'I – I think so, sir.'
'Think so?' Sharply.
'I mean, I do understand you perfectly, sir. No error at all.'
'Very well. I will stand in as far as I dare, and then we will hoist out the ship's boats. Mr Dangerfield to command the large cutter, you will command the launch, and Mr Makepeace will command the pinnace. Each boat to carry an Hadley's, boat's compass, sounding lead, long glass, and an accurate pocket timepiece, and of course instrument cases, pens and notebooks, and existing charts, for comparison and alteration.'
'Who will take our watches, sir?'
'Mr Loftus will keep the deck, and I will keep the deck myself, in addition, while we lie at anchor.'
'Very good, sir. Erm, permission to make a suggestion, sir?'
'Well?'
'Do not you think that it will require more than a single day to make all of the observations, sir, and chart them accurate?'
'We have already lost three days to storms, Mr Leigh. There ain't a moment to lose, now. The man must be got ashore tonight.'
'May I ask ... forgive me, sir, for these questions ... but may I ask how long this man will remain ashore? Are we to wait for him, while he makes his own observations, or—'
'You will not wait for him at all. You will put him ashore, stand away and return to the ship.'
'We are to leave him there, in France?'
'You are. You will. And before you ask: why? I will say only this: it is all a question of the silk trade.'
'Silk, did y'say, sir? Then the man to go ashore is our supernumerary, Mr Tennelier?'
'Aye, that is the man. And his name is Tonnelier, Mr Leigh. Henry Tonnelier. He is to go in your boat.'
'Very good, sir.'
'He is to meet representatives of the French silk trade ashore, in secret, and try to discover from them how the disastrous falling-off of that trade in France may be circumvented, as a way of preventing a similar falling-off in England. You see?'
'Yes, sir. Well ... in fact I do not, sir. However, it ain't my business to question the efficacy of such a plan.'
'No, Mr Leigh, it ain't. I shall anchor ... here. The boats will then be hoisted out, and you will proceed thus.' He designated an area for each boat, drawing lines in pencil on the chart. 'From your observations we will then decide upon which channel your own boat will follow tonight, through the rocks, shoals and islets to the one possible landing place at Malaise – this inlet.' Tapping the chart with his pencil, and drawing a cross at the place.
'Are we to have lights of any kind, sir? I know that local fishermen along much of the French coast use lanterns at night to—'
'There can be no lights of any kind. None.'
'Then – forgive me, sir – how are we to read the chart at night, in order to find our way in?'
'You must commit the final chart to memory, and navigate by dead reckoning. Everything you do in the hours of daylight will be vital to your success tonight.'
'Very good, sir.' Troubled, but determined not to show it.
'No doubt you are wondering, Mr Leigh, why I have not put Mr Makepeace in command of this little expedition tonight, hm?'
'It – it had crossed my mind, sir, since he is the senior lieutenant.'
'Because I want him here with me in Expedient, should we need to defend ourselves.'
*
The boats had returned by nightfall, their work accomplished as planned. Now the single boat remaining in the water, close in by Expedient's side, was the second lieutenant's boat, the ship's launch. With a minimum of fuss and notice Mr Tonnelier made his way into the waist and descended the ladder. He was clad in a dark cloak and hat, his face nearly hidden. He nearly forgot to go down the ladder a trifle clumsily, to show that here was a lubberly fellow, but managed to stumble over the thwarts and rock the boat a little as he made his way into the stern sheets.
'Plausibly done,' murmured Rennie to himself as he watched from the deck.
The coxswain stood at the tiller, the man in the bow pushed the boat clear, and the double-banked boat's crew obeyed Mr Leigh's command: 'Give way together!' The launch swung toward the shore in the darkness, and slid from view in a rhythmic washing of oars.
'I hope they don't come to calamity in getting him ashore.' Again to himself, and Rennie pushed himself away from the rail. He sent a boy to ask Lieutenant Makepeace to join him in the great cabin, and went aft. Presently Tom Makepeace joined him.
'Tell me again, Tom, will ye? Y'saw nothing in the way of other ships today?'
