Hayden nodded, glanced at Hawthorne, who raised an eyebrow and shook his head. The first lieutenant walked toward the quarterdeck companionway, sure his court-martial would be announced momentarily. As he went below, he glimpsed the other frigate ranging up under a press of sail.
A marine at the captain’s door announced him and Hayden doffed his hat and stepped into the great cabin. Hart stood by the stern windows, hands behind his back, staring out at the sun-dappled sea. Hayden waited for some time before Hart finally turned toward him. Instead of the anger he expected, Hart’s features were composed, even aloof, as though he had been put upon by some other and had retreated into exaggerated dignity.
“Never in my years of service have I had an officer disregard my orders so thoroughly as did you last night. Nor have I had a lieutenant under my command wilfully put my ship and her people into such peril.” The look of haughty disdain disappeared, and the hazy eyes narrowed. “The courts-martial shall put an end to your capers, sir. Try to make me look the fool! It is nothing but damned luck that you did not wreck the Themis and drown my crew.” He slammed his fist down on the paper-strewn table. “Damn your eyes, sir! You shall not serve aboard a ship in the King’s Navy again! I will see to it!”
Through the open window came a hail from another ship. The second frigate had ranged alongside.
Hart looked around as though confused, then gathered his wits. “You shall take the prize to Portsmouth and, upon my return, face a court-martial. Now remove yourself from my sight.”
Hayden made a small bow, and left the cabin. It was no worse than he had expected. Hart had much influence with the Admiralty, so his threat was not empty, prize or no prize.
Very little aboard a ship was secret, and Hart’s threat would have been heard. Within the hour everyone would know. Well, at least he would be off the ship. He would return to Portsmouth and make his report to Philip Stephens. One could hardly say he had fulfilled his commission, and he didn’t believe the First Secretary would think so either.
Up in the sunlight, Hayden could see the men gathered along the rail, and the masts of the frigate beyond. Hart appeared on the deck almost immediately, and went to the rail, where the midshipmen and warrant officers parted before him, everyone sensing his anger. Hayden pushed through the men and found himself looking at the Tenacious, her captain standing on the rail, holding on to the mizzen shrouds with one hand.
“Hart, you young fire-breather!” Henry Bourne called across the calm water. “That was as neat a piece of work as I have ever seen! It took some bottom to slip in there with gunboats and frigates threatening, wind dying away, darkness approaching—not to speak of Les Fillettes! I feel avaricious to claim my share…but my crew do not agree.” A charming grin spread over his face. “I could not see all that happened in the dark. We could just make out the Frenchman hauling down his colours and then we heard musket fire and some hot work, or so it seemed. What was it that transpired?”
Hart hesitated a second and then answered, “They hauled down their colours, but then the captain found his courage when the wind died.”
“The scoundrel!” Bourne cried, still grinning. “Well, I shall take the greatest pleasure in writing my report for the Admiralty. This is one action where I shall not have to exaggerate the courage or enterprise of the men involved. Who led the boarding party?”
“One of my lieutenants,” Hart said casually.
“Tell me who it was so that I might mention him by name…”
“No need, Bourne. I shall see he gets all that he deserves,” Hart answered.
Bourne turned his gaze to the crew gathered at the Themis’ rail, then shaded his eyes. “Is that Mr Hayden?”
The first lieutenant doffed his hat and raised a hand.
“Well, now I understand!” Bourne continued. “You had aboard a pilot. There is no man in His Majesty’s Navy who knows the port of Brest more thoroughly.” He glanced down. “My boat is launched. Let me come across to you. There is a matter I wish to speak of.”
Hart gave a little bow and a wave of the hand. The agile Bourne was down into his cutter in a moment. Marines were quickly lined up and the bosun’s mate piped the captain aboard. The marines stamped the deck and presented arms.
The genial Bourne shook Hart by the hand, offering his congratulations again. He turned to Hayden. “It wasn’t you who led the boats, was it, Mr Hayden?”
“It was, sir. The men did not shrink from the danger in the least. It was an honour to lead them.”
