‘Yes, in course I did not mean—’
‘And then we stood promptly away from the shore and prevented great damage to the ship by that damned rock fall. We have behaved seamanlike and courageous in all distinctions. Fortunate don’t come into it.’
‘No, sir.’
‘As soon as we have repaired sufficient, we will weigh and make sail, head for the open sea and continue the pursuit, as I told the people.’
‘Yes, sir. It will be as well to leave these waters before the Danish navy returns.’
‘They will be licking their wounds yet awhile, before they will like to challenge us again, never fear.’ A nod, a sniff, and a suck of wine.
‘Yes, sir. So it is due west for us, between the Orkneys and the Shetlands?’
‘West? Certainly not.’
‘Not west . . . Lowering a piece of cheese to his plate.
‘Nay, nay, James. South. We will sail south, into the English Channel, and thus save time.’
‘He did not say anything of this to you, Bernard?’
‘Nothing.’
Lieutenant Hayter and the sailing master Bernard Loftus were on the fo’c’sle, where the latter was getting some fresh air in his lungs after long hours supervising the retrimmimg of the ship in the hold. Around them the work of repair continued by lantern light, and they spoke in low tones.
‘Well, that is his intention,’ James continued. ‘I thought perhaps he may have said something to you, and—’
‘I cannot understand it.’ Bernard Loftus, over him. ‘He means to go south, to save time, when certainly Terces has headed west? Why not pursue her direct?’
‘Ay, and that ain’t the whole of it. He means to weigh and proceed tonight.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, tonight. He would say nothing further to me about our course, and then—’
‘Why hasn’t he spoke to me about these things? Good heaven, James, don’t he trust me in anything? If we are to make sail in darkness, surely he—’
‘Very likely he will send for you, directly, Bernard.’ James, a hand on the master’s shoulder.
‘But, but . . . sail at night, in these narrow waters, that we do not know well even by day? When we have scarce repaired sufficient to withstand a damned little squall? What if a storm should blow in across the open sea, just as we cleared the fjord mouth? And I have not completed the trimming. Don’t he comprehend that with all that weight of guns gone, I must—’
‘I am sorry to have alarmed you so, Bernard. Only I thought I had better prepare you. He will send for you in a moment or two, I am in no doubt.’
‘Ay, no doubt.’ An agitated sigh. He turned to look aft in the lantern glow, then: ‘South, hey? I wonder . . .’
‘Eh?’
‘Perhaps he intends . . . yes, now, that must be his intention, in course.’ With relief. ‘Certainly he wishes to save time. He wishes to go south to repair at Portsmouth, without further delay, because he has understood at last.’
‘At Portsmouth? But that would mean . . .’
‘Ay, it would mean this damned pursuit must go by the board, James. And good riddance. This commission carried a curse with it from the moment we weighed at Spithead, and in our present condition, with all of our losses and damage, it cannot be sustained. Thank God the captain has now understood it, and come to his senses.’
‘Nay, I cannot agree with you, I fear. He has already declared he will continue the pursuit. If he meant to change his mind and make for Portsmouth, the pursuit abandoned – he would wait until daylight.’
*
The narrowest part of the Strait of Dover, between the South Foreland of Kent and the French coast, the white cliffs visible to the west, and the hazy lower bumps of France to the east, and a brisk sou’westerly wind blowing. Expedient close-hauled, pitching in the chop, and spray flying and sluicing along her deck.
Lieutenant Hayter standing his watch, and Captain Rennie on the quarterdeck. He joined his lieutenant at the binnacle, his glass clamped under his arm and his thwartwise hat firmly crammed down on his head.
‘We make good progress in the conditions, Mr Hayter.’ Over the combined sounds of the wind and the sea. He ducked his head as spray fanned up over the fo’c’sle and waist, flew through the shrouds and stays, and smashed into drenching fragments across the quarterdeck.
‘Yes, sir.’ A moment, then: ‘Sir, may I suggest again that we put our wounded ashore?’
‘No, y’may not.’ Curtly.
‘Sir, with respect—’
‘Kindly attend to your duties, Mr Hayter.’ Over him, and moving abruptly aft toward the repaired tafferel.
