The Pursuit

by Peter Smalley

  ‘You do not think – that they will be tortured . . .’

  ‘Tortured!’ Lowering his glass. ‘Good God, don’t talk so extravagant, Mr Leigh. They are held only as an expedient measure, I am in no doubt, and will be cast adrift in the pinnace when that purpose has been served.’

  ‘Did you say “expedient”, sir?’

  ‘What? Oh.’ Ruffled. ‘Well well, it was neither an apt nor opportune description, Mr Leigh. Captain Broadman has done it for his own ends. Will that answer?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir, I had only meant it as a joke.’

  ‘This ain’t the time for jokes.’ Curtly, raising his glass again.

  Islands and rocky outcrops ahead in profusion. Mist along the low hills, clinging to the tops of the trees, and swirling down along the indented, wandering shoreline. And always the pursuit – superbly handled, heeling a little as she harnessed the wind, her sails trimmed to an exactitude – found her way surely through the passage, and Expedient struggled to keep up. Mr Loftus referred constantly to the large Admiralty chart, and the seaman in the forechains with the lead was kept constantly at his work. Rennie had ordered that crews of waisters were to stand by at the chain pumps, in case of sudden emergency. He had kept to his decision not to clear the decks for action, but the gunner Mr Storey had loaded extra cartridge in the filling room of the forrard magazine, just in case.

  The day lengthened, and grew old, and twilight descended over the coast and the sea. The mist lifted, and far inland snow turned red on the peaks as the dying sun was reflected there. A league ahead the pursuit lost way on the darkening water, and hove to.

  ‘Thank God. They must anchor overnight, and so must we.’ Rennie, as four bells of the second dog watch sounded on the fo’c’sle, and the ship prepared for hammocks down. He gave the order to heave to and anchor, and at last he came aft, stiff with salt and stiff in every limb from his long vigil, to the easeful respite of the great cabin, and a lifting glass of wine.

  At a greater distance behind than that between Expedient and Terces, the Danish brig slipped unseen between two islands, and hove to as night fell.

  Rennie consulted with his first lieutenant and his sailing master, in the great cabin.

  ‘We know that Terces carries two stern lanterns and a masthead light, and that they have been lighted, because we can see them quite plain. This is a boon to us, because it means she cannot slip away at night without being seen to do so.’

  ‘Clearly her master wished us to see him at night,’ said Bernard Loftus.

  ‘He has certainly made no effort to outrun us, nor hide from us, all the day.’ Captain Rennie, nodding.

  ‘Likely he believes that we will not attack him when our own people are held aboard his ship, sir.’ Lieutenant Leigh.

  ‘I am not hard at work to discover his motive, so long as we keep Terces in plain view, watch by watch.’ Rennie laid out a second chart over the large one he had brought below, and examined it with his magnifying glass. ‘Terces lies . . . here.’ Pointing to the place on the chart. ‘And we are here.’ Pointing again. ‘Say to all the masthead men that I wish glass-by-glass reports of Terces’ lights, through the hours of darkness. Any change, any movement, anything at all, is to be conveyed to me at once.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘If I am asleep I am to be woke. Y’apprehend me?’

  Rennie insisted on being given the names of the masthead lookouts as they would be on duty, watch by watch. In addition, he wished a man posted in the bow at all times, and anchor watches to be maintained in addition to the regular watches. When everything had been arranged to his satisfaction, he invited the two officers to join him for supper.

  In the brief interlude between this invitation and the meal – when Mr Leigh and Mr Loftus had returned to their cabins to wash their faces and shift into clean shirts – Rennie allowed himself to reflect on the plight of the men held in Terces: his coxswain Clinton Huff, the six men of the boat’s crew, and his Pursuit Officer Lieutenant Hayter. As he rinsed his face and neck in the basin of hot water Colley Cutton had brought to him in his quarter gallery:

  ‘I hope to God they are not ill-treated.’ Pausing to glance through the quarterlight.

  ‘I do not fink she b’lieves that, sir.’ Cutton, politely.

  ‘Eh?’ Turning distractedly to look at his steward, who waited in the narrow doorway with a towel.

  ‘Dulcie, sir. I fink she may well have forgave you, now, for your treatment of her.’

