“Mister Andri seems to have a very strong sense of duty, Captain. His King ordered him to accompany us, and he was determined to do so without complaint. Presumably that determination helped him in the crossing to Nosy Be, as well.”
“Does him credit – I’ll be sure to tell the King of Mister Andri’s fidelity. Well, at this point, almost the quickest place we can reach to put him ashore is our intended destination, so we’ll just press on. I'm sure as hell not going to turn around now and sail back to Reunion. But I wonder – will he be fit enough to do his duty when we get there?”
“Now that we’ve got the dehydration under control, recovery should be quick once he’s ashore – but he’ll be weak, and very, very hungry.”
“Then we’ll give him all he wants to eat, Doctor – and more! We need him at Pirate Creek, or our mission there is pointless.”
“I understand, Captain. We’ll do our best for him. You may be sure of that.”
“Of course I’m sure, Doctor. Thanks for the briefing.”
“Not at all.” And with this she strode back forward toward her domain in sick bay, leaving Sam, as usual after all his interactions with her, irritated and a bit flustered. What was it about this young woman – this girl – that always got him in such a state?
It occurred to Sam after the Doctor’s departure that he had forgotten to ask if Andri was in a fit condition to receive visitors. Well, to hell with her – he was the Captain, and he would visit whomever he liked. He said to the watch officer, “Mister Munro, I’m going below to sick bay, if I’m needed.”
“Very well, sir.”
He was appalled at the change in Andri since he had last seen him. His face was gaunt, and appeared to have lost four or five kilos. A liter bottle hung upside-down from the same hook as the forward lines of his hanging cot, and a rubber tube ran from its stopper to disappear under a bandage on the inside of the patient’s elbow. He was pale, or rather an ashen gray, but conscious.
“Mister Andri, I’m sorry for your suffering. You should have spoken up – we would have gotten you to sick bay, and under the Doctor’s care, much sooner.”
Andri responded with a wan smile. “It’s something I’ve suffered from since I first ventured out in a pirogue as a very small boy, Captain. I knew this voyage would not be pleasant for me, but the King honored me with this mission, and the sickness always goes away as soon as I set foot on land again, so I thought I could simply endure it, as I have frequently endured the crossings between Nosy Be and the mainland. I’m very sorry to have caused so much trouble for so many of your people.”
“Nonsense, Mister Andri – no trouble at all. You’re in good hands here with Doctor Girard. She’s an excellent physician.”
“I’m sure…everyone here has been most kind and attentive.”
“You must recover your strength, now, because we need you once we reach Pirate Creek. Without you, our mission there is pointless.”
“No worries, Captain.” This jaunty phrase, coming from a man who was usually so formal – even stilted – in his speech, made Sam smile.
“That’s the spirit, Mister Andri. Now, rest – sleep all you can.”
At this point, Girard bustled up and said, “Captain, the patient must rest—you should leave him now.”
Sam bit back a sharp retort to the effect that he was the captain of this schooner and he would stay as long as he damn well liked. But this was, after all, the Doctor’s bailiwick – he remembered his speech to her, back in Morbihan Bay, about warrant officers reigning supreme in their technical fields.
“So I just said to Mister Andri, ma’am, as I prepared to take my leave,” Sam replied loftily, turned on his heel, and left.
CHAPTER 4
The next day dawned gray and drab, with a low overcast – no morning star sights. The wind had gradually diminished during the night, to become light and variable with the morning
Sam went into the chart room and checked the speed of the schooner from her estimated positions during the last watch. The hourly calculation of speed through the water, made from mileage readings taken off the taffrail log, showed a steady decline; Albatros was now making only between one and two knots.
Although he knew nothing that suggested any need to hurry, Sam was in a fever to get to Pirate Creek. He wanted to find the captives, cruise for pirates, sail northward to the Seychelles and Zanzibar to look for their bases – and he wanted to do it all now. Quite aside from his inherent bias toward action, the fact that they had discharged so much of their food on Mauritius to relieve the survivors meant that he would have to take on stores sooner than he had planned.
