The Following Wind

by Peter Smalley

  ‘The wish for another child.’

  ‘Do you wish it?’

  A moment, then, looking at him: ‘I had long pushed the notion away, but now yes, I think I do.’

  ‘Oh, my love.’ And he embraced her. ‘My dearest love.’

  When he and Cathy came upstairs from the dining room, James found a messenger waiting for him outside their door, a young man in a dark coat, his hat in his hand by his side. His breeches and boots were spattered with mud.

  ‘Captain Hayter, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I am to give you this, sir.’ He drew from his coat a sealed packet, and handed it to James.

  ‘I was in the dining room downstairs, you know.’ Taking the packet. ‘Why did not you look for me there?’

  ‘Because I was to give the letter to you in private, sir.’

  ‘Ah.’ He turned the letter over in his hand.

  ‘I am going in,’ said Catherine, and left them standing in the passage.

  ‘Who has sent the letter?’ James.

  ‘I have carried it direct from London, sir. I have rode all the way.’

  ‘I see. That urgent, hey?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Very good.’ James reached into his pocket for coins, but the young man shook his head.

  ‘I am to wait for your reply, sir, and take it back with me.’

  ‘Reply ? Oh, very well.’ Peering at him. ‘You look done up, lad. Have you had something to eat?’

  ‘No, sir. I must find an inn, and engage a fresh horse.’

  ‘Why not stay here?’

  ‘Stay at the Marine Hotel, sir? Oh, I could not do that.’

  ‘That is nonsense. You must eat, and rest, and return with my letter, tomorrow. I insist that you stop here. It will be more convenient all round.’

  ‘Oh, but I must return at once, and I cannot afford--’

  Over him: ‘Go on down to the small parlour, and say that I have sent you. They will bring you supper. In the meanwhile I shall engage a room for you. I will read the letter, and compose a reply, and summon you in the morning.’

  ‘Very well, sir. Just as you say.’

  ‘Away then, and eat your supper.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  James came into the room, and broke the seal. The letter, and an accompanying document, were from Havelock Symonds.

  He glanced briefly at the document, then read the letter.

  My dear Sir James,

  I am given to understand that the many difficulties arising from and pertaining to the repair to HMS Ventura not least in the months required have become together an insurmountable impediment to the matter in hand, and that Ventura, alas, cannot now hope to make the rendezvous with HMS Expedient at the appointed time.

  A possible resolution has presented itself, in the form of an alternative vessel. If you were disposed to take her instead, HM ship-sloop Foxhound 16 has become available, at short notice, and would suit our purpose nearly as well.

  She lies presently at Spithead, awaiting your inspection

  and approval.

  You will find her full particulars in the document herewith enclosed.

  I should be most grateful if you would conduct your inspection as soon as may be practicable, and send to me your reply by the messenger that has brought you this letter.

  I have the honour to remain, sir, your obedient servant,

  E. Havelock Symonds

  ‘Is it from the Admiralty?’ asked Catherine.

  ‘Eh? No well, not direct, at any rate.’ James put aside the letter, turned his attention to the accompanying document, and read:

  HMS Foxhound 16: Echo class Ashman & Son, Shoreham

  As built: 101ft 6in X 27ft 8in X 12ft10in 338 74/94 bm

  Men: 121. Guns: UD 16 X 6 pdrs; QD 4 X 12 pdr carronades;

  Fc 2 X 12 pdr carronades.

  Ordered: 17.9.1783 Keel: 11/1783 Launched: 14.4.1786

  Completed (for Ordinary): 5.1786, then 18.5.1788 (for sea) at

  Portsmouth.

  First cost: £3,894.17.3d (plus £1,267 dockyard) plus £2, 681

  fitting.

  Then came a long list of her previous commissions, culminating in her most recent:

  9th May 1795 (intended for the Jamaica squadron) under Commander

  Wyckham Bryant RN lately deceased.

  Presently at Spithead.

  ‘ Lately deceased, ‘ muttered James. ‘That is a damned cheerful beginning, ain’t it?’

  ‘What does the letter say ?’ Catherine, moving toward him.

  ‘It says that I must learn to stoop, my love.’

  ‘Stoop ?’

