He took his undress coat from the peg and went along the corridor, briefly, almost sadly, acknowledging the sentry’s salute.
On the lower deck, the event was not being regarded with such equanimity.
“Bloody Wilmot! God rot the bastard.”
Morris and Dedman were attending to their own personal affairs in the gloom of the lowerdeck, attending to their possessions in the light of a small candle that was lodged between them and shone its paltry light into the depths of their sea chests, these holding all the world of both.
“God will rot him if the Provosts gets hold of him. It’ll cost him his neck?”
Morris sobered a little.
“Well, true, I’d not wish that on him, but now we’n one short. Who else, but some blown winded old fo’c’slman is what we’n goin’ to get. All is given to somewer’ from the afterguards and waisters.”
“Well, look on the bright side. A fo’c’slman’ll know what he’s about, even if he ain’t got the strength to do it.”
A movement from the aft companionway caught their eye, the flash of white breeches, two pairs. That meant Officers, so both closed their chests and sprang to attention. The Captain and the First, no less, were on their way forward, accompanied by Frederick Baines, the Ship’s Carpenter. The repairs to the shothole had necessarily extended between both the gundeck and the lowerdeck. They had come to inspect where the new planking now showed on the side planking of the lower deck. Morris and Dedman came to the attention and paid their respects by knuckling their foreheads. Argent looked closely at both in the gloom.
“Ah, Morris. You’ve lost a man over the side. Was it you that first missed him?”
“Yes, Sir. At breakfast, Sir, which we reported to Mr. Ffynes. He didn’t turn up to our mess, Sir.”
“How did he seem.”
“Never content, Sir, and always afeard. Our set to with La Mouette had him full terrified, Sir. When her shot first hit us, I saw he could barely stand, Sir, but he was alright when we started firin’ ourselves. Sir.”
Argent nodded in the gloom.
“Very well, Morris, but now we’ve got to get you a replacement, haven’t we?”
“Yes, Sir. Any idea who that might be, Sir?”
“Mr. Fentiman, here, hasn’t yet decided, but you’ll know soon enough.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
The three, Officers and Warrant Officer took themselves along further and, at the appropriate point, Mr. Baines held up the lantern.
“What do you think, Mr. Baines?”
“Oh, ‘tis a good enough repair, Sir, along with the bulwark we’ve just seen. And I’ve checked outside, and the caulkin’ is all sound. I’d say, that we’re now repaired, Sir.”
oOo
Many sea miles across The Channel and further, Kalil Al’Ahbim looked across at the point on the Biscay coast that he had chosen as his place of shelter. They had made a good landfall, to the island the French call L’Ille d’Yeu, although this he would not have known. Nor was he to know that it was termed thus because it was shaped like an eye, the right eye, but “right” had been omitted from the title. What pleased him was that they had arrived here in good time, unmolested by the French, but also avoiding the English cruisers. Moving close to the shoreline, he had avoided the English and posed themselves as French. A Tricolour flew above his head, any that saw him had taken him to be a French galley, her oars manned by condemned prisoners.
However, his oarsmen were pirates, like himself, but more accurately, slavers. Al’Ahbim and his men found themselves able to take advantage of the preoccupied Navies of France and Great Britain and re-new Tunisian interest in the slave trade that had taken prisoners from the coasts of France, England, and Ireland. These unfortunates were then carried back to North African ports, there to be sold as slaves. For such a long voyage North, Al’Ahbim would take only those that fetched the highest price; children and young women and the highest price amongst these were for the white skinned women and children of this region. Now, they were at their destination, well hidden under the cliff of their sheltering cove, having warped themselves in close by their banks of oars. It had been a hard voyage, so it was worth now taking the time to ready his ship and make his plans. Soon their raiding could begin, then, the sooner they filled the slave deck and the sooner they could begin their voyage back, to the markets of Tangiers.
oOo
Chapter Four
Sinaid Malley
The Irish Sea had been less than welcoming, growing in temper the more they encroached upon it, leaving the Lizard and Land’s End two days past. They had departed Falmouth on a morning tide and soon gained enough sea room to tack across the strong South Westerly and make a long run up the coast to clear The Scillies. The dawn of that day had come reluctantly and in the rain washed light, the ship lifted and dropped to a growing swell. However, Ariadne was taking the wind “two points free, beam on” close to her best point of sailing. Argent began his Watch by consulting Ship’s Master McArdle.”
