True Colours (The Third Book in the Fighting Sail Series)

by Alaric Bond

  "Aye, it would have been proper, but not made any difference in the end, I fear. There are many so called cures, and some might have been successful for a while, but yon man would have reached this conclusion for himself in the end, whatever was done for him."

  * * * * *

  "We appear to have visitors, Mr Caulfield," Banks said as the sound of the band drew closer. Caulfield peered over the starboard rail, and looked down. Sure enough a longboat was heading for Pandora as she lay against the quay, her larboard quarter gallery enmeshed in wooden staging. The lookout hailed the boat as it drew near, although no answer could be heard above the din of ungoverned brass and woodwind, and the erratic beating of an innocent drum.

  Banks looked at Caulfield pointedly. They clearly intended to board through the starboard gangway port; that which was reserved for officers and important visitors. He could bar their way, of course, and even order round shot to be dropped into the boat, but there seemed little sense in escalating an already volatile situation. Besides, the memory of the Spithead rebels, and their mature and reasoned outlook, was still strong enough to persuade him that he should at least give the courtesy of an audience.

  Without a word both officers walked forward and watched as three men were grudgingly admitted through the port. One, clearly the leader, was dressed smartly in a tailed blue coat, with britches and boots. He carried an officer’s sword, and a small pot house pistol was stuffed into his waist band. King was at the gangway port to meet them, but the visitors stepped past him, and the leader waved at the seamen who had gathered to watch.

  "Brothers, I welcome you in the name of the Committee of the Delegates of the Fleet." The smile was genuine enough, but Banks was pleased to see no answering response from the men of Pandora. "For some while we have been demanding that your rights as men be recognised and…"

  "As captain of this ship, you will address yourself to me, before you presume to speak with my people." Banks’ voice rang out with authority if not volume, and the visitor turned to him as if in surprise.

  "I will speak with you, sir, in good time," he said. "When I have finished addressing my brothers."

  "You will attend me now, or be removed." Banks turned and walked back towards the taffrail; Caulfield followed with rather less certainty.

  "See, the work progresses well," Banks said, turning suddenly, and pointing to where two carpenters were planing a short piece of oak. "Belike we will be free of the dockyard before so very long."

  Caulfield paused, taken aback at the sudden change in his captain’s manner. Why, the man was even smiling at him as if they were in casual conversation.

  "Indeed sir," he said, hesitantly.

  "Then we will be back at sea, back to our proper business" Banks continued, pleasantly. "And it cannot be early enough for me, that is certain!" Caulfield smiled weakly in return, and then noticed that the visitor was standing alone, and apparently ignored, on the quarterdeck. Banks also deigned to become aware of him at the same time.

  "Ah, I see you have chosen to join us, Mr, ah?"

  "Parker. Richard Parker, I am the president of the Committee of the…"

  "Yes, yes, that has been said ‘though I must confess it meant little to me. I assume you represent the mutineers; what business do you have with me?"

  "I have no business with you, sir," Parker continued, although Caulfield noticed that his face, which was deeply tanned, had lightened several shades. "It is your men, your men and their welfare that concern me."

  "Indeed; why, that concerns me as well," Banks continued lightly. "You will explain further?"

  "I request the election of two delegates from your number" Parker was clearly becoming angry, and stammered slightly as he spoke. "They will join me in Sandwich, and speak for the men of Pandora in negotiations with the Admiralty."

  Banks smiled easily, and held his hands wide. "There is no red flag on this ship, Mr Parker. She sails under true colours, and is manned by loyal hearts who stand for the King, and are ready to fight his enemies."

  "We are all loyal men, sir!"

  "No, I think not." Banks’ tone was still casual, although Caulfield noticed an edge had crept in which grew as he continued to speak. "I think not, I think you are rebellious dogs who seek to sell your country and destroy its people." The attack was both vehement and unexpected; Parker took one step back as the captain advanced upon him. "I think you are an evil man, Mr Parker, a man who pumps himself up to be respectable and honest, but inside is nothing but a lousy traitor. There are no friends for you in this ship, and you will leave now, before I have you thrown over the side, do you understand me?"