'No, sir. Only fishing boats. Bisquines, I believe. Heavywaled, squat, broad in the beam, lugger-rigged.' With sea officer's accuracy of observation.
'And did they notice you, d'y'think?'
'Well, as I wrote in my report, sir, I think they did – but they did not attempt communication of any kind. We kept to ourselves, and so did they.'
'Yes, very well.' Tapping a chart, rubbing the back of his neck. 'We may only hope and pray that nothing awaits our launch inshore except breakers and rocks and other inanimate delights. Hey?'
'Indeed, sir.'
'Silence is to be the watchword, Tom, all tonight, until the launch returns.'
'I have passed the word, sir.'
'Anchor watches, but we must remain wholly alert. I am not persuaded entire that we shall remain here unremarked. Say to Mr Tangible that he is to be ready to beat to quarters at any moment.'
'I have already done so, sir.'
'Good, very good. Hm, I am not hungry, not at all, but we had better observe the conventions, I expect, and eat a supper. Will y'join me, Tom?'
'Gladly, sir.'
'We will eat, but we will not drink. We must have clear heads.'
*
In the launch James sat in the stern sheets with Lieutenant Leigh, who crouched forward very tense, a hand clutching the gunwale. His voice sounded strained:
'Steady, coxswain, steady ...'
The man in the bow swung the lead, the line tied with fathom marks, and presently the word came back:
'Fifteen fathom, sand and shell.'
'Very good, very well.'
'You are quite certain of our passage through the rocks, Mr Leigh?' James, in the darkness, in an attempt to be affable. The attempt failed.
'I have it clear in my head.' Curtly, as if to say: do not talk to me.
The boat ran on, driven by the straining backs and arms of seamen, and double-banked oars. James was aware of a bulked mass against the stars to larboard, and the sucking and washing of waves against rocks, very close.
'That is the larger of the islets,' he said, but not aloud.
During the day he had stood on deck with Captain Rennie, and observed. He saw that the boat would have to pass between two rocky islets, and then through a maze of rocks and shoals beyond. He borrowed Rennie's glass, ostensibly to look at the ship's boats. Through the glass he looked at those rocks, and thought he could discern a way through for a boat – a boat handled with skill. He turned his attentions to the ship's boats, swinging the glass across them. It was all very fine, he had reflected, as he watched the boats' officers making their charting observations, to plot the intended course in broad day; it would be quite another thing to find the way through in the blinding folds of night. Handing the glass back to Rennie:
'My thanks, sir. A remarkably accurate glass, the view is admirably enlarged and clear.'
'Aye, it is a Dollond. The finest ground lenses in London. It cost me a pretty penny.'
James was brought sharply back to the present by a splash of sea water in the face, flung back from the blade of an oar. The bulky mass to larboard was gone, and the boat was again in open water. Ahead lay the most treacherous part of the passage – through the narrow channel and on to the rocky inlet under the rearing headland. James could hear Lieutenant Leigh's harsh, tense breathing, and feel his wound-spring tension beside him. By contrast the rhythm of the oars in muffled thole pins was almost soothing, the blowing breath of the boat's crew like the sighing of a whale. The ri
ppling wash of the oar blades and the gentle seething of the sea were nearly soporific. James shook himself resolutely awake, snuffing in a deep breath of saline air. Soon his attention drifted, and he allowed himself to wonder what lay ahead for him.
He was late – days late – for the rendezvous with his French contact. Would there be anyone there when he got ashore? And what would they want of him, what would they require immediate? He still had no strong idea of why he had been sent, in spite of Mappin's repeated promises to let him know.
'He never did tell me anything of substance.' Muttered under his breath. Another bracing splash of sea water. 'Too late now, I must make the best of whatever I find, and try to do whatever is asked of me.'
All he knew for certain – other than that his journey was of vital importance – was the password he must produce, when challenged: 'Deus ex machina'.
Suitably theatrical, he thought, and smiled tightly in the darkness. In what way was he a descending god, come to solve the difficulties of hapless mortals? In his head: 'I am only a damned wet sea officer, crouched in a boat and disguised as a someone else. As a bewigged, foppish landlubber, for Christ's sake.' And not for the first time today, nor yesterday, nor the day before, he shook his head and wondered: 'What am I doing, for the love of God? Why on earth did I agree to this nonsense?'
