The Tide Watchers

by Lisa Chaplin

  “What about when we submerge?”

  Another shrug, but she could tell he was worried. “We’ll use the peg, tie it tightly beneath to hold the pipe together while we’re drilling. If I can repair the horn, less water will get inside.”

  “But if we must outrun a ship? Our hands are all taken up with the equipment.”

  “We’ll use every tie in the craft to tie it hard. The rudder stays in place once it’s wound up, and we can use the chamber pot to catch drips.”

  As they lifted to the surface, Lisbeth shuddered. Cold air flooded in as Duncan opened the hatch, and breathing it in felt as if she’d returned to life from the tomb. She reveled in the sweetness of it, but still shivered, even after Duncan wrapped his cloak around her.

  “Give me the dark sail, Lizzy.”

  She pulled the sail from the sack and used the steel hooks and eyes Fulton had created to fasten the sail to Papillon’s walls. After checking the tide and what coastline was visible in the misty evening, Duncan unfurled the sail. He remained standing, continuously dipping down against sail movements, watching through the ship’s second bilocular device for tide changes and enemy activity. Meanwhile, he kept checking the air horn. “It’s merely out of place, Lizzy. It could just be a mistake on Fulton’s part—he was fairly upset before he left. If I use the tiller to hammer it down, it might hold.”

  She didn’t want to think about Fulton, how he’d left Jersey without a farewell. “And if it doesn’t?”

  He frowned. “Then we do it as many times as we must.”

  Shame washed through her. “Of course, Duncan, I apologize.”

  He nodded and pulled the iron tiller from its canvas hold.

  “The fog’s closing in,” he reported after an hour of sailing and making repairs to the air hose. “The moon’s well above the horizon, but I don’t know how much longer we can keep sailing. With the rolling tide, a ship could cut us in two before we even know it’s there.”

  Dread touched her. “How close are we to shore?”

  “By the compass direction and time we’ve sailed at about four knots, we’re perhaps three miles, and the tide’s running in to harbor. Sailing has cut our travel time by hours. It should only take another hour to reach the river mouth. The hose is as good as I could make it, and it’s best for you to be warm.”

  She couldn’t afford to be a liability to him, tonight of all nights. “Hold until we can see the lights of the harbor and the patrolling ships.”

  After a moment, he nodded. “There’s an islet a mile out of harbor with treacherous rocks. We’re far safer sailing around it.”

  When they’d passed the island and saw patrol ships in the distance, he looked at her. She nodded and, taking in her last breath of fresh air, took the tinderbox to relight the lantern.

  He handed her the sail, and she packed it. She lifted her hand for the hooks and eyes, but he said, “It’s best if we leave them in place. We’ll need them ready for fast escape.”

  Taken aback that he seemed to have more hope of living after today than she did, Lisbeth opened her mouth, closed it again, and nodded. After all he’d done to secure her future in England, and bringing Edmond home to her at last, she had to fight for her life. She smiled when the hatch closed and the closed-in panic she’d dreaded didn’t eventuate.

  “Take the rudder and hold it to shore,” she said, as she worked the pump. “We should submerge three feet before working the propellers.”

  “We need to take care. It’s a shallow tide, heading fast to the shore.”

  She held the pump fair until the pump gauge tipped onto three. She had to slide against Duncan’s body to turn without tipping the tiny craft. She said, “Last time we did this I could hardly stand the closeness, touching so much, wishing for more.”

  He smiled before returning to the compass. “I thought you didn’t notice—” Papillon rocked hard, and he glanced through the window. “Two ships approaching from north and southwest. Submerge and head east.”

  When the danger passed, they raised the craft until the air horn was above the waterline, visibly slowing the steady drip of water dropping into the chamber pot from the ties.

  In a fast tide, even while playing catch-as-catch-can with passing ships, and holding the air hose, they made the river mouth in under an hour. Another ten minutes and they’d turned under the pier. At last Duncan opened the hatch.

  The thuds of booted feet on the pier warned Lisbeth to keep silent. They breathed, ate, drank small ale, and Duncan made quiet repairs to the air hose. When he’d done all he could, he looked at her; she nodded, and he pulled down the hatch and locked it.