“Any thoughts on the weather, Mr. McArdle.”
“Aye Sir. I’d say a blow of some kind, but no a bad one. Expect tae remain on lower canvas, for safety, but I’m thinkin’ it’ll not grow intae anythin’ that’ll cause us tae change our chosen course.”
“I’m relieved to hear it, Mr. McArdle. We can only trust in the accuracy of your valuable experience.”
“Och, I’ve seen the like in these waters before, at this time of the seasons. I don’t expect it’ll come tae much.”
The seas mounted and surged over the weather bow, this the larboard, and the daily practice at the guns and on the masts became impossible After the crew had gone to dinner, Fentiman had safety lines rigged as the waves rose high up the larboard side to cause churning water to boil through the scuppers and spurt in around the gunports and sneak below, into the ship. This volume also being increased by the all too frequent solid waves that rose up and spent themselves fully over the bulwark. Both Watches were ordered to double lash the guns and look for any kind of movement in any cannon that could work loose into that most feared “runaway”, a loose cannon. The ship pushed on through the waves, still making nine, sometimes ten knots, and McArdle was right, no canvas could be spread higher than the main and foresails, but the wind never rose high enough to such a shriek that would cause these to be taken in or even reefed. Nevertheless, this was not comfort sailing. The Irish Sea was making its presence felt and the water ran down into the ship, through the lower deck, past the hold, down to the bilges. Come evening Frederick Baines reported to his Captain, him not having quit the deck since daybreak.
“Six inches in the well, Sir.”
The well gave knowledge about the level of water in the lowest reaches of the ship, and six inches could not be ignored, if only for its weight altering the ship’s trim. Thus, throughout the night the pumps clanked, with all men, from topmen to fo’c’slmen, from waisters to Marines, taking their shift to wind the handles, up and down, these that lifted the scoops up through the full height of the hull to tip the foul water out onto the deck. There was little conversation as the men laboured at the exhausting task. All would prefer to work the capstan than to take a long turn at the up and down of the winding handles that exhausted their lower backs and arms. The seas rose further in the night, but not the wind and, with the arrival of the next dawn, the pumps still clanked but they had held the well to six inches. Dinner saw the seas abate and the ship took little more water aboard, merely the spurt through an ill-fitting gunport. The pumps gained on the well and, finally, the evening meal was taken in silence, no clanking pump, but the men too tired to talk. The next dawn came with a stiff breeze, South Southwest, carrying alternate banks of rain and mist, that hurried on to soak the Welsh coast, but the heavy seas had abated. Ariadne sailed on, no change in her course, nor extra sails set. The Watches changed, the Bell was rung, and Dinner was not so far in the future, then a cry from the mizzentop broke the set routine.
�
��Deck there. Sail on the starboard bow.”
Bentley was Officer of the Watch.
“Where away?”
“Four points. Two miles, nor more.”
Bentley immediately turned to Daniel Berry, standing Watch with him.
“Fetch the Captain.”
Berry saluted and hurried off. Bentley continued to interrogate the lookout.
“What size?”
“Small, Sir. Best I can say, Sir, but a mist has passed across her.”
Bentley gave a sigh of relief. Small. He could leave the decision to clear for action for the Captain.
“What now?”
“Still hid, Sir. No, she’s coming out.”
Argent had arrived, buttoning his jacket.
“Four points, Sir, off the starboard bow. Two miles off.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bentley.”
Argent now called to the lookout.
“What can you see?”
“She’s small, Sir, but bigger than a fisherman. She’s seen us, Sir, and hauled her wind. I can see her better now, Sir, a lugger, two masted, schooner rig. She’s deep seagoing, Sir.”
A pause.
“Mist has got her again, Sir.”
