‘Completely.’
‘Luck to you, Captain.’
‘Thank you, sir. Apparently, I have need of it.’
Twenty-three
Luck appeared in the form of Midshipman Lord Arthur Wickham. He was standing in the coaching inn courtyard, one foot set upon his sea-trunk as though he were afraid it might slink off into the gathering dusk. The young man almost gave a little jump of joy, so pleased was he by the appearance of his commanding officer and friend.
‘Captain Hayden!’ The boy broke into a grin. ‘Are we aboard the same coach?’
‘If you are travelling to Plymouth, I would wager we are.’ Hayden, who had been dreading the thirty-six-hour journey, was equally happy to find the midshipman.
‘Why, sir, it is a great stroke of good fortune. And the weather looks very promising, barely a rain cloud in sight.’
‘Very promising indeed. Are there any other of our shipmates aboard?’
‘I don’t believe so, sir.’
‘No matter, we shall certainly make do with each other’s company. I am very pleased not to be travelling alone, I will tell you.’
‘As am I, sir. The novelty of it wore away some time ago.’
The mail coach was soon drawn into the yard, and the team exchanged by the ostlers, the tired horses led away by diminutive stable boys, who clicked and muttered to them in a private language known only to boy and horse.
‘Watch out Bill, ’e’s a biter, that one,’ one of the boys warned, just as the horse referred to took a half-hearted lunge at the boy’s shoulder and received a smack across the nose with a leather rein for his offence.
Hayden and Wickham watched their trunks being loaded and then mounted to the outer seats, taking their place among diverse travellers, a woman and her grown daughter among them. Almost immediately the coach lurched off into the night, beginning its journey across the greater part of the breadth of England.
Wickham was very circumspect, and had been raised in the best possible circumstances, so would never enquire into Hayden’s private life. He did, however, direct the conversation near enough to similar matters – twice bringing up ‘marriage’ in a different context – to allow Hayden the opportunity to announce his news, if he so desired.
For his part, Hayden desperately wanted to speak of all that happened with someone – even someone as young as Wickham – but the utter lack of privacy in their present circumstances simply would not allow it.
Not long after they had passed the outskirts of London city, however, their fellow travellers all settled into silent states, and if they did not sleep soundly, they at least dozed.
Hayden then chose to relate to the midshipman a truncated version of the story, being careful not to reveal the distress he felt about all that had happened. Wickham’s response was to assure Hayden that all would be well, and in short order, too, which had some small effect on Hayden’s mood.
The young gentleman was soon asleep himself, leaving Hayden alone with the English countryside and a moon that floated among clouds, casting its pale light down upon the land like a sorrowful, fading sun.
The second morning of their journey brought them to the towns of Dock and Plymouth, where a herd of bullocks blocked up the streets, and drovers cursed at all and sundry. Ordering his trunk delivered to the Themis, an impatient Hayden, followed by Wickham, finally hopped down from the carriage, determined to continue on foot. Soon they were striding through side streets and alleys, making their way around the great, lowing pox of bullocks that spread along the high street.
In but a few moments, they were descending the steep hill where the quay hove into view with its fishermen and oyster costers. Hayden soon found them a boat to bear them to the Themis, but Wickham was suddenly overwhelmed by a need to write to his father.
‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ the boy apologized, ‘but it is on a matter of some importance. I will follow along directly, by your leave, sir.’
Hayden did not hide his annoyance well. ‘Will you be very long?’
‘Not at all, Captain Hayden. Nary a moment.’
‘Well, quickly then.’
Wickham rushed off and in less than a quarter of an hour returned, jumping down into the boat beside Hayden, full of apologies and ‘if you pleases’. Immediately they set off into the bay, the waterman bending to his sweeps. With each plunge of the oars Hayden felt his ability to resolve matters slipping away in his wake. Life ashore was not suspended while he was at sea – this fact had somewhat surprised him when he was a young midshipman. Parents aged, siblings grew taller, the sick passed away, and young girls married. And all of these things happened without reference to him, as though no one was the least concerned what he might think or feel about any of it. When last he had been at sea, his life ashore – his other life – had been thrown into turmoil. He wondered what would happen, now. Would the prize courts finally award him his money, or would the law courts hold him responsible for the veritable mountain of debt those French women had built up? He might return to find himself in possession of a handsome sum or he could be ruined.