  Banks had spent his life dealing with insurrection on many levels, and was happy to benefit from the experience. Parker’s anger was equal, but he lacked the skill and bearing of one used to command, as well as the authority that the captain had been born to.

  "Brothers," he shouted suddenly, turning back from the confrontation. "I appeal to you all as fellow seamen!"

  A murmur of disapproval erupted from about the ship, and someone blew a loud and vulgar sound that drew a ripple of general laughter.

  "You will appeal to no one in this ship," Banks continued. "You will leave her now, and not return. Your presence, your ideals and your traitorous ways are not welcome and shall not be tolerated."

  The cheers that followed Banks’ words were enough and, red faced now, Parker spun on his heel and stomped towards the gangway while the sound of derisory hooting and jeers grew about him. At the port he paused suddenly and, just as suddenly, the noise subsided.

  "I am sorry to evoke such a reaction," he said, looking about him. "Sorry and disappointed. I seek only to improve the seaman’s lot. It is why I was elected, and why I came here today." He paused and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. "We will be victorious, but not without a struggle, and if it is my fellow man we have to fight, then so be it." The silence held as his considered his words. "I would see the men of Pandora join in our glorious venture, and will welcome her into the fold, where she and her people might stand united and defiant. Should that not be the case, then I must consider her our enemy and as such to be fought against, rather than for." He turned back briefly to the quarterdeck where Banks and Caulfield regarded him. "A red flag, a red flag at the main," he continued, addressing the men once more. "And a cheer from you brave lads, and you will be among us. I will see both tomorrow, or you will feel our disappointment. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT was midnight. Both cutters and the launch had been lowered in almost complete silence and now lay manned and ready at Pandora’s bows. The staging to the larboard quarter gallery had been released, and stood rather uncertainly on the quay. The ship had been singled up to a solitary bollard, and waited for the start of the ebb, due in approximately seven minutes. Throughout, all spoke in hushed tones, united by a common goal, and the irony of sneaking like brigands from a British port was lost on very few.

  They would have no pilot; it would have been impossible to request one and still expect to maintain any degree of confidentiality, and it had been agreed from the start that Fraiser would lead the boats. Of them all, he was the most experienced and, since the incident with the French frigate, Banks had felt strangely confident both of the man and his abilities. Their charts were simple in the extreme, as local pilots were inclined to carry their own. These would be updated to reflect any recent silting or shifting of channels or alterations in currents and buoys, and usually heavily annotated with the owner’s notes and observations. Fraiser’s was dated ten years before, and could only be trusted for the most basic of information. He would have to rely on instinct, experience, and not a little luck. By the dubious light of the boat’s binnacle lamp he was apparently examining the chart now; he bent low, and traced his route with his finger. His eyes were tightly closed, however, and his lips moved without a sound as he spoke with the one he considered knew and understood him better than any.
r />   They would round Garrison point and head for Barrow’s Deeps; he had decided that long ago. It would be a tight squeeze past Long Sand, but he felt that preferable and more predictable than taking the Southern passage with its sandbanks and less foreseeable depth. He would have to avoid the Red Sand, of course, and the shallows at the westerly edge of the sandbank called the Knob. Despite the growing rumours, all were currently buoyed and, even with the minimal moon and lack of any other form of light, a few reliable eyes in the boats should keep them in position.

  But first they would have to pass the Nore, where further trouble might be expected, possibly making all his prayers and preparations redundant. As light was falling, the big two-deckers were clearly preparing some form of action. The noise of guns being run out came across the water, and the captain had even arranged for the jolly boat to row guard, lest the mutineers entertained thoughts of cutting Pandora out.

  A British ship, cut from her moorings, by British seamen in a home port; the idea was incredible, although nothing, compared to the goings on of the last few days.