He knew that masters of sailing vessels had to learn patience. The weather was what it was, and fretting wouldn’t change it. But, with what was in effect a small tugboat on his foredeck and plenty of fuel for it, Sam was in a unique position to indulge his impatience. He decided that if the wind had not picked up by dinnertime, he would launch the motor sloop and tow for a while.
He went out on deck to be greeted by strange, rhythmic shouts. Leading Petty Officer Landry had mustered the landing force on the foredeck, all burdened with rifles, full ammo pouches, bulging haversacks, and water bottles, they, and they were doing calisthenics. A small group of seamen of the watch had gathered and were jeering good naturedly at their sweating shipmates – until they received the sharp edge of LPO Landry’s tongue, and dispersed hastily.
Curious, Sam walked forward to the windward side of the mizzenmast, where the XO and Lieutenant Kendall were standing together, watching the landing force at its exercises.
They turned as he approached, and said “Good morning, sir,” almost in unison.
“Morning XO, Mister Kendall. Have these men displeased you somehow, Mister K. – is this a punishment?”
“Not at all, sir,” Kendall chuckled. “LPO Landry pointed out that, since we’ve had no opportunity for a conditioning march ashore, some structured exercise might be the next best thing. I consulted with the Doctor, and came up with a set of exercises that we hope will help build up their stamina before their next long hike on the beach.”
“Oh. Good idea. But we don’t have much time for them to gain any benefit from it by the time we reach Pirate Creek.”
“That’s right, sir – one or two days will have little effect, of course. But we thought we’d make a start, anyway. This will be part of the landing force’s daily routine at sea, along with their other duties – that is, if you have no objection, Captain.”
“Oh, no, no – none at all, Mister Kendall. Carry on with it.”
Sam walked back toward the quarterdeck, and Ennis fell in step with him.
“That’s admirable initiative on the part of Kendall, Bill. He’s turning out to have been an excellent choice for senior lieutenant. In fact, all of the officers seem to be shaping up nicely.”
“Yes, sir,” was all Ennis said in reply to this, but Sam thought he detected a tone of doubt.
“Do you have reservations about any of the officers, Bill?” he asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t say reservations, Skipper. Nearly all our officers are at the top of their profession, a pleasure to sail with.”
“Nearly all, XO?”
“There’s really only one who concerns me, Captain: Munro, the junior lieutenant,” Ennis said, his deep reluctance to criticize a brother officer plain in his voice. “Pilot says his navigation is shaky, and that he doesn’t seem to fully understand how to sail a schooner – says he appears to give sail-handling orders according to some system he memorized as a cadet, and not out of a solid feel for the vessel, the wind, and the sea.”
Sam knew Munro as a nervous young man who seemed terrified of making a mistake. His most recent berth before accepting a commission in the Navy was as Chief Officer on a round-the-worlder. He had his Master’s ticket – the minimum requirement for a commission – but no command time. If he had done all his sea time on a junk-rigged catamaran freighter, that would explain his tentati
veness in sailing a schooner – the two rigs and hull forms handled very differently.
“I should stress, in justice to him, that he’s a good kid – he’s willing, and tries hard. He’s got something on the ball, or he wouldn’t have gotten a Chief Mate’s berth. “Mister Mooney often stands part of his watch with him, gives him some fatherly advice and so forth. Pilot says his biggest problem is lack of self-confidence, and that he may improve, with time.”
“I hope he improves very soon, Bill. As I recall, his battle station is officer of the watch when Mister Kendall is away in charge of the motor sloop. That’s a lot of strain to put on our weakest link.”
“Should I re-arrange the station bill, Skipper? I could swap him with Schofield – he’s in charge of the starboard side in combat: a one-incher and half the marksmen; a solid officer.”
Sam considered this for a long moment, then came to a decision. “No, Munro did okay during the Battle of Pirate Creek. And, while I was on deck, at least, during the battle off Andilana.”