Would Henrietta learn the truth of what had happened, or would she meet some other and forget him?
‘There is our ship, sir,’ Wickham informed him.
Hayden looked up and saw the Themis lying to her anchor a short distance off. The ship that no captain would have. ‘The mutineers’ ship’ she was called. The only post ship in the Royal Navy lacking a post captain. A kind of limbo where one could not ascend to paradise but neither could one fall further. Hayden’s home, between nations, between ranks, between money and poverty, love and loss. A place he seemed destined never to escape.
‘She looks very fine, does she not, Captain?’ Wickham said.
‘Dante would be pleased.’
Wickham was not sure if he made some jest. ‘Pardon me, sir?’
But they came within hailing distance of the ship at that moment and Mr Barthe discovered them and hurried to the rail.
‘There you are, Captain,’ he called from the quarterdeck. ‘We are waiting upon the pleasure of the powder hoy, our victualling is not complete. We’ve not enough shot to fight an oyster smack, and the bosun has no cordage.’ The sailing master appeared to lose track of his catalogue of complaints, gazed unhappily off towards the distant dockyards and slammed a pudgy fist on the rail. ‘Fucking navy!’ he declared, causing both Hayden and Wickham to erupt into laughter. Neither could tell why.
AFTERWORD
Many of the events depicted in this book occurred and several of the characters existed. I have been as true to these people and events as the demands of writing a novel would allow. There often comes a point, however, in the writing of this type of book, where one must decide if one is a novelist first or an historian. The answer, and not without some regret, is that I am a novelist.
Many readers will recognize Hayden’s escape from Toulon as a real event involving the frigate Juno. I have depicted this as accurately as I was able, inventing only the dialogue among the characters (although the words of the boarding Frenchmen were recorded, after the fact, and I have not changed those). This escape, a magnificent example of seamanship and sheer nerve, lent itself perfectly to fiction and could be managed by changing only the name of the ship, and exchanging the real officers for our fictional ones. History is seldom so co-operative.
The story of what occurred, only weeks later, on the island of Corsica was not so easily dealt with. The main events described in the book are true: raising the guns to the hilltops, taking the tower on Mortella Point and the Convention Redoubt. Even the animosity between the two services, and Dundas and Hood, in particular, is accurate. The officer actually responsible for hauling the guns was a Captain Cooke (I have also found his name spelled ‘Cook’ and I believe his first name was George). I apologize to all his descendants for stealing away his role and giving it to Charles Hayden. Although Hood and Dundas could not bear each other, Lieutenant-Major Kochler (whose name I have also found s
pelled ‘Koehler’) was, as far as I can discern, perfectly co-operative with the Navy, as was Sir John Moore. As Hood and Dundas seldom appeared, I needed some officer to exemplify the animosity between the services and Kochler was, regretfully, given this assignment. The sailors actually hauled two sets of guns to the hilltops – smaller guns to begin with, and then when it was realized these would not answer, the larger guns. I originally described both of these operations and then realized it was simply repetitive and cut out the section where the first guns were moved.
In describing the hauling of the eighteen-pounders, and all of the Corsican section, I relied heavily on the diaries of Sir John Moore and Sir Gilbert Elliot. What neither of these wonderful journals described adequately was the ruggedness of the terrain. I was fortunate to visit the site of these actions on the island of Corsica and can assure you, bearing a small desk over that ground and up those hills would be more than most of us could manage. Imagine pulling the wheels off a North American minivan and dragging it up a steep slope littered with rocks the size of cars and you will gain some appreciation of what the sailors accomplished. I will post some photos of the area on my website (US: sthomasrussell.com) (UK: seanthomasrussell.com) so anyone interested may see for themselves. Bear in mind that the actual hills are much steeper than they appear in the photos.