  ‘Stoop, and live very cramped, in the bargain.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  As Captain Rennie came on deck in the morning light, adjusted his hat and trod to the rail, his glass under his arm, he saw a ferry being rowed toward a ship-sloop moored a few cables to starboard. Something about the passenger sitting in the ferry attracted Rennie’s attention, and he lifted his glass.

  He found the ferry, and focused the lens.

  And saw James Hayter.

  Rennie lowered his glass in surprise, peered at the ferry as it neared the ship-sloop, then raised his glass again, and looked for the ship’s name. As she eased a little on her hawsers he read the name on her stern:

  F O X H O U N D

  Rennie brought his glass down, and watched as James climbed nimbly out of the ferry and up the side ladder into the ship.

  ‘Why does he go aboard her .?’ To himself.

  Rennie had determined to go ashore today, and take a room for his wife Sylvia at the Marine Hotel. Certainly he had been instructed to refrain from contacting James, in order not to jeopardize their joint commission but their Lordships could hardly prevent him from sending for his beloved Sylvia, with whom he wished to spend time before he departed. And if, when he went ashore to see her, he happened to run into James by chance, then .

  Rennie raised his glass again, and saw that James was now on the quarterdeck

  of the vessel, facing forrard and gazing aloft, shading his eyes.

  ‘He looks exactly as if he were about to take command of her .’

  Now he saw James cup a hand to his mouth and call out. Rennie was too far away to hear what he said, or even to hear his voice.

  A hoy passed between Expedient and Foxhound, and she was lost to Rennie’s view a moment. When the hoy had tacked away toward the Haslar Hospital, Rennie saw that James had been joined on the quarterdeck by two men. Rennie watched as James drew a document from his coat, unfolded it, and began to read aloud to the two men.

  ‘Surely he cannot be commissioning her .’ Rennie, in an astonished whisper.

  Again he focused on the ship-sloop’s name.

  ‘I have never heard of Foxhound. Never even noticed her before today. Why in God’s name is he aboard her at all, leave alone .’ He lowered the glass. ‘Unless he has been told official that Ventura cannot be made ready in time and he has been given a new commission altogether ’ he shook his head. ‘Nay, but it don’t make sense. A piddling little ship-sloop, with a weight of metal broadside of an ounce-and-a-half, good God?’

  He sniffed, and muttered to himself:

  ‘To hell with all damned irksome instruction from Whitehall. I am going over to talk to him, and discover just what in Christ’s name is going on.’

  Clamping his glass under his arm: ‘Mr. Latimer!’

  Lieutenant Latimer, Expedient’s eager young second lieutenant who had the deck came quickly, his hat off and on.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘My gig, if y’please, Mr. Latimer. I am going over to Foxhound.’

  ‘Foxhound, sir ?’

  Rennie pointed. ‘Ship-sloop to starboard.’

  ‘Aye-aye, sir.’ Peering at the vessel, then touching his hat again. ‘Captain’s gig and boat’s crew.’ He strode forrard to the breast rail, and bellowed for the boatswain.

  ‘Mr. Catermole! Coxswain and
four men! We will lower the captain’s gig!’ He returned to the wheel, and addressed one of the duty midshipmen. ‘You there, Mr. Clark. You will take command of the boat.’

  ‘Take command, sir?’ The thirteen-year-old boy was both delighted and appalled by this new responsibility.

  During her recent repair and refit Expedient had been equipped with stern davits, where Rennie’s gig a sixteen footer was slung, and now the gig was lowered, with two men aboard, and rowed round to starboard.

  Five minutes later Captain Rennie went down the side ladder into his boat, his cockaded hat thwartwise on his head and a cloak round his shoulders, and took his place in the sternsheets, the coxswain at the tiller, the mid beside him, and four oarsmen on the thwarts. As a breeze freshened from the west across Spithead the captain was rowed over to the ship-sloop some few cables distant, with spray flinging up from the rhythmic oars.

  ‘Row dry, there!’ shouted the mid, facing forrard.

  Presently the boat approached Foxhound, and the mid shouted: ‘Ahoy there, Foxhound! May we come aboard?’

  A voice on deck answered him: ‘Who are you?’

  And with a little thrill of pride the boy gave the traditional reply of a ship’s boat with her captain aboard:

  ‘Expedient!’