  Anything but breathing was a waste of air and precious time. She pointed to the rudder and he took the handle. She used the propellers until they were away from the riverbank.

  Soon they were beneath the first ship’s stern. The cargo hold was the safest part to drill, but the river was too murky to see if they were at the right spot. He took one end of the crank that turned the drill. She took the other. With a slow, methodical pattern, they drilled.

  But soon the drill snapped off in the wood. So did the second. She looked at him in dread. “Do we still have inferior drills?”

  He shook his head. “This is the lead ship, older and double hulled, made with aged oak. Let’s hope the others are easier.”

  Returning to the pier, they changed the drill. “I’d hoped to have five ships done by now,” Duncan growled as they moved on to the second ship.

  As she’d predicted, the river was calmer than the churning Channel, but each passing ship rocked their equilibrium and churned the silt through the water. Every maneuver took precious time. They kept checking for a glitter on the water with the advent of sunrise, though it was still hours off.

  At last they were in place. With exquisite care, they pushed the drills into the wood. The resistance she’d half expected wasn’t there. Within a few minutes, they felt the release of tension that meant they’d made the breach.

  As one, they halted. “Thank God, it’s a single-layer hull,” he murmured. “We were lucky. With this clinker style of hull, the planks overlap for strength, and the planks may be caulked for flexibility of sailing instead of having iron rivets that will break our drills. The rush to have them made in time has worked in our favor.”

  Unfortunately, they discovered some of the ships had the iron rivets and caulking, and the drills snapped more often than they could afford.

  “Our success depends on if they do a preparatory check of the ship before setting sail.” He lifted the lantern, lit the third wick, and stared into the murky river water. “I can barely see the hull. I can’t be certain if we’ve drilled the rib cleanly, but I think so.”

  She chewed on her lip. “If we drill across two planks three times along each ship, we’d have reasonable certainty that we’ll hit at least one rib in a line and weaken it enough.”

  “It’s worth trying. We won’t be able to drill as many ships as we planned. We’ll be lucky to drill forty before they launch—that is, if the drills last.” Then he nodded. “If only ten ships founder, it would convince them to return to port.”

  The triple drills working sideways cost them far more time than they’d calculated, and they had to keep surfacing for air. “We’ll become more proficient with each ship,” he predicted, as they moved toward the tenth ship.

  Lisbeth said nothing. Since her illness her body grew tired much more easily from the heat and lack of air. She was sweating from her toes to her scalp, her body filled with a dull ache. Luckily the disgusting medicines the doctor had given her killed the cough for hours at a time.

  Soon talking was beyond them both. They only came up for air when she felt faint. Hiding between ships, they opened the hatch, ate and drank, breathed and did what they must.

  “Twenty-two,” Duncan muttered four hours later, when they finished the ship they’d been working on, triple-drilled sideways over three ribs. “We should drill at least one or two at t
he tail of the fleet before returning to the final ten here.”

  She looked at him in helpless pleading. “I’m going to be sick.”

  He took the propellers and worked them until they were between two ships. He opened the hatch, emptied the chamber pot, rinsed it quickly, and handed it to her. “Close it again if you’re going to make a noise,” he whispered.

  But the fresh air lessened her body’s urgent need. She sipped at the small beer and sucked on a peppermint stick. She looked up, saw the gray-rose lighting the murky sky. “It’s dawn. We should go to the back—” But then she heard the sound of marching boots, wave after wave. “Can you hear that?” Suddenly a coughing fit came, and she couldn’t control it.

  Men began shouting orders, and booms sounded as gangplanks fell into place.

  Duncan brought down the hatch, quick and silent. “They’re boarding. We need to leave now.”

  “We didn’t do enough ships. You said fifty was the minimum we’d need. We only did half of that. I failed you.”

  He touched her face. “Nobody could have done better than you.” He reached into the food sack. “Now take your medicine, and eat bread and a boiled egg, love. You’ll feel better, not to mention you’ll need the energy until we can make use of the sails.”

