Miss Ridgeway's Privateer

by Michele McGrath

  “She won’t head up any further. We’ll have to keep tacking,” Mr. Barnes said.

  “The more times we tack, the more the leeway and the tide take us further towards France. That’s the real danger, of course,” Captain Hardie replied. “We must either go onto a reach and try to weather the islands or heave to until the tide turns. Then we may at least have a chance to make some northing. If we do nothing, we’ll be in French waters before you can say ‘Napoleon Bonaparte’.”

  “Well, Captain, if you’re asking me for an opinion,” Mr. Barnes said, “I’d heave to. On this sort of a following sea we’d be rolling about like a ball in these waves. I don’t know if the spars will take the strain for long. If we lose any of them, we’ll drift right into Saint-Malo and there won’t be much we can do about it.”

  Captain Hardie nodded. “I agree with you. We’ll heave to. Give the orders.”

  The wheel was put over and one of the foresails pulled into a strange angle, to Lucy’s eyes at least. All the other sails were furled. The ship bobbed, as if it was at anchor, rotating around a central point, or so Lucy was told later. She could not see for herself because there was no land in sight to measure their direction. The coast was once again covered in a white mist. When everything had been done and the Captain was standing still on the poop, Lucy went up to him. She ventured to ask in a small voice,

  “What is the danger you are afraid of, Captain?”

  Captain Hardie swung around. “I didn’t mean you to overhear that.”

  “I’d rather know what’s really happening than imagine dreadful things. Please would you tell me?”

  “Very well. If you look over there to the south, you would see the coast of France except for this mist. To the west is Brittany and sticking out to our right, though that’s not visible either, is the Normandy peninsular. Between them lies the town of Saint-Malo. It used to be a fishing port and had a good trade once, now it’s a nest of those privateers which Boney sends out to rob our ships. We’re a bit too close inshore for my liking at the moment with this wind blowing us further in. That’s why we’re sitting still and waiting. The wind often changes when the tide turns. If it does so today, we’ll be up and away before it’s time for supper.”

  Lucy realised that Captain Hardie was trying to be reassuring and she wanted to believe him. Unfortunately she had a nasty little niggle of apprehension running up and down her spine which she hoped would not prove to be prophetic.

  Chapter Six

  “Ship ahoy!”

  “Wither away?” Mr. Barnes shouted up to the lookout.

  “Two points fine on the port bow.”

  Captain Hardie jumped up from the breakfast table and almost ran out of the saloon. Mrs. Hardie rose to her feet, looking after him.

  “What is it?” Mr. Anselm asked anxiously. He still looked ill, Lucy thought, although he had made the effort to appear on what should be their last morning on board together.

  “Probably nothing,” Mrs. Hardie replied. “No need for either of you to disturb your meal. I will go and see.” She hurried out of the room.

  “I don’t like this,” Mr. Anselm said. “Something is obviously wrong.”

  “Perhaps we had better find out as well,” Lucy said.

  “Do you think we ought?” Mr. Anselm asked nervously.

  “What harm can it do? We won’t get in the way but I want to know what’s going on.”

  Lucy did not wait for him. She went to her cabin and put on her boat cloak. Then she climbed up the companionway, intending to take her usual seat, but the confusion on the deck held her still. Sailors ran to and fro. Some hauled on ropes in response to the captain’s bark. Others, more ominously, had pulled the cover off a pair of small cannons that stood on the poop facing the stern. They were untying the guns. Mr. Barnes passed Lucy by without noticing her until she called out to him,

  “Mr. Barnes?”

  He whirled around, came back and took her arm and led her to the top of the companionway.

  “Go below, please.”

  “But what is it? What’s happening?”

  “A Frenchy out of Saint-Malo by the look of her. They’ve spotted us and are giving chase. No time for more if we want to loose them. So stay in the saloon until I come and tell you what’s happened.”

  He hurried away. Lucy turned to obey him and then she stopped.

