Hawthorne began calling out the names of men for the boats, and Hayden went to the armourer, a steady, sober man who he was sure knew the Jacks better than he. “Arm those you trust, Mr Martin,” Hayden said quietly, “tell all the others they are wanted for the ship.”
He heard Barthe calling orders to the sail-trimmers.
“Have you a pistol, Mr Hobson?” Hayden asked.
“I have, sir,” the midshipman answered smartly, his voice a little thin.
“Yourself and Mr Madison will take charge of the forward guns on the gun-deck. If any man tries to take your pistol, you must shoot him. Can you do that?”
The boy looked a bit disturbed but not frightened—at least not overly. “I think so, sir.”
“Don’t think so. Your life will depend on it, as will the lives of many of your shipmates.”
“I will do it, Mr Hayden.” The boy gripped his pistol tightly.
“Good for you, Hobson.”
The midshipman called to Madison, and the two of them descended the stair into the waist, and though they might have walked a bit too closely together, they were admirably resolute, given that the Jacks were almost, to a man, larger than they.
“Mr Landry!” Hayden called out as he returned to the forecastle. “I will require your presence on the deck, if you please.”
Something caught Hayden’s eye at that moment: there was a sail beyond Île de Beniguet!
“Where in deepest hell did that come from?” Hayden said, pointing. “Look sharp aloft! Is that not a sail in the offing?” The lieutenant’s heart suddenly began to race.
“Frigate to the west!” the lookout sang out, but he was in trouble now, as the lookouts aloft always were if any man on deck discovered ships, land, or any other object of interest, before they did.
“Damn!” Barthe said under his breath, wheeling around to gaze out to sea. “We are for it, now.”
“Aloft, there!” Hayden called, forcing his voice to sound calm for the sake of the crew. “Is she one of ours, can you see?”
Landry was standing in the tops, his glass trained out to sea.
Smoke bloomed from the distant frigate, and a hoist of flags floated aloft—the private signal. At the same time, British colours broke out at the mizzen.
Hayden closed his eyes for a second and uttered a silent thanks. If the frigate had belonged to the enemy, they might have been ending their day in a French gaol. “Well, I shall be happy to share our prize money, if there is any to be had, just to know that isn’t a Frenchman to the west.”
“We shall not let Landry forget that!” Barthe declared. “Even if he was detailed to count the fleet.”
“Everyone had their eye on the prize money, I think,” Wickham said.
“Who is midshipman of the watch?” Hayden asked.
“Williams, sir,” one of the crew answered.
“Have him answer the private signal and hoist ‘Chasing.’” He turned back to the transports. “Let the French frigates see that we have an ally.” It was unlikely that the distant English ship could reach them in the failing wind, but Hayden still felt a strong sense of relief just knowing the ship was there. If nothing else, his crew would be unlikely to mutiny knowing a British frigate lay in the offing.
Landry appeared a moment later, looking both frightened and resentful, but Hayden had no time to be conciliatory.
“Here are our circumstances, Mr Landry. I believe Mr Hawthorne and the officers can keep the crew in their places aboard the Themis, especially now that there is a second British frigate within sight, but I am concerned about the prize crew. I feel I must go with the boats, if it comes to that, lest they turn against the marines and officers. That will leave you to command the ship. Are you prepared to see this action through? I know you were against it from the start.”
Landry looked around sulkily. “I see little choice now. We cannot break it off and let the crew think we are afraid of them. It would never do.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Hayden agreed. He waited, but Landry offered no more. “Will you take command of the ship, then?”
Landry nodded unhappily.
“Mr Barthe?” Hayden called. He quickly drew a sketch of the narrows that led into the harbour of Brest, indicating where the rocks lay in the entrance. Hayden suspected that Landry did not have the mettle to see the thing through if anything at all went awry; he would turn the ship out to sea the first chance he got, perhaps even if it meant leaving the boats and their crews behind. Hayden would then be relying on Barthe to support them.