  "Are you ready, master?" Banks’ soft voice carried down from Pandora’s forecastle, and Fraiser looked up.

  "Aye, sir. I reckon it’s time."

  He ordered the boats out and the strain taken up. The rowlocks had been muffled with slush soaked canvas, but still there was a low growl as the oars bit deep into the black water, and the ship’s bow was eased from the quay and out into the stream. The two cutters would be towing on either side, with the launch between, and slightly ahead. King and Lewis were in the cutters. They had dark lanterns lit and ticking with heat, although the shutters remained tightly closed. It would be their responsibility to sight the marks and relay the information back to Pandora. It also fell to them to carry out any fine manoeuvring. Under tow and on a following tide Pandora would be lucky to even make steerage way, and her rudder would be of doubtful assistance. The ship must be guided through the narrow channels by carefully adjusting the pull from either cutter. The jolly boat, with Dorsey in command, had already abandoned its guard duties and was secured to the stern, where it might be of use should desperate measures be necessary.

  Banks returned to the quarterdeck and looked about him. "Cast off, if you please, Mr Caulfield."

  The first lieutenant nodded to the remaining hand on the quay. The tie was slipped and the man clambered up Pandora’s stern as the ship began to drift away with the freshening tide.

  There was no sound or signal from the anchored fleet as the strain was taken up and Pandora gathered momentum. The clatter of a falling plank came from the abandoned staging, but no more; it was as good an exit as they could have hoped for.

  "Nor-nor east," Caulfield muttered to himself, although all on the quarterdeck knew where the ship was heading. He glanced at his watch, three minutes on that course should suffice to see them past Garrison Point, any longer and they would run into difficulties, and possibly aground on the Flats. They had a leadsman in the longboat, and were also carrying sounding rods. But the latter were cumbersome in the extreme, and the need for absolute silence meant there would be little chance of taking regular soundings.

  The faint gurgle of water from the stem told how the speed was increasing. Fraiser looked back and was surprised to see their old berth had disappeared into the gloom of night. Ahead the blessed light on Garrison Point was glowing brighter; he took a quick bearing and passed the message back that they were to take the ship round. The lines groaned, but Pandora was behaving herself admirably, and Fraiser drew a sigh of relief as the marker off the Flats swept by to larboard. They were up with the fleet now; their lights were a welcome guide as well as an indication of how close Pandora would have to creep to the heavy guns.

  A shout, far louder than anything heard for some hours, echoed about the estuary, and was immediately taken up by others. Ship’s bells began to ring in alarm, and a yellow light appeared high in the top of an anchored vessel, picking out the others in an eerie, spectral, glow. The officers on Pandora’s quarterdeck breathed out as one. That was as far as it went; there was no further need for secrecy or silence. Orders were bellowed on the decks of the warships, and the clank of a capstan was unmistakable.

  "They’re bringing Inflexible round on her spring," Banks’ comment was unnecessary, all knew that arrangements had been made to allow the two-decker to be manoeuvred at anchor; the sweep of her broadside could be adjusted to follow Pandora’s course, simply by tightening a line. There was little wind, it would be down to the boats to pull her out of danger.

  "Come on, backs into it!" King, in his cutter, peered forward into the gloom, watching for the marker that would tell when they were approaching the next sandbank. The familiar squeak of gun trucks was heard; it could only be a matter of moments before the first broadside rolled out. He assumed the mutineers would be aiming for Pandora, although, if the truth be known, the small craft were far better prey; without their forward pull, the frigate would be dead in the water, and only a couple of lucky shots would be needed to put them out of action.

  On the quarterdeck Banks was sharing King’s train of thought, and had also decided that the ship itself would be the target. "Tell the men to secure themselves," he said, the distaste evident in his voice. British seamen firing on their own; the very idea was an obscenity. Clearly the men mirrored his feelings and they gave free vent to their anger as they took dubious shelter behind the few solid barriers that could be found in a light frigate.

