The Pursuit

by Peter Smalley

  When James frowned but said nothing, Rennie continued:

  ‘James, I have allowed you repeatedly to express your doubts and difficulties about this cruise because I . . . well, in truth because I pressed you into it against your will. I thought I was aiding you when you had reached a dangerous fork in the road. Had you took the wrong fork, you might well have come to disaster.’

  ‘I know it, and I thank you.’ Quietly.

  ‘Well, then – well well. I cannot permit further talk of doubt, nor defeat. We can and will do what we are able – do our utmost – to find Terces again, and pursue her – where-soever she may go.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We cannot give up hope. We will not.’

  ‘No, sir.’ James, half attending, distracted by a further thought.

  ‘Even if you think it.’

  ‘Erm . . . think what, sir?’

  ‘Come, James, do not be coy. You do think this duty is damned foolishness, in spite of what I’ve just said. It is wrote all over your face.’

  ‘May I be candid, entire?’ Before Rennie could reply, James leaned forward earnestly and: ‘What I think, what I believe, is that since we have both of us accepted this duty, we must see it through, whatever our private doubts.’

  ‘I am glad to hear you say that, James.’

  ‘Further, I am nearly certain—’

  ‘Ah.’ Over him, a little grimace. ‘“Further.” Now, the caveat.’

  James shook his head, and hurried on. ‘I am nearly certain, the more I think on it, that Terces does not go to Norway as her final destination, but instead calls there to collect something – goods, or a passenger, I don’t know which – and that Captain Broadman’s intention is then to transport his cargo far away. I think Mr Mappin knew it, and that is why he told us to store for long foreign service – and he did so, did he not?’

  ‘Ay, he did.’ Rennie inclined his head. ‘We are stored for four months.’

  ‘At his particular suggestion – four months?’

  ‘I did ask him how long as we went ashore at Portsmouth, you are right. Yes, the notion of four months’ stores came from him.’ He sat up a little, and the cat, disturbed from comfort, dug her claws into his leg.

  ‘Then it is the North Atlantic.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘Anywhere further away would require a greater weight of stores. Six months, eight. And nearer – the Mediterranean, say – would require less. My strong belief . . .’

  ‘Yes, James?’ Rennie leaned forward, and his cat, with a murmer of complaint, jumped down on the canvas squares, and fell to washing herself.

  ‘My strong belief is that Terces will go to America.’

  ‘Then we are in accord.’ Rising and coming to the table.

  James, astonished: ‘Eh? We are?’

  ‘And first she will go – not to Norway’s principal city, nay, not to Oslo . . .’

  Rennie pulled a chart toward him on the table, and spread it open.

  ‘. . . but here.’ He tapped the place with his finger. ‘To Bergen.’

  *

  ‘Why Bergen, Mr Leigh?’ Rennie, dining in the gunroom at the invitation of the mess president, put down his glass, and turned in his chair to address his host. ‘Because it gives Captain Broadman exactly what he wishes. A superb natural harbour, close to the open sea – much closer than Oslo – from which he may sail direct into the North Atlantic, and thence to America.’

  ‘D’y’mean that he will sail between the Shetland Isles and the Orkneys, sir?’

  ‘Nay, he will not do that, I think. He will sail north of the Shetlands, and then head west-sou’-west, south of the Faroes, and away into the Atlantic.’

  ‘To Newfoundland?’

  ‘I doubt there is anything for Captain Broadman at so remote a place as St John’s. He will likely head for Boston, or New York, I think.’

  ‘With respect, sir, we cannot know that he will, when we do not know his purpose in crossing the Atlantic, to begin. Or do we know it . . . ?’

  Rennie sniffed, took up his glass, refused the cheese offered him by the steward, and waited for the man to return to the pantry. Then:

  ‘We may only guess at it, Mr Leigh.’

  ‘In my own view—’ began James, and was immediately silenced by a warning glare from Rennie.

  ‘Everything that we do is based upon guessing, for the moment, gentlemen.’ Glancing along the table to include all present. ‘He outfoxed us once, and dealt us a heavy blow, from which we have near recovered.’ He nodded approvingly at Mr Trembath, who had risen from his hanging cot to attend the dinner, his injured leg yet heavily strapped. ‘We have not been able to pursue him direct, therefore, but Bergen is his immediate design, I am in no doubt.’ Confidently.