What a position he was in—and he felt a fool for it. Never for a moment had he thought that the men would shy from action or that they would turn on their officers in a crisis. This was a far cry from signing a petition or even refusing to sail.
Hayden directed his gaze to the transports. The far ship had moved ahead, almost certainly beyond their reach now, but the near ship lay becalmed on the dark sea. Hayden looked down into the inky water, trying to gauge his ship’s speed. Hardly two knots, he thought. But the chase was almost within range.
“How distant is that transport, Mr Barthe?” he asked the sailing master.
“Five hundred yards, Mr Hayden. Perhaps five hundred fifty. It is difficult to be sure in this light.”
“I think you’re right. Closer to five and fifty, I should think. I don’t imagine they’ll deem us a threat at this distance, even if we could put a shot across their bow.”
“I fear you’re right. It will be a close-run thing, Mr Hayden. They are almost beyond our reach.”
Hayden turned to find the third lieutenant. “If you please, Mr Archer, embark the boat crews. And hold a place for me in a cutter.”
Overhead, the stars began to appear in the last dispersed light of the sun. Hayden could still make out the transports—silhouettes against the dark cliffs. The nearest had her boats out before, men straining at the sweeps to pull the ship out of the calm that gripped them. The second transport had abandoned her sister and was making for the harbour entrance, perhaps catching the eddy that ran beneath the cliffs on the outgoing tide. Beyond her, the gunboats had tacked again, and still further into the bay the frigates awaited the change of wind and tide.
Perseverance appeared in the dim light with Hayden’s night glass, taking his ordinary glass under an arm. “Thank you, Perse,” Hayden said.
“Can you make out the rocks in the narrows with that?” Barthe asked.
Hayden lifted the instrument and gazed into the gathering dark, the world suddenly upside down, for the night glass inverted everything and took some familiarity of use. “Just.” He pointed. “Our present course will see us pass to seaward of them.”
For a few moments they carried on, the fitful breeze bearing them over the dark, glassy waters. Hayden turned and could still distinguish the marines standing over the men in the waist, muskets raised. Even in the near-dark he could discern the fear and tension by the attitude of their bodies. Lanterns were lit, and the ship’s bell rung. Along the deck, one of the sail-trimmers whispered to another, and a bosun’s mate smacked the offender with his rattan.
A powder monkey, an orphan of ten or eleven, carried a cartridge up onto the forecastle, but the gun captain, Baldwin, turned the lad around. “That is for the carronades, Lytton,” he whispered, and sent the boy off with a pat on the shoulder, as though he were his own child.
They were good men, most of them, Hayden thought. But the rest were a mystery: secretive and cunning. Murderous, too, perhaps.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to judge the distance to the chase, which was still utterly becalmed and barely making headway with the boats hauling.
“Baldwin? Aim your gun, if you please. We will put a shot across her bow. Try not to kill the men rowing.”
“Aye, sir.”
A handspike was used to shift the chase-piece, and the gun captain elevated the barrel, sighting carefully along its length.
“Ready, sir.”
“Wait a mo
ment yet…” Hayden held up his hand. As if that were a sign, the wind died away completely.
“Damn!” Hayden swore.
Still, the great mass of the ship meant that she would carry her way for some distance.
“It is now or never, Mr Baldwin.”
“Aye, sir.” The gun captain took one more look along the length of the barrel, moved clear of the recoil, and pulled the firing lanyard. The report of the six-pounder broke the stillness, sending up a flock of seabirds. The smoke vomited out before the bow, and slowly the boat drifted into the cloud.
Wickham ran out to the end of the bowsprit, stood a moment in the cloud of smoke, and then pulled off his hat and cheered. “They’ve struck, sir! They’re hauling down their colours.”
Hayden felt himself sigh. “The ship is yours, Mr Landry. But you must support us until the prize is secured. Do you understand?”
The sour little lieutenant nodded; he glanced resentfully over his shoulder at the distant British frigate—witness to all that would occur.
“The tide will turn of a moment, and soon there will be a breeze from out of the bay. We must get the prize away before the frigates can reach us.”
