Expedient and Foxhound would then set sail for England, but by markedly divergent routes. This to ensure that should a calamity of weather or navigation imperil and sink one ship, either the drawings or Mr. Milson would be preserved in the other, and thus his invention.
The final paragraph of James’s instructions was the most chilling. Should Expedient be obliged to come to an action at sea with enemy ships, resulting in
defeat: ‘the said drawings must be burned and destroyed, before the ship strike her colours.’ Should Foxhound suffer the same fate: ‘Mr. Milson cannot be all-owed to fall into enemy hands. Should that possibility arise, he is to be silenced.’
James was far from clear that any of this was advisable or practical, leave alone morally defensible. He thought the scheme fundamentally flawed, in fact.
It amounted to abduction and theft, with the possibility of cold blooded murder.
‘Nay, it don’t amount to abduction and theft. It is abduction and theft. Even although England is at war, and Mr. Milson’s invention will likely be very valuable to us he is not an Englishman, and in truth owes us nothing. Supposing he smells a rat? Supposing he refuses to emerge from his hiding place unless and until he is paid, hey? I have no gold guineas to give him, not even a few hundred of my own, leave alone twenty thousand of the Fund’s. Must I storm his redoubt with a contingent of Marines, at the heart of a friendly kingdom? Quietly and discreetly? Nay, it is folly. Pure damned folly.’ All this to himself, when he had returned to his day cabin and read through his instructions a second time. Unsettled, anxious and on edge, he locked the document away in his desk, and again went on deck.
He was about to speak to Lieutenant Stapleton about increasing the ship’s speed when something caught his eye aloft. Angrily pointing past his lieutenant’s head: ‘That damned foretopsail bowline is falling slack!’ Striding to the breastrail he cupped his hand to his mouth and bellowed: ‘Make that bowline taut, there! Cheerly now! Cheerly!’ And turning to his lieutenant: ‘I said to you that I wished to crack on, Mr. Stapleton, did I not? And yet I find when I come on deck the ship is handled lubberly and unseamanlike. I am dismayed, by God. I am dismayed and disappointed. We had better discover right quick whether or no Foxhound is a proper ship of war. ‘
A fierce glare forrard, and another aft, then:
‘Stand by to tack ship!’ A creaking, sea rushing moment, then: ‘Off tacks and sheets! Mainsail haul!’
The boatswain’s call, echoing high and urgent along the deck. Frantic activity as men hastily responded. In a bedlam of shouts, rushing feet and hauled lines, braced yards and slapping canvas, and heavy smashes of spray, the ship began to tack by the head through the wind. James braced himself on the heaving deck, and over the wind:
‘When she is lying close hauled on the larboard tack, Mr. Stapleton, I will decide what further exercises may be undertook to sharpen the people to their duty.’
‘Aye-aye, sir.’ Ashen faced, Mr. Stapleton touched a hand to his hat.
James waited a moment, then abruptly faced forrard, and bellowed:
‘Hoist out and tow all boats!’
Further piping, and further urgent activity as boat tackles were rigged, and boats hoisted swaying from the skids above the waist.
James watched, his face set. At last, having waited until the ship’s boats were trailing in the ship’s wake, he turned again to his lieutenant. A brisk nod.
‘The deck is yours, Mr. Stapleton. Carry on, if y’please.’
‘Aye-aye, sir.’
James made to turn aft. Then, as if on an afterthought: ‘But before ye do ..we will beat to quarters, and clear the decks for action!’
‘Sir ? I mean aye-aye, sir!’
‘While I take my station very quiet at the tafferel and observe.’
Another curt nod, and James trod resolutely aft, his hands clasped behind his back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Captain Rennie woke to find not his can of morning tea in his steward’s hand, but a pocket pistol, pointed steadily at his head.
‘Very quiet, Captain Rennie, if you please. Any loud sound from you, and I will certainly blow out your brains.’
‘Bassett ?’ Staring in utter bewilderment.
‘My name ain’t Bassett, and you will listen very careful. In England, at Norwich, your wife has been took captive by my associates.’
‘Sylvia ?’ In alarm.
‘She is held under guard, and is quite safe. Unless you do not obey me.’