  ‘Dulcie? I was not talking of Dulcie, y’fool. Give me that.’ And he took the towel and mopped his face.

  ‘Beg pardon, sir. I fought you—’

  ‘The cat has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘No, sir?’

  ‘No.’ Mopping his neck, then: ‘What the devil d’y’mean, forgive?’

  ‘Well, sir – you shunned her, like, because of that rat.’

  ‘Shunned my own cat? What nonsense is this?’ Thrusting the towel at his steward and emerging from the quarter gallery to shift into his coat.

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir. But cats is very sens’tive creatures, which takes ’ffence very common when they b’lieve theirselves wronged. She was sent to the fo’c’sle in disgrace. I carried her there myself.’

  Rennie glared at his steward. ‘Then it is you she blames for carrying her there, Colley Cutton, I am in no doubt. Bring me another glass of wine.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  ‘And don’t say “as you wish”. This ain’t a coffee house, nor a pleasure garden, neither. We are at sea in a ship of war. When I give you an order y’will respond: “Ay-ay, sir.” And y’will jump, by God.’

  ‘Fank you, sir.’ Inclining his head with a show of humility. Rennie let it go.

  *

  The blindfold was removed by someone from behind, and James heard a door close. He blinked in the subdued light from a deckhead lantern, and saw beyond him on the canvas-covered decking a table, chairs, candles, and beyond that again a curved stern-gallery window. He was in the great cabin of the ship. A figure sat alone at one corner of the table, a sturdy black-haired man in shirt, breeches and sea boots, one of which was visible jutting at an angle by the table leg. James felt a waft of cool air on his face, and saw that one of the stern-gallery window panels had been lifted open and secured to the deckhead. From without came the creaking and dripping of an anchor cable as the ship eased a little on the tide. She was moored fore and aft, then.

  ‘You do not object to the night air, I hope?’ The tone neutral, but the voice firm and clear. The figure turned in the chair, and a pair of blue eyes regarded James with not quite stony detachment.

  ‘Not at all.’ James cleared his throat. ‘After the stench of the orlop, I welcome it. I assume it was the orlop, where I was held?’

  ‘It was.’

  James glanced round the cabin, and took in other detail: a rack of swords, rolled charts, bookshelves, a stove, a small desk. It was very like the great cabin of a sloop of war of the Royal Navy, with perhaps a hint more of comfort.

  ‘You are Captain Broadman, sir?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Will you release me from these bindings?’ His hands were tied tight behind his back, and his arms were growing numb.

  ‘Certainly . . . if you will give me your word as an officer not to attempt escape?’

  ‘You have it.’

  ‘Mm-hm.’ The briefest chuckle. ‘I should have said the same, exact, was I in your position. But would I have meant it, Lieutenant Hayter, hey?’

  ‘You know my name?’

  ‘You know mine.’

  ‘No doubt my name was told to you by one of the boat’s crew.’

  ‘Nay, it was not.’ Captain Broadman rose from his chair, produced a knife, and came to where James stood. He cut the bindings from James’s wrists, and tucked the knife away. James rubbed his wrists and worked his arms vigorously to shake the circulation back into them.
r />   ‘Thank you, sir. Where are my boat’s crew?’

  Captain Broadman did not answer the question, but instead returned to the table and indicated the chair opposite his own. ‘Sit down, Lieutenant Hayter.’

  James went to the table and sat down, and opened his mouth to ask the question again, but Captain Broadman:

  ‘Yes, I knew your name from the beginning, before your ship began the chase. Also those of your captain and first lieutenant – Rennie, and Leigh, I think?’

  ‘You are well informed.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Why did you think to attack us?’

  ‘Think it? My dear Lieutenant Hayter, I did more than that. I engaged you, and prevailed.’

  ‘You took us by surprise.’

  ‘Come now, a frigate of the Royal Navy? Ain’t His Majesty’s ships expected to be ready for action at any time?’

  James drew a breath, but then made no answer.

  ‘Hm-hm. Your silence is answer enough.’

  ‘You have not told me where you are holding my boat’s crew, sir.’

  ‘They are safe in the lower deck.’

  ‘May I see them?’

