Others spoke of Nelson’s reckless bravery, but to Harry it had been evident from the very first dinner they shared, a trait made manifest as soon as any discussion of tactics took place. Nelson had absolute faith in the quality of the British seamen and was fond of quoting his own mentor, his ‘sea daddy,’ Captain William Locker, a man who never tired of repeating that ‘No officer could do wrong who put his ship alongside that of the enemy.’ Nelson’s only quibble with that remark was to enquire as to the absolute need for a ship.
In another man that might have been taken for bombast. But Nelson’s past exploits, happily related to Harry by the Albemarle’s officers, scotched such a notion. The two became firm friends, exchanging many a letter. That lasted until Harry was dismissed the service and terminated the correspondence. Thinking now of how much he’d idolised the man, and how far he’d fallen from the standards he set himself to emulate, brought a lump to Harry’s throat. And nothing served to demonstrate this more than his recent behaviour aboard his own ship.
‘Are you all right, Ludlow?’ Rykert asked, slowly, since his visitor had been silent for almost half a minute.
‘Allow me to name Captain Illingworth, of the Lothian,’ said Harry, quickly turning to the man in question, who’d had the good grace to stay behind him. ‘His ship was taken by a French privateer not twelve hours ago. Mr Illingworth, this is Captain Julius Rykert.’
Illingworth bowed, then followed Harry’s example and sat down. ‘I wish I could say it was a pleasure, sir. But the villain who took my ship has robbed the day of any of that commodity.’
Rykert kept his eyes on Illingworth as he took Harry’s packet. ‘The Lothian?’
‘East Indiaman, sir, home bound with a valuable cargo, and some important passengers. It was mere luck that had Captain Ludlow close enough to see my boat in the water.’
Rykert had opened the oilskin pouch, extracting from it the log, plus the papers relating to Bucephalas. Details of the size of the ship and a list of her stores held little interest for him. Only one document commanded his immediate attention. That, several pages long, was stained, crumpled, and covered in the glue that had been used, along with a backing sheet, to stick it together.
‘This is a pretty piece of parchment,’ said Rykert, holding it up between finger and thumb, then leaning forward to examine the writing. ‘And a rare one.’
Harry didn’t reply immediately, as if his mind was still elsewhere, an effect magnified by the lack of passion in his voice when he finally responded.
‘I’m afraid one of your fellow officers was so ill-bred as to tear it into several pieces. It must have been the identity of the signatory that so upset him. But if you look you will see the superscription and realise that the crew of my ship are exempt from impressment.’
Rykert flicked it open to reveal the last page. The heavy government seal was intact and the writing above it plain. The captain’s eyebrows shot up as he identified the signature.
‘Dundas, by God! I’d be interested to know how you extracted such a licence from a man like him. Especially since, strictly speaking, the granting of such things is not in his province.’
‘I have no objection if you wish to dispute it with him.’
Rykert smiled. ‘Only a fool would cross swords with Dundas.’
‘Indeed,’ said Illingworth, looking at Harry Ludlow with profound respect.
Henry Dundas, as well as holding the office of Secretary of State for War, was also the senior director of the East India Company. He was William Pitt’s closest friend and political ally, the man who made sure that when contentious bills reached the Commons or the Lords the Prime Minister could command a majority. To achieve this he had to be able to bribe or browbeat reluctant backbenchers, which meant that the massive patronage at the government’s disposal, both at home and abroad, was in his hands. Though not an official of the Admiralty, he could make or break someone like Julius Rykert with a flick of a pen.
That officer had opened Harry’s log, and was examining the latest entries, his remark that they were on course for the Downs earning a nod. The whole history of Harry’s ship was in that one book, every event, trivial or important, entered assiduously, each man lost, and every wound sustained to flesh or timber, right down to a list of stores consumed. And, of course, it contained a report on each action he’d been involved in.
‘My premier reported that you were pumping hard, Ludlow. Is that from harm you sustained this morning?’