Again Landry nodded, and just as sourly.
Hayden returned the gesture, then hurried along the deck. “You have this in hand, Mr Hawthorne?” he asked as he passed.
“Not to worry, sir. Just secure our prize.”
“That I will, Mr Hawthorne.”
Hayden took his cutlass from his servant and scrambled over the side, finding a place in the bow of the cutter instead of in the stern-sheets by the coxswain. He would be at the back of the men at the sweeps, who could not see him unless they turned; an advantage, given the state of affairs.
“Away boats,” he called. “Make for the prize, Mr Childers.”
The boats pushed off and the sweeps flashed out. Hayden stared into the gloom a moment, the prize a dusky mass against the cliff.
“These Frenchmen might play us a trick yet,” Hayden said to the men, “especially now that the Themis has lost her wind and might be unable to bring her guns to bear. We must be prepared for them to attempt to repel boarders.”
“They would never—” but then Childers caught himself. “Would they, Mr Hayden?”
“If they were French Navy I would trust them to be honourable, Childers, but the masters of these ships could also be the owners, and they might be a little more desperate, and not think through what resistance might mean. But let us hope that is not the case.”
Hayden looked up toward his own ship, almost still upon the calm sea. A voice broke the evening quiet.
“What the bloody hell is this? Landry, damn your eyes! Who fired that gun?” A second’s silence. “Mr Hawthorne…what is it you do, sir?”
The marine’s answer was too quiet to understand.
“I feel unwell…” came Hart’s voice, travelling freely over the water. “Give me your arm, Doctor. Landry…?”
“Sir,” Landry answered, the quaver in his voice clear at two hundred feet.
“Steady on, lads,” Hayden said quietly. “There is no turning back now. Our prize money is there for the taking.”
Would Landry have the sense not to tell Hart the boats were away?
“Are these the cliffs of Brest?” Hart asked. His voice was heavy, the words slurred.
“Damnation!” Hayden whispered. “Pull!”
“We were reconnoitring the French fleet when the wind died, Captain,” Hayden heard Barthe announce loudly.
Good man, Hayden thought. Draw the captain’s attention away from the prize and the boats. It was now so dark that Hayden thought the boats might be all but invisible from the deck of the frigate.
He turned to see if the prize showed signs of resistance. The barge was to starboard of them and pulling hard—gaining on them, actually. The second cutter was just in their wake, but keeping station. With a little luck, the master of the transport would not know how many men came from the English ship, which might make any thought of resistance less appealing.
Hayden stood up in the bow, cupped his hands to his mouth, and called out with the greatest confidence he could muster: “Préparez-vous à être abordés! Au moindre signe de résistance, notre navire ouvrira le feu.”*
He waited, wondering if a musket ball would be the answer, but there was only hushed conversation in French.
“Mr Hayden!” came Landry’s voice out of the dark. “Captain Hart requires that you return to the ship at once.”
“Fucking poltroon!” one of the rowers muttered.
“Silence, there,” Hayden snapped. He looked back at the Themis, barely visible in the gloom.
“What shall I do, sir?” the coxswain asked over the heads of the men.
Hayden hesitated only a second. “Row on. They can court-martial me if they wish. I will do my duty, even so.”
One of the men at the oars spoke up. “I’m sure Lieutenant Landry said, ‘Return with the ship at once.’ He must mean the chase, sir. Return with the chase.”
“Wickham…?” Hayden said. “Is that you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you get aboard?”
“I thought you might need some help, sir.”
Hayden almost laughed. “Are you sure Landry said ‘with the ship’?”
“Quite certain, sir.”
“Then I’m sure you’re right. Row on!” he ordered, and was gratified to see the other boats did not hesitate but stayed their course.
“Mr Hayden…!” Landry called.
The steep topsides of the transport loomed out of the dark, and the sharp report of a musket and a tongue of flame greeted them. The ball struck the oarsman nearest Hayden, who grunted once then slid limply down.
