"Ah." It was an unworthy response to the tale, Corbin knew but he had been left confused and not a little deflated at this admission. They sat in silence until a thought crossed Corbin's mind. "Sir, what business has the Admiralty in ordering the destruction of colonists anyway?"
"Happens more often than you may think," said Havelock. "After all, a newly discovered land is just a rock in the middle of the sea until you put people on it. With people come towns, forts, garrisons and trade. On the other hand, hunt colonists and you not only keep land bereft of civilisation. You also delay the spread of French Imperial interests. And you can understand how that very much concerns the Admiralty, not to mention Parliament and the Royal Court."
"I can, Sir, yes," said Corbin. With Britain's trade and Empire dependant on her ships being able to range freely on the ocean, the spread of a rival power across the globe could only mean a curtailing of their domination - and profits. While pondering this, Corbin suddenly realised that the Captain had deliberately left something out. This was confirmed when he looked up at Havelock and saw the man's eyebrows lift in question.
"I appreciate the confidence you place by telling me all of this, Sir," Corbin said. "But why are you telling me now?"
"The name of the French ship of the line sunk by my grandfather was the Deja," said Havelock simply.
"No!" Corbin exclaimed, amazed by the coincidence. He then slowly began to realise that Havelock did not think it a coincidence at all.
"You know, it's funny," said Havelock, almost conversationally. "I have been aware of sailors under my command talking about the Havelock Curse for some years now. But I never gave it an ounce of credence until today, when I discovered the name of that bedevilled ship."
"You believe that the Deja your grandfather sunk and the ship last night are one and the same? That is... impossible!"
"I believe it shows a wonderful symmetry. A man commits callous murder in the past and is never made to pay for his crime. The victims, searching for recompense, finally receive the chance to make his descendants answer for those actions."
"This is madness!" Corbin said.
"Really? You saw the nature of the enemy we fought last night. How else do you explain it? Think of it - how many years might they have roamed the ocean, not able to rest until they found my grandfather, not even knowing he was dead? Discovering no resolution, they eventually happen upon his grandson. If you were they, what might you do?"
Corbin shook his head, not wanting to follow where his Captain was taking him. "So you think, what, they disappear into a watery grave every day and rise as the walking dead at night, ship and all?"
"I know not how this works, Mr Corbin," said Havelock flatly. "I am no expert in such matters. Perhaps they never return to the sea floor. Perhaps they have only just risen, sensing my presence. All I know is that I have been called to account for the sins of my grandfather."
"So... what do you intend to do?"
Havelock paused, thinking. "A mark must be set for justice," he said finally.
"Sir?" a confused Corbin asked.
"Come, Lieutenant," said Havelock, standing up from the table and straightening his jacket. "The crew must not be allowed to mutiny. Call all hands to deck. It is time I addressed them."
Looking into the eyes of the sailors who stood on deck, hung from the rigging and slouched against railings, Havelock could see a variety of emotions, all of them negative. Bitterness towards him for losing so many crew last night, resentment at being so far from home, fear from facing a nearly unstoppable enemy. There was anger, too, aimed at both himself and the walking dead. That was good. Wherever it was directed, he could use anger, shaping and moulding the crew's fury into a credible weapon.
As a whole, the crew had been notably lax in responding to the order to assemble on deck and now they stood, sullen, a low grumbling forming an undercurrent to the sound of the Whirlwind's prow cutting through the waves. Havelock had faced sailors disgruntled with their lot many times in the past but this was the closest he had been to a complete breakdown of discipline and he realised that a single rousing speech would not solve the problem. He had to give the crew something tangible and it had to come soon.
"Men of the Whirlwind," he said. Thankfully, enough respect seemed to remain among the crew that the sound of their Captain's voice was still enough to silence them. "We have fought a bitter and dreadful enemy, the likes of which have never been faced by a crew of His Majesty's ships. But we survived! We took their full measure and have lived to tell a tale that will mark our place in history!"
Casting a quick glance around, Havelock noticed that his words had an effect on his officers, but that he was failing to reach many of the crew. He decided to change tack and pursue another course. "But we still have a duty to perform," he continued. "We have discovered the reason our merchantmen have been suffering so badly off the African coast and it is up to us to bring victory to King and Empire. The French have debased themselves by allying with an unholy force, one capable of raising a ship long since sunk. But think of this; that ship has been sunk once and it will be sunk again! We withstood a boarding action from a ship of the line, against an enemy already dead and we beat them! Why? Because we are a British ship of war, and we have no equal on the ocean!"
No cheers greeted him this time but Havelock could see a few wry smiles begin to spread throughout the crew. Whatever their background, there were few sailors in the navy who did not believe in the inherent superiority of the British at sea and a call to duty never went amiss. Now to complete the turning of the tide. The only thing stronger than a sailor's patriotism was his avarice.
"We all have our orders. The frigate Elita is still at large in these waters, and a fine prize she will make for all of us! I assure you, she is still hurting after our first encounter and the next match will see us pounding her into submission before swinging over the railings and defeating her French crew. We then sail for home - to riches, fame and glory! My friends, you will all be heroes and many a tavern will fall silent as you recall your time on the Whirlwind as you faced the very worst the enemy could muster and yet remained victorious!"