‘No.’
Rykert looked up at this; for the first time since Harry had entered his cabin he looked angry instead of perplexed. His square head almost shook with repressed indignation.
‘Do I warrant an explanation, or will I be obliged to search back through your log?’
‘We fell foul of a large Spanish frigate in the Florida Channel. She managed to hole us below the waterline. Not seriously, but enough to present us with a permanent leak that my carpenter couldn’t completely plug.’
‘Perhaps if you’d had Nelson along, he’d have taken her for you.’ Meant as a joke, whatever humour it generated died in Rykert’s throat as he saw the look in Harry’s eye, more like despair than outrage. ‘And now you’ve gone and lost your foremast.’
Illingworth answered when Harry, seemingly in some kind of trance, failed to respond. ‘He was seeking to aid me, sir, a most noble and valiant effort.’
Was Harry aware that Rykert was looking at him with something bordering on disbelief? Privateers were no more in the charity business than the Royal Navy. They acted from motives that were purely mercenary. The merchant captain, seeing the stare, continued hurriedly.
‘Captain Ludlow could not know, because of the fog, that I’d already been boarded and taken. The Frenchman, a fellow called Tressoir, pretended that the fight was still in progress by creating a hullabaloo, then used my heavier guns to terrible effect. That, added to surprise …’
Illingworth threw up his hands and stopped speaking as his fellow visitor’s head shot up, well aware that he was in danger of sparking Harry Ludlow’s temper again. Rykert flicked back through the log, though he wasn’t really reading it.
‘You’ve been to the West Indies?’
‘And the Gulf of Mexico, the Florida Channel, and New York,’ Harry replied.
‘And how was the hunting?’
The question was posed in quite a friendly manner, one that Rykert had, in the main, used throughout the interview. But the response from Harry was swift, harsh, and discomfiting.
‘You have the right to ask me many things, Captain Rykert, but I do believe that is a private matter.’
‘A glass of wine, I think,’ said Rykert, looking for all the world as though he hadn’t noticed the tone of voice Harry had used. His steward moved without a direct order, serving the drinks as his captain perused more closely the crumpled certificate of exemption.
‘How many men did you bring off the Lothian, Captain Illingworth?’ he asked, without looking up.
Although he had been preparing for the question ever since the frigates had been sighted, Illingworth was taken off guard by the suddenness of Rykert’s enquiry.
‘Thirty, all told, but that includes some wounded, my cook, and my steward.’
‘And you mentioned passengers.’
‘Indeed I did. Sir William Parker and his family, plus the daughter’s companion.’
Rykert looked up. ‘Sir Peter Parker’s brother?’
‘Yes.’
‘They are aboard Bucephalas?’
‘No, sir, they are not. I thought I had said.’
‘Then you must forgive me if I missed it.’
Illingworth nodded to accept the apology. ‘They have been taken away as prisoners, to be held for ransom. Tressoir also informed me that there is nothing in France to buy my cargo other than worthless assignats. So he offered to sell Lothian back to the Company for hard coin, gold or silver, and to ransom my passengers for the same commodity.’
‘This w
ill be very unwelcome news in Portsmouth, Captain Illingworth. Sir Peter Parker is the port admiral on that station.’
‘I wasn’t sure if he still held that office.’
‘Tressoir, you said?’
‘Aye. Cruises in a small corvette. Well armed, of course, but a tub in the sailing line from what I saw of her. He could never have got close to us in any kind of wind. But in light airs and fog, and knowing the damned Channel currents as he did, the swine had the advantage. His base is Isigny-sur-Mer. That is on the River Aure in Normandy.’
Rykert’s face took on an amused half smile. A man like him, who’d spent years blockading the French coast, knew where Isigny was better than Illingworth. Mentally he conjured up an image of the wide estuary, Le Baie du Grand Vey, fed by the twin rivers, the Vire and Virène. Isigny was on the River Aure, a tributary of the Vire, at the point just above where the tidal waters ceased. The Aure he didn’t know, except that for the town to work as a port it had to be reasonably deep.