  The waiting was almost unbearable; at any moment the night would be split with the crack and flash of gunfire; men would be killed and wounded horribly, the ship broken apart by round shot, and confusion and terror let loose amongst the waiting seamen. Someone began to giggle uncontrollably, and there was the unmistakable sound of fluid running from a piss dale. But no broadside.

  "Back water starboard," King’s voice rolled out and the larboard boat began to take Pandora round. He had almost missed the starboard mark, and had to take action before reporting it to Fraiser. He did so now, and watched as Pandora allowed herself to be guided passed the Knob. "Carry on." Stroke oar took up the pace, and again King felt he had left it too long; the breath dying in his lungs as he watched the ship slowly respond. The sound of an argument came from the anchored ships, and once more the clank of capstan pawls on whelps could be heard, but he had other matters to consider, and could give no further thought to the threat.

  On the quarterdeck, Caulfield was following their track, and nodded appreciatively as the course corrections came through. The men in the boats were doing well, although they would have to be wary now; it would require nice timing to clear the sandbank, and get Pandora safely into the clear channel.

  Banks peered back at the anchored shipping. The yellow light had gone, but battle lanterns were being lit, and Inflexible could be clearly seen, her deadly broadside following Pandora as they made their escape. They would be clear in less than ten minutes; three broadsides from a well set up ship; whether Inflexible could be described as such was debatable, although with the guns now bearing on the light frigate’s vulnerable stern, it was probable that just one well aimed salvo would account for them.

  Then the night was cracked apart with the blinding flash of high explosive that all but blinded eyes long accustomed to the dark. It was not a simultaneous discharge, nor the steady control of ripple-fire; for some time random shots screamed overhead, separated by intervals of up to five seconds. Clearly Inflexible’s guns were in poor practice or not under total control. The aim was consistently high, and soon blocks, lines and other pieces of top hamper were raining down amongst the men on Pandora’s deck.

  In the launch Fraiser was keeping his eyes fixed ahead, determinedly not looking back at the gunfire, but using the reflected light to gather as much information as he could about their present position. The boat wobbled slightly as the sounding rod was lowered; there was depth enough, but he knew they were barely feet from grounding. A larboard buoy was sudden
ly visible almost directly ahead, signalling the edge of the channel and start of the sandbank. He called back the mark and rough bearing to Lewis and King, before ordering all three boats two points to starboard. They were making reasonable speed, and Pandora’s bow began to creep over to the middle of the channel as the sound of firing gradually eased and the last of the shots passed overhead.

  Seconds later the larboard mark was visible again as they passed. Noting it, Fraiser smiled to himself; if it hadn’t been for the gunfire they might have missed the buoy and be aground on the sandbank by now; it was not the first time that the worst of situations actually turned out to work in his favour, and he continued to scan his chart and peer into the deep dark distance as confidant as any member of the crew that he, and the ship he guided, was in safe and capable hands.

  In Pandora, Banks looked about him. Despite receiving a full broadside from a two-decker there were no casualties, other than a member of the afterguard who had been struck and knocked cold by a falling block. Possibly the broadside was a warning and might even be the first of several more deadly barrages to come. But Banks did not expect further trouble; instinctively he felt that the point had been made and now they would be left alone. Clearly the defiance Pandora’s men had shown had angered the mutineers, although their annoyance was not sufficient to allow careful aim. Still, to have been the target of fire from British guns and British gunners had brought out reciprocal anger in his own people and Banks was quite sure they would have manned their pieces and returned the compliment, possibly with far greater accuracy, should he have been capable of giving such a dreadful order. As it was the grumbling and swearing took several minutes to die down, and it wasn’t until Jenkins had yelled ‘bastards!’ and received a round of appreciative laughter that the mood began to change, some degree of order was restored, and Pandora was left to grope her way out of the estuary and on towards the open sea.

  * * * * *