James duly brought his written report to Rennie in the great cabin, after the declaration, and waited, his hat under his arm, his undress coat fresh brushed, while the captain made a show of reading the report through. There was very little in the document, since there had been very little to see the past twenty-four hours. Presently Rennie sniffed, and:
‘Very good.’ He put the report aside, and looked aft through the stern-gallery window. ‘I think in future, Mr Hayter – James – it will be more conducive to quarterdeck manners and discipline if you was to wear correct uniform. In truth I thought you had resolved to do so, and then today you was again dressed – unsuitable.’
‘D’y’mean . . . always dress in a blue coat, sir? Even when I go aloft?’
‘Y’may leave your coat at the binnacle when you go aloft.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Turning in his chair to look across the table, Rennie: ‘It ain’t that I am condemning your . . . your other clothes out of hand, exact. It is merely the question of what will look officerlike on deck. We must consider your standing in the ship, you know, that cannot be ignored.’
‘My standing, sir?’
‘Yes, yes – your rank and duties and so forth.’
‘Ah, well, yes . . . I had meant to say something about that very thing, sir, before this. We had not quite established it.’
‘In course we had established it, before we came to the Nore.’
‘Well, yes . . . but I have never had sight of my warrant of commission, sir, and my duties have never been wrote out.’
‘Why should they be wrote out, when I have given them to you very succinct. How can there be any doubt as to your duties? Are you in doubt?’
‘Well, sir, I am not altogether certain as to—’
‘You are Pursuit Officer, with the rank of lieutenant.’ Over him. ‘I do not think it could be made plainer than that. There is another matter I wished to address.’
‘Sir?’
‘Taking a flask aloft and drinking there, and handing the flask to your lookouts.’
‘It is often cold aloft and I—’
‘An officer being passing civil to the people, in a merely informal way, is not a thing I will ever condemn. However, I will not like any of my officers to undermine discipline. This is very painful to me, Mr Hayter – James – but I have begun to notice that y’are drinking more than is good for you.’
‘Drinking more than is good for me . . . ?’ Astonished.
‘Ay. Ay. It is a fault that may develop at sea, if an officer ain’t careful. I have seen it in ships’ surgeons, and sometimes in pursers too. Even in post captains. You recall Captain Paxton, at the Nore?’
‘Of the Obelisk seventy-four? The guard-ship?’
‘Yes, he came to dinner. And returned to his ship so drunk he nearly stepped into the sea instead of into his boat. No doubt you recall it.’
‘I remember Captain Paxton, sir.’
‘He is a drunkard, I regret to say. He has lain too long at the Nore in his ship, with nothing to occupy him but inconsequential routine. He thinks himself passed over, and it has embittered him. I hope you will never emulate him, James. That would be a circumstance of great regret to me.’
James said nothing, not trusting himself to speak without anger. That Rennie should say these things to him was – he thought – damned near unforgivable. Rennie, who had often been in his cups in James’s presence, who had never stinted himself in his intake of wine, nor spirits neither. Who knew all the particulars of James’s career – that he had had his own command, and then had faltered – and yet had not had the decency to keep his views to himself: ‘He thinks himself passed over . . . I hope you will never emulate him, James.’ Christ in tears!
‘We will sail parallel to the coast. Not off and on, like to a blockade ship, but keeping well offshore. We will wait . . .’ Rennie paused and looked across the table. ‘Are you listening, James?’
‘Eh? Oh – yes. Yes, I am listening.’
‘You will keep your lookouts aloft day and night. Their observations, and yours, must now be acute.’
‘I hope that they have been acute since we weighed at the Nore, sir.’
‘Yes, well, hm. I – I trust that you will take what I have said today to heart, James. You apprehend?’
‘I think I understand you, sir.’
‘Good. Very good. Then we will not linger over discommoding things, that are painful to us both. We will put them behind us.’
‘I wish to be entirely certain . . . you forbid me wine at meals, sir?’
‘Good God, when a man is eating his dinner it is the most natural thing, the most desirable thing, to drink a glass or two of wine. We all do it, in the ship. Forbid it? In course not, in course not.’