  I won’t get in their way. I won’t. But I must see. They told me they can sail faster than the French so they should be able to do so now. There shouldn’t be any danger. I’ll wait for my chance and then hide somewhere on the deck. If I stay in the saloon listening to all the noises up here and not knowing what’s happening, I’ll go mad.

  Lucy crept back under the overhang again and waited for her opportunity. No one seemed to be watching her, they were all looking astern. She took a deep breath and raced for the piles of cargo tied to the deck. She wormed herself between some bales until she was hidden but if she peered over the top of the pile, she could see. After a while the activity ceased and Mr. Barnes said in a loud voice,

  “That’s as high as she’ll point, Captain. Can’t do better than that.”

  “Very well.”

  “Should I break out the muskets?”

  “Not yet. If they get that close then we won’t stand much chance, muskets or no. Send a man up the rigging with a telescope. I want to be told the moment they begin to gain on us.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Lucy saw a sailor scrambling up the ropes until he reached the top of the lower sails which she had been told were called courses. He sat on the yard, swaying with the motion of the boat and opened the telescope.

  “Are they gaining, Lenny?” Captain Hardie shouted up to him.

  “Don’t think so, Cap’n. Not yet at any rate, but they’re loosening the topgallants now.”

  “Are they by God? Damn them to hell! Mr. Barnes?”

  “Sir?”

  “Better get ours up too, if that’s the case.”

  The next hour seemed to be a blur to Lucy. Orders were shouted, sails unfurled, the ship swayed from one side to the other, driven by the taut canvas. She clung on to the rope that tied down one of the bales as the deck shifted under her feet. The prow drove into the waves and spray flew over her, penetrating the folds of her boat cloak. The salt stung her eyes and her hair flew out of its pins, whipping itself into wild tangles. Although she realised that she would be safer below, she did not dare to move. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. She waited and watched.

  Captain Hardie shouted something and Mr. Barnes, followed by a couple of the sailors ran past her to the base of the mainmast. She could not see what they were doing but when they returned they carried a heavy box wrapped in oilcloth between them. The men struggled to hold on to it as the deck tipped and rose. She looked at them for a little too long and her eyes met Mr. Barnes. Her hiding place had been discovered. They did not stop to challenge her though and made their way up onto the poop.

  A muffled bang, another shout and running footsteps. Then suddenly Mr. Barnes was beside her, Mrs. Hardie following close behind. The old lady’s shoulders were soaked and her grey hair flying in ribbons around her face. In any other setting, Lucy thought she would be a figure of fun but here she seemed to be nothing but admirable. Mr. Barnes caught Lucy’s arm and pulled her out from the protection of the bales. As the force of the wind hit her she reeled. The next thing she knew she was being dragged along the deck, forced to run forward as the ship dipped and then to cling on to the nearest support. She started to fall but Mr. Barnes’ grip did not slacken until she was into the entrance to the fo'c's'le. Lucy had not been able to spare a thought or a glance for Mrs. Hardie but the captain’s wife stumbled into shelter only a moment after her.

  “Take care of her, I’ve got to get back,” Mr. Barnes shouted over the noise of the wind.

  “Come with me,” Mrs. Hardie ordered and plunged into the darkness.

  At the bottom of the companionway th
e deck opened out. Small rays of light filtered down but everything else was black. Someone fumbled and then a spark flared. Mrs. Hardie held up a dark lantern and slid aside the shutter. Peering around, Lucy saw a wide space with what looked like boxes of cargo lashed to the sides of the ship.

  “Sit down beside me,” Mrs. Hardie said, “and hold on. We may be here for a while.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “The French are shooting. Didn’t you hear the gun?”

  “Was that what it was?”

  “They shouldn’t damage us much at this distance but if they’re lucky, they might put a shot through the saloon. The captain wants us to be forward away from danger.”

  “What about Mr. Anselm?” Lucy asked.

  “Mr. Barnes has gone to fetch him,” Mrs. Hardie replied.

  Very shortly afterwards a scrambling noise was heard and the gangly cleric came down the companionway to them.