  ‘You may not, just at present. I had you brought to me so that I might give you supper. That is – if you would care to join me?’

  ‘Care to? Have I any choice?’

  ‘Certainly. You may join me, or return to the orlop.’

  ‘Then I will join you willing enough – if you will tell me why you have kidnapped us in your ship.’

  ‘Kidnapped? Nay, that is a very singular description of what was done. I am no slaver, I assure you. You was took prisoner, Lieutenant, and you are held prisoner, now.’

  ‘Which enemy’s colours d’you wear, Captain Broadman? Hey? England is not at war, sir.’

  ‘Not at war? You have been at war with France a twelve-month and more, have not you? You and Captain Rennie?’

  ‘What? That is madness.’

  ‘Is it, though? Did not you in effect invade France and undertake warlike activity there? Did not you engage French ships in a fierce sea action, in French waters, a year since?’

  James stared in astonishment at Captain Broadman. How had he come by this intelligence?

  ‘Are you an agent of France?’

  Captain Broadman parried the question by countering: ‘Why does Expedient continue to pursue me? I could have destroyed you, and yet did not.’

  ‘Yes, why did you not?’ James, genuinely curious.

  ‘I sought merely to prevent further pursuit. And yet you have persisted. You hound me in foreign waters. Why?’

  James sat silent a moment, then: ‘Those were our orders.’

  ‘In course I know that!’ Fiercely, and he struck the table. ‘My question is: who gave you those orders, and why?’

  ‘I am unable to answer.’

  ‘Unable, or unwilling?’ Captain Broadman regarded James with a long unfriendly stare. A reluctant sigh, and: ‘Well, perhaps Mr Brough Mappin has not told you, after all, but has simply required you to obey him blindly. He has dogged me ashore, I may tell you. I have been put to great trouble by that damned fellow.’

  ‘Mapple, did y’say? Don’t know the name.’

  Again Captain Broadman struck the table, banging it so hard with his fist that a glass at his elbow bounced and tipped over, and rolled with a hollow sound back and forth in a diminishing half-circle, scattering red droplets of wine. Captain Boardman, governing his voice:

  ‘If we are to dine together, we must treat each other with a modicum of respect, don’t you think so, Lieutenant?’

  ‘Conduct ourselves civilised, d’y’mean?’ James, with an ease he did not feel.

  ‘Indeed. Behave each to the other as men of intelligence and good sense. Yes?’

  ‘I am in accord with that, certainly.’ Politely, with a nod.

  ‘Then pray do not keep to the wretched foolish pretence that y’don’t know Mr Mappin. You was his agent in France, sir, and Captain Rennie aided you, at Mappin’s bidding. You conduct yourselves at his bidding now. Well?’

  ‘I follow my orders, as a commissioned sea officer.’

  ‘God damn your bloody impudence!’

  Captain Boardman had jumped up on his legs, and put a hand to the hilt of his sword, and for a moment James feared for his life. But then Captain Boardman chuckled, sat down again and: ‘Hm-hm, I expect I should say the same kind of thing, was I in your position, Mr Hayter.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘And I find that I cannot blame you, after all. I expect you are hungry?’

  ‘Well, yes . . . I am, in truth.’

  ‘Very good. We shall eat our supper, and be convivial.’ Turning toward the door: ‘Wilson! Wilson, there! Supper!’

  ‘May I ask you a question, sir?’ James, as Captain Boardman turned once more to face him across the table.

  ‘Yes, yes, in course y’may. We are dining companions.’

  ‘Have you ever served in the Royal Navy?’

  ‘Eh?’ His eyes narrowing.

  ‘As a sea officer?’

  ‘Why do you ask me that?’

  ‘Well, sir, it is simply that you remind me of many officers I have known. Men used to command, that live in a particular way at sea in His Majesty’s service, and behave – well, as sea officers RN always do behave. Disciplined, efficient, well ordered. Just as you yourself seem to do, in this ship.’ Glancing round the cabin.

  ‘This ain’t a naval ship.’ Curtly.

  ‘No, sir, it is not. But it could very well be a small post ship, under naval command. It is certainly handled and fought like one.’

  ‘Do you seek to flatter me, Lieutenant Hayter?’