“He did fine during the balance of that battle, too, Captain,” Bill interjected.
“ A change now would make it too obvious that I lack confidence in him. Leave it as it is for now, Bill. Later, if there are other changes you want to make, we can do it then, and it'll seem like a general overhaul of the station bill, and not aimed at him.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The wind continued to die away until the schooner was making bare steerageway, with every scrap of sail that could be set, including the square topsail on the fore topmast. So, after dinner, Sam ordered the motor sloop launched to tow.
Motor-sailing was an evolution the Albatros had carried out only once before, during her chase by moonlight of the two pirate dhows she had ultimately sunk during the battle off Andilana – or rather she had sunk one dhow and the other had blown herself up in an attempt to take the Albatros with her. But the XO had been in temporary command at the time. Sam had been below, being treated for the wound to his head. Bill had described the process to him, and Sam was anxious to try it for himself.
The sloop was launched on the starboard side, which was the lee side on this tack, and took the towline. The schooner actually towed the sloop alongside for the five minutes or so it took for the sloop’s Stirling-cycle engine to warm up to operating temperature – one of the disadvantages of the Stirling as compared to a diesel. That’s why the battle station for the Engineer, Mr. Yeo and one of his mates in the black gang, was the motor sloop – to warm up the engine in case the vessel needed to be launched on short notice.
Then the sloop surged ahead of the schooner, and began to take the strain on the towline. Gradually, the schooner could be felt to move just perceptibly faster through the water.
This movement both increased the relative wind speed and brought its direction forward of the beam, and the square topsail was taken aback momentarily, slatting and banging against the mast.
“Wake up, Mister Munro,” said Sam sharply to the watch officer. “Can’t you see that the relative wind has shifted now? Douse the square topsail, and trim in.”
But he said this in a low enough tone that he hoped it was not overheard by the helmsmen – he had no desire to inflict public humiliation on any of his officers. (With, of course, the exception of midshipmen; he, like most seagoing officers, thought public humiliation of gadgets gave them a proper notion of their status aboard.)
He regretted saying it as soon as the words were out of his mouth – it was entirely possible that Munro was just about to give the correct orders. Was he now biased against Munro after his conversation with Bill about him? He knew that a Master’s conviction that a cadet or young officer could do nothing right often became a self-fulfilling prophecy, since the self-confidence of many gadgets and mates had been utterly destroyed by constant criticism from their captains. He resolved – not for the first time in his career as a sea officer—to think before he spoke.
However, Sam was pleased that Munro immediately gave the correct orders in the right proper sequence, and the square topsail was doused and sheets trimmed in quickly, with all fore-and-aft sails drawing well.
“Smartly done, Mister Munro,” Sam said loudly enough to be heard by the helmsmen and the midshipman of the watch. And then more quietly, “I’m sure you were just about to give those orders when I spoke.” That was as close to an apology as Sam was willing to go, but it was close enough to make Munro blush with pleasure, and reply “Thank you, sir.”
Impelled by the motor sloop, the schooner sped up enough to cause an appreciable increase in the strength of the relative wind; this additional pressure on the sails in turn eased part of the strain on the towline and increased the speed of both vessels. Sam walked aft to the taffrail log and, watch in hand, did a six-minute mental calculation of the schooner’s speed through the water based on the mileage clicked off in that interval. The schooner was definitely making slightly more way than she would have under sail alone, or under tow alone – she was “motor-sailing”. Sam felt pride in the performance of the two vessels, and satisfaction at the sense of “free” speed, of getting something for nothing.
Just before the second dog watch was set, Sam noticed that the wind had freshened and veered more to the west. He ordered the motor sloop recovered, an evolution made easier by the fact that both watches were on deck. The schooner was now sailing on a moderately-close reach.
The low overcast had persisted through most of the day, making a noon sight impossible; the vessel had now sailed for more for more than 24 hours without a navigational fix. Thus it was with gratitude that Sam noticed the sky clearing as sunset approached. It looked promising for evening stars.