‘You’ve gone mad ’
‘On the contrary, Captain Rennie.’ Shaking his head. ‘I was never more in command of my faculties.’ A breath, and: ‘Expedient is instructed to proceed to Naples, yes?’
‘I will not tell you.’ Sitting up in his cot. ‘You are mad, if you think--’
‘Be quiet.’ The pistol steady. ‘I will say this very precise, once only. You will not sail to Naples. Other plans than yours are in train for that enterprise. The gentle-man and his invention, contrary to England’s expectation, will presently be carried elsewhere. You will alter course directly, and sail east instead to La Rochelle, where Expedient will strike her colours and surrender to France.’
‘If you think--’
‘A similar circumstance is at this moment unfolding aboard HMS Foxhound, at sea. Captain Hayter’s wife, and his mother, have been took on their journey home to Dorset, and are held captive at another place. He has been told what you are now told.’ His voice now even quieter, and cold with menace. ‘Obey, or place your womenfolk in mortal peril.’
‘I do not think--’
‘Make no error, sir.’ With soft emphasis. ‘Unless you do as we ask they will be put to death.’
Rennie now sat up in his cot, anger rising in his breast. ‘And if I do not believe a single damned word you say, Bassett or whatever your name may be? Hey? If I simply raise my voice, and have you clapped in irons?’
The steward brought the muzzle of the pistol closer to Rennie’s head.
‘Pray do not test me, sir.’ Softly. ‘That would be fatally unwise.’
‘You mutinous blackguard .’
‘Mutiny has nothing to do with it. If Expedient and Foxhound are not surrendered at La Rochelle, word will pass very quick to England, and three blameless women will die.’
‘Do you really believe that my officers and people will allow their ship to be given up to the French? Do you? Fffff, then you do not know the Royal Navy.’
‘I know this, sir. If you do not make it so, word will pass swiftly to England and your wife will suffer very harsh. She will be violated, and her dugs cut off with a razor. She will bleed to death very slow, knowing and feeling nothing but agony and terror, hour upon hour. Will you do this to her .?’
‘God damn your soul, you cowardly wretch.’ Unable to bear the image that rose stark in his head. Tears stood trembling in his eyes.
‘No more a wretch than are you, Captain Rennie. We are both of us at war. And war is very hard. Hard, barbarous, and cruel.’
‘At least I do not prey on defenceless women.’
‘Yet you are willing to flay bloody the backs of defenceless men your own men are you not?’
Rennie did not reply. The steward stepped back from Rennie’s cot.
‘Now then. Will you do as I say, exact or suffer the consequence?’
Rennie recovered himself, blinked away his tears, and:
‘Very well .I .I will do as you ask.’
‘I ask nothing. I instruct. You will dress, go on deck, and give the order to alter course.’
‘How am I to explain this change of course to my officers .?’
‘Do not be disingenuous with me, sir. The captain is in command. His word is law. They will obey you as you obey me. I will leave you to shift into your shirt and breeches and to think of your dear wife.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Rennie’s steward was wrong. Circumstances aboard Foxhound were not the same.
An idler named Hemming had
emerged as the man who delivered the threats to Captain Hayter, having contrived by a subterfuge to take the place of the boy acting as his steward. He woke James in his sleeping cabin with a knife to his throat.
Instead of submitting to Hemming’s threats, delivered in a hoarse whisper, James reacted with immediate and instinctive physical force. He twisted free of Hemming’s grasp, tumbled out of his hanging cot and snatched up his sword.
Hemming lunged at him, wielding the knife. James unsheathed his sword with a ringing hiss, flung away the scabbard, suffered a gashed arm as the knife sliced
through the sleeve of his nightshirt, parried a second thrust, and ran his assailant through the breast. Aside from the cut to his arm, James was unhurt. Hemming died on his feet, his eyes fading, and slumped to the decking, the blade of James’s sword sliding clear with a sucking rasp as the corpse fell.
‘Damnation ’ James, shakily. ‘The villain nearly bested me ’
Now the marine guarding his cabin came bursting in. He took in the scene, and:
‘Christ’s love. Are you all right, sir?’
‘I am, thankee.’
