‘Captain?’
‘Let us reduce sail. I wish to tack, stand out from the land, and then heave-to.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Royals and topgallants were quickly taken in, the ship tacked to give them a little offing, and then hove-to. Very shortly thereafter, Inconstant hove-to a pistol shot distant. Hayden admired how smartly she was handled.
‘I did not deem it prudent to chase her into waters I do not know well,’ Hayden called out to Sir William, who was standing at the rail.
‘Come over, Hayden,’ the man called back. ‘I am sending a boat for you.’
A cutter was quickly in the water and her crew crossing the small distance between ships. Hayden climbed down and was aboard the other frigate in but a moment.
‘I am sorry, Sir William, she was too distant for us to bring her to with our guns.’
‘Yes, I could see. But come below.’
Hayden followed the man down into his cabin, where a chart was spread upon a table. Wine was offered, which Hayden accepted, and then Sir William leaned his small hands upon the table and gazed at the chart.
‘I think we might cut her out by darkness,’ he declared after a moment.
‘It is a large bay. Will she not be difficult to find by night?’
‘I believe her master will take her as deep into the bay as he can and anchor under the guns.’ He looked up at Hayden. ‘Would you not do the same?’
‘If I knew that Sir William Jones had chased me in here, I would. The French know your reputation … which makes me wonder if they would not expect you to come into the bay this night.’
‘I do not believe the brig could make out my ship at that distance – not given the light when we closed. And your ship is thirty-two guns, so they will know the Themis was not Inconstant.’ He turned his attention back to the chart. ‘We will slip in very late – two boats from each ship – board and sail her out. What do you say?’
‘It might be done. Certainly, they will rig boarding nets and ferry out more men from the shore, but we might carry her all the same. Let us hope the night is dark.’
Sir William nodded. ‘What I propose is I lead the boats in and you will follow—’
‘You will lead the boats …?’ Hayden interrupted.
Jones turned to him and smiled. ‘Why should our lieutenants have all the sport? I will lead two boats and you the others.’ He turned again to the chart, putting his finger on the shoreline. ‘We will row in toward this little point, Hayden. We will then hug the shore where it will be darkest, all along the north side of the bay.’
‘Will we not be at risk of being discovered – so close to shore?’
‘We will have to muffle the oars and go along very softly. If we are out in the middle of the bay we will almost certainly be seen … and fired upon. The bay has been heavily invested with cannon since we landed our troops there last year. The French are on the watch for us.’
It was a very daring plan, as Hayden should have expected. He stared at the chart and tried to imagine how this plan would unfold in real life.
‘The master of the brig put all his guns over the side,’ he observed, ‘but the crew will have muskets and pistols, no doubt.’
‘Yes, I doubt she can be taken without a fight. It is a war, after all. I propose that we make sail and shape our course east, as close to the wind as we can manage – let them at least imagine we have given up. Once it is truly dark, we will slip back and heave-to just outside the bay.’ He tapped a finger on the chart, ‘Launch boats and slip in as quietly as can be managed.’
‘I shall man a barge and a cutter with my strongest men.’
Sir William almost glowed with excitement and pleasure. He raised a wine glass. ‘To our success, Hayden.’
‘Hear.’
Hayden was climbing back aboard his own ship in but a few minutes.
‘Mr Archer,’ he called out. ‘We will wear ship and shape our course east.’
Archer passed this order along to Barthe, and soon the bosun and his mates had the men running to their stations. No one wanted to bring any shame upon their ship, so yards were braced and sheets hauled with a will, the Themises performing their evolution every bit as smartly as had the crew of Inconstant. The order ‘luff and touch it’ was given to the helmsman and the two frigates were put hard on the wind.
Hayden gathered his officers on the quarterdeck.
‘It is Sir William’s desire that we sail east for two hours, at which point we shall turn back. Just outside the bay, each ship will heave-to and launch a pair of boats. We will slip in under cover of darkness and cut out the brig that escaped us this day.’