  ‘Nor am I.’ James took up the decanter pushed along to him by Dr Empson, and refilled his glass. The doctor had not refilled his own glass. Nor had Mr Trembath, who looked – and felt – rather frail still. Mr Loftus was in his cups. Mr Tindall, as officer of the watch, was entirely sober, and in order to attend the dinner had briefly left the deck in the charge of the master’s mate. The purser Mr Trent – a stout, rubicund figure – was today absent, laid low by a stomach ailment. Mr Harcher, the Marine officer, made up an even number of eight at table. He was very flushed, beginning voluble, and quite unaware of it.

  ‘I wonder if you have had occasion, sir, to examine my plan?’ To Rennie.

  ‘Your plan, Mr Harcher?’ Turning politely.

  ‘Yes, sir, yes. I gave it into the hand of your steward, who said he would pass it to you at the earliest opportunity, since you have no clerk this commission. The plan is this. It is . . . there is some slight difficulty of tackles, but it may be managed, I am entirely certain. It is this . . . and it would not, by the by, entail great trouble, just because there would be two. I do not think it is has ever been done in the Royal Navy, in fact I am not aware of it ever having been thought of at all, and I—’

  ‘Mr Harcher.’

  ‘And I think, therefore—’

  ‘Mr Harcher.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Two of what?’

  ‘Why, carronades, sir. Hoisted into the tops.’

  ‘Hoisted . . .’

  ‘Yes, sir, yes. The effect of smashers in the tops would be double devastating to an enemy. Naturally, they would not fire roundshot. They would fire grape.’

  ‘The enemy . . .’

  ‘No, sir, no, ha-ha. The carronades.’

  ‘Carronades. In the tops. Firing grapeshot. Is that what you are proposing?’

  ‘Indeed, sir, yes. I do not think it has ever been done before, and—’

  ‘And we must hope very fervent that it is never done at all, Mr Harcher.’

  ‘Never done . . . at all?’ Flushed, puzzled.

  ‘Never, Mr Harcher.’

  ‘Oh, but sir, I assure you, the difficulty of the tackles may be—’

  ‘Your proposal is wretched, sir. Wretched, and lunatic. Y’would set the courses and topsails afire, blast away the tops altogether, and all of the rigging, kill your own people, and render the ship defenceless.’

  ‘Oh, but I assure you—’

  ‘Y’may assure me of nothing, Mr Harcher, except that y’will never mention the scheme again, in my hearing.’

  A brief, uncomfortable silence, during which Mr Harcher buried his face in his glass. Then Mr Leigh:

  ‘I wonder what reason lies behind the Terces going to Bergen?’ Asked of nobody in particular. Rennie answered.

  ‘To take aboard cargo of some kind, Mr Leigh.’

  ‘A heavily armed ship?’ Tilting his head. ‘Timber, sir? Dried fish?’

  ‘I do not think she will carry timber to America, Mr Leigh, where there is ample forests of all kinds.’ Tartly. ‘Nor fish, neither. We do not know her cargo.’

  ‘Forgive me, sir, but it would seem that we are more or less wholly in the dark about this dangerous ship – ain’t we?’

  ‘Mr Leigh
, our task is to pursue the Terces until we find out her ultimate destination – in America. Shedding further light on the question ain’t our work. That is for others to undertake.’ With effortful patience.

  A further brief lull, and now Bernard Loftus turned his head in a sudden loose swivel, took a moment to focus on the first lieutenant, and:

  ‘We are too solemn. Time for jollities, eh? We must liff up our spirriss and-and-and . . . Mr Leigh, will not you entertain us? Give us a tortoise, as an isstance! Hey?’

  ‘Eh? A tortoise? I don’t know that a tortoise makes any kind of a sound, except shuffle . . . shuffle . . . shuffle . . .’ He crouched very low, hunching his back, peered out as if from under a shell, craned his neck, withdrew his head, and was still.

  ‘Hhh-hhh-hhh . . .’ Bernard Loftus wheezed with bibulous laughter. ‘Give us a nelephant, now, willee?’

  Mr Leigh straightened himself, and shook his head. ‘Nay, I cannot.’

  ‘Eh? Why not?’

  ‘Gunroom ain’t broad enough.’

  ‘Hhh-hhh-hhhn’t-broad enough! Hhh-hhh-hhhf . . .’ Tears of mirth wet Mr Loftus’s cheeks.