For a moment James stood irresolute, frowning at the binnacle, then he turned and went aft to where Rennie stood at the weather-rail, one hand on a hammock crane to brace himself.
‘Sir, I must speak to you.’ James, immediately behind Rennie, raising his voice over the wind and spray.
‘What!’ Rennie turned angrily, his private domain invaded. ‘Mr Hayter, you forget yourself!’
‘No, sir, no. I do not. If those wounded men – including Lieutenant Leigh, I remind you – are not put ashore they will certainly die. It will take only an hour or two to land them at Dover, and—’
‘No! I have said no!’
‘Sir, in the confined sickbay below, with little clean air, and the constant restless movement of the ship, they can have no hope of recovery. If we continue this pursuit into the Atlantic, as I think you mean to do, they are doomed.’ He had nearly said ‘futile pursuit’, and Rennie responded as if he had:
‘Enough! Enough! Y’will go below, sir, and send Mr Tindall to me. I am appointing him acting first, and you will confine yourself to your cabin.’
‘I will go, but I will speak my mind first. Dr Empson knows very well that he cannot keep those men alive in the—’
‘You dare to defy me!’ Furiously.
‘God’s love, cannot you see that all I wish to do is—’
‘Mr Glaister!’
‘Sir?’ One of the duty mids, attending.
‘Find Mr Harcher, and ask him to come to me with his sergeant of Marines and two men, at once! And then find Mr Tindall.’
‘Ay-ay, sir.’ A hand to his hat, and he ran forrard, kept his balance on the sloping deck, and disappeared down the ladder.
‘You would place me under arrest, sir?’ James, in astonishment.
‘Be quiet, sir! Consider y’self under arrest already!’
‘When all I have wished to do is save the lives of brave men . . . ?’
‘God damn your mutinous insolence! Be silent, sir!’ Clutching at the hammock crane as the ship lurched. Sea water swirled up over the lee hances, and fanned across the deck. James took a deep breath, and:
‘Sir, I must speak, no matter the consequence. Terces has escaped us, and it will be impossible to find her again, even if she came south through the Channel to reach the Atlantic, as I think you suppose. Therefore what you attempt now is folly.’
‘Be quiet!’ Pale with rage, gripping the hammock crane.
‘Nay, I will not, until I have spoke the truth to you. You risk our ship, in a very parlous condition of repair, and you risk the lives of all our people, not just those of the wounded men, for a damned shadowy scheme of Mappin’s, that he never explained. We are plunging blind into danger and darkness, on one man’s whim. It is folly.’
The ship crashed through another steep trough, shuddered and lifted herself, yawing, creaking and groaning, and water spilling from her scuppers. James raised his voice over the rushing of the sea, holding Rennie’s eye with his own.
‘I do not care what happens to me. My life don’t matter, now. But for the love of God do not condemn two hundred souls, and our faithful ship, for nothing at all.’
Lieutenant Harcher now appeared, holding his hat in the wind, his sergeant and two Marines behind, and James allowed himself, with a last long look at Captain Rennie, to be taken below.
Presently Li
eutenant Tindall came on deck, and when Rennie turned from the rail, saw him and nodded, the young man went aft.
‘You wished to see me, sir?’ A hand to his hat, partly to make his obedience, and partly to keep the hat from flying away.
‘I do, Mr Tindall. Mr Hayter is – indisposed. He will no longer stand his watches, and Mr Leigh cannot. I am appointing you acting first, and Mr Trembath will be second. At eight bells you will come to me in the great cabin, and we will together arrange the new relief among the gunroom officers. Y’will find Mr Hayter’s notations at the binnacle. Your course is west-sou’-west, and a point west. The deck is yours. Y’may carry on.’
‘Ay-ay, sir. Thank you, sir.’ His hand briefly again to his hat.
‘Do not thank me, Mr Tindall.’ Turning to go below. ‘You are about to face the most arduous and testing duty of your life. As are we all.’
As if in confirmation a swirling gust of wind sucked Mr Tindall’s hat clean off his head, and sent it spinning and tumbling far out over the tafferel and the line of the wake.