'Eh? What say?' Lieutenant Leigh hoarsely, beside him.
'Nay, I – I was merely going over something in my head, you know.'
'Cannot you understand? We must keep silent in the boat.' Curtly.
He was frightened, thought James with a sudden clarity. The young man was desperately fearful, which was why his manners had deserted him.
Abruptly the boat lurched, scraped against something, and Mr Leigh was flung forward. His head struck the roundel of an oar, jutting from a seaman's hand, and he pitched across a thwart senseless.
'Mr Leigh!' James, in alarm.
'He is knocked witless, sir.' A seaman.
The boat lurched heavily again, and there was another juddering scrape. Now the boat drifted clear and began to swing beam-on in the current. Curses, the faint glinting of lifted oars.
'Coxswain!' James turned to the man at the tiller, and saw that there was no one there. All thought of disguise and subterfuge left him now, he stood up, grabbed the tiller, and attempted to pull it sharply over. The timber swung useless in his hand. The rudder had been snapped off.
'You there, larboard number one, pass me your oar! Cheerly, now!'
Astonished, the seaman obeyed, so clearly was that command given in the voice of a sea officer, RN.
James grabbed the oar, moved to where the coxswain had been sitting, and lifted the oar out and down in the water, to act as a makeshift rudder. The boat began to swing back.
'The coxswain has gone overboard!' Careful not to raise his voice too loud, but making it as hard and authoritative as he was able, and as expressions of fear and concern came from a dozen throats: 'We will go about and search for him. Starboard bank, give way together!' And he stood at the makeshift helm, gripping the oar and angling it over to make the boat turn.
Not one of the seamen questioned his right to give orders. They obeyed him without hesitation. The boat came about, but in spite of repeated calls in the rinsing, washing dark, they found nothing. James ordered the boat about again, angled the makeshift helm, and the boat's crew obeyed. Again they found nothing, and by now it was clear to James – to them all – that the coxswain was drowned. Mr Leigh regained consciousness. He groaned, coughed, and was helped to sit upon a thwart by two seamen as James ordered:
'Lay on your oars.'
Mr Leigh was not yet quite himself. He stared about him.
'What has – happened? Where is this place? Are we at sea?'
'You was knocked senseless, sir, when the boat struck a reef.' One of the seamen.
'Are we sinking?'
'No, sir. We are safe. The other gen'man has took command.'
'What?' Swivelling blearily. 'Command?'
'The rudder was broke, sir, and the other—'
'But – I am in command.'
James, clearly and firmly: 'You are injured, Mr Leigh. I will guide us in.'
'But – you cannot command a boat's crew, Mr Tennelier. You are a landlubber.' Rising clumsily and stumbling aft. The boat heeled sharply.
'Sit down, Mr Leigh, and be quiet now, will you? I will guide us in, never fear.'
The authority in that voice was unmistakable, even to the stunned and confused lieutenant, and he did as he was told and resumed his seat. The boat righted itself. James gripped the steering oar and:
'Give way together. Cheerly now, lads, while the tide is with us.'
And half a glass after, without further upset, the boat came gliding in on the little sandy beach of the inlet, the great granite headland of Malaise towering black above.
'Oars.'
The oars inboard. A moment, then a sliding crunch.
Men leapt out and held the boat firm as James clambered forrard to the bow. He jumped on to the glistening sand as a wave washed over his shoes. Striding up the slope he turned and in a low, carrying tone:
'Many thanks, lads. We have lost a man, but have come in safe, and you have done your duty. Shove off now, right quick, and get Mr Leigh back to the ship. I must make my way alone from here.'
'But – how will we navigate through all them rocks, sir?' One of the crew, anxiously.
'You must do your best. Row and steer very careful, a man in the bow with the lead. Beyond that I cannot aid you. Good luck to you all.'
'Good luck, sir.' Very subdued.
'Aye, good luck, sir.'
A few moments more and the boat was gone, and James heard the anxious command:
'Give way together, lads.'
