Under Enemy Colors

by S. thomas Russell

  Over a dinner in the captain’s cabin, Hayden related recent events, the court-martial, Hart’s knighthood, the unheralded visit from Gardner. He chronicled these proceedings with little zeal or even interest, feeling the sting of Henrietta’s rather abrupt removal to London and wondering all the while if he had made a terrible error. Perhaps he was unsure of his own attachment…

  Hertle remained silent, pensive, while his friend spoke. When Hayden finished, his manner did not change, as though he placed everything said upon a scale and watched, now, as the balance rocked one way then the other.

  “I believe it is good news that both Philip Stephens and Captain Gardner—who will soon have his flag—have gone to some effort to shield you from the taint that your fellow officers will never quite be rid of…Hart’s mutiny.”

  “Stephens made me no promises, which distressed you in the past.”

  “Yes, but he has done much to preserve your reputation, so that you might find employment in the future, I would venture.”

  “Perhaps he has some other captain who needs a nursemaid.”

  “Stephens knows how diligently you prosecuted the war against the French on your recent cruise. Others must know it, as well, despite the Times account. Let us hope that something will come of it. But I will tell you, stealing back the master’s log probably had more effect than you realize. Until then Hart probably thought he could lie and bluster his way through the court-martial, but after that some arrangement had to be reached.” Hertle sat back from the table. “So, what is your opinion of my ship?”

  “She is everything a man could hope for, though I dare say her crew will take some working up, as I have seldom seen a more unlikely collection of landsmen and bleaters.”

  Hertle laughed. “They shall take some labour. I will have someone read Tom Paine to them each evening to improve their minds. That should answer.”

  But this jest did not sit well with Hayden, whose smile disappeared.

  “I am very concerned about Aldrich, Robert. If he does not hang, Gardner believes he will be flogged about the fleet, which will kill him just as dead as a noose.”

  “The man was very foolish to have read such pamphlets to a disaffected crew. It might have been done in innocence, but so have many a black deed. The courts do not much care for a man’s good intentions if another’s death has resulted. Aldrich showed very little common sense, if I may use the term.”

  “Aboard our ship, common sense was on everyone’s lips but in no one’s character.”

  After attending to some business ashore, Hayden returned to the Themis just as the sun set into a shoal of coal-dust cloud. Down into the bowels of the ship he went, seeking the doctor, whom he found in the sick-berth, decidedly pale if not ashen.

  “Good evening to you, Doctor.”

  “And you, sir,” Griffiths said, his face turning suddenly rosy—embarrassed, no doubt, by his antics of the previous night.

  “Might I have a word with you?”

  “You may.”

  Hayden noticed Aldrich, who sat up in his cot, reading by the light of a lamp. “How fare you, Mr Aldrich?”

  “In the pink, sir, though the doctor does not agree.”

  “I would heed Dr Griffiths, Mr Aldrich. He is a higher power in this place.”

  Hayden led the doctor quickly up to the empty great cabin. A servant came scurrying in to light the candles.

  “Sorry, sir,” the man said. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be using the captain’s cabin this evening.”

  Hayden waited until the man had gone and then closed the skylight overhead. He beckoned Griffiths to the stern gallery, and they both took seats on the sill-bench.

  “What is so secret that we must cloister ourselves away to speak?” the doctor asked, looking both ill and somewhat alarmed.

  “I had a visit from Captain Gardner this evening last.”

  “Gardner? Of the court-martial?”

  “The very one. He is of the opinion that Aldrich will be flogged around the fleet for his contribution to the mutiny—that is, if he escapes hanging.”

  Griffiths did not argue, but his sallow look turned very dark, mouth forming a thin, harsh line.

  “I do not think Gardner will be proven wrong in this,” Hayden whispered.

  “Yes, absolutely. Damn…” Griffiths glanced up at Hayden. “I don’t think Aldrich’s constitution will take it. Is there any hope for the King’s mercy?”

  “I think it unlikely, but even if that were not so, it is a thin rope to cling to.”

  “Yes. I agree. Is it just my present lowered state or do I sense that you have not told me this without purpose?”

  “Are you willing to risk your career, if not infamy?”

