A Battle Won

by Sean Thomas Russell

  When Hayden refused to respond this, on deck where everyone could hear, the young lieutenant went quickly off.

  Hayden raised his glass again and found their cutter, double-reefed, the crew crowded to weather, and making heavy work of it. Two men were bailing constantly as spray broke aboard. Gould, Hayden noted, was assisting Childers with a heavy helm.

  A rain squall overtook the Themis, and Hayden stepped into the lee of the mizzen to await the appearance of his oilskins, brought a moment later by a running servant. The frigate flew down upon the cutter, scudding before the gathering seas. In a few moments Hayden ordered her hove to and the crew of the cutter came up the side, only the doctor and Mr Gould having trouble catching the rhythm of the two vessels. Griffiths tumbled over the rail and was caught by two seamen. He looked grim – even ill.

  ‘As soon as you have found dry clothing, Doctor,’ Hayden said. ‘I will be in my cabin.’

  He left Saint-Denis and Barthe to beat back to their place in the convoy, and took himself below to await the doctor.

  A lengthy quarter of an hour crept by as Hayden paced, but then the doctor knocked and entered as quietly as ever.

  ‘Three dead and half the crew ill,’ Griffiths announced – a no-nonsense diagnosis. ‘The master looks as if he will pull through, thank God, as the mate is a sot, if I am any judge. Why the man did not convey this information to us, I cannot even imagine. It is difficult to accept that anyone’s understanding could be so diminished by drink.’

  Hayden had not allowed himself to hope for better – or so he had believed until hearing the doctor’s pronouncement. His own dismay spoke otherwise, however. ‘And do you know what kind of contagion this might be?’ he asked in what he hoped resembled a tone of calm acceptance.

  Griffiths paused, his gaze flickering up as though he ticked off a mental list of symptoms. ‘Well, it is the strangest thing – it appears for all the world to be an influenza, yet I have never seen one so… violent. Including McKee, it has killed four young men in the prime of their lives, and that is not the way of any influenza of which I have knowledge. The Agnus, short of crew, took aboard two men in Portugal, one of whom has already departed this life. It appears these two, though British, had jumped ship from a Yankee merchantman. The Yank had unwittingly carried the fever from Virginia, and the two men, fearing for their lives, got themselves ashore by night and signed on to the first vessel leaving port – the Agnus. They were a sennight back to Portsmouth, with a gale behind them, and though one of them fell ill he did not suffer so greatly as the men on the Yankee ship. They must have thought they had escaped it but the second man fell ill just before they joined the convoy in Torbay. Even then they informed no one. But then that man died and the contagion began to spread throughout the ship. The survivor admitted this to me, and told me that, in Virginia, the horses became ill first and then the stablemen and drivers.’ Griffiths pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing. He had not slept much the previous night, Hayden conjectured, and bore a red-eyed, slightly unkempt look that day.

  ‘And we carried it aboard our own ship… through an act of charity,’ Hayden said softly.

  Griffiths paced to one side, agitated. ‘Yes, I cannot escape blame. I perceived he was fevered when I allowed McKee aboard but thought it merely a consequence of his injury. Corruption was my worry, not influenza, and even had I suspected influenza I should not have been much concerned as it will not commonly strike down a man in good health. The sick, the elderly, consumptives – these are its customary victims.’ Griffiths stopped his pacing and met Hayden’s eye, distress poorly hidden. ‘I have made a terrible mistake, Mr Hayden.’

  ‘No. I am confident that any doctor would have done the same. If only these bloody fools had had the common sense to inform the master of the Agnus. How did they get off the Yankee ship? Was it not quarantined?’

  ‘I know not, Captain,’ Griffiths admitted. ‘I will have to inspect the crew, one man at a time. I can see no other way. The ill must be separated – immediately.’

  ‘Do you not worry that you have brought this miasma from the Agnus yourself?’

  ‘We were aboard only a few moments. It is much more likely that I have it from McKee. But what else can we do? No one will come forward now that Worthing – blast his soul to hell – has been in my sick-berth and the man he visited has died.’

  ‘I am sure you are right. I will have Archer muster the men by their messes. Pestilence commonly spreads thus – through one mess and then another. We will build a quarantine berth for the men who have had close contact with the sick. Once he has done that, Chettle can make your sick-berth as large as you need.’