‘He told you this?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you are aware that it might not be true?’
Illingworth puffed out his chest in a self-important way, his face carrying a very smug expression. ‘Not if he truly wants to trade. Besides, I can vouch for it, sir. Derouac, my steward, is a Guernseyman. He even understands the local Norman argot, which is more than you could say for most Frenchmen. He listened to Tressoir’s crew talking, and Isigny was mentioned more than once as the place they would spend what they’d earned. I know the estuary vaguely. He will have no end of trouble in getting my ship far enough upriver to be safe from attack. He will most certainly have to wait for the height of this month’s tide.’
‘It’s a pity, then, that I am not my own master,’ said Rykert, clearly saddened by the idea. ‘I have orders and observations to take to Admiral Bridport.’
‘Are you finished with me?’ asked Harry coldly.
‘I’ve had enough of your manner, Ludlow,’ snapped Rykert, showing open emotion for the first time. ‘I cannot think why you suppose I would bear you any personal ill will. We were never close friends. But I do believe that in the voyage that we shared we got on tolerably well. I dare say when you came aboard you anticipated an insult at every turn. If that is the case, it gives me some pleasure to disappoint you.’
‘Would such an attitude be so unusual, when a naval officer quizzes a privateer?’
Rykert responded with half a smile. ‘No. I am no different from my fellow officers in having little love for your kind. That is why you were left on deck for so long. But it is not my practice to condescend to someone I can call something more than an acquaintance.’
‘Then that,’ Harry replied, without humour, ‘is singular enough in the service.’
‘Captain Rykert,’ said Illingworth, who was looking at Harry with alarm. He might have exemptions but the Lothian’s crew did not. No good would come of upsetting Rykert when he was about to enter a plea. ‘My men have returned from a long commission. They have pay outstanding and wives and children ashore who depend on them.’ He stopped, unsure whether the slight smile playing around Rykert’s lips was the prelude to agreement or amusement at his tone of supplication. ‘It would be most unfortunate if they were taken up by the navy.’
‘Far be it from me to rob these poor creatures of their pay, sir, nor the comfort of an India ship. Never mind that the country stands in peril, and for want of hands every ship in the fleet is below its complement.’
‘You may refuse, sir. But to practise upon me is very cruel.’
‘But I am not, sir,’ Rykert protested, opening his hands.
‘Then you will not press them?’
Rykert shook his head, then fixed his eyes on Harry, his tone brisk and businesslike. ‘I cannot leave you at sea in such a parlous state, Ludlow. You have a serious leak and damage to your masts and rigging. I’d never forgive myself if your ship foundered for want of my assistance.’
‘I can manage very well, thank you.’
‘I know you will not refuse a helping hand. I will send aboard a midshipman and a party of sailors so that you may put more of your men to pumping. I will also escort you into Portsmouth. Your ship needs a dockyard. Your men, Captain Illingworth, can stay aboard Bucephalas.’
‘Captain Rykert is a gentleman, sir,’ boomed Illingworth, as they climbed back into their cutter. His confidence, which had waned since Harry’s first outburst, had now returned in full. Above them, the party that would come aboard under the orders of a midshipman was being assembled.
‘You think so?’ replied Harry, sourly.
Illingworth tried not to stare, but the effort was beyond him. He knew that Harry’s mood had changed, that something said in the Amethyst’s cabin had engendered it, but was at a loss as to what it could be. Whatever, it had made his host more amenable, or at least less abrasive.
‘He has left my men in situ, has he not?’
‘He also proposes, Captain Illingworth, to land them in Portsmouth.’
Illingworth’s expression changed, as he realised how little chance his men would stand in a naval port. They’d be had up by the press before they’d tasted a drop of ale in Portsmouth Point.