There was great approval of this plan by all concerned.
‘Who will command the boats, sir?’ Wickham asked.
‘Mr Ransome shall have the cutter and I shall take command of the barge.’
Archer looked as though he had been punched.
‘Am I not to go, sir?’
‘No, Mr Archer. I will need you to command the ship. It is Sir William’s desire that he and I shall lead the cutting-out parties, so that is how it will be done.’
This dampened the officers’ mood.
‘I, for one, think it a damned foolish thing to do,’ Barthe stated flatly, ‘and I don’t care who hears me say it. Two captains leading a cutting-out expedition – putting their lives at risk for a little brig!’
No one else said a word but, apparently, Barthe had spoken for them all, as the others, to a man, nodded agreement.
‘Mr Barthe …’ Hayden cautioned the sailing master, who made a little bow of concession. He turned back to the others. ‘Mr Archer, you will choose the crews. Mr Hawthorne’s marines will make up a part of each complement and, Mr Hawthorne, you will sail with Mr Ransome, if you please.’
Hawthorne touched his hat, happy to learn that he at least was not going to be shut out of the fun.
‘Have the armourer see to the muskets and pistols. Cutlasses should be sharpened, and we will carry axes as well. I expect they will have rigged boarding nets.’
The two frigates hauled their wind forward and, under reduced sail, shaped their course to leave Pointe la Chaise to larboard. Neither captain wanted to go too far lest the wind took off to the point where it would not bear them back before daylight – not that Hayden was expecting the trade to die away that night. The weather glass was steady and the sky cloudless. The moon would be far into the west by the time they entered the bay – they did not want the moon behind them, that was certain.
There was a buzz about the ship that night, the hands chosen to man the boats the object of much attention and some good-natured ballyragging. The hours seemed to creep by but, finally, the appointed hour arrived and the boat crews set about darkening their faces with burnt cork. Hayden had ordered the boats painted black some months before, when they had cut out a frigate in Corsica, and he had not changed the colour since, quite convinced that black boats were a great advantage for night work.
The ship eventually made her way back to the point Jones had indicated on the chart, and hove-to not far from the Inconstant. Boats were lifted on tackles and swung out over the side as silently as the crews could manage. This was a familiar bit of work to any ship’s crew and Hayden was quite certain his men could do it without a single order from an officer. The crews went down into the boats, taking their places – marines in the bows, officers in the stern sheets. The coxswains ordered the boats away, and the four boats quickly formed two lines, Jones and Hayden’s boats in the fore. Hayden had stepped off the distance into the anchorage at eight and a half miles, so it would likely be two and a half to three hours before they would have the brig in sight. There would no doubt be many other boats in the anchorage, but Jones was strangely determined to take the brig that had eluded them that day – as though this was an affront he could not tolerate.
The muffled oars dipped and lifted, dripping water from the blades. Hayden could hear the men breathing, smell the sweat
of their effort and fear. They were heavy, dark shadows in the night, moving in a ponderous, constant rhythm. Hayden knew all the men by now but could hardly recognize any in the darkness.
The coxswain steered toward the land, using the stars as an aid. Not fifteen yards distant, Hayden could see Jones’s barge, his men bending to their work. Despite his reputation for recklessness, the hands followed Jones without the least reserve. To say one had gone on a cutting-out expedition with Sir William Jones was like bragging one had crossed the Styx and returned alive. Assuming one did, of course.
It occurred to Hayden to wonder again what the cargo of this little brig might be. He hoped it was worth risking their lives for. There was no guarantee, however. He knew damned well that, had the choice been his, he would not have risked the lives of his men for this little ship with her unknown cargo. If she had been an armed brig in the French Navy, or a privateer … Well, that would be a different matter. But this … this was exactly the kind of dangerous expedition with little thought to its outcome or advantage for which Jones had become notorious. Was it any wonder that the other two frigates of their squadron had mysteriously ‘disappeared’ at the first opportunity?