  Oddly, he was right. Her cough stopped soon after taking the vile green stuff, and she revived a little when she’d eaten. She took her place at the pump and rudder when he began using the downward and forward propellers. Staying submerged meant it took almost an hour to reach the outer harbor, nearly two to reach a mile out to sea.

  The ominous rocking began.

  Duncan peered through the window and swore. “That was fast. The lead ship’s almost on us.” When she blinked at him, he snapped, “Submerge and avast.”

  The sea around them was white with mist and sails by the time they reached the rocky islet to the northwest of Boulogne, hours later. Duncan shook his head when her hand hovered over the pump. “We can’t risk it until we see where they’re heading. There’s a little cove to the south. Let’s hide there and eat.”

  When they reached the cove, Lisbeth peered through the window. “They’re heading north-northwest. Surely they’re not risking the Irish Sea after the terrible weather we’ve had?”

  “It’s been worse there this year than 1798 by all accounts.” Duncan shook his head. “Despite the mist rolling in, it’s still daylight. Either Boney’s run mad, or he knows Addington ordered the fifty ships to Dublin. That means the Irish rebellion was a French distraction for this purpose. They’re not heading to Ireland at all, but western England.”

  She frowned. “The French have set sail without their cannons complete. Look, quite a few are unfinished. What did the British do to provoke Bonaparte into this foolhardy act?”

  He grinned, shaking his head. “If they allowed women into politics, you’d have my vote. My guess is that’s exactly what Whitehall has done. Made him angry and scared enough to set sail in a way that almost guarantees failure . . . and the admirals will have sent as many ships as they can to cover the expected entries into Britain.”

  Her forehead crinkled. “But they wouldn’t go without a landing port in mind. Ireland is out; everyone expects invasion via the Thames. So where are they heading?”

  “St. George’s Channel is a protected harbor. Wales has nothing but a few excisemen watching the tides for smugglers.” He added grimly, “Two hundred United Irishmen crossed the Irish Sea a few weeks ago, going where only God knows. Addington merely ordered extra protection around London.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “There were thousands of soldiers on that fleet. They could take England via Wales in days.”

  He nodded. “The Irish foment unrest at home and set up the assassination attempt on the king. Boney uses his assassination attempt to divert us with accusations over the treaty and invades Switzerland. While we’re distracted with all the balls he’s juggling, he sails in where nobody’s watching.” He thumped his fist on the thigh that hadn’t been shot. “Damn Whitehall! Boney stays awake every night until he’s read all his dispatches, while the vital communiqués we send pile up in corners. If the lords would read them instead of attending bloody parties . . .” He risked another glance through the open hatch. “They worry more about gossip and royal scandals than whether the conqueror of Europe will invade.”

  She didn’t know how to answer. “How long before we see if our sabotage worked?”

  “You ask because I would know, having drilled so many ships before?” Before she could take offense at his tired sarcasm, he shrugged. “The sun still sets by four this time of year. We should leave. If they begin to sink, they could use this islet as the closest shallow water.”

  She frowned. “The white sail will be less noticeable in this mist.”

  “Yes, but we can’t use it until we’re out of sight of the harbor.”

  They prepared to shove off from the rocky cove Papillon was wedged in. Opening the last sack, she saw a little barrel and frowned. “What’s this?”

  “You know what it is, and how to use it.” Duncan made a face and half shrugged as she stared at him in furious repugnance. “It may come to us or them, Lizzy. I swore I’d get you home to your mother, and I’m bloody well going to do it.”

  A smothered little chuckle took him by surprise. She mock-saluted him, grinning. “Aye-aye, Commander.”

  She knew him so well. Only weeks ago he’d hated that—now he loved it, relied on it.

  Don’t let them fool you, son. It’s when they seem to be meekest and gentlest that a woman wields the highest power over a man. You can’t do a damned thing about it, so you might as well enjoy it. Eddie was so right. Even now Duncan was fighting the urge to smile at that cheekiness that was intrinsic in her.

  “Duncan.”

