tiburon.’
‘Have they disappeared around the cape?’
‘We did not think them so distant from us, sir, but it is possible.’
Hayden considered a moment. ‘Have my nightglass carried up, Mr Gould. I shall be on the forecastle.’
Hayden paced the length of the gangway to the forecastle, where he gazed a moment into the dark night. A spattering of rain was heard on the planks around, and on his coat and hat, as the wind drove it down at an angle. Hayden moved to leeward to gain some protection from the sails.
A moment later, his nightglass arrived and he began a careful search of the sea at all quarters. On such a dark night the long peninsula that made up the south-western corner of Hispaniola could not be descried, which Hayden did not like overly. Currents were often unpredictable and his ship might have been set more to the east than either of his sailing masters realized.
Ransome hurried along the gangway, pulling on a coat. ‘We have lost our ships, I am informed, sir.’
‘Indeed, Mr Ransome. But you are not officer of the watch and had no part in it.’
‘I did leave orders to wake me for any reason at all, Captain.’
‘I have no doubt of it.’ Hayden passed Ransome his night-glass. ‘I cannot find even Hispaniola, let alone a ship on this dark night.’
Ransome began to quiz the sea in the same manner his captain had but a moment before.
Hayden turned to one of the forecastle hands. ‘Enquire of Mr Gould who the lookout aloft was when the ships disappeared.’
‘A Spaniard, sir. He’s only just climbed down.’
‘Find him for me, if you please.’
‘Aye, sir.’ The man ran off.
‘What see you, Mr Ransome?’ asked Hayden,
‘A bloody, dark night, sir, but neither ship nor land.’
‘Mmm. My eyes have not failed me yet, then.’
The hand returned with the lookout a moment later.
‘This is him, sir, though I don’t know his name. We call him Georgie, sir, because he looks somewhat like the Prince of Wales.’
Hayden had not realized previously that one could hear a smirk, but he certainly did in this statement – though its intent did not seem malicious.
‘You were aloft when the privateers disappeared?’ Hayden asked the man in Spanish.
‘I was, Captain. We had lost sight of one ship or another throughout the night.’ He waved a hand at the sea. ‘Squalls and mounting seas, sir. When we lost all three I thought nothing of it, but we have not caught sight of them since.’
‘And when did you lose sight of them for the last time?’
‘About four bells, Captain.’
‘About or exactly four bells?’
The man shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I heard the ship’s bell, sir, and within a few minutes we lost sight of all the ships’ lamps.’
‘And how distant were they when you lost sight of them?’
‘More than a league, sir, but not two.’
Wickham had arrived on the forecastle as the man spoke, and hovered on the edge of the conversation.
‘You may go,’ Hayden told the Spaniard. He turned to the lieutenant. ‘We shall beat to quarters, Mr Ransome.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Ransome hastened off, calling out orders.
Hayden beckoned the midshipman forward. ‘Mr Wickham, have a look through my nightglass, if you please, and see if you cannot find our privateers.’
Wickham took the glass and went immediately to the barricade. ‘You think they are lying in wait, sir?’ he said, as he peered through the glass.
‘Their lamps all disappeared at the same instant – at four bells – as though it had been so arranged. If I were them I should darken my ships so that we would come up to them just before dawn. We would not perceive them lying in wait but there would be light for the battle.’
‘Should we heave-to, Captain?’
‘If we have merely lost sight of them in the dark, heaving-to will let them slip further away, increasing the chance of us losing sight of them altogether.’ Hayden found himself looking around as though someone would fall upon him out of the darkness.
‘I do not care for either possibility, sir.’
‘Nor do I, Mr Wickham.’
The Spanish crew came up the ladders into the rain and darkness, sullen looks upon their faces as though to say, What does this Englishman want of us now? Can he not see it is a dark night and we have need of sleep?’
Reverte hastened on to the forecastle and Hayden informed him of their situation. The Spaniard looked positively alarmed, and he went about the ship exhorting the men to take their stations and stand ready.
After interrogating the darkness for some minutes, Wickham handed the glass back to his captain. ‘I can make out nothing, sir. Though perhaps there is an area of more concentrated darkness off our larboard bow, some miles distant. Hispaniola, I should think.’
‘I shall fee
l better once we have weathered the cape,’ Hayden growled. He looked around again. ‘Damn this black night.’