The slow, rhythmic splashing of oars as the boat's crew pulled away into deeper water. James could only trust that whoever had taken charge of the boat was capable of steering with an oar. He sighed, turned up the sandy beach, and walked steadily to the rocks beneath the cliff. He smelled wild gorse, the scent drifting on the night air. Now he stood waiting, as Mr Mappin had instructed. Was he too late? Had the moment of rendezvous been kept for the preceding three nights, and now been abandoned altogether? He waited a whole glass, and began to fret.
In darkness he could not hope to find a way up the cliff, nor could he make his way north or south along the shore. On either side beyond the inlet were steep, unforgiving outcrops of rock, rinsed and sucked at by the surging sea. He could see nothing, and hear nothing but the wash of waves.
'Damnation ...' Muttered.
As if in answer a pittering of rocks from far above. A dull crack as a stone fell nearby. Presently, faintly at first, the scuffing and scraping of shoes on the rocks above. Coming nearer and nearer, descending. A pause, then a voice in French: 'Are you the silk merchant?'
'Erm ... deus—'
Over him: 'Comment!' The voice low and urgent.
James thought quickly, decided to take a chance, and: 'Oui, oui. Je suis le commerçant.'
'Avancez-vous, monsieur.'
James went toward the voice, on the opposite side of the inlet, and was immediately seized from behind, and a blindfolding hood pulled down over his head. Strong arms on both sides lifted him bodily over the rocks, and forced him to his knees in a patch of shingle. The smell of wild flowers, and seaweed. Hard pebbles pressing through his breeches. He shut his eyes in mortal fear, expecting at any moment to hear the click of a cocked pistol, and to feel the muzzle at his head. Instead a second voice said in educated French:
'Tie his arms and pin them behind him, then lift him to his feet.' A brief pause, then close to James's ear: 'Do not attempt to struggle, monsieur, if you please. You are quite safe – if you do not resist.'
James felt his arms gripped again, and soon his wrists were bound tight behind him with strong twine, and he was lifted again to his feet. The voice again, close:
'Will you give me your word th
at you will not attempt to escape?'
'I can hardly escape, monsieur, when I am blindfolded and bound, on a strange coast.' James, politely enough, but with a hint of acerbity.
'Answer, if you please. Will you give me your word?'
'Oui, oui, d'accord.' Impatiently.
'Very good, thank you. If you had not I would certainly have shot you.' A rattle of stones as the man stepped away. 'Take him up.'
James felt a nudge to his spine, and began to walk forward and up a steep path, his breath huffing strained and harsh inside the confining hood, and his arms growing numb behind him.
'Dépêchez-vous!' Another nudge. James quickened his pace, stumbled, and climbed on.
*
The boat returned to the ship after a long delay, occasioned by the extreme caution of Mr Leigh, who had recovered his full senses not long after the boat left the shore, and had resumed command. The faint smudge of a June dawn was in the sky to the east by the time the boat bumped against Expedient's side and was tied to a stunsail boom. Mr Leigh reported to Captain Rennie, who had gone below to his bed, leaving Lieutenant Makepeace to keep the deck, with instructions to wake him the moment the boat arrived.
'What? My coxswain is drowned?' Rennie was appalled. He dashed water in his face from the jug brought to him by Colley Cutton. 'How came he to drown, Mr Leigh, good God?'
'We – we struck a reef, or in least fell on some rocks, and lost our rudder. The coxswain fell overboard, as I understand it.'
'As you understand? Was not you conning the boat, Mr Leigh?' Lifting his dripping face to stare at his lieutenant, as the steward slipped discreetly out of the door behind.
'I was knocked senseless by the accident to the boat, sir. I did not see what happened to him.'
'But how could this accident occur, when ye had all the particulars of the channel in your head?'
'The tidal current was very swift, sir, and it was near pitch black, no moon—'
'Did you look for the poor wretch? Did you heave to and search?'
'We did, sir – as I understand.'
'And found nothing?'
'No, sir. Mr Tonnelier had assumed command, and he ordered the search—'
'Mr Tonnelier assumed command?' Then he remembered to add: 'A landlubber?'
The Gathering Storm Page 11