  Griffiths nodded. ‘Mr Ariss and I will hang our cots in the cockpit and take our meals there as well – for the time being.’

  Hayden almost shuddered at the thought of living among the sick, but Griffiths was right; he and his mate were the most likely to spread the disease, so must keep themselves away from the uninfected.

  ‘Have the crew of the Agnus had commerce with the people of any other ship?’ he asked, though in fact he felt a little swell of emotion at Griffiths’s understated courage. Hayden would rather face a dozen battles than spend even an hour among the sick.

  ‘I asked but it seems they have not.’

  ‘We have that to be thankful for.’ Hayden might have said something about Griffiths’s courage at that moment but knew the doctor would only have been embarrassed and he wished to spare him any mortification. Griffiths was taking it hard that he had allowed an influenza aboard the Themis.

  ‘Yes. If you will excuse me, Captain, I should see to the crew without delay.’

  ‘By all means.’ But then Hayden asked the question that preyed upon him. ‘How many of us do you think will contract this sickness, Doctor?’

  Griffiths looked suddenly so exhausted that he might collapse where he stood. He reached up and clasped a beam. ‘If we act quickly perhaps fewer than aboard the Agnus.’ He seemed to lose all focus for a second, but then managed. ‘One man in twenty has died, Captain.’

  ‘I trust, with your skills, Doctor, we shall fare better than that.’

  Griffiths nodded distractedly. ‘Thank you.’ Griffiths made a half-bow and hurried off, disappearing quietly below.

  Hayden stood at the windows looking out at the gale-driven sea, the chill of the day seeping through the weave of his coat. One in twenty – ten men they could lose. They were separated from their most powerful ship and the commanding officer of the convoy, a transport had disappeared in the night, the weather conspired against them, and now this… If half his crew went down with the contagion how would he fight the French should they appear? What if he should become ill? Saint-Denis would not be his first choice to bring the convoy to Gibraltar or even to take command of the Themis.

  A gentle tap on his door.

  ‘Yes?’ Hayden called.

  The sentry opened the door only a little. ‘Mr Smosh to see you, Captain.’

  ‘Send him in, if you please.’

  The corpulent little cleric entered. Clearly, he was gaining his sea legs, for the ship was pitching overly and he stood without grasping any handhold.

  ‘Mr Smosh. Is there some service you require?’

  ‘I see you have confined Dr Worthing to his cabin…’

  ‘A measure that was forced upon me, I assure you; the man has a seditious character.’

  Smosh nodded. ‘Do not think I judge you, Captain Hayden. In truth, I approve it. As you say, he will cause mischief if it is at all possible. But that is not why I have interrupted your labours. It is being said that we have some plague aboard our ship?’

  ‘I am afraid it is true. An influenza, the doctor conjectures, though a virulent one.’

  ‘I am terribly sorry to hear it. Might I offer to conduct a service for the crew? Often at such times men discover their religious nature. I am uncertain of its practical value but it might ease the men’s apprehensions somewhat.’

 
‘You have my permission. When should we arrange this service?’

  ‘I suggest as soon as the doctor has finished seeing to the crew.’

  ‘Assuming the gale has not grown much worse, and crew can be spared, that would be perfectly acceptable. Thank you, Mr Smosh.’

  Smosh made a little nodding bow. ‘I am only too happy to do what little I can.’ The clergyman hesitated a moment. ‘It occurred to me that I might press one of your crew to assist me… Could you spare Mr Gould, briefly?’

  Hayden was surprised at this and about to say ‘no’ when he realized that Smosh had not chosen Gould’s name by accident.

  ‘Indeed. I think Mr Gould would be the ideal candidate.’ Smosh held up a hand. ‘Do not discommode yourself, Captain Hayden. I will find Mr Barthe and the boy and inform them myself, if that is acceptable.’

  ‘Entirely, Mr Smosh, thank you.’

  The little parson smiled, made a leg, and let himself out.

  ‘Remarkable,’ Hayden muttered after the door had closed. It seemed Hawthorne would be proven wrong and Griffiths in the right in the matter of Mr Smosh. Certainly Smosh had asked that Gould assist him for the very purpose of demonstrating to the crew that the boy was, indeed, a practising Christian. Hayden only hoped this would prove to be true.