‘Then why did he not take them aboard directly?’
Harry was staring at the space between his feet. In the fifteen years since he’d seen Rykert he hadn’t forgotten how clever the man was. He too had travelled as a guest of the nation’s new hero, Captain Nelson. Adept at complex maths, Rykert had shone at the kind of mind games sailors play to stave off boredom. He’d added to that the ability to get on with all of his fellow officers without showing any special attachment to one in particular. Sometimes, when Harry had caught him off-guard, Rykert had worn a singular expression. It was just like the last one his two visitors had been favoured with, a look that spoke volumes for his attitude towards his peers, proclaiming a mind which held itself superior in every way.
‘He doesn’t want your men, Illingworth, and will be perfectly content to see them sent aboard the receiving hulk.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because,’ Harry replied, without enthusiasm, ‘he’s a cunning bastard. That certificate of exemption runs out the moment my ship is out of commission, which it will surely be in any dockyard I enter. With the greatest respect to you, would any navy man in his right mind take on sailors used to the soft life of an East Indiaman? He would not, sir, especially when he can have, when he likes, the entire battle-hardened crew of a successful privateer.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘IS IT really my fault, James?’ Harry accompanied the question with a penetrating look, hard to see in the failing light. In front of the stump that served as the jury foremast the great stern lantern on the Amethyst was beginning to glow brightly. As they turned in their pacing, the prow of her consort, Precise, was visible over the stern. ‘We could have run into those frigates regardless of Tressoir and the Lothian.’
James knew that to be untrue. But he was not much given to kicking a man when he was down, which Harry most certainly was at this minute. Nor, for all his curiosity, was he prepared to quiz his brother as to what had brought about this welcome change of mood. He’d set off for that frigate with an ill-tempered scowl, and returned still angry. But something had happened aboard the Amethyst to alter things. Whatever it was had allowed him to examine his own recent actions with something approaching objectivity, and see them for what they were.
James did wonder if he knew just how much trust he forfeited by his conduct. It wasn’t that the crew were soft. Many of them had sailed with hard-horse captains, men who supposed a mere smile to be a sign of terminal weakness. Those who were ex-navy would have steered into battle with such a superior with the same level of enthusiasm as they did under Harry Ludlow, as long as they could perceive even a modicum of fairness.
His headstrong nature, which often landed them in situations not of their choosing, was taken as mere fate, any discomfort alleviated by
Harry’s habit of coming off best, and his genuine concern for their welfare. It had been rare, in a normal day’s sailing, for him to ignore any man who crossed his path. Though he liked to run his ship navy-fashion, he’d share a joke readily, without any loss of authority, and listen carefully to ensure that no underlying grievance was being ignored. Many aboard felt they owed him their very lives. Had he not rescued them from service under a tyrannical naval officer, a man who flogged for pleasure? When danger threatened he called for an instant obedience which had always been readily given.
But he’d fallen from grace, and that had taken him below the level of other, less worthy men. He dropped so far that he was being roundly cursed for their present predicament, with one or two voices even raised to advance the opinion that his action had been deliberate, an attempt to cheat them out of their share of the spoils lying safe in his cabin by having them pressed into the King’s service.
‘How many times have I said to you, James, that I have the Devil’s own luck?’
‘Often enough, Harry. And at times, as you well know, you’ve tempted Providence to the limit.’
‘Luck is a very necessary commodity, brother, which needs to be pushed. You know the size of the oceans, how slim are the chances of meeting a ship in deep water, let alone an enemy. The men won’t follow someone who is unlucky. They don’t serve for love any more than I do.’
‘Humbug!’ snapped James, who was determined to keep Harry in his present mood. ‘I’ve never met a sailor yet who was truly contented ashore.’
‘I think, for me, that has just become possible.’ James was well aware that the remark was posed almost as a question. When he failed to respond, Harry continued. ‘Can you mark the time when that luck of mine evaporated?’
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