‘Thank you, sir. Then . . . it is only the flask you will not permit?’
‘Now then, James, I never said you could not carry your flask, like any other officer. I merely said . . . well well, you know what I said. Be careful aloft.’
‘Aloft. Thank you, sir.’ A polite bow, very correct.
When James had gone Rennie sat quiet in his chair a few moments, then he rapped the table hard and got up on his legs with a great sigh.
‘He has made me the villain. He has cast me as the puritan, and contrived to make me sanctimonious. When all I wished to do was help him, God damn and blast the fellow!’
Then he was ashamed of himself, and looked for his cat to comfort him. Presently his steward Colley Cutton brought in the first course of his dinner, which today he would eat alone.
‘What is it?’ Looking at the covered tureen.
‘As you see, sir . . .’ He lifted the cover in a cloud of steam. ‘. . . hit is broff.’
‘Yes yes, broth. What kind of broth, man?’
‘I – I b’lieve Mr Swallow has called it “Surprise Broff”, sir.’
‘In little, ye don’t know.’
‘May I suggest that you tas’e it, sir, and then you will—’
‘Be surprised?’ Taking up his spoon.
*
As Expedient sailed northward along the Norwegian coast she began to encounter numerous other ships, and fishing craft, and Rennie ordered that they should stand well off from the shore, so as to see as few vessels as possible before Expedient came to Bergen. The wind now grew stronger from the north, and Rennie and Mr Loftus between them reduced sail to a single headsail and reefed topsails. Even though it was spring the wind produced a chilling effect in these northern latitudes which obliged men on deck to cover themselves in protective clothing. Those men going aloft to reef and furl found their hands and feet numbed as if they were in the depths of an English winter. The wind cut through any and all cloths and oilskins to make keeping the tops a misery, and duty midshipmen, going below from the quarterdeck at the changes of the watch, were rimed with salt from head to foot in the sweeping spray that flung back from the bow as the ship pitched into the wind close-hauled.
The ship herself began to suffer, and Rennie knew that if the pursuit continued in these conditions for many weeks together the strains placed upon her by the pounding of the sea, the constant spray, the fierce winds, would make the rigging, the caulking of the seams, and every part of the hull susceptible to further injury, adding to the damage already sustained at the hands of Terces. Every rope, every cable, halyard, stay, line and fall, down to the finest seizing of twine, would be weakened by the combined effects of pitching and rolling, of spray and salt, of sun and rain alike, until everything exposed to the weather started fraying and rotting. The ship’s seams would begin to open and let the sea in, and the pumps would have to be manned watch on watch, exhausting the people.
Rennie recalled an earlier commission, when Expedient had sailed south into the Atlantic, and called at Tenerife in the Canary Isles after a mere fortnight at sea. He had been obliged then to carry out quite extensive repair, even when his ship had been subjected to no more than the usual wear and tear of the sea. What woul
d be her fate if she were to face storms in the North Atlantic? Could they reasonably expect to repair again at sea, in such conditions? Might not the ship, having already sustained severe shot damage, be vulnerable in the extreme?
‘I cannot allow these things to deter me.’ Rennie, as he paced his quarterdeck, his hat jammed down thwartwise on his head. He shook his head, sniffed, and wiped at his salt-crusted face with his kerchief. ‘I must hold up my head without complaint, and continue.’ Ducking his head as he turned forrard and was met by drenching spray. Thud, and the ship shivered under his legs as she met a heavy sea. Thud, as the bow dipped again, and another scattering storm of spray swept aft. Coming abreast of the wheel he saw one of the duty mids, and summoned him:
‘Mr Glaister!’
‘Sir?’ Attending. He touched his hat, but did not attempt to remove it in the wind.
‘Find Mr Hayter, and ask him with my compliments to come to me in the great cabin in half a glass.’
‘Ay-ay, sir.’ Turning to leave.
‘Mr Glaister, are you feeling quite well today?’
‘I am much better, thank you, sir.’ His face chalky pale.