  Within an hour, unable to contain his anxiety about the spread of influenza, Hayden took himself down to the lower deck – the berth deck – to discover how the doctor progressed. Griffiths was in the process of examining the men of number eight mess. Employing a narrow cylinder, the surgeon listened to them breathe, then looked into their ears and eyes, asked them numerous questions about their contact with the afflicted men and their general health, but above all he pressed his palm to their foreheads to ascertain if they were fevered and measured their pulse rates.

  Seeing Hayden lurking nearby, Griffiths excused himself and he and Hayden retreated far enough towards the midshipmen’s berth that they might speak privately.

  ‘What is the verdict, Dr Griffiths?’

  ‘I have not finished seeing the men, but so far we seem to be getting off rather too lightly. I fear there will be more cases in the days to come. The Agnus has half her crew down, after all, and I have only about six men who appear fevered.’

  ‘Perhaps we will be able to confine it, then.’ Hayden wondered if his relief showed.

  ‘Such fevers spread easily and quickly, Captain. A low diet, in my experience, will accomplish more than anything else in resurrecting the sick, and I will bleed the men who require it. Physic will help soothe the nerves and the pulse, though we may need to speak with the Syren’s surgeon; my supply of anti-phlogistics certainly will not be adequate – rosin of Jalap I possess in abundance but vitriolated tartat I am certain is all but exhausted and of mercurius dulcis I have but half a scruple.’

  ‘The moment McIntosh returns I will send him to Cole with a request for physic – if you could write me a list.’

  ‘As soon as I can put pen to paper.’ Griffiths made the smallest motion with head and body towards the gathered and wary men.

  ‘I will leave you to your work, Doctor.’

  Hayden ascended the ladder to the gundeck, where a group of boys – off watch – were playing at firing an eighteen-pounder, pulling on imaginary tackles, plunging the invisible swab down the unseen barrel. They ran their gun out with elan and, all as one, bellowed the report, ‘BOOM!’

  ‘That’s done for ’im!’ One of the boys, the apparent gun captain, pronounced, gazing through the closed gunport at the battered French ship beyond. ‘She’s a-sinking, lads.’

  ‘No! Not sinking!’ one of the boys called out in dismay. ‘Wot about our prize money?’

  The gun captain took a second, more carefully considered, look. ‘Wait! No. She’s not going down. Let’s board her, boys!’

  The gunner, not far off, replacing the flint on a lock, spotted Hayden, and jumped up, alarmed. ‘Hey, you lot!’ he shouted at the boys. ‘What are you about? Off you go and cause trouble elsewhere.’

  The boys started to protest, when one spotted Hayden, and whispered loudly. ‘Captain!’

  A scrambling of skinny legs and arms, the dreaded word ‘captain’ echoing along the deck as the boys disappeared.

  The gunner stood, abashed, teeth together, mouth awkwardly open – a sharp intake through teeth. ‘My apologies, Captain. They weren’t doing no harm, sir, but I shouldn’t let them play around the guns, I know.’

  ‘You certainly should not. And never again – even with the locks all covered and you present.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Hayden found his oilskins and went up onto the deck. Wickham was standing by the mizzen shrouds, staring off to the north.

  ‘Any sight of McIntosh?’ Hayden asked.

  Wickham seemed to be shaken from a reverie. ‘Sir?’ he said. ‘McIntosh… can you see him?’

  ‘No, sir. He sailed into the general murk some time ago and has not returned.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  Hayden took Wickham’s glass and examined the ships of his convoy. A gust struck the Themis, heeling her ponderously. Hayden could feel the ship resisting, the wind pushing back. A sea broke against the forward quarter, spray arcing over the rail and splattering down on the deck.

  ‘The weather glass has stopped falling, sir, but as yet it has displayed no inclination to rise.’

  Hayden lowered the glass. ‘This wind has not finished making, but I have seen winds defy the weather glass before.’

  ‘No doubt, sir.’ Wickham was silent a moment. ‘How fares the doctor?’

  It was an odd question and Hayden glanced at Wickham, decided it was only an awkward attempt to ask after the sick, and said, ‘He hasn’t done with the crew but has found fewer sick than feared.’ Hayden glanced at Wickham to see if his tone of optimism had been believable.

  ‘That is good news, sir.’ Wickham appeared to relax a little, his carriage straightening. ‘The men have every faith in the doctor, Captain. He will pull us through.’