  “For Mr Aldrich? My career, is yours. Infamy? You had better tell me what is in your mind…”

  “There is an American ship in the sound, the New England; she belongs to a Mr Adams of Boston, who by chance happens to be my mother’s new husband. I have spoken to the master. He will take Aldrich secretly aboard and convey him to Boston, upon the first fair tide…if we can find a way to get Aldrich to the ship.”

  Griffiths’ manner grew even more grave, and he rose and paced slowly across the cabin.

  “I would not bring you into this, Doctor, but I don’t think I can manage it without your help. I will row him to the New England in the jolly-boat, but I must get him out of the sick-berth and into the boat.”

  Griffiths stopped and turned to Hayden, his sickly look pushed aside by one of determination. “Leave that to me. Four bells of the middle-watch.”

  “One of us must speak with him. There can be no argument. To stay here is to die. There will be no justice. He must be made to understand.”

  The doctor reached a thin arm up to a beam, leaning his small weight against it. “I will see it done—do not be concerned, Mr Hayden—but we will have to get him past Hawthorne’s marines…”

  Hayden himself stood, rubbing his hands together. “I have not worked that out quite yet. I might call them away for a few moments on some pretext while you get him to the boat…?”

  “I think it better to ask Mr Hawthorne for his help.”

  Hayden stopped, shaking his head. “I was loath to involve yourself, Doctor. Let no others share the risk.”

  The doctor gestured down toward the gunroom. “Hawthorne is as attached to Aldrich as any, and he is angry enough at the injustice that has been done—bloody Hart being knighted! He will see the marines out of the way for a few critical moments, I am sure.” The doctor was silent a moment. “I suspect Aldrich hasn’t a shilling to his name…”

  “I will give him what I can, but I own that will be very little.”

  “Yes, I can do the same, and it will likely be less. We daren’t ask anyone else.”

  Hayden raised his hands. “I shall give the master a letter to my mother requesting that she offer Mr Aldrich what aid she can.”

  This did not seem to impress the doctor. “Better not to have such things in writing. If Aldrich is apprehended we shall claim he escaped. Hawthorne is always bragging about his success at cards, perhaps he has some small sum he might lend…”

  “Shall I speak with him?”

  The doctor shook his head. “I will do it. It was my suggestion. But you may count on his aid, I am sure. Four bells. I shall meet you in the cockpit.”

  The doctor went out and Hayden sat staring at the deck for some moments. Perse appeared a moment later, following a knock, respectful in its volume.

  “The midshipmen are awaiting you, sir. Supper, if you remember?”

  “Ah. Perse, my thanks. I am much distracted this day.”

  Hayden quickly readied himself and went down to the midshipmen’s berth, where a table had been laid, the young gentlemen in their best uniforms, clean linen, faces scrubbed to a seraphic shine.

  The middies were in high spirits after their honourable acquittal, and many a toast was offered: to the justice of the court, to Mr Archer’s brother, to
Mr Archer for having a brother, to each and every captain of the court, to the admiral…Hayden had difficulty playing his part in the proceedings and he noticed that, alone among the young gentlemen, Wickham remained quite sober. Several times the lieutenant caught the nobleman watching him, an odd, quizzical look upon his young face.

  The evening did pass, finally, the middies all more or less happily drunk; Hobson and Stock became somewhat quarrelsome toward the end. Taking himself through the doors into the gunroom, Hayden found Hawthorne and the doctor seated at the table with Mr Barthe. In manner, the three men appeared terribly grim.

  “Three men too serious,” Archer declared as he stumbled through the door, then leaned upon the table with an exaggerated casualness. He was in the same state of inebriation as the middies, and was taken aback when no one smiled at his wit. “Is something amiss?”

  “No,” Griffiths answered, trying to smile, “all is right with the world. But I fear your tomorrow, Mr Archer, will much resemble my today.” Griffiths rose from his chair. “Good night to you, gentlemen. Until tomorrow…” He then nodded to Hayden, a slight tilt of the head toward Hawthorne.