‘But, nay, you are not, sir you are wounded.’ Laying aside his musket.
James glanced down at his arm, which leaked a dismaying quantity of blood, staining his nightshirt. Staring at the blood:
‘Ah .yes .unaccountably light headed fetch the surgeon, if y’please .’
He staggered, and dropped his bloody sword. The Marine supported him, shouted for assistance, and guided him to his cot.
Presently the surgeon came to the cabin, and bound up the wound. Hemming’s body was quickly carried below to be stitched into a canvas shroud by the sailmaker. The surgeon advised that James should rest, but was overruled.
‘I am going on deck, doctor. The people must see that I am unharmed, strong and resolute.’
‘You are not unharmed, sir.’ The surgeon, drily.
‘And I will like you to keep that intelligence to yourself, doctor. The sleeve of my coat will conceal the bandages. So far as the ship’s complement is concerned, nothing very remarkable has occurred.’
‘A man has been killed, Captain Hayter.’
‘Do you presume to argue with me, sir?’ Brusquely.
‘No, sir, in course I do not. However, I think--’
‘Then pray be kind enough not to do so.’ Curtly. ‘Good morning, doctor.’
‘Sir.’ A brief bow, and the surgeon took up his bag of instruments, and went to the door.
‘And doctor ?’
‘Sir?’ Turning in the cramped space.
‘Thank you for your .your very able assistance.’
A brief little grimace of acknowledgement, and the surgeon departed.
James went on deck.
‘Mr. Stapleton! Stand by to wear ship!’
James’s intention was to find Expedient as soon as possible. Hemming had whispered to him that his wife and mother had been taken captive, and would be killed if he did not sail to La Rochelle and surrender, and that Captain Rennie’s wife had also been seized, and a similar threat made to him in Expedient. James had immediately rejected these threats, and killed his assailant, but had no way of knowing Rennie’s response. He decided to sail deep into the Bay of Biscay in an effort to find Expedient, in case Rennie had decided to comply and if he did not find her, then to proceed in hope to the rendezvous in the Tyrrhenian Sea. James did not allow himself to dwell on the possibility that his response to Hemming’s threats had been a reckless mistake, that everything Hemming had said about Catherine and his mother was true.
James altered course, crowded on every available stitch of canvas, and ran southeast into the Bay of Biscay with a brisk westerly wind on Foxhound’s quarter.
The wind did not remain brisk. It dropped and dropped, and soon fell away to a near calm. The long sea swell rode queasily under the ship, making her lift and roll slowly, her sails hanging limp and her masts creaking. The sky darkened. A lone seabird flew down on the fo’c’s’le and huddled beneath the fore jeer bitts, its wings furled. The fo’c’s’lemen left it alone.
An uneasy washing hush settled over the sea, and the ship. James took the precaution of reefing and reducing sail, and battening down the hatches.
When the work was done he trod to the tafferel, and turned to look forrard. And caught the pungent whiff of ozone in his nostrils. The smell all seamen fear. The smell of danger.
Then the wind returned with sudden terrifying force.
It flew howling in from the Atlantic, driving thick cloud, heavy rain and great rearing seas before it. Lightning flickered in stark flashes, and the huge waves rolled swirling in over her sloping deck and flooded round the guns. The wind shrieked and roared in the rigging, tearing at shrouds, stays and canvas. James was obliged to change his mind, wear, and bring the ship’s head to the wind. If he continued to run before the ship would be overwhelmed. He had already reduced sail to a minimum, ordered the guns double lashed and lifelines rigged fore and aft. He remained on deck, standing at the binnacle as four seamen manned the helm, two on the weather spokes, two on the lee. As the ship climbed each massive wave, and breasted it, all of them were half blinded, half drowned. Canister shot rain and hail smashed at their faces. The wind tore at their jackets and hats, tore at their hands, and drove freezing water down their necks and backs under their clothes. All of them were miserable, terrified and exhilarated at the same time. They knew they were near to death, and yet were wholly alive. The next wave might bring an end to everything their ship, their mission, themselves. The one thing that mattered was to survive. To reach tomorrow, and breathe again. To stay alive.