  ‘I believe their faith is well placed.’

  ‘There, sir!’ Wickham’s hand shot up and he pointed into a inky squall that sagged low to the sea.

  A glance through the glass assured Hayden that it was, indeed, a schooner and so almost certainly McIntosh. He passed the glass to Wickham, who confirmed that it was.

  Hayden took a turn of the deck, stopping to speak with members of the crew, making a point of addressing the new men. At times like this a calm captain could soothe many apprehensions, and among such a superstitious community, dread of contagion was a fear as great as any but perhaps the sepsis. The term plague ship was whispered on all decks and the men set about their work, silent and grim. Everywhere he went Hayden assured the men it was not the yellow jack or some other such scourge, but an influenza – a word that did not strike so great a fear into their hearts.

  Hawthorne met Hayden as he returned to the quarterdeck, a weak smile flickering across the marine’s handsome face. ‘Dr Griffiths has finished seeing the men,’ Hawthorne informed him, ‘though not the officers and guests.’ The marine leaned closer and spoke quietly. ‘Fourteen fevered, another half-dozen about whom he harbours fears. They have been separated from both the sick and the hale so that Griffiths might observe their state most closely.’

  ‘So many!’ Hayden heard himself say, unable to hide his distress.

  ‘Was the Good Samaritan so repaid for his charity?’ Hawthorne wondered. ‘I have forgotten.’

  ‘A good Christian does not look for rewards in this life, Mr Hawthorne.’

  ‘Yet another way in which I have failed. But speaking of religion – we are rigging for church on the lower deck out of this bloody wind and rain. Mr Smosh is displaying uncommon energy in this endeavour, given his atheistic inclinations, and I must tell you, he has a most interesting curate this day.’

  ‘Mr Gould.’

  Hawthorne was clearly surprised that Hayden possessed this knowledge. ‘Indeed. I do hope th
e boy has actually attended church. It will only fuel the rumours if he is un-acquainted with the common ritual.’

  ‘I believe Smosh chose Gould with the purpose of suppressing such rumours and will be certain he knows his part. Or so I hope.’ It occurred to Hayden at that moment that Smosh might have intended the opposite, but no, Smosh was not so inclined, he was sure.

  ‘Let us pray,’ Hawthorne intoned.

  Hayden kept the deck until McIntosh made his way, board by board, through the convoy and hove to within hailing distance of the Themis. The little schooner, tightly reefed, was a flyer and as weatherly as any two-sticker Hayden had ever known.

  ‘Nary a sign of our lost ship, Captain Hayden,’ McIntosh called from the rail. ‘Not even a wee scrap of flotsam. If she went down she had no time to launch boats.’ He shrugged, his look perplexed. ‘I cannee explain it.’

  ‘I’ve never known a ship to go under so quickly,’ Hayden called, ‘lest she exploded. I do not think we can do more until this gale has passed but I have a letter for you to carry to Captain Cole, if you please.’

  Hayden sent his servant down to Griffiths asking for the list of physic he required. This the servant produced in a quarter of an hour, and McIntosh eased sheets, flying through the ships of the convoy like a gull with the wind at its tail.

  A gust struck Hayden on the back, pelting him with hard rain. A terrible flogging from above caused him to look up; below the crosstrees, the ochre jack lashed itself into a frenzy.

  Nine

  Smosh, a slightly comical figure at the best of times, surprised Hayden by appearing positively dignified in his vestments. By contrast, Gould looked nervous, even abashed; his uniform, of excellent quality, so new he almost appeared to be royalty dropped into their midst.

  The men sat upon the benches at each table, all turned to face aft, where Smosh prepared to address them. A group had gathered on the floor at his feet and to one side the officers and warrant officers seated themselves on chairs.

  If one had gone searching for a congregation of unrepentant sinners, certainly one would need look no further than the crew of a man-of-war. Yet, once church had been rigged, they became the most attentive and compliant group of absolute sinners one could ask for. They wore their best rigs, and sat like obedient schoolboys ready to take in a sermon on any of their cherished vices. One would think them a gathering of the most devout Christians rather than the tribe of heathens they actually were. Today, though, the men were more than solemn, a distressed, hunted look upon their wind-reddened faces. He had never seen such torment even aboard a ship about to enter battle.