“Spoken like the gifted officer you are,” Bourne said, then turned to Hart.
“You are a fortunate man indeed to have Mr Hayden as your first. Were it within my power to grant, he would have made his post by now.”
Hart hid his reaction to this, but neither did he make any sign of agreement.
The officers were introduced, and Bourne, who was a man of great charm, won them all over with little more than a smile and his apparently genuine pleasure to make the acquaintance of each one of them. He took special notice of Wickham when told that he had been in the boarding party that had taken the prize.
“I believe Mr Wickham saved my life,” Hayden told him.
“For that you have my thanks,” Bourne said, “for Mr Hayden is dear to me.”
They repaired below, Bourne sweeping Hayden, Wickham, Landry, and Barthe up in his wake. The table in the captain’s cabin was soon set with a light meal, and Bourne spread his particular charm and good-will over the gathering. The company, aware of his reputation, hung on his every word. In a moment he was telling stories, some featuring exploits in which Hayden had played some small part—though Bourne did much to exaggerate this and to sing his praises.
As the meal came to an end, Bourne asked Hart if they might have a word.
“Certainly Mr Hayden may stay,” Bourne said, as the gathered officers began to file out.
When the door was closed, Bourne turned to Hart, fixed him with that natural smile, and asked, “I don’t know whom you would send home with the prize, but I have a second lieutenant who has a pressing need to see England. His wife gave birth to a new daughter but ten days past. He is a thorough sea-going officer. Were you to grant him the command, your prize would arrive in Portsmouth in good order, I have no doubt.”
“I had planned to send Hayden,” Hart said, not looking too pleased.
“I know it is a great favour I ask, and somewhat irregular, but the young man’s heart is not upon the sea at the moment, and it will allow you to keep your first lieutenant with you, which I’m sure would meet with your approval. Let me assure you, Hart, I am not seeking in any way to claim even the smallest part of the honour you deserve for your bold endeavour. You may be assured of that. And I should be forever in your debt.”
Hayden could see that Hart had no wish to comply, and certainly did not give a damn for any second lieutenant with a newborn child. “Who will make up the prize crew, then?”
“If you wish it,” Bourne offered, “I will make up half the muster from my own men. Will that answer?”
“I am short of crew…” Hart mused, then nodded reluctantly.
Bourne patted Hayden on the shoulder. “Then you and Mr Hayden will be left to harry the unsuspecting French. Wait till I inform the Lords of the Admiralty that you sailed into the Goulet so far that I thought you would touch jib-booms with the ships in the anchorage. Not much further and the batteries would have had you in their sights. That took some nerve!”
Hart nodded graciously and rose to his feet. “I suppose we should be about our duties, then.”
Hayden followed Hart and Bourne up to the deck.
“If you can spare Lieutenant Hayden for a brief interval,” Bourne said to Hart as they reached the rail, “there are several of his former shipmates who I’m certain would like to see his handsome face again.”
“Mr Hayden has duties aboard the Themis,” Hart said curtly.
The smile on Bourne’s face barely wavered. “Quite right,”
he said. Bourne made his good-byes, thanked Hart again, and went nimbly down the ladder and into his cutter.
As soon as Bourne was out of earshot, Hart turned to his first lieutenant but did not meet his eye. “It seems, Mr Hayden, you shall have a reprieve,” he said quietly, “due to the intervention of your friend Bourne. I hope you will endeavour to earn my approval in the future.”
“I have never done anything but, sir,” Hayden answered.
This caused Hart to raise an eyebrow. “Take yourself over to the prize and make a complete inventory of the ship. I don’t want to find we’ve been cheated in any way when we reach the Prize Court.”
Hayden drew himself up. “Sir, Captain Bourne is a man of unimpeachable honour.”
Hart fixed him with a dark look, and Hayden touched his hat.
“A boat, if you please, Mr Archer,” the lieutenant called out.
Hayden swiftly assembled a few men who could both count and write, and bore them over to the French transport.