The men stooped by their guns, backs to the wind, which was surprisingly cool for the latitude.
‘I shall keep you on the deck for your sharp eyes, Mr Wickham. Send Gould down with Reverte to command the gundeck.’
Wickham went off, calling the midshipman’s name.
Hayden took one last look into the darkness with his glass and then made his way along the gangway, which was both slanted and heaving in the quartering seas.
As he came on to the quarterdeck he met Hawthorne, who was bearing a musket.
‘You have heard our small news?’ Hayden asked, as the marine fell into step beside him.
‘I have. And where have these ships gone?’ he asked.
As they reached the binnacle there came a flash of light aft and then the report reverberated over the water. Hayden did not know where the shot went, but he stood all but transfixed a moment.
‘Should I thank them for answering that most pressing question?’ Hawthorne wondered in the silence.
And then came another shot, from their larboard quarter, which struck the back of a wave not two dozen feet aft of their transom.
And then the night was illuminated for an instant as a broadside was fired to starboard, though too distant to do damage.
Hayden took one look around, comprehension coming over him like cold rain. ‘They intend to trap us against the lee shore of the peninsula.’
A moment of silence, and then the gun aft fired again. Then the gun to larboard.
Hayden turned his head, listening carefully.
Guns fired again from somewhere out to the west.
Hayden pointed to this last. ‘That is the frigate,’ he announced, ‘so the others are the privateers. Mr Hawthorne, would you be so good as to find Lieutenant Reverte on the gundeck and send him to me?’
Hawthorne made a quick salute and went for the companionway ladder at a trot. As his head disappeared below, Ransome shot out of the companionway.
‘They have come after us, sir!’ he blurted.
‘Mmm. But their timing is imperfect. We still have a little darkness left to us and we had best exploit it to our greatest advantage. Ah, here is Reverte.’
The Spaniard remained significantly calmer than Ransome, who was clearly in a lather.
‘Will our ship tack in this wind?’ Hayden asked of the Spaniard.
Reverte looked about, assessing the wind a moment, and then nodded. ‘I believe she will, Captain.’
‘I would like to turn to larboard, rake the privateer on our larboard quarter if we can, carry on until we are well clear, and then come through the wind on to the starboard tack. The seas are not so great as to prevent us opening gunports.’
Ransome and Reverte acknowledged the orders and hurried off to prepare the men for these evolutions. Hayden sent men to the ship’s lamps with orders to snuff them just before the helm was put over.
He then called for Wickham and stationed the young reefer on the larboard side of the quarterdeck, clear of the gunners, and had him fix his glass upon the enemy lurking there in the dark.
‘I have her, sir,’ Wickham announced.
‘Do not take your eyes off her, Mr Wickham. I shall need you to tell me when she is directly abeam.’
The privateer was almost invisible in the darkness, and Hayden was counting on them continuing to fire their chase piece to give his gunners a target. Like all such manoeuvres, this one relied for its success upon timing. The privateer would have a chance to rake Hayden’s frigate as it passed by but Hayden hoped to turn through the wind at that instant and prevent this. Whether the ship would prove as handy as the Themis, he could not say. There was also a question as to how distant the privateer was … If she were nearer than Hayden believed, then he would not have time to turn into the wind, and he might well get raked – and at close range, too. If she were further away, then Hayden’s broadside would likely do little damage.
To the east lay a deep, open bay – over a hundred miles to its head – encompassing one large island and several smaller ones. Its southern shore was made up of the long peninsula that grew out of Hispaniola’s south-western corner. Its eastern shore curved up somewhat toward the west and terminated at the point that made up the northern entrance to the Windward Channel. Despite the great size of the bay, Hayden believed that, had he a squadron of three ships under his command, he could trap a ship in it by daylight. This was why he felt he must get on to the starboard tack before dawn. He could not let the enemy ships herd him into a corner.
It occurred to him, at that moment, that he might be better not to fire his broadside, which would alert the other ships that he had changed course, although they would not know if it was to the east or to the west. He weighed this option for only a few seconds before deciding that opportunity to do damage to one of the three ships – especially at close range – could not be passed up. Who knew what the result might be? The privateer might lose a mast and be out of any subsequent action. It was not particularly likely, but the outcome of a broadside at such range could not be predicted.