  The sharp word shook him. She was standing, staring south, holding the bilocular device to her eye. “The ships are turning back, signaling from ship to ship with lanterns. I can see flags moving on the lead ship.” She coughed again.

  “Sit down, Lizzy, and wrap the cloaks around you. Take more medicine.” He stood, checking the lay of the rocks. “Use the rudder the moment you feel it come free.”

  “In which direction?”

  “Wait.” The highest rocks were barely submerged—damn, the tide was too low to help. They bumped against a rock. “Hold the rudder in hard against the craft! If it breaks off on the rocks we’ll really be in the basket.”

  They bounced off rocks, going nowhere. He had to feel around each rock to push off it gently, without hitting another too hard. “How the hell did we get inside this inlet at all?”

  “I think the tide was still then. It’s going out now.”

  He saw with dismay she was right. He, the experienced sailor, had made the most basic and stupid of mistakes, forgetting to watch for tidal changes. Rocks he hadn’t noticed when he’d entered the inlet were visible now, sharp enough to split Papillon in two. “The fleet can’t dock here, but the tide won’t be back for hours. We have to be gone before the patrols see us.”

  Helpless, he watched for the next hour as the ships slowly came ever nearer—but then, even in the thickening sea mist, he could see the lead ships were deeper in the water than they had been. “The fleet’s sinking.”

  “What did you say?”

  He dropped down. “That’s why they’ve come about. They’re sinking!” Her face lit, but he held a finger to her lips. “The ships are heading this way. If they anchor near the island . . .”

  Lisbeth’s shining happiness faded. “Maybe if we spin slowly, we’d have momentum but not enough to damage her against another rock?”

  “It’s a good idea.” Grabbing at two of the highest rocks, he twisted his body, and spun as he released them. He tried again and again, and they barely moved.

  The fleet changed tack, heading for the mainland, exactly as he’d do in their position.

  The sun had sunk in the sky when shouts came on the wind, the splashes of
rowboats put to the water; a long, creaking groan that wouldn’t stop. With a ripping sound of rushing water and a jagged symphony of human screams, he saw the lights slowly dropping.

  “Was that what I think it was?” Lisbeth sounded horrified.

  “Four of the ships are going down. They couldn’t get back in time,” he murmured in revolted fascination. “There are hundreds of men in each ship, and hardly any real sailors. It’s every man for himself.”

  “Stop,” she cried.

  He looked down. She’d covered her ears with her hands and sat curled over herself in the lantern’s uncertain light. “They’re only a few miles out to sea. Most will make it back, or the town will send rowboats. And remember, we only sabotaged twenty-two ships. That means there are dozens of others seaworthy to save those in the ships that founder.”

  There was a jerking motion as the outgoing tide pulled Papillon around a rock and into the sea. They were free at last—but Duncan couldn’t stop the forward momentum. He pitched forward and curled over double as the brass rivets bit deep into his stomach. He scrambled to grab hold of the hatch and drop through it—but another thump came, and he whacked his back on the brass of the observation dome. Stomach and back seized in the grip of sudden pain, he grunted and let go of the hatch. It landed square on his head and he knew no more.

  CHAPTER 51

  English Channel, Near Boulogne-sur-Mer

  LISBETH TOOK HER HANDS from her ears. Papillon was bobbing with the tide, bouncing against rocks. Then there was nothing but the splashing of water. Were they free? Duncan was neither bringing the hatch down nor setting up the sail.

  “Duncan?” she called, uncertain. “Duncan, what’s happening?”

  No answer came.

  Don’t panic. Gritting her teeth, she shook his legs. No response. She shoved his hip. Nothing. Grabbing him by the waist she tried to pull him in, but he got stuck at the shoulders.

  She went cold with panic. What if he’d been shot? If she moved him, she could kill him. Her mind froze; she dithered for long minutes. If he were shot, he’d die either way; she had no choice. She pushed him, then twisted and pulled and shoved at him until she was swearing like a sailor, covered in sweat, and her arms were shaking with exhaustion. At last she heard a cracking noise and his body fell inside. His face was pale, but he was breathing. A thin line of blood trickled down his neck. She’d probably broken something getting him inside.