*
During the afternoon watch of the following day, when Expedient lay at 50 degrees and 9 minutes north, and 3 degrees and 9 minutes west, well south of Start Point, the westerly wind became a storm. At first Captain Rennie beat into it tack on tack, but made little headway, and in the end – when Expedient lay south-east of the Eddystone Rocks – he felt himself obliged to save his battered and limping ship from the certainty of foundering, and run north into Cawsand Bay to ride out the weather. Cawsand Bay was by no means the most comforting of anchorages in fierce conditions, but Rennie was now too far west to have gone into Torbay, and Cawsand was not at least to some degree protective against a westerly storm, if not an easterly, when it became a death trap for ships.
When James, confined in his cabin below, learned of their temporary place of refuge, he contrived through an intermediary in the person of the surgeon Dr Empson again to tackle the captain on the matter of the comfort and safety of the wounded men. Rennie was inclined to be angry, but the surgeon humbly and earnestly persisted, and the captain relented. When the conditions permitted, the day after, the wounded men – including Lieutenant Leigh – were taken ashore in the pinnace to the naval hospital at Stonehouse, on the narrow peninsula to the east of the imposing hump of Mount Wise.
The storm had not quite blown itself out, and Rennie found himself reluctant to venture beyond the bay into the open sea until it had. The enforced delay made him fret. He trod the heaving deck, and made himself busy in inspection of repair, which in turn made the repair crews nervous, and the boatswain and carpenter anxious, and the people in large – gloomy. Every man aboard her thought, and felt, and knew that Expedient was in no fair condition to go into the Atlantic, except apparently the captain himself. Every man thought, and felt, and knew that Expedient should put into the Hamoaze and there petition the dockyard master attendant for urgent repair. Captain Rennie refused even to entertain the notion. Then James came to the door of the great cabin, on the morning of the third day. The Marine sentry knocked, and Colley Cutton opened the door. He was holding the captain’s cat Dulcie close to him, and when the animal saw the faces outside she struggled in the steward’s grasp, squirmed her way free and leapt down to the deck. Colley Cutton turned to try to recapture her . . .
‘Dulcie . . . Dulcie, I am only going to feed you, you daft critcher!’
. . . and James slipped into the cabin behind him.
Rennie was seated at his desk, writing a dispatch. Half-turning his head, but not looking up:
‘Do not harass the poor beast, you wretch. Treat her gentle, as befits her sex and nature. Blast.’ Scratching at a word, and altering it. ‘D’y’hear me?’
‘As you wish, sir.’
‘Do not say “as you wish”, for the hundredth time. Who knocked at my door?’
‘I did, sir.’ James, advancing into the cabin.
‘Eh?’ Turning, then: ‘Christ’s blood, it is you.’
‘May I speak to you?’
‘Did not I confine you to your cabin? Do not answer. We both know that I did. Well?’
‘You do wish me to speak, sir?’
‘Are ye being insolent deliberate?’
James said nothing, and waited, his back straight. He had washed and shaved, and was neatly and correctly dressed, his hat under his arm. He was determined not to provoke, nor to be provoked.
‘Well?’ Rennie, again.
‘With your permission, sir, I should like to offer my services.’
‘Offer?’
‘May I speak . . . ?’
‘Well well – go on.’ A brusque nod.
‘Thank you, sir. If we are to proceed into the Atlantic—’
‘If?! Over him. ‘If?’
‘When we proceed, sir, in pursuit of Terces – will not you need a Pursuit Officer?’
‘Eh? Eh?’ A jerk of the head. ‘I had thought you was not in favour of such a pursuit, Mr Hayter. I had took it that you wished Expedient to be excluded from such duty, on grounds of incapacity.’
The ship rode a swell and swung a little on her mooring cables. Wind gusted and whistled round the quarter galleries.
‘D’y’no longer hold that opinion, Mr Hayter?’
‘If we . . . erm, when we continue the pursuit, sir, I think that I should not, as a commissioned sea officer, be idle below in my cabin. We are short-handed, the first lieutenant is gravely wounded and has gone out of the ship, and—’
A further knock at the door, and it was opened from without to admit Mr Madeley, one of the duty mids.
‘With your permission, sir?’
‘What is it, Mr Madeley?’ Rennie.