Argent was left to ponder. She might be a trader, between Ireland and the English coast, obviously legitimate. She might be a deep-sea fisherman and they could buy her catch. That would be good. On the other hand, she might be a smuggler, and therefore should be apprehended. His own ship was running West Northwest.
“Down helm! Come to Nor’nor’ West.”
The steersmen repeated, but Argent was talking over them, to Berry.
“Mr. Berry. Take yourself down to Mr. Mortimor, and tell him to hold up Dinner.”
As Berry disappeared, Bentley smiled.
“Glad you sent him and not me, Sir.”
Argent ignored him.
“Clear both batteries to fire, Mr. Bentley.”
“Not “Beat to Quarters”, Sir?”
“Mr. Bentley, have I not made myself clear? I want both batteries cleared ready to fire, as for a salute, and that alone. Now please to set about it.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
Bentley hurried down the companionway to the gundeck, hoping to find Bosun’s Mates. Argent, meanwhile, was walking along the gangway to take his Dolland up to the foretop and once there he consulted the lookout there.
“Where did you last see her?”
Moses King pointed and Argent trained his glass in that direction.
“Look, Sir, she’s coming out again. Look right, Sir.”
Argent did as advised and soon saw the vessel. She carried a press of canvas, and was running North East before the wind, lug sails set either side, to gain the maximum of the wind, jibsails out in addition. He spoke to King, but in a way that could best be described as “thinking out loud”.
“That’s an escape. Hopes to outrun us, get lost in the mist, and hold off till night.”
The lookout gave his opinion.
“I’d say she was fast, Sir. Two big masts and flying all she’s got.”
“Yes, King. But not as fast as Ariadne!”
“No, Sir. Nuthin’s that fast, Sir!”
The two exchanged grins as Argent disappeared onto the futtock shrouds below. Back on his quarterdeck he gave his orders, Bentley had gone and so he turned to Daniel Berry.
“Mr. Berry. Get the Larboard Watch up from the lowerdeck. Set topsails, topgallants and main royals.”
Berry looked horrified, the Bosun and his Mates handled such things, but they were involved with the readying the guns. Argent couldn’t resist some sarcasm.
“Off you go, Mr. Berry. At the top of your voice, you tell them the sails you want set, and, you’ll be amazed Mr. Berry, but the men will actually come up and do it.”
“Aye, aye, Sir. Which sails again, Sir?’
“Topsails, topgallants, and main royals.”
“Topsails, topgallants, and main royals. Aye, aye, Sir.”
“Yes, Mr. Berry, you have the right of it. Now please to take yourself off.”
Within a minute the off duty Larboard Watch, once sat waiting for their Dinner, came up onto the gangways and jumped into the ratlines. A few extra minutes and the sails were set and sheeted home. Argent was sure that he felt Ariadne accelerate as the extra canvas drew. He took his speaking trumpet and shouted up to the mizzentop.
“Fredrickson. Do you have her, is she still in view?”
“Yes, Sir, but she’s heading for a mist bank, Sir. A big one.”
“Any change of course?”
“No Sir, she’s still crossing us, Sir. Moving over to starboard.”
Argent turned to his helmsmen.
“Down wind. Steer North East.”
“Down wind. Steer North East. Aye, aye, Sir.”
Bentley returned.
“Batteries cleared and ready, Sir.”
Argent gave Bentley a withering look.
“Yes, Mr. Bentley, a minute slower than had you gone about your business immediately!”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Now, find Mr. Fraser, we’re wearing ship. Before the wind.”
Fentiman arrived, buttoning his jacket, disturbed from a sleep that would have recovered him from a night combating the storm. Argent noticed his arrival and his voice contained no sarcasm.
“Mr. Fentiman. I’m pleased to see you. We’re wearing ship to North East. Please to give it your full attention.”