Sam sent below for his sextant, and joined Mr. Mooney in a round of star sights. The evening horizon was razor sharp, the selected stars were bright in the darkening sky, and the result was two tiny cocked-hats, within a half-mile of one another on the chart. The Pilot declared this a good result, and split the difference to plot the schooner's estimated position.. This fix put Albatros not far off her intended track, so only a slight course alteration was necessary.
Two days later, shortly after the morning watch was set, Sam called another meeting with Ennis and Kendall. The schooner was due to make landfall sometime shortly after sunrise – good timing – and Sam wanted to firm up his plan for operations off Pirate Creek. He addressed the two men formally – he had Midshipman Christie noting down his remarks for the log, in case there was any later question about his orders.
“XO, Mister Kendall, these are my intentions: we will launch the motor sloop five miles off the mouth of the creek. She will embark one of the one-inch rifles and all of the landing force.
“Mister Kendall, if unopposed, you will land at the site of the pirate camp with one half of your force. The sloop will then motor back down to the mouth of the creek, where she will serve as a floating reserve both for your party and for the Albatros. The schooner will cruise off the creek mouth, alert for pirate vessels. A red rocket from either the schooner or your party will signify that the sloop's support is needed. A green rocket from you, Mister Kendall, will signify that you have carried out your mission to the extent possible, and you are ready to be re-embarked at the same site – the pirate camp. Be sure to take an ample supply of pyrotechnics. Multiple rockets may be necessary to attract attention, and anyway sometimes those things fizzle out.
“That’s it. Do either of you have any questions or comments?”
“Sir. What if my landing is opposed – if I find that the pirates have re-occupied the camp? Should I press an attack?” This from Lieutenant Kendall.
“Act according to your own judgment, Mister Kendall. In that case you must assess the strength of the opposing force, and decide whether an attack would be likely to succeed. Remember, too, that if I encounter pirate vessels, I will almost certainly decide to recall the motor sloop – and my red rocket will have priority. In that case, you will be left unsupported.
“Keep in mind at all times that we cannot risk losing the motor sloop or one of our one-inch rifles – half our main battery. If you decide to attack, order the sloop to stand off in the creek and cover your landing with one-inch canister – but, in that event, you’ll have to be prepared to be left alone if the sloop is threatened with capture… she must run in that case, even if you and your party are left behind.”
“I understand, Captain.”
“XO?”
“Just a comment, not a question – how I wish the motor sloop was equipped with a radio! And that there was such a thing as a portable radio, for the landing force!”
“We’re of the same mind, Bill – I had already decided that I’d equip the sloop with a transceiver once we have an opportunity to return to Kerguelen. Or maybe the Reunionnais, so clever at everything else, can jury-rig one for us.
“As for a portable radio – I have no idea if that’s even possible. But we’ll get the electronics boffins back in French Port working on it.”
They again went over the signals and rules of engagement Sam had laid out, and adjourned to the deck. First light had now revealed the low, featureless coast of this part of Madagascar; it was still too dark to tell if they had found the mouth of the creek. The landing force was called out and mustered on deck, in full expeditionary rig; the sloop readied for launching with the engine warming; and finally all hands were called. Instead of battle stations, Sam set Condition Two, which was a slightly more relaxed state of alertness that allowed the hands to go to breakfast by turns, keeping every station at least partially manned.
Sam agreed with his XO’s assessment of the situation: it was highly unlikely that the landing party would immediately encounter pirates on the beach, and that the Albatros would at the same time come into contact with pirate vessels. At least one of those eventualities was possible but Sam was confident that he had planned for the worst-case scenario. It bothered him to divide his force, a move that went against his every instinct. But a landing party was obviously unavoidable, if they were to have any chance of finding and liberating the captives – assuming, of course, that there were any.
The Cruise of the Albatros: Book Two of the Westerly Gales Saga Page 6