‘Sir, a squadron of ships approaches from the east into the bay, and has signalled us.’ Reading from his notebook: ‘“Captain . . . Captain to repair aboard the flag.”’
‘What flag? What is the ship?’
‘I do not know, sir. She is a seventy-four, and there are seven ships in all.’
‘Did you acknowledge their signal?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very well, Mr Madeley, thank you. I will go on deck.’ Rising and taking up his hat. ‘Mr Hayter.’
‘Sir?’
‘You will accompany me.’
‘Ay-ay, sir.’
And James put on his own hat and followed Rennie up the ladder.
On his quarterdeck Captain Rennie looked at the approaching squadron through his glass, read the exchange of signals, and presently:
‘Mr Tangible!’
The boatswain attended him, and touched his forehead. ‘Sir?’
‘We will hoist out the pinnace, if y’please.’
Half a glass later Captain Rennie, with Lieutenant Hayter beside him in the stern sheets, was rowed pitching and tossing and wet with spray across to the just anchored seventy-four. As she swung on her cables they saw her gold-painted name on the transom:
MALACHITE
The traditional question as the pinnace approached:
‘What ship are you!’
And the traditional reply:
‘Expedient!’
Indicating that the captain was in the visiting boat, and wished to be admitted.
‘Come aboard!’
Captain Rennie waited until the lifting sea put his pinnace right up by the lowest step of the side ladder, then nimbly stepped from the boat and ran up the ladder, followed by Lieutenant Hayter. They were piped aboard, and taken aft by the Malachite’s first lieutenant.
‘Who is in command?’ Rennie asked him.
‘Captain Davidson commands Malachite, sir, but Admiral Sir Jendex Lyle commands the squadron, and this is his flagship.’
‘Lyle?’ Rennie broke his stride. ‘The same Admiral Lyle that had the Argus seventy-four, years since?’
‘I believe Argus was the admiral’s flag at one time, sir, years ago. I fear she was lost with all hands last year, in a storm at the Turks and Caicos Isles, under Captain Naismith.’
They came to the admiral’s quarters, and were admitted by a steward. Compared to Expedient’s great cabin the admiral’s quarters in Malachite were very splendid. There were silk hangings, pictures, books, fine furniture, a long, gleaming table and a wine cooler beneath it at the far end. Beyond, in the admiral’s sleeping cabin, rich colours gave the impression of singular luxury.
The admiral laid aside his quill pen, rose from his desk, and greeted his visitors. He was a man above medium height, and spare – as spare in his figure as Rennie. There was no other similarity of appearance. A mane of pure white hair was swept back from his forehead. His face was very florid, and his eyes pale blue, and slightly bloodshot. His expression was polite, but with a hint of the autocratic. His undress coat was of very fine cloth and cut, and the buttons appeared to be gold rather than gilt brass. Rennie guessed that he was about sixty years of age.
When the formalities had been dispensed with, the admiral offered his visitors refreshment – Madeira. His offer was politely accepted, and the wine came.
The wind without was now markedly less gusting and fierce than it had been earlier in the watch, Rennie noted, and would soon moderate enough to enable him to weigh and make sail. This realisation made him anxious and distracted. He wished to send his dispatch – an explication to Their Lordships of Expedient’s brief delay at Plymouth – ashore in a boat, and be gone into the Atlantic immediately upon the boat’s return. But he had not yet finished writing the dispatch, and—
‘And now we come to our business, Captain Rennie.’ The admiral was addressing him.
‘Oh. Ah. Business, sir?’
‘Indeed. I will like you to join my squadron, since you are at your leisure here, awaiting orders.’
‘Awaiting . . . ? Nay, sir, you are mistook. We are here simply to ride out the storm. Was here. We are already—’
‘Mistook?’ The admiral’s demeanour had changed. It was a slight and subtle change – a tightening of the lines about the mouth – but Rennie saw it, and his heart sank. ‘I am mistook?’
‘Forgive me, sir, I meant no disrespect. I am commissioned – Expedient is commissioned – on a particular venture by Their Lordships, as an independent ship, and I had sought temporary respite at Cawsand Bay to wait out a fierce storm of wind, put my wounded men ashore, and attempt to complete repairing the damage to the upperworks. Therefore, I—’
The Pursuit Page 20