  “This is most unsatisfactory,” he complained to Mrs. Hardie as soon as he had found somewhere to sit. “Why didn’t you tell me beforehand that we might be attacked by the French?”

  “Mr. Anselm, we’ve been at war for many years. The French coast lies on the other side of the Channel. It’s hardly surprising that we spot some of their ships from time to time.”

  “Here I was sitting peaceably in my cabin, reading the Bible, when I was most rudely interrupted and dragged along here for what purpose I can’t imagine.”

  “Better to be interrupted by one of our men than by a cannonball coming in through the stern. They are firing at us you know.”

  “Heavens! Are they? That must have been the bang I heard.”

  Lucy had to repress a giggle. How could he be so silly?

  “Pray hard that they come no nearer because, if they do, we won’t be any safer here than we would be anywhere else.”

  “Then I shall certainly do so,” Mr. Anselm said and closed his eyes.

  At first, Lucy felt apprehensive and tense, but gradually, as nothing further happened and neither of her companions seemed inclined for conversation, she became calmer. She began to doze and would have fallen asleep except for the violent swaying of the boat. She was luckier than Mr. Anselm whose prayers suddenly ceased as he gagged. Mrs. Hardie jumped to her feet and ran to fetch a leather bucket which she pushed under his nose at the opportune moment. The smell of his vomit, nearly made Lucy sick too, but Mrs. Hardie carried the bucket away before she did so. Mrs. Hardie did not sit down again but staggered past them and started to climb up the companionway.

  “Where are you going?” Lucy called.

  “To find out what’s happening and to get rid of the muck.”

  I want to see too, Lucy thought. She was on her feet, trying to walk on the tilting deck when Mrs. Hardie returned. The light was dim but Lucy thought her mouth looked grim.

  “Well?” Mr. Anselm opened his eyes and asked.

  “They’re nearer. The captain is flying every sail we have, but they’ve got more. Their masts are white with canvas. Couldn’t see much without going out on the deck and my husband wouldn’t like that, not when he’s told me to stay here. Let’s hope something happens to slow them down before they come too close.”

  Neither Mrs. Hardie’s nor Mr. Anselm’s prayers were answered. A sudden shrieking crash made the whole ship shudder. There was a sound of creaking and things falling to the deck then a loud crack and a violent movement that knocked all of them down. Mrs. Hardie crawled up the stairs again and, this time, Lucy managed to follow her. So did a complaining Mr. Anselm. The sight that met their eyes was horrifying. A litter of wood and canvas lay spread across the deck. The brig had slewed around and was almost stopped in the water. A gun on the poop fired but then stopped.

  “The mainmast is hanging over the side,” Mrs. Hardie said. “The blighters! So that’s what the crash was. We can’t escape them now. The mast’s acting like a sea anchor, holding us here. Even if our men chop it away, they won’t be able to do it in time. The French’ll be up with us any minute.”

  Mrs. Hardie whirled and pushed her companions back down the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” Mr. Anselm asked.

  “There’s a hidey-hole where you can stay until they’ve boarded.”

  “What about you?”

  “Once you’re as safe as possible, my place is with the captain,” Mrs. Hardie said, sounding both grim and proud at the same time. Lucy admired her courage but she was frightened to death.

  Mrs. Hardie’s hidey-hole proved to be the chain locker, a dark space smelling of salt, damp and earth. The huge loops of the cable took most of the space but there was room enough for both Mr. Anselm and Lucy to squeeze inside.

  “Stay there until I send for you. One way or another it shouldn’t be too long.” She thrust the dark lantern into Lucy’s hands. “Pull the shutter across if you hear voices.”

  “What will happen to us?” Mr. Anselm asked in a quivering voice.

  “I don’t know. We’ve never been caught before,” Mrs. Hardie replied and left them to the darkness and their fears.