  ‘However, I will try the battle trumpet of the bull elk, if y’will permit me.’

  He did so, and even Captain Rennie was obliged to smile, and chuckle, and nod.

  Five bells of the afternoon watch. The gunroom dinner broke up, Lieutenant Tindall returned to the quarterdeck, and Expedient sailed on slowly north.

  Lieutenant Hayter came on deck at four bells of the second dog, in cockaded hat, undress coat, and his glass under his arm, to take the first – night – watch as officer of the deck, standing in place of the injured Lieutenant Trembath.

  The wind had fallen to a gentle breeze, the moon had risen, and the sea lay crawling and silvery and calm, far into the distance.

  *

  At six bells of the morning watch Mr Leigh was on deck, and there was a slight haze over the sea. The wind had veered to the north-east, and was ruffling the waves, making an endless succession of rises and hollows and crested ridges, pewter grey, silver dark, glinting and sparkling in the early sun, slipping and folding and running as the haze slowly cleared. Expedient was close-hauled on the starboard tack, the pennant curling from her mainmast trucktop, her rigging a-hum. Norway lay days ahead, far to the north beyond the blurred separation of sea and sky at the horizon. No other ship was visible from Expedient’s quarterdeck, nor from her foremast, where James had posted two lookouts through the night, and another man at the main topsail yard.

  ‘Three men in darkness, Hayter?’ Lieutenant Leigh had asked, when James came on deck at the change of the watch to see the new men go aloft. ‘What can three men see, that one could not?’

  ‘I want to hear of anything ahead. A masthead light, stern lanterns, anything at all. And the further north we sail the earlier the sun, at this season. Men in the crosstrees may see a sail of ship in the first gleam of dawn.’

  ‘Oh, very well. It ain’t my business, I am merely officer of the watch.’

  James had drawn Mr Leigh away toward the aft part of the quarterdeck, abaft the skylight, and:

  ‘Look here, Leigh, I will never interfere with your duties as first, and as officer of the watch this morning, but I am charged with my own particular duty, and I must carry it out as I see fit. You see?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do see,’

  James let out a breath, and made a further attempt:

  ‘I know that this is all a damned awkward business for you, and—’

  ‘What? What is?’

  ‘Having the erstwhile first lieutenant of the ship, her first first, so to say, always in your sight about the deck, climbing in the shrouds, and so forth, and in the gunroom.’

  ‘I hope that I’ve never said anything untoward.’ Lieutenant Leigh, in usual the most amiable of men, felt his patience sorely tested now. ‘I hope that I am always gentlemanlike, and officerlike.’

  ‘Nay, nay, all I meant to say was – if there is any fault it is entirely mine. I must ask your pardon for any slight y’may have felt.’

  ‘Slight? Good heaven, I am not some damned petulant girl.’ Petulantly.

  James saw that he could only make things worse by continuing the conversation, and so broke it off, and went below.

  As daylight broadened over the sea James again came on deck and went aloft to the crosstrees of the foremast, today dressed in his working rig, and his glass slung over his back in its leather case. He nodded to his lookout, hooked an arm through a stay, and focused his glass northward. The lookout:

  ‘Only merchant ships sailing south, sir, that I have sighted since dawn. Nothing at all before, no lights of any kind.’

  ‘Very well. Are you ready for y’breakfast?’

  ‘I am, sir. I mos’ cert’ly am. But breakfast ain’t piped yet.’

  ‘Take this wedge of pie.’ Pulling a piece of pie wrapped in a kerchief from his jerkin, and handing it over.

  ‘That is right kind of you, sir. I will, thankee.’

  The lookout munched the pie, and nodded in appreciation. James produced his flask, took a pull of raw spirit, coughed, and handed the flask to his companion.

  ‘I know it is cold work up here in heaven.’

  ‘You are very good, sir.’ Taking a pull himself, and handing the flask back.

  ‘Terces has nearly gone in at Bergen by now, I’ll wager – but just in case she has not, we must keep ourselves sharp. Y’hear?’

  ‘Ay, sir. Sharp.’

  ‘Very good. Let me hear you loud, the moment you sight anything ahead. I will like to hear you even if I am in the orlop.’

  ‘Ay, sir.’

  James stood a moment longer, shading his eyes in the morning light, and found his inner eye occupied by an immediate and vividly lifelike image of Catherine, her dark eyes turned on him, and in them a look of such intense, puzzled sadness that he felt his heart lurch in his breast.