  Hayden retired to his cot, and the darkness of his cabin, but he did not go easily to sleep. He lay listening to the night sounds, the movement of the guards, the chiming of the ship’s bell, and the calling of All’s well. The wind backed to the north-east, and rain spattered down on Plymouth Sound. Hawthorne’s infamous snoring droned—as regular as a clock’s pendulum. Hayden imagined he could hear the doctor shifting restively in his cot—awake for the same reason as he.

  Four bells of the middle-watch took him by stealth—he had fallen asleep perhaps an hour before. Rising quickly, Hayden pulled on his clothes as silently as darkness would allow, and slipped out of his cabin. Hawthorne appeared at almost the same moment, and the two went out the door, and quickly down the stairs. The middies were all too drunkenly sleeping to notice their passing.

  At the foot of the ladder the doctor awaited them with a lantern, a sheepish-looking Aldrich at his side. Hayden put a finger to his lips and led them back up the ladder to the berth-deck. Up again to the empty gun-deck, no sentry there to take note of them. Pausing, Hayden put his head out the companionway. The rain had ceased sometime earlier, but the wind still blew uneasily, and the stars were not to be seen.

  Hawthorne put a hand on Hayden’s shoulder and pressed past him onto the deck. He waved a lantern at someone forward, and then motioned for the others to follow. A cold wind whipped Hayden’s unbound hair about his face. The jolly-boat had been streamed aft without a boat-keeper that night. Hayden and Aldrich quickly drew it alongside.

  “What is the matter here?” came a voice out of the dark.

  Hawthorne spun about and raised his lantern to reveal Wickham, buttoning his coat against the night.

  Griffiths stepped forward, placing himself between the midshipman and Aldrich, as though he would hide the seaman’s identity. “It would be better if you went back to your cot, Mr Wickham, and forgot what you saw here this night.”

  “It would be better still if I came to your aid,” Wickham said. “You are no oarsman, Doctor, and would be better aboard, where you might be called to see to a patient. Let me go with Mr Hayden and Mr Hawthorne. We three are old boat-mates, after all.”

  “Do you understand what goes on here?” Hayden asked the boy.

  “I believe I do, sir.”

  “Then better you take no part in it.”

  “Mr Aldrich is as dear to me as any of you, I dare say—”

  “We have not time to argue,” Griffiths hissed. “Let Mr Wickham go in my place, for he is not wrong about my skills as a boatman.”

  The four men went quickly down into the jolly-boat, pushing off into the darkness, the chill wind immediately taking hold of their little ship so that she paid off to leeward.

  “Take the tiller, Mr Hayden,” Hawthorne said, relieving the lieutenant of an oar. “You know where it is we go.”

  And so Hayden sat in the stern-sheets and acted as coxswain while the other three manned the oars. He guided them among the great, silent ships, giving each a large berth to avoid any boats rowing sentry. They did not want to be challenged that night.

  In a short time they had crossed the sound to where the American merchantman swung to her anchor. Hayden brought them quietly alongside.

  “Mr Hayden? Is that you, sir?” came a voice from above.

  “It is, Mr Tupper. Shall I send our package up?”

  “If you please.”

  Hayden leaned forward and grasped Aldrich by the hand. A purse was pushed into the seaman’s fingers.

  “I cannot accept this!” Aldrich objected.

  “You may pay it all back. Mr Tupper will give you the address of my mother and you may return the monies to her.” Hayden released the man’s hand. “Whatever your inclination, Mr Aldrich, never go to sea again. Stay to the land, for the British will ever be on the lookout for you. Do you understand?”

  “I do, and thank you, sir. Perhaps one day you will visit me in America, and I shall have a house and a family of my own.”

  “That is my fondest hope, Mr Aldrich. Now up you go.”

  Aldrich took the others by the hand in turn, showering them with thanks before he went up the ship’s side to disappear over the rail.

  “Good night to you, Mr Hayden,” Tupper whispered from above.

  “And you, Mr Tupper. I am in your debt.”

  “Not in the least. I am so indebted to Mr and Mrs Adams for their innumerable kindnesses that your obligation is already cancelled. Good luck to you.”

  They rowed blindly back to the Themis, finding her by a flash of lightning—the only such glare that night. A portentous crash of thunder rolled across the bay, echoing among the low hills.