  ‘Nay, I don’t. Simply to speak plain, one sea officer to another.’

  ‘I say again: this ain’t a naval ship. And I am no naval officer, neither.’ Turning his head: ‘Wilson, there! Light along our supper!’

  James allowed himself a brief smile. ‘If only I had past Navy Lists to hand I could look you up, Captain Broadman.’ Not aloud.

  Their supper arrived, carried in by a short, stout, chinless steward with a long pigtail. As the man began to serve the first course, James held out a hand palm up in refusal.

  ‘Nay, I find I cannot eat, after all.’

  ‘Not eat?’ Captain Broadman, in surprise. ‘Are you took ill?’

  ‘No no. It is just . . . I would not feel quite comfortable dining here in the great cabin unless I knew that my boat’s crew had been properly fed.’

  ‘They have been fed.’ Captain Broadman.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Eh? How? They was given food, Lieutenant, and they ate it.’

  ‘What food?’

  ‘The same rations served in the messes in the lower deck.’

  ‘And how are they treated? Where are they berthed? Are they permitted to go on deck, into the fresh air? You see, Captain Broadman, as the officer commanding these men I think it my duty to discover their condition of life in the ship.’

  ‘Condition of life! They are prisoners! As are you, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Indeed, so I am. Will you permit me to see my men, under the supervision in course of one of your own officers?’

  ‘I will not.’ Angrily, throwing down the napkin he had just taken up.

  ‘Then I will not dine.’ And James pushed away the dish in front of him, and sat back in his chair with his arms folded.

  ‘All right, Wilson.’ Captain Broadman dismissed his steward with a jerk of his head. The steward departed, carrying his tray at his side and closing the door behind him. The captain regarded his guest with stony disfavour.

  ‘Upon my word, you are ungrateful, sir.’

  ‘I do not mean to be. I am famished, and wish with all my heart – all my stomach – to eat my fill. But surely you will understand me when I say that I must look to the welfare of my men as my first concern.’

  ‘Listen now, you had better understand me. Your wish to have sight of your men is naught but subterfuge. It
is a stratagem to allow you to effect your escape, and I know it.’

  ‘Escape? How could I escape? By diving into the cold sea, and swimming? You must think me a very hardy fellow, sir.’

  ‘Your boat is moored directly astern, and your ship is not more than a league to the south.’

  ‘Expedient?’ Glancing toward the stern-gallery window.

  ‘Ay. She pursues me yet. Or rather, she did, until we both dropped anchor tonight. Now she merely waits.’

  ‘But . . . if she is so near . . . why has she not attacked?’ Half to himself.

  ‘Very possibly to preserve your life. A broadside of guns might well kill you outright. Who can tell? Or perhaps Captain Rennie does mean to attack – with a cutting-out party, under cover of darkness.’

  James could not prevent a brief flicker of hope in his eyes. Captain Broadman saw it, and:

  ‘So, you see, Lieutenant, I cannot afford to allow you any advantage. I must keep you under close scrutiny at every moment, and cannot accede to your request to roam about the ship. Pray eat your supper.’

  James felt that Captain Broadman’s logic was absurd – how could a prisoner under close supervision be said to ‘roam about the ship’? – but felt equally that to argue with him would be demeaning and absurd, and so determined to say nothing more, but to eat nothing either, and he sat stubborn a few moments longer.

  Captain Broadman attacked his food with relish, cutting and prodding, lifting and chewing. James, watching him and smelling that food, felt a nearly irresistible urge to emulate him. Presently, as saliva flooded over his tongue, his resolve faded and weakened. He leaned forward and looked intently at his knife and fork. All of the questions that had whirled and jostled inside him since their capture and imprisonment aboard Terces – What was Broadman’s purpose? Who or what did he carry, and where? Was it America? How long did he intend to hold his prisoners captive? Would he cast them adrift in mid-ocean? And if he did not, would Rennie and Expedient attempt a rescue? – sank beneath the tide of his appetite, and he was about to seize the knife and fork, when:

  ‘Captain Broadman, I must speak with you.’

  A thin, fair-haired man had come into the cabin. Dark clothes emphasised deep-set, wide-apart grey eyes in a bony face, eyes so staring pale they burned like lights.