As the only one perfectly fluent in French, Hayden took on the task of going over the ship’s papers, searching for the manifest and bills of lading. The captain, whose name had been La Fontaine, was a man who had believed in order, and Hayden quickly found what he was looking for. In a drawer he also found a letter, unfinished and dated the day previous.
It read:
Ma chère Marie,
Je t’écris en toute hâte, car alors même que nous pénétrons dans Le Goulet qui mène à la Rade de Brest, une frégate anglaise est pratiquement sur nous. Les vents ne nous permettent d’espérer les secours d’aucun navire. Nous nous rendrons s’il le faut, mais nous nous battrons si nous avons une chance. J’ignore ce que nous réservent les prochaines heures. Mon destin est entre les mains de Dieu et si je dois me présenter devant Lui, je n’aurai d’autre regret que la perte des jours que j’espérais passer auprès de toi.*
A quick search revealed a box of private correspondence. The lieutenant added the unfinished letter to this, found what other personal belongings he could, and carried them up into the sunlight.
“What have we there, Mr Hayden?” Franks asked, a yellowed smile appearing. “A bit of treasure?”
“The personal effects of the ship’s master. I will send them on to his widow.”
The smile disappeared from the bosun’s face. “Very kind of you, Mr Hayden. Very ‘genteel,’ as the French would say. That is what they say, isn’t it, sir?”
“Très gentil.”
“Just as I said…”
A boat came alongside from the Tenacious, and with his second lieutenant, Captain Bourne appeared on the transport’s deck.
Hayden gave the young second the appropriate papers, and left him to go over the ship on his own. No officer would take command of a vessel without ascertaining her seaworthiness and the general state of her gear. As he expected, the second lieutenant was exacting, efficient, and amiable.
“That was a most agreeable luncheon,” Bourne ventured once they were alone. He then took Hayden by the sleeve. “Let us repair below a moment, if I will not disrupt your labours.”
“You will not.”
In a moment they were in the master’s cabin, seated at a little table.
“So tell me, Charles, what really transpired in the dark? We heard shouts ordering you to return to the ship…”
“Could you make those out? We weren’t sure ourselves,” Hayden answered.
Bourne smiled. “So you plunged ahead and carried the transport by force majeure?”
“More or less, yes.”
“And where was our intrepid Captain Hart during all this?”
“In his cabin, suffering from migraine. I believe the doctor had given him a soporific. We were away in the boats when the captain came on deck.”
Bourne sat back a little in his chair, his face betraying that he had guessed as much. “He had no notion of what went on?”
“Not until we fired the bow-chaser to bring the transport to.”
Bourne was quiet a moment, his look troubled. He drummed his fingers on the table.
“I owe you a great debt, sir,” Hayden said quietly. “I was to be court-martialled before you appeared this morning.”
Bourne blew out through his lips. “Court-martialled! On what charge? Immoderate bravery?” He shook his head in disgust. “How did you ever land aboard Hart’s ship? I thought you were to be made Master and Commander when you left me.”
“It did seem that such an appointment was in the offing when I left the Tenacious, but it did not come to pass. I was ashore without prospects when the First Secretary honoured me with the offer of this position.”
“Stephens?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, let us not be disingenuous; it is a bad situation, Mr Hayden. Hart has a particular character within the Service. Even so, he has his supporters among the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty. But you will not prosper under his command. I will send my report, and not be coy in revealing your part in the business, but even so, Hart will receive the credit.” Bourne sat, lost in thought a moment, then looked up at his former lieutenant. “Don’t get yourself killed trying to gain the attention of the Admiralty by daring. It is likely that they will never hear of it from Hart, unless, like last night, there are other witnesses.”
“I was not trying to get myself killed. I merely saw the chance of taking an enemy vessel, judged the risks to be acceptable, and did my duty. I knew the waters. The ebb was bound to carry us out to safety, even if the offshore breeze did not fill in. What else was I to do?”
“Exactly, Charles, and I did not mean to imply that you exhibited less than proper caution. You weighed everything to a nicety and acted without hesitation—as I would have expected. Many another would have dithered until the chance was lost. But you’ve shown Hart to be less than stout-hearted before his crew, not that they did not realize it, but even so…Hart will feel the sting of it.”