Raising his pistol, Hayden fired at the dark form above, and a man toppled into the sea not a yard distant. The boat came alongside with a thump, and gunfire cracked all around as his own men brought their weapons to bear. Hayden threw a grappling hook at the shrouds and scrambled up the side of the ship. He fought a man off with his cutlass as he came over the rail, but a second man managed to run a bayonet through his jacket. Wickham shot the Frenchman as he pulled back for a second try, tumbling him to a deck turning rapidly bloody.
Gunfire quickly gave way to the clash of steel, the English sailors grunting and cursing as they went to work. It was all over in a moment, or so it seemed, the crew of the transport unwilling to give up their lives for their cargo. Many escaped in the boats, and the few who remained were herded together on the forecastle.
Wickham appeared out of the dark, flushed with excitement. “Are you hurt, sir?”
“A scratch. Mr Franks? Are we secure below?”
“Aye, Mr Hayden. Flushed a few Frenchies out of their hidey-holes.”
“Well done.” Hayden stared along the deck, barely visible in the cold starlight. A few men were down, tended by their fellows, and some others were being slid over the side—he hoped they were not his. “Wickham? Spin the wheel, if you please, and see if the helm answers.”
The boy jumped to the helm.
Hayden knew if the French master had disabled the steering they would be in trouble. Walking quickly about the deck, Hayden assessed the situation. The sails were still set, though they wafted about with every roll of the ship, no wind to make them sleep. The brief altercation had done no damage to the ship that he could see. As he came onto the quarterdeck, Wickham spotted him.
“The helm answers, Mr Hayden.”
“Then we have a chance of slipping away. I want a lookout aloft. Price—up you go.” One of the crew jogged to the shrouds and ran lightly up. “Can you see the gunboats?”
There was a moment of silence. “Lanterns in the necks all, sir.”
“That will be them, I think. The French frigates…can you see them?”
“No, sir, but there’s a mass of lights in the anchorage, Mr Hayden.”
“I’m sure there is,” Hayden said to himself. “Can you
make out the Themis?”
Silence from aloft.
“There she is, sir!”
Hayden suspected the man was pointing, but he could barely make him out in the dark.
“Where away?”
“Nor’west by north. A mile or more, sir.”
“Tide’s turning, Mr Hayden,” Franks reported.
Hayden stood a moment, aligning the top of the nearby cliff with a distant star. “So it is, Mr Franks. Let it carry us out to sea.”
Hayden took the wheel. “Mr Wickham, will you make a count of our wounded…and any we’ve lost.”
“I will, sir.” The boy went to the nearest gathering of men all crouched about a comrade, and Hayden heard him whispering. The boy had a good touch with the men. There was sincerity in his manner that could not be feigned. The men sensed his concern was genuine.
Hayden lined up another point on the cliff and a star, gauging their speed. A breeze rustled the sails. He felt it on his face—a warm, fragrant wind off the land. A fair breeze. Whether it would also carry gunboats, he didn’t know. It blew a moment, then died away.
“Mr Franks? You are now sailing master and bosun together. Station the men as best you can to work the ship. Square the fore-topsail yard. As soon as we have sternway I shall put the helm over for the starboard tack. We must get clear of these cliffs and out to sea, if we can.”
“Aye, sir.”
Franks began calling out names, and much to Hayden’s relief, the hands responded with a will, just as they had when boarding the ship. The disaffected aboard the Themis had not come off in the boats, apparently—either that or prize money had temporarily dulled their republican ideals.
The yards were shifted just as the breeze filled in. Hayden put the helm over, and in a moment the ship began to answer. As the bow fell off, the sails filled gently, and the fore-topsail yard was braced around quickly. Hayden could feel her motion check. Slowly the ship began to make way.
“Keep the wind on the quarter, Mr Franks. When we are able, we’ll wear and stand out to sea on a south-westerly course. Aloft there! Can you see the Themis or the other frigate?”
“The Themis is on the other tack, Mr Hayden,” came a voice from aloft. “The other frigate…I can’t see, sir,” the lookout called. “Wait, sir! I can see lanterns. Due west, Mr Hayden.”
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