  ‘Oh!’ An involuntary gasp.

  ‘Sir?’ The lookout turned his head.

  ‘I – I thought I saw something there.’ To cover his discomfiture he pointed ahead and raised his glass. ‘Nay, it was nothing . . . just the flash ofabird’swing.’ Lowering the glass. ‘Sharp, now.’ He nodded, stowed his glass in the case, grasped a stay and slid from the lookout’s view.

  The coast of Norway was sighted an hour before noon, three days after. The air was clear and bright, the wind brisk from the north-east, and the sea running a slight chop, but not rough, nor was there a heavy swell. However, Expedient was pitching in the headwind, a fault common to Perseverence class frigates because of a slight aberration in the design of the hull beneath the bow, abaft the cutwater. It had made one of the duty midshipmen, a boy called Glaister who was on his first cruise, puking ill, so that he was obliged to spend his watch doubled over the lee rail. The officer who had the deck, Mr Tindall, was for permitting the boy to go below, but Rennie – pacing his quarterdeck – refused to allow it.

  ‘Work, Mr Tindall, that is the cure for seasickness. Work.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ He touched his hat.

  ‘Send the lad aloft. Give him something to do in the top. Oblige him to concentrate his attention.’

  ‘I do not think he is capable of going aloft just at present, sir.’ Indicating the small, hunched, heaving back at the rail.

  ‘Well well, when he has given his breakfast to the fishes, then. When his stomach is empty.’

  The hapless mid remained on duty, his face ghastly green, until at six bells:

  ‘De-e-e-e-eck! La-a-a-a-nd ahead! Two points off the starboard bo-o-o-ow!’

  Which bellowing announcement miraculously lifted the boy from helpless, hopeless misery into sudden elation. The very thought of dry land, solid and secure and welcoming, had cured him.

  The stretch of coast ahead, as yet low on the line of the sea and sky, was the eminence at Farsund, wandering nor’-west toward Egersund and Naerbö, and a long series of islands, inlets and fjords. Rennie co
nfirmed this on his chart, and by comparing the coastline with the topographical drawings issued with the chart by the Admiralty cartographer, which he had brought up to him at the binnacle by his steward. In the very far distance inland, no more than a faint smudge to the naked eye, snow-capped mountains. The sky near white at the horizon, deepening into sapphire blue on high. Rennie sniffed the wind, and thought he could detect the fragrance of pine forests. He breathed it in.

  James had come on deck when he heard the lookout’s hail, and was about to go aloft with his glass when Rennie:

  ‘Do you know anything of Norway, Mr Hayter?’

  ‘Dr Johnson said it had “noble wild prospects”, sir. And I believe it is clean.’

  ‘Clean? Ha-ha! Yes, yes, I like that very much. Norway is clean. Very good. Y’may go aloft and look at it, Mr Hayter, if y’please, and then tell me if your understanding has been confirmed.’

  He did not comment on his Pursuit Officer’s dress. The thought of clean snow and pine forests had lifted his heart, and James’s piratical appearance, subjected to much satiric raillery in the past, was of no consequence today. When James descended and joined him on deck a few minutes later, Rennie said to him:

  ‘Well – and is it?’

  ‘Erm . . . is it what, sir? Oh, clean – I had clean forgot. I fear we are not yet close enough to be certain, but I will venture that it looks clean, ay.’

  Rennie leaned closer to him. ‘Have you been drinking, Mr Hayter?’ A sniff.

  ‘A drop of rum from my flask aloft, sir, to keep out the chill.’

  ‘Ah. Hm. No sign of Terces?’

  ‘Oh, no, sir. None at all.’ Unslinging his glass.

  ‘Well well, I cannot guess at such intelligence, you know. It is your duty to inform me in every particular.’ A hint of acerbity.

  ‘Oh. Well, I am very sorry I did not do so, sir.’ Blithely. ‘I had assumed, because I made no mention of her when I came down just now, that you had understood.’

  ‘Understood?’ Curtly, a frown.

  ‘Well . . . yes, sir. In course the Terces ain’t in sight. She is at Bergen, I expect, long since.’

  ‘I will like an account of all your observations of today, if y’please, wrote out in full, when noon has been declared.’ All lightness gone from his tone. ‘Y’will attend me in the great cabin, properly dressed.’ And he went forrard to divisions.