One of the helmsman faltered at the wheel and fell to his knees as a heavy sea surged boiling aft. James helped him up and took his place, to let the exhausted man get his breath and recover.
‘Hold her so!’ James bellowed, his hands on the shuddering spokes. ‘Hold fast!’
The sea receded across the tilting deck into the scuppers, a great seething flood. The ship steadied and lifted her head. They held her true, and she met the next wave bravely.
‘Keep your luff! Hold her so!’
Again they held her.
Two hours after and a hundred miles to the east the storm overtook HM frigate Expedient.
Captain Rennie, like James, was obliged to wear and bring his ship’s head to the wind, for fear of being blasted in on a lee shore either the coast of France itself, or one of the islands of the region: the Ile de Re, off La Rochelle, or the larger Ile d’Oleron. The Bay of Biscay was notorious for the ferocity of its storms, and for shipwreck, and Rennie was loth to be here at all. Would not have been, but for the terrible consequences if he had not submitted. Which now, on sober reflect-ion, regretting his earlier fear he had begun to doubt.
Just before the storm struck his steward had approached Rennie on the quarterdeck, on the pretext of serving him, and asked him why he had turned the ship round. Rennie replied, with cold, quiet ferocity:
‘In order to save your wretched life.’
The steward turned to look forrard, saw a dark tremendous sea rising over the ship, and momentarily lost his nerve. He had made provision in his mind for all contingencies on this voyage except one. He had forgotten the weather. And now he dropped to the deck in crouching fear. The bow lifted and the ship rode up the rippling crest, met the full blasting force of the wind, then ran down into the trough, smashed her cutwater into the next wave, burying her bowsprit and sending a great flood of sea in over the fo’c’s’le and waist, and aft over the hances. Water surged and swirled round the crouching steward. He felt himself inundated, slid sideways with a despairing cry and would have been swept away had a steadying hand not gripped his shoulder.
‘Stand up, man!’ commanded Rennie. ‘Clap on to a stay and steady y’self! If you lie down, y’will be lost overboard!’
Rennie pulled him to his feet, and the steward grasped a backstay and clung there as the ship rode lumbering up the w
ave, water pouring from every part of her.
‘Christ Jesu .’ The steward, in pure terror.
‘Do not rely on him alone.’ Rennie, grimly. ‘This is your first storm at sea, ain’t it?’
‘It is but do not think--’
‘It is seamanship saves lives.’ Over him. ‘Courage, and seamanship. If you know neither and I think you do not I wonder you troubled y’self to come aboard a ship of war, you damned lubberly poltroon. Hey?’ And Rennie left him there, and went hand over hand by the rigged lifeline forrard to the binnacle. To the men at the helm:
‘Hold her steady, there!’
When the lightning and driving rain had passed, the fierce storm of wind remained. The huge seas lifting and rolling toward the ship were whipped to angry white at the crests, and scrawled across with lazily menacing trails of foam as they rose and threatened and thudded in over the bow, dashing great sheets of spray the length of the deck and making the whole ship shudder.
The storm raged at full fury all day, and into the night, and Rennie remained fearful of being driven in on a lee shore. He had been unable to take a noon sighting, and had had to estimate how much leeway Expedient made, driven relentlessly eastward even with her head to the wind. When the storm blew itself out at dawn, and the French coast was not in sight to the east, he grew less fearful. The Bay of Biscay was very deep a thousand fathom and with no land near he was in no danger of running aground. He wore ship, but instead of again striking east, he sailed southwest instead, tack on tack close hauled.
Rennie’s steward had crept below soon after the storm struck, and now lay limp in a hammock in the cramped, vomit-stinking sick bay, among the hammocks of half a dozen other landmen idlers, exhausted by hours of retching. He did not know the direction the ship followed, nor did he care. He was beyond caring.
Rennie had decided to ignore the steward’s threats, and make for Naples. In the tranquil light of a calmer day, his ship sound under his legs, he sensed that Sylvia was quite safe, and that so indeed were the elder Lady Hayter, and the younger. His reasons for this change of mind were many, based on reasoned probability. God willing James thought the same, and would himself make for Naples if Foxhound had survived the storm.
The Following Wind Page 14