Fentiman made off forward, to first find any Warrant Officer now on deck, because not much seemed to be happening. The big driver, over to starboard, bellied out above the quarterdeck, drum tight, but soon it would swing over to the other side for the starboard tack as the ship wore round. However, at the will of Fentiman, Fraser, and Ball; the crew were soon about their business and all hands trimmed the sheets and braces for the starboard tack, while Argent considered options, both his, and the rival Captain’s. A lugger could not outrun a frigate, his only real hope was to tack South, hoping to skip past in the mist and leave Ariadne to plough on North East, seeking what was no longer there.
“Frederickson, what can you see?”
“We’re gaining on her, Sir. You can probably see her from the deck, now, Sir. She’s fine off our larboard bow.”
Argent jumped into the mizzen shrouds with his Dolland and, with a naked eye, saw the white speck. He focused the telescope and saw her clearly. Once again Argent detailed her Captain’s options to himself. She could run on through the mist, but Ariadne would come through and catch her. She could heave to in the mist or steer off a little and hope that Ariadne would run past, but Ariadne would follow her in at the same point, and very probably see her. Also the mist was running on the wind, it would soon clear any ship, hove to and stationary. She could run on something North of West, as she was, keeping in the mist, then turn down South West to her previous course. That would keep her on the wind and take her across Ariadne, as she now steered, but it meant holding to the course Ariadne could plainly see her steering and surely he would reason that his pursuer would be likely to follow.
Or she could tack in the mist and run West, to wholly diverge from Ariadne. He thought more carefully about this. She was a lugger, a fishing rig. They could tack on a sixpence in half a second. He looked again. Someone was at her taffrail with a telescope trained back on him, then the lugger ploughed into the mist and was swallowed. He made his decision; whoever was looking must have seen Ariadne cracking on North East, under a press of canvas.
“Mr. Fentiman. Wear ship, larboard tack. Helmsman, come to West Nor’west, soon as she draws.”
Loudly, to his Captain, “Wearing ship. West Nor’west. Aye, aye, Sir.”
To his mate, “Soon as she draws, like we was a pair of grasscombing lubbers!”
Argent was gambling that the lugger’s Captain would tack back, away from Ariadne as he last saw her. The frigate came around to her new course hardly losing a knot. On the larboard tack, sailing West North
west Ariadne was running along the edge of the bank of mist, too fast, Argent thought. If and when the lugger turned back South West his ship must not be astern of her.
“Furl all topsails and topgallants. Furl mainsail.”
The orders were shouted along the deck and soon obeyed. Ariadne slowed to a bare three knots in a wind just astern of beam on. Nothing to do now, but wait. Argent re-assessed his gamble. He confidently thought himself right, but the minutes passed. They had come to the end of the bank of mist, soon they would know if the lugger had kept on with the wind or tacked and dodged back, as Argent had gambled.
“On deck. Sail ho. Off the starboard bow. Same lugger, Sir.”
There she was and Argent pictured the consternation on her deck as she saw Ariadne square across her course, guns run out. Argent looked around his quarterdeck and saw Midshipmen Ffynes.
“Mr. Ffynes. Request Morris, on number three, to put a shot across her bows.”
Ffynes gave his “Aye, aye, Sir,” on the run.
“Walk, Mr. Fynes.”
Ffynes hurried on, whilst still holding to something resembling a walk. The quarterdeck was all smiles as telescopes were raised. Progressing along the gundeck to number three, Ffynes found the same mood amongst the men manning the guns he passed, only spoken.
“The Captain’s got her!”
“She’s a size, that’s a dollop more prizemoney.”
Ffynes came up to Morris.
“Morris. The Captain wants a shot across her bows. Now.”
“Now, Sir? I thought he might wait awhile.”
“That’s enough from you, Morris. Now.”
However, Morris had already laid his gun for a shot across the bows. He bent down to check the direction, required Dedman to lever the gun slightly right, then jerked the lanyard. The gun roared and the smoke spurted from the touchhole beneath the flintlock, as the gun hurried back to jerk to a stop against the breeching ropes. On the quarterdeck they saw the splash of shot, it must have passed alarmingly almost under her bowsprit. The lugger was now faced with the Ariadne’s full broadside. Her Captain started his sheets and she fell idle, slumping into the swell, the sails soon in the process of being furled.
A Question of Duty Page 16