Still no outright cheers but smiles had turned to a few chuckles as the crew began to consider what life would be like back in England with the notoriety a mission like this brought, as well as the lifestyle that could be had for a frigate's prize money. Havelock smiled broadly at his crew, encouraging those who were beginning to leave their fear behind.
"And if that ship of the dead comes for us again," he said, catching their attention. "Well, we will simply send it back to the hell from which it came!"
The crew, he thought, were more resigned to their mission than elated by the possibilities but that suited him. Anything to stave off a potential mutiny served his purposes for now. He was about to instruct Corbin to dismiss the crew when a single voice rang out across the main deck.
"And when will your curse be visited on the rest of us, eh, Cap'n?" The challenge came from a sailor leaning with his back against the mainmast. It was not so much the man's words that angered Havelock as his lazy and uncaring demeanour.
"Mr Kennedy," Havelock roared. "Discipline that man!"
Pushing his way through the crew, the Bosun confronted the sailor, who just smirked at him. Kennedy reached forward and grabbed the man roughly by the shoulder, propelling him forward in front of the Captain.
"A dozen lashes, Mr Kennedy," Havelock said.
Corbin, at his side, leaned forward and whispered quietly, so no one else would hear. "Sir, do you not wish to read the charges and remind the crew of the Articles of War?"
"No need for that, Mr Corbin," Havelock said. "He knows what he has done wrong." He then raised his voice so the whole deck could hear his words. "Proceed, Mr Kennedy."
The crew kept their eyes fixed solidly on the deck as the Bosun's rope rose and fell against the condemned sailor's back, a loud crack ringing out a dozen times. His punishment complete, the man was led below
decks, though he appeared strong enough to still walk by himself. Waiting until Corbin gave the order to be dismissed, the crew slowly dispersed, refusing to jump to their posts with any speed. To a man, they all steadfastly refused to look up at any of the officers.
"Damn that man," Havelock hissed to Corbin. "I very nearly had them until he brought on that flogging. Now we have to produce some results and quickly."
"Might it have been wise to spare the flogging, Sir? You said earlier... " Corbin asked.
"Absolutely not!" Havelock turned to face his Lieutenant, a look of shock on his face. "It matters little where we find ourselves. Complete discipline must be maintained at all times, utterly. I cannot have anyone challenging my authority, openly or otherwise. Inform Mr Kennedy; any talk that can be considered mutinous is to be dealt with in the severest manner."
Corbin appeared to hesitate for a brief second but then left the quarterdeck to find the Bosun. Havelock remained behind to consider his next course of action and wonder what fate would next bring for his ship.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Having set course southwards to take advantage of the prevailing wind, Havelock observed the activities of his crew as they scurried about the main deck. Under their Captain's eye, none seemed willing to speak out but he could only guess what they might be saying below decks, and he chafed at having to rely on his Bosun and junior officers to maintain discipline. They were good men, he knew, but the situation was balanced too finely on the knife edge for him to relax his grip. Crews had mutinied for far less than his crew had faced. If the Whirlwind finally returned home, fully intact and with victory, it would be a miracle of some proportion.
The frigate, for all the trials it had been matched to, was performing admirably - he had that at least. Slicing through the waves, the ship seemed to almost enjoy a sense of freedom as it was carried by the wind at speed. Havelock wished he could permit himself to enjoy this moment for this was when the Whirlwind felt truly alive but his mind constantly churned over the possibilities of his next encounter at sea.
That he now faced two potential enemies did nothing to raise his spirits and he was caught between suppositions. On the one hand, if he was right about the Deja, he was fighting an enemy that had a much more powerful vessel, could not be truly destroyed and was determined to find and sink his own ship. Then again, what if it was part of some French plot and the name of the ship was a mere coincidence? What ramifications might that have on the war at large and the Empire in general? For his part, both the Deja and the Elita now knew of his presence in these waters and if they were allied, might they not seek to join battle with the Whirlwind simultaneously? That was a battle Havelock was certain he could not win.
He had spoken with some bravado to Corbin earlier when they had discussed how to fight the Deja. Certainly, he believed he could navigate the Whirlwind to stay out of the warship's arc of fire and away from its prow, thus stalling any further attempts at boarding, especially if he had the wind's favour. That alone could not win a battle though and he had to find some way of sinking the ship - but how to sink a ship that had already been raised from the bottom of the ocean at least once?
Though they scoured the ocean for prey now, Havelock had little doubt that he need not search for the Deja, as he firmly believed the ship would find him. It should have been his grandfather in this place and this time, of course, but he had benefited from the actions of the past as much as grandfather had, perhaps more so, given his command history. While other captains languished in port on half pay, Havelock had never lacked for a frigate. He could not help but feel that a final confrontation between the death hulk and himself would somehow complete a chapter of history, allowing someone, somewhere to turn the page.