Paoli, who I will admit is one of my heroes, I have tried to render as honestly as I could. He was, I believe, a tragic figure, who devoted his life to seeing his people free only to be driven into a final exile, his dream in ruins. There is a wonderful statue of him in a square in the old capital of Corte.
Some historical figures are readily rendered into fiction but Sir John Moore was not one of them. The problem was that the man appeared to have been near to perfect. He was well-read, spoke several languages fluently, was tremendously brave, a brilliant officer, well-liked, respected – the man was even noted for being handsome. In his diary he foresaw many of the problems the British were creating for themselves on Corsica, and seems to have understood the people and the situation far better than Sir Gilbert Elliot, with whom he eventually clashed. Depicting this warrior-saint in a novel was extremely difficult because, the truth is, flawed heroes are more interesting. I did the best I could to render him human.
The cutting-out of the Fortunée and the Minerve did not actually occur, and I apologize for taking such licence. The two frigates existed and were anchored in Fornali Bay, but they were scuttled, and only the Minerve was refloated by the British. I did not want to attach Hayden to Moore’s company for the taking of the Convention Redoubt, as this battle was mercifully short and carried out by the army (although there were sailors present, in support, I don’t believe they took part in the fighting). I did want Hayden involved in some way and decided to alter the scuttling of the Minerve somewhat.
Corsica became almost a character in this book. We enjoyed our visit there. The island is very beautiful and varied, the people were gracious and welcoming and the food was often fantastic. I hope to return someday.
‘Romeo’ Moat is based on a real character named Coates, who was so inconsiderate as to not quite coincide with the dates of the book so I had to reinvent him – though only a little. Although descriptions of Coates’s performances exist, no one ever recorded, as far as I know, his reworking of Shakespeare’s plays, so I was forced to take this on myself.
Another section, the intent of which was almost entirely comic, was the golf match. I did take some licence, here, for the sake of humour, and I hope the golf historians do not send me too many letters of protest.
As I have noted before, I am not a trained historian and, no doubt, there will be some errors in this book. I have done everything to depict the period, and life aboard ship, in particular, as accurately as possible. Here and there, events and characters have been altered slightly to make, what I believe, is a better book. And it is always to be remembered that historians often disagree. Who can be sure what is fact and what is true?
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I have so many people to thank for their assistance and support that I hesitate to begin lest I forget someone. John Harland answered all my queries with his usual grace, clarity and speed; I cannot thank him enough. Liza Verity, of the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, did the same, suggesting reading when I was stymied. Tito Benady kindly answered all my questions about historical Gibraltar, and Lyman Coleman, retired senior padre of the Canadian Armed Forces, was my resource for things doctrinal and suggested a number of books that helped enormously. As always, I have to thank my amazing agents, Howard Morhaim in New York and Caspian Dennis in London, as well as the tireless Katie Menick; and my editors Alex Clarke and Rachel Kahan for all their support. Professor John McErlean’s writings on the Corsican campaign led me to the diaries of Sir John Moore. I would like to express my appreciation to the librarians at the British Library and the National Maritime Museum. They put their encyclopedic knowledge at the service of scholars everyday and occasionally assist a floundering novelist. Caspian Dennis lent me his name for a character who did not turn out, at all, as expected. Lieutenant Caspian Saint-Denis bears no resemblance to my British agent other than a similarity of name. Thanks go to all the staff at the Grind for supplying liquid inspiration every morning.
Due to the production sequence, John McKay’s wonderful illustration of the Themis appeared in Under Enemy Colours but my thanks did not appear in the acknowledgements. My apologies to John. I have a large version of the illustration over my desk and it gives me pleasure every day.
Finally, I must thank my wife, Karen, and son, Brendan, for all their understanding and support throughout the process of writing this and several other books. Their encouragement and optimism are unwavering as is my love for them.
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