When all was in readiness, Hayden gave the order, lamps were doused and the ship began her turn, yards being shifted, and sails sheeted in. He went and stood by Wickham, who braced himself in the aft corner where transom met bulwark, Hayden’s nightglass fixed upon the enemy ship.
‘Will she pass astern of us?’ Hayden asked, still unable to make her out.
‘I do not believe so, Captain, but it will be very near. We might traverse guns aft …?’
The order was given and the sound of carriage wheels being forced across the planking ground around the ship. The chase gun fired on the privateer, but she had clearly lost sight of them, for the ball went well aft.
‘We have a shot, sir,’ the nearest gun captain announced quietly, sighting along his gun to the place where the flash had been seen.
‘Mr Wickham …?’ Hayden prompted.
‘I agree, sir.’
The order was given, and the larboard battery fired, shaking the deck beneath Hayden’s feet. All listened for the sound, and a terrible rending and crash of iron on wood came to them over the water, though the extent of the damage could not even be guessed.
Immediately, yards were braced and the helm put over. The frigate forced her way up into the wind. Before she had come into irons, the privateer fired her own broadside, and much of it struck home, some passing through the sails and rigging, and other balls striking the hull. Nothing carried away, and the ship, after hovering a moment in indecision, came through the wind and in a moment settled on to the starboard tack.
Gunports were closed, though guns had been reloaded and were in all ways ready to fire. Every eye was now fixed to the west, trying to find the other ships to see what they did. None bore lamps, for they had come upon the frigate by stealth, and now that they realized Hayden had changed his course, they left off firing, rendering them near to invisible on such a dark night.
‘There away!’ one of the hands called out. ‘A light, sir.’
Hayden stared into the dark and, after a moment, found it, wafting slowly up and down.
‘Why would they light a lamp?’ Wickham wondered.
‘They have lost sight of one another and cannot risk collision – a great boon for us, for we may remain dark for the little night that remains.’
‘What shall we do now, sir?’ Wickham asked.
‘Remain on this course until we see what they intend. Will they chase us yet, or will they continue on for whatever island is their destination?’
‘I would certainly choose to go on, sir. We cannot challenge three ships alone, and they would be foolish to let us lure them back up the channel. British ships do come here, even if not often.’
‘I agree, Wickham. Let us see if they are cool-headed or still desire revenge for our murdering so many of their fellows.’
Wickham continued to se
arch the darkness with Hayden’s glass.
‘Have they worn, Wickham?’ Ransome asked as he came aft. ‘Can you not see?’
‘I believe they might have, Mr Ransome, but cannot yet be certain.’
The frigate stood on for a short time, when signal guns were fired on one of the enemy ships and then answered by the others, extinguishing any doubts as to their positions.
‘They are wearing now,’ Wickham told the others. ‘Even the ship we raked seems to be able to wear, so we did not damage her as we had hoped, I should guess.’
‘Will they come after us again or will they bear off and pass south of the cape?’ Ransome asked.
It was the question in everyone’s mind, Hayden was certain, but it would not be answered until daylight found them. Dawn, however, lay concealed behind a thick layer of woolly grey that had overspread the Caribbean sky that night. When it did finally come, slowly, but slowly revealing the heaving sea and the great islands to both east and west, it cast only a dim light over the silvery-grey waters. There was no doubt, however, that the privateers had chosen to stand on and were nearing Cape Tiburon.
Hayden felt a strange hollowness inside at this sight. A heavy lassitude and something like melancholy came to fill the void. The ships bearing his wife were slipping off.
‘On deck!’ came the cry from aloft. ‘Sail! Sail, just rounding the cape!’
Thirty-two
‘Aloft there!’ Hayden called up to the lookout. ‘Does she bear colours?’
‘No, Captain. Not that I can see.’
Wickham, who stood by the rail, hatless, the wind ranging his gold curls about his face, handed Hayden his nightglass. ‘Shall I fetch my glass and go aloft, sir?’
‘If you please, Mr Wickham.’
‘Immediately, sir.’
A moment later, Wickham was climbing slowly up the ratlines, his glass slung over his back. He settled himself on the maintop and fixed his glass upon the distant ship.
‘She’s a three-master, Captain,’ he called down. ‘Painted like a transport.’
In itself, this did not signify a great deal, as Sir William had ordered all his captains – including Hayden – to paint their ships a single colour so that they were not obviously Navy ships.
Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead Page 41