‘Take a pull, Mr Glaister.’ Handing the boy his flask. ‘One swallow only, you mind me.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ The boy took the flask, lifted it to his mouth, steadying himself with his other hand on a backstay, and sucked down raw rum. He coughed, his face grew red, and his eyes watered. He gave the flask back to his commanding officer, coughed again, and got his breath.
‘Warm, ain’t it?’
‘Very warm, sir.’ Coughing.
‘That is unwatered rum, Mr Glaister, to be took sparingly. Nothing like it, though, when a man needs lifting up at sea. Very well, go and find Mr Hayter. Jump now.’
Ten minutes after, when James came to the great cabin, Rennie was waiting for him. Today James was correctly dressed, his hat under his arm.
‘I have decided on a change of plan.’ Rennie motioned him to a chair.
‘Sir?’ He sat down.
‘We cannot simply wait outside Bergen for Terces to show herself. We do not know absolutely for certain she is there. We must discover it, yea or nay, but we cannot risk sailing Expedient in. I will like you as Pursuit Officer to take a boat into Bergen, and look for her.’
‘Alone, sir?’
‘Good God, no, it is too great a task for one man. You will take the pinnace with a small crew, step and bend, and sail in. I will give you six men, and my coxswain. Ample numbers to handle the pinnace, and adequate numbers to row you away, should the wind die. You will dress as fishermen, and in course fly no colours.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘We will reach the latitude of Bergen a little before dawn tomorrow. I will like the boat lowered and got away by first light.’ A nod, a breath, and: ‘Will you drink a glass of wine, James?’
‘I think I will like to keep a clear head in light of the task you have assigned to me, thank you, sir.’
‘Come, one glass cannot injure you. – Cutton! Where are you!’
‘Thank you again, sir. By your leave, I shall abstain.’ Politely.
‘Oh?’ Raising his eyebrows. ‘Well well, just as you say, it may be wiser in you to remain sharp. You will not object, I hope, if I drink a glass myself?’
‘I do not think I could, sir.’
‘Eh?’
‘Object.’
‘Ah. No. Why should you, indeed? – Cutton, damn you!’
His steward appeared, holding the captain’s cat out in front of him. The creature looked discomforted and miserable. It squirmed and gave a mournful yowl. Rennie at once grew concerned.
‘What has happened? What have you done to her?’ Glaring at his steward, then transferring his attention to the hapless animal. ‘My poor Dulcie . . .’
Cutton put the cat down on the deck, where it crouched staring straight ahead, then convulsed in a series of erupting heaves, and deposited a whole rat’s body in a glistening, frothy slime on the canvas squares.
‘Good God . . .’ Rennie, in astonishment that so modest and small a beast could contain so large a rodent. ‘How can she have ingested it?’
‘Hit is a mystery, sir . . . ain’t it, though?’ Shaking his head in admiration.
‘Has she done this before, good heaven? She is in usual such a clean, delicate— Do not smile imbecilic like that, damn you! Clean up this filthy mess, and take my cat forrard to the fo’c’sle until she is quite well.’
‘Which shall I do first, sir?’
‘Both, both! Jump now! – Christ’s blood, what a damned repugnant thing.’
‘Shall I bring your wine, sir?’
‘I have not ordered wine. I am going on deck. I shall return in one glass, and by God the great cabin had better smell sweet, and all sign of repellent upset be gone entire, or I will know the reason why.’ Getting up on his legs. ‘Mr Hayter, are you still here? Should not you instruct the boatswain about the pinnace, and choose your crew? There is much to be done before the morrow, you know.’ Taking up his hat.
‘Very good, sir.’ James, following Rennie from the cabin, and putting on his own hat.
‘Ho, Dulcie . . .’ Cutton retreated, returned with a pail of water and a cloth, picked up the cat and put her gently to one side, and began to clear up the mess. ‘Ho, Dulcie . . . you has disgraced yourself, ain’t you, my dear?’
The cat fell to washing herself, entirely unconcerned.