“There is not a thing I might do that would please Captain Hart. The second lieutenant does nothing but capitulate to him in every little thing and Hart despises him as much as the next man. I shall face a court-martial before I will become another Landry.”
“And that is completely understandable. But men such as…” Bourne hesitated, and then leaned over the table and spoke quietly but earnestly. “Men who secretly know of their own shyness—they hate officers such as you, Charles. Your very existence is nothing less than a constant threat to reveal the horrid truth about them. That is their greatest fear of all—that the world will learn the truth.”
Hayden lowered his voice as well. “But as you have said, everyone in the Service knows of the man’s character.”
Bourne held up both his hands. “Indeed, that is true. But our good captain fantasies that this is not so, that the world has been deceived. He would like nothing better than to be thought the most valiant man in the Royal Navy, but he will never even attempt the deeds that would gain him such a reputation.”
“Did you not always tell us, ‘Do not seek acclaim; deserve it’?”
Bourne smiled. “So I did, and you have taken it to heart, I see.”
Hayden laughed. “Poor man. His name lends itself too easily to such wit.”
“I am only saying, Charles, that you should be wary of this man. He will do you damage, if he can—at least destroy your reputation.”
“I have no reputation. I was fortunate to be offered even a situation such as this.”
“Apparently you do have a reputation. Philip Stephens did not choose you because you were a blunderer. He chose you because he knew you were a man of great ability, but without any interest to speak of.”
“At least the latter is true, unfortunately.”
Bourne rose to his feet, looked down at his former lieutenant, a great deal of concern creasing his noble face. “It is only my intention, Charles, as a friend, to caution you. If Hart cannot break your will, and I don’t believe for a moment that he can, then he will
attempt to ruin you. Do not underestimate him. His kind have a vast genius for vindictiveness. A vast genius.”
Fifteen
The French transport was soon small on the horizon in a moderate sou’west wind; beyond the reach of French privateers, Hayden hoped, many of whom lurked nearby in the hole-in-the-wall harbour of Conquet. Hart had sent along his official report of the action, as had Captain Bourne. A letter to Hayden’s particular friend, Thomas Banks, Esq., had also been included in the home-going mail, detailing the lieutenant’s singular view of the events.
Writing the initial missives to the First Secretary had made Hayden feel like a traitor—loyalty to his captain had always been reflexive with him—but after witnessing Hart’s dereliction of duty, not to mention the way he treated his first lieutenant and the rest of his crew, Hayden felt more like a conspirator than an informer. The man inspired loyalty in no one—except Landry, apparently.
Hayden was not sure what Philip Stephens would do with his letters, but if they would in any way undermine Hart within the Admiralty, Hayden had decided he would not trouble his conscience over it. Fear that his letters would not be kept secret did trouble him, however; informers were despised in the service. If Stephens was not very masterful in his attempts to discredit Hart, and discreet about the source of his information, Hayden would face a future of ostracization; remaining in the service would become impossible. Indeed, he would almost certainly have no choice but to quit the country altogether. The idea of being disdained by his fellow officers distressed him terribly—especially late at night—but he had made his devil’s bargain with Stephens and only hoped it would never come to light.
Despite all this, he wondered what Hart had written about the action. He did not need to speculate about what Captain Bourne had communicated to the Lords Commissioners; discreetly, his old champion had sent a copy of his letter to Hayden while still aboard the transport. It had been an utterly fair account and did not make use of any information gained in private conversation with Hayden, but only things he could have known from his position out at sea, and from what he had been told aboard the Themis. Even so, Hayden did come off as the hero of the action, and though Hart was praised for his nerve in going into the Goulet after the transports, Bourne had also noted that First Lieutenant Charles Hayden had intimate knowledge of the harbour and its surrounding waters. He let the Lords Commissioners draw their own conclusions from that. Tactfully, Hart’s order for the boats to return to the ship before they had reached the transport was overlooked. Only Philip Stephens had that information.
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