  The two post captains greeted each other on Foxhound’s quarterdeck, and stepped aft to the tafferel, out of earshot of the few men on deck. James was evidently both surprised to see Rennie, and embarrassed. Rennie began:

  ‘I saw you come aboard, James, and felt obliged to--’

  ‘You had my letter, sent to Chatham?’ James, over him.

  ‘About going armed? Yes, I did. However, in spite of your unhappy experiences at London, I did not think .well well, leave that aside, James. I am anxious to learn this morning--’

  ‘I am to take command of Foxhound.’ James, again over him. ‘Ventura can not be made ready for the sea in time. She is no longer my ship.’

  ‘I had thought as much.’ Rennie nodded. ‘But a ship-sloop, James? When you have been made post? She is only a commander’s vessel.’

  ‘Foxhound was the only ship available in the immediate, albeit she is without her complement of people. It was a question of...of expediency.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Rennie, with a wry smile. He glanced astern as a hoy, heeling on the larboard tack and running before, passed barely half a cable’s length astern of Foxhound.

  crack

  A splintering thud on the tafferel, and fragments of timber flew up. Rennie felt a sharp graze on his cheek.

  The sound of the musket shot washed echoing away across the water.

  ‘Hell’s flames ’ Rennie, shocked, a hand to his cheek.

  ‘It must have come from that hoy, by God!’ James, pointing.

  The hoy heeled tall away from them, it’s sails bellying on the wind and casting great shadows on the sea.

  ‘Why would anyone aboard a dockyard hoy fire on us ?’ Rennie, staring at the blood on his hand. He was acutely aware of the smell of the sea, of flashing sunlight on the water, and the sharp stinging of his cheek. His eyes had watered.

  James ran to the binnacle, snatched up a glass, focused on the hoy, and called:

  ‘She is the Westlake, and her markings .indicate she is a powder hoy.’ Lowering the glass. ‘Whoever has done this is aboard her, and cannot escape. We will have them, by God, and they will answer with their lives.’

  ‘But who would fire on us ?’ repeated Rennie.

  ‘Not a friend, I think. Which is why I wrote you that letter.’ James, grimly, and he snapped closed the drawers of the glass. ‘We must give chase.’

  ‘Chase?’ Rennie, looking at the hoy as it ran away to the east. ‘How? Not in Foxhound, surely? You have no people.’

  ‘In your boat, William. We will step the mast and make sail, mount a pair of Foxhound’s swivels, and run the bugger down.’

  ‘Are you in earnest, James?’

  ‘In course I am in earnest! We have been fired on, in time of war! In our own home waters, too! D’y’wish to leave that unanswered?’

  ‘When y’say it like that nay, in course I do not. I am with you.’

  ‘Very good. I will find those swivels.’ He ran forrard.

  Rennie took a deep breath, stepped to the rail, and bellowed down to his waiting boat: ‘Mr. Clark!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  By the time the mast had been stepped in Rennie’s gig, the sail bent, and the two half pounder swivels handed down into her, the hoy was far away, having sailed round and between a dozen ships at their mooring numbers. Soon she disappeared behind a recently moored seventy-four.

  ‘It’s no go, Captain Hayter. She is too far away.’ Rennie, in the stern sheets of the gig, his glass to his eye. ‘In any case we cannot mount these damned guns I had quite forgot, there are no swivel mounts in this boat. We should have to fire them off our shoulders, and risk being deafened and our faces burned.’

  ‘She has gone to the seventy-four.’ James, pointing. ‘We can take her there.’

  ‘Nay, Captain Hayter, I think not.’ Rennie lowered his glass.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘If I am not mistook, the seventy-four is Admiral Huff’s flag HMS Daring. Was not it his squadron at Brest that you was lately about to join ?’

  ‘Daring? Nay, surely not .’ Raising his own glass. ‘By God, I believe you are right.

  It is Daring. Though what the devil she is doing at Portsmouth is a question.’

  ‘Perhaps the admiral had grown bored at Brest, and wished to see his wife or his mistress in England.’

  ‘You think that?’ James, looking at him.

  ‘Nay, I don’t. Daring has run home simply to take in a new store of powder, I imagine. Blockade duty is notorious for making powder damp, hey?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I expect it is. Hm. Hm. Perhaps in the circumstances it will be best if I do not approach. There may very likely be awkward questions asked.’