  “Apparently the Almighty is not pleased with our most recent act of rebellion,” Hawthorne whispered. He bent to his oar like a seasoned hand now.

  “I take it as a sign of His approbation,” Wickham answered. “How could it not be? Saving an innocent man from flogging, if not death. No, we shall not be damned for that. We shall be taken up into Heaven when our time comes—blind, perhaps, but blessed all the same.”

  “Blind to our own follies, at least,” Hayden said. “Here is the ship, at last.”

  Twenty–seven

  Aldrich’s disappearance cost Hayden censure from the president of the court-martial, but Hayden apologized profusely, and bore it with well-concealed joy. Despite a reward being offered, Able Seaman Peter Aldrich was not to be found in or around Plymouth. There was much speculation that he had been swept out to sea as he attempted to swim ashore and had been drowned.

  A new captain was appointed to the Themis, and as it was his intention to bring his own officers and midshipmen with him, all of the Themis’ officers and young gentlemen found themselves ashore and going their separate ways. The dashing Hawthorne, never without an invitation, posted off to Bath to visit with friends, and no doubt many young ladies. Barthe went home to Kent. Griffiths to Portsmouth. After taking his leave of Lady Hertle, Hayden posted up to London in company with Lord Arthur Wickham. The boy’s sunny disposition made what would have been a dismal retreat almost bearable. Wickham was not overly troubled about finding another ship, but Hayden could not allow himself to feel the same. He might soon be following in the wake of Aldrich.

  Hayden also felt they were escaping the court-martial of the mutineers, which was to begin in a few days’ time—neither Wickham nor himself would be called to give evidence as they had not been present. He was very glad that he would not be aboard for the hangings which would surely follow.

  “Will you come by my father’s house?” Wickham asked. “I’m sure Lord and Lady Westmoor would be delighted to receive you.”

  “Is Lord Westmoor in the habit of receiving lieutenants who have been dismissed their ships?”

  “He is in the habit of receiving my friends.”

  “How kind of you to think
of me so,” Hayden said. “I will certainly come by if it is at all possible. I dare say, I shall not be given a new commission any time soon, so I will almost certainly be at my leisure.”

  “Is that what concerns you so, Mr Hayden? Gaining another commission?”

  “Oh, that and the realization that I have been rather foolish in regard to a certain young lady.”

  “Ah, I heard you had a visit from a lovely woman one day. It was all the talk of the middies’ berth for a few days.”

  “I did not know they were so indiscreet.”

  “Oh no, sir. There was no disrespect meant to either Miss Henrietta or yourself. The middies all said that the lady in question was seen to treat you with a great deal of favour. They thought you most fortunate, sir.”

  Hayden sat back in the coach seat, unable to hide his distress. “I will tell you, Lord Arthur, if ever you set your sights on a woman, do not vacillate. Better to be refused than to have a woman slip away, thinking you do not care for her. No, never hesitate.”

  Wickham looked at him oddly, as though he wondered if Hayden practised upon him. “You would never be hesitant with a lady, Mr Hayden. I have seen you go right at a French frigate in a little brig-sloop without an instant of indecision.”

  Hayden had to smile, at his own folly as much as Wickham’s words. “Apparently a woman is far more daunting than a frigate, Mr Wickham. A single verbal broadside, the tiniest hint of resistance, and I am thrown upon my beam ends. It is said that a fire-eater on the quarterdeck can be the shiest man in the ballroom.”

  “Well, Mr Hayden, I am far too young and inexperienced in these matters to venture an opinion…yet, if you let a prize slip away, you must contrive another plan and chase her again. That is how we do it at sea, and I think such a strategy will answer equally on land.”

  “Do you? Well, it could hardly prove less successful than my actions so far.”

  Their conversation covered much ground on their journey to London. Freed of the ship, Wickham proved to have a surprising breadth of interests for one so young. It came out, in addition, that his family possessed a large library in which Lord Arthur had been encouraged to roam from an early age. Hayden could not help feeling envious as the young middy spoke of volume upon volume that he had first encountered on the shelves of his father’s library. Books were not inexpensive things, and to possess more than a few he thought a great luxury.