  It was as well that Lucy had taken firm hold of the slippery anchor chain because a huge bump on the side of the ship threw her to her knees. Mr. Anselm was not so lucky. He pitched forward into the hatchway and measured his full length on the floor. Shouting, a clash of metal, thumps and the sound of feet came from above and continued for some time. Then there was silence even though Lucy strained her ears to listen. It was singularly unfortunate that the moment when the sounds began again coincided with Mr. Anselm regaining consciousness and beginning to groan loudly. Lucy dropped down beside him and put her hands over his mouth to muffle the noise but she was too late. Footsteps approached and the hatch was pulled open. The lantern that was thrust into the chain locker was so bright she was not able to see who held it.

  “Qu'est-ce que c'est?” a rough voice asked.

  Lucy felt herself shrinking away from the outline of a big man who lunged at her and grasped her by the arm. She was hauled to her feet and out into the fo'c's'le. Other shadowy figures stood around but Lucy only had time for a glimpse because her captor thrust her up the companionway and into the dazzling light. She was dragged along the tilted deck and, when her eyes began to focus again, she realised how things had changed. Several men with axes chopped at the ropes holding the fallen mainmast. Even as she was halted for a brief moment the last strands parted and with a cheer, the mast and its rigging dropped into the sea. The ship lurched, becoming upright once more. She was forced forward again down the length of the deck and up the stairs onto the poop. No kindly Captain Hardie stood there, but a stranger wearing a blue coat with white lapels. He had a sword in his hand and he was bareheaded. He shouted some question at her captor but Lucy did not understand him. Although she was very frightened, she was unwilling to let her captors see her fright. My father was a hero, she thought, he would not want me to show fear. So she drew herself up and looked up at him. He returned her gaze and spoke to her but she shook her head at him. Then he said,

  “You… speak… French?” She only just realised what he had said for his accent was so thick it took her a second or two to recognise the English words.

  “No.”

  Then he shouted, “Patrice, à moi!” and waved his hand.

  She turned as a young man picked his way over the debris from the bows where a group of men were working. She was distracted by the arrival of a trembling Mr. Anselm. The man with the sword said something to him and Mr. Anselm replied.

  This must be French they are talking, Lucy decided. I wish I had learned that language instead of Italian. Then another thought crept into her mind. Not that I can remember a word of Italian either at this moment! She felt completely dizzy with shock and fright.

  As the young man climbed the stairs, Lucy stiffened. She recognised the blue eyes that looked up at her. Her own eyes dropped to the scar on his hand. This time there could be no mistake. What was her London acquaintance doing on bo
ard a French privateer that had just fought and captured an English ship?

  “Mr. O’Rourke,.” she said and this time it was not a question. “You stopped me from falling once in London,” she reminded him.

  “So I did. Lucy. Isn’t that your name?”

  She nodded “Do you have a double, Mr. O’Rourke? Or were you also in Portsmouth two days ago?

  He stared at her with a strange look on his face. Then the man with the sword murmured something to him.

  “My captain wants to know what you were doing in the chain locker,” O’Rourke asked.

  “Mrs. Hardie, the captain’s wife, hid us in there, me and Mr. Anselm,” she indicated the clergyman.

  “Why?”

  “She said it was to keep us safe. Your ship fired at the stern of ours so we would be better off in the bows.”

  There was a pause while O’Rourke translated. The captain asked something else.

  “What are you doing aboard this ship?”

  “We are passengers on our way to Ireland.”

  His brows rose. “Are you indeed? Why?”

  “Mr. Anselm was going to a new parish and I have been sent to live with my grandmother.”

  Another break for translation, followed by what sounded like rapid orders.

  “Oui, mon Capitaine,” O’Rourke replied. “I regret the necessity, but I am afraid I must search you both for weapons.” He smiled at Lucy. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. Hold your arms out and it will soon be over.”

  She gasped but obeyed. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mr. Anselm struggling and heard his sharp grunt as one of the sailors punched him and he doubled up. She stood like a statue as O’Rourke ran his hand over her and down her skirts. He flipped up her hem so he could look at her ankles. Her poise broke then. She twitched the material out of his hand and swung a blow at him. It did not land for he ducked in time and caught her wrist in a hold she could not break. His laugh was the final straw.