He was far more comfortable fighting the Elita. Though it was, in theory at least, a superior ship, he would stand by the shooting and seamanship of his own crew on any day. If the Whirlwind could be coaxed into soaking up a broadside or two from the French ship, he believed he could pound her crew into surrender in return. That victory would be all he needed to bring his crew back into line, as defeating a so-called super frigate would raise morale to the sky and get his men believing they could fight anything afloat, and win.
When it came down to final considerations, the nature of the enemy they faced mattered less than the opinions of a newly press-ganged sailor. He was the captain of a British ship of war and the French could be damned, dead or alive!
Rubbing his chin as he contemplated these matters, Havelock drew his hand across stubble and cursed himself for having been so inattentive. While he might have excused one of his sailors for poor hygiene after the last battle, it could never be accepted from an officer, much less the Captain. At the same time, he was somewhat grateful to have a more earthly concern to deal with. He began to make his way to his cabin when a cry from the lookout arrested his attention.
"Wreckage, to larboard!"
He looked up to see where the lookout pointed and drew his telescope to match the direction indicated, just slightly off line from the ship's course. It took him nearly a minute to spot the debris, just a few shattered pieces of wood thrown about by the gentle waves, and he turned to the helmsman behind to give instructions that would bring the Whirlwind closer.
"Two points to larboard, if you please."
As the ship approached the scattered wreckage, sailors began to line the railings, eager to get a glimpse. When on a long voyage, sailors quickly learned to give any new development their full attention. Elevated on the quarterdeck, Havelock had a better view than most and he quickly ascertained that the wreckage was strewn over a wide area, though it represented only a few hull planks and hatches. Presumably the rest of the stricken ship was already at the bottom of the ocean, though he had already caught sight of several bodies floating in the sea. A commotion from the main deck caused him to turn and he saw Corbin order the Bosun to fish something out of the water.
Kennedy hoisted a long hooked pole over the side of the ship and lowered it downwards into the water, his skill and strong arms belying the unwieldy nature of the tool. With a deft motion, the man snared something and quickly drew the pole upwards, hand over hand. Reaching over the railings, he grabbed the coloured cloth snagged on the hook and wrung it dry before passing it to Corbin. Before the Lieutenant had started unfurling the ragged flag as he walked to the quarterdeck, Havelock had already identified the red, white and blue colours as belonging to a Union Jack.
"One of ours, Sir," said Corbin as he mounted the steps up to Havelock.
"It is good news of a form, Mr Corbin," Havelock said. "The work of the Elita, no doubt. It means we are on the right course."
"Not the... other French ship?"
"No," Havelock said flatly. "That ship is only interested in one target on these seas. It would not stop for anyone else."
"So who do you think this belonged to?"
"Some poor merchant or trader, probably. I know of no other British warships in the area."
Corbin looked thoughtfully at the flag. "Does this mean the Elita is now fully repaired?"
"It need not be completely seaworthy to engage a merchant but, in truth, that is something I have been giving some thought to."
"Sir?"
"We are relatively far from the coast now, especially for a ship that was dismasted in its last engagement," said Havelock. "To make it to some safe harbour after our battle, make repairs, then sail here and sink a merchant vessel in this time? Doesn't seem credible to me."
"You have consulted the charts for possible island harbours?"
"I have but nothing is obvious. However, the charts do not list every small lump of rock in the oceans. We must be cautious about presuming the plans and capabilities of our enemy until we have more information. I am guessing the Elita is still hurting from our last encounter but I have no wish to sail into a trap and be sunk."
Brooks sighed gratefully as he dropped his wooden burden to the deck and held his back as he stood
up straight. He had at first welcomed news that Bryant's crew had been tasked with aiding the ship's carpenter in making repairs to the decking on the forecastle. Working at the prow, Brooks had expected to benefit from a constant soothing breeze unsullied by the odours of shipboard life but he had not foreseen the backbreaking labour as the carpenter constantly called for new materials and tools.
He nudged Murphy as he cast a look back down the length of the ship, watching the Captain and First Lieutenant examine the flag that had been hoisted from the wreckage.
"What do you think they are talkin' about?"
Murphy followed his glance and sniffed. "Officer talk. Probably discussin' tactics and the like."
"Which ship do you think they are plannin' to fight?"
"If they 'ave any sense, the Frog frigate."
Bryant joined them, straining to drop his own load of wooden planks as lightly as he could on the deck. "If I know the Captain," he said, "he'll be planning to face the Elita but preparing to fight the death ship."
"Death hulk," corrected Brooks.
"Hmm? Ah, yes. Of course."
"So, what are you two plannin' to do if we face them zombies again?" Murphy said, immediately causing his two friends to furrow their brows. Neither wanted to reflect on the events of the last battle but the question served to concentrate their minds.
"The Captain won't let us be caught off guard again," said Bryant. "He's too canny for that."
"Yeah, but we 'ad the advantage last time - can't get a better set-up than we 'ad."
"True, but we didn't know what we faced then. You mark my words, the Captain won't make the same mistake again."
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