  ‘Just so. Questions best left unanswered.’

  ‘Very good.’ Closing his glass. ‘Then we will wait until the hoy returns. She must sail past us as she returns to the harbour.’

  Rennie and James repaired to Foxhound’s quarterdeck, and waited. And waited.

  They waited nearly all the morning. At a quarter to noon, when there was still no sign of the hoy, Rennie sniffed, straightened his hat, and:

  ‘I must return to Expedient for the noon declaration.’

  And so the two sea officers formally parted company, the mystery of the musket

  shot and the hoy unresolved. Neither of them was prepared, however, to let the mystery rest.

  Rennie went ashore as soon as he had inspected divisions in his ship, and inquired at the Master Attendant’s office in the dockyard after HM hoy Westlake.

  The Master Attendant checked a list, and:

  ‘Westlake has left Portsmouth, Captain Rennie.’

  ‘Eh? Left? But I saw her only this morning, going to HMS Daring, at Spithead.’

  ‘No, sir. Westlake was despatched to Chatham Dockyard, fully laden with new powder for their gun wharf, where they had ran low on all but restored.’

  ‘She she did not go to HMS Daring, with powder?’

  ‘Nor is HMS Daring at Portsmouth, neither, sir.’ Again checking his list.

  ‘Well well, there you are in error, you know, Master Attendant. I saw her as plain as day this morning. She had just made her signals, and her mooring number.’

  ‘The seventy-four that arrived this morning? That is not HMS Daring, Captain Rennie. That is HMS Intrepid, that is nearly her twin seen from a distance. A Triumph class ship, ending a long commission in the West Indies, and about to undergo large repair as soon as we have a dry dock free to receive her.’

  ‘D’y’mean .that damned hoy Westlake never went to her at all?’

  ‘She did not, sir. I dare say what you saw--’

  ‘Yes, yes what I saw was the hoy sailing behind Intrepid, and on up the Channel, out of
my line of sight, hey?’

  ‘I think so, sir.’

  ‘Damnation.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Politely. ‘Was there anything else you wished to know ?’

  ‘Nay, nay, thankee, Master Attendant.’ Rennie turned out of the Master Attend-ant’s office, and was about to walk away and turned back. From the doorway:

  ‘Powder hoys ain’t armed, are they?’

  ‘No, sir, no. The Board don’t like any rate of gun aboard, in case of accidental

  discharge with consequent disastrous eruption.’

  ‘Not even a musket?’

  ‘Not even so much as pocket pistol, sir.’

  ‘And that rule is strict in the observance without exception?’

  ‘Most certainly it is, Captain Rennie.’ Puzzled. ‘May I know why you ask, sir?’

  ‘Idle curiosity, Master Attendant.’ Touching his cheek. ‘Merely idle curiosity.’

  Captain Rennie left the dockyard and went to the Marine Hotel. He engaged his usual room, wrote a letter to his wife Sylvia, asking her to come to Portsmouth, and sent the letter by hand of a servant to the George in the High Street, from where it would go by the night mail coach to London, and then on to Norfolk. He hoped that she would join him in a few days.

  From the Marine he returned to the Hard, where his gig and crew awaited him, and in a sharp shower of rain was rowed out to Expedient at Spithead. On his arrival as dusk began to fall he found a boat tethered, with two men aboard, and Captain Hayter waiting impatiently for him in the great cabin.

  ‘I have examined the place on Foxhound’s tafferel where the ball struck.’

  Rennie removed his cape and shook it, and banged his wet hat on a chair leg.

  ‘Will ye drink something, James? I am in sore need of restoring, and lifting up. Damned cold and wet in my boat today.’

  ‘A glass of wine, by all means, thankee.’

  ‘I will drink rum. I am chilled to the marrow.’

  ‘I can see that you are. As I was saying, I have examined the place on the tafferel with great care, and there can be--’

  ‘Bassett!.....Bassett!’ shouted Rennie, over him. Then, aside to James: ‘My steward is new to me, and to naval life, and is never at hand when I want him. Bass-- ah, there you are. Glass of wine for Captain Hayter, and I will like rum. Jump, now.’