*
James lay in his hanging cot in his cabin, waiting for first light and reading by the glow of a small lantern. He had left instruction that he was to be called by one of the duty mids of the morning watch, at two bells – five o’clock. The decks would be washing in the grey breaking of day, holystones scuffing in a rhythm the length of the ship. He had ordered the pinnace hoisted out and towed overnight, so that it could be hauled alongside and he and his small crew could cast off and make sail easily and quickly when the moment came. He had slept poorly, his mind full of doubt and contradiction. He thought of Catherine. He thought of the increasing horrors in France, and his narrow escape less than a year since. He thought of why he was here in Expedient, now. In the name of God, what was his true purpose in the world? His mind began to blur and his head to spin. He shook his head and took a deep, steadying breath. He turned a page of his book, a notebook of his own rather than a published volume, bound in calfskin, one of half a dozen he had preserved from his first year at Cambridge, when he had had literary pretensions, and wrote copiously in his rooms late at night. A fragment of poetry stared up at him, long forgotten:
Dancing through the lazy trees
Insects on the drifting air;
In the distance, bright beyond
Lies the summer morning
High and clear
Above the green fold hill
The spilling land
Makes birds of men
That walk along the chalky height
And sweep their eyes ten mile afar
In glorious earthbound flight
A flickering
A lofting swift,
And on the softing wind
The creature’s song
Hangs intimate
Above the quiet fields
‘It is clumsy.’ To himself, scarcely above a whisper. ‘Why “glorious”, good heaven?’ He took up a pencil, and made a note in the margin. He lay back in the cot, letting the book fall in his lap, stared up at the deckhead and through it to that faraway world of youth, of nineteen years old and a yearning heart, of late nights and too much wine, of fiery thoughts and passionate debate, of headache and laziness in the morning, and a hundred resolutions to be chaste, and sober, and industrious – of poetry, and the river, and endless languorous days.
‘Where is that boy, now . . . ?’ A sigh. ‘I do not know him, any more.’ He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine himself in a punt on the river on a summer’s afternoon, the sun dazzling through the trees overhead . . . and was roused by
urgent rapping on the slatted door of his cabin.
‘Lieutenant Hayter, sir? It is five o’clock.’
And in confirmation twin strikes on the bell on the forecastle, echoing dully through the ship. The muffled sound of holystones. A call from the chains as the lead was swung. Coughing from the hammock numbers forrard in the lower deck. James lifted himself, swung his feet to the deck, and:
‘Very well, thankee, Mr Madeley.’
He found his flask and lifted it to his mouth, then did not drink. He thrust the flask away in his jerkin. Five minutes after he was in the waist, dressed in his usual working rig, but today without the kerchief tied on his head. His crew was assembled. Clinton Huff, the captain’s coxswain, and six strong men. Would they pass as fishermen?
‘Huff, there.’
‘Sir?’ Touching his forehead.
‘Pass round these hats.’ He gave the coxswain seven round, soft hats run up for him by the sailmaker out of old cloth, and retained one for himself. ‘You must all hide your pigtails under these. We must look like fishermen, not seamen jacks.’
‘Ay, sir. And I have got that netting, look.’ And he dragged across the planking a quantity of fishnet found in the cable tier, and smelling distinctly of that part of the ship.
‘Pooff . . . it stinks, don’t it?’ James turned his face away, and then nodded. ‘But it will answer. Keep it stowed under the thwarts until we see other boats, and then we will deploy it as if we were casting for fish ourselves.’
‘Are we to go all the way into Bergen, sir?’
‘Ay, we are. We must find Terces.’
‘Yes, sir. Only she . . .’ Hesitating.
‘Yes, Huff?’
‘Well, sir, happen she will fire on us . . . if we was rec’nised as Expedients. Ain’t that likely, sir?’
‘We shall not be recognised. Follow me, and don’t talk womanish.’ He strode to the ladder, and ran purposefully up to the starboard gangway. ‘Mr Tangible! Haul the pinnace alongside!’
‘It is done, sir.’ Roman Tangible, coming up the side ladder from the tethered boat. ‘Fore and main masts stepped. And I has placed a pair of half-pound swivels in the stern sheets, should other boats prove over-inquiring of your purpose, sir.’
The Pursuit Page 12