Hayden hunched his back against the relentless wind. It was a little less than three nautical miles – a league – to the first landmark – the little nameless point at the entrance to the large, open bay. The island called Grande Terre was a black and featureless mass stretching off to the west. Barthe had given the commanders of the boats and their coxswains a bright star to steer toward. A compass was carried, of course, but they did not dare to light a lamp by which to see it.
An hour passed, the boats crabbing against the north-east wind, which never eased its efforts to carry them to the distant side of the bay. Hayden could hear the men breathing hard and bracing themselves to pull.
Childers raised a hand and gestured, and Hayden nodded in return – their point loomed out of the darkness and seemed to separate itself from the mass of Guadeloupe. Many times, Hayden had seen points of land, often joined to the larger landmass by a narrow neck, mistaken for an island. Too often, ships would go aground trying to sail to the wrong side of such points and he had served aboard one little brig that had nearly been lost doing just that. There was no doubt that night, however – this was their point and landmark.
The trade was affected by land and curled around the island so that it blew far more from the west, and a small chop rocked them and slapped against the topsides now and then, throwing a little spray aboard. Hayden strained to hear any sound that might indicate people ashore or out on the bay in boats. The wind hissed and whispered across the land, masking any voices or small human sounds. They must carry on, uncertain the entire way if they had been detected and the alarm raised.
As they penetrated further into the bay, toward the Islet du Gosier, Grande Terre put up its shoulder to the wind, providing the English sailors with calmer waters. The scent of the land carried to them, and the wind felt warmer, as though it passed over hot coals.
‘Does Sir William intend to go inside the island?’ Childers whispered.
Shoals extended both to the north-west and south-east of Islet du Gosier, and though it was possible they might pass over these, Hayden would not have taken the chance, given his limited knowledge of the bay. Sir William and his two boats lay to starboard, so it was impossible to alter course in that direction without the oarsmen of the different boats running afoul of one another.
‘Perhaps Sir William knows the depths better than we,’ Hayden whispered.
They carried on for another five minutes, but Hayden could sense Childers’ anxiety, as the coxswain stared into the darkness, looking around constantly in an attempt to be more certain of their position.
When he could bear it no more, Childers whispered again: ‘Mr Barthe cautioned me to give the shoals around this island a wide berth, sir.’
Hayden nodded. The sailing master had issued him the same warning. He considered for only the briefest moment.
‘Alter our course to starboard a little, Childers. I will attempt to speak to their boat.’
Childers edged them marginally nearer, a difficult thing to manage in the dark, where distances were always deceiving. When the two boats were almost oar tip to oar tip, Sir William began to motion Hayden to keep off.
‘There is a shoal, sir,’ Hayden hissed, hoping his voice would carry.
He could see Sir William consult with his coxswain – perhaps over what Hayden had said – and then Jones cupped hands to his mouth and whispered, ‘Follow me.’
‘What are we to do, sir?’ Childers whispered.
‘Assume Jones knows what he is about. Avast rowing, and we will take up a position aft of their cutter.’
Hayden began waving his own cutter back so it did not lumber into their transom, and the oarsmen in the following boat left off rowing. For a moment the two boats drifted, the men lying on their oars, and then they took them up again, Childers bringing them into line with Sir William’s two boats.
Hayden thought the tip of the shoal that lay to the north of the little island was less than a mile distant. Half of the hour would see them over it – assuming Barthe was wrong and they could pass over it.
The rowers kept up their relentless pace. Hayden would have chosen to proceed more slowly, allowing his men to preserve much of their strength for the coming fight. They would have to speed the last half-mile or so and he did not want his men all in when they arrived at the brig. But they were following Jones’s lead, and the Themises would not be left behind and accused of being shy for all the world. Like all men, they needed some things in which they could take pride and they would protect these with their very lives.
A quarter of the hour had passed, when there was a dull thump and grinding sound from ahead and the cutter they followed was backing oars and the men all muttering. Hayden ordered his men to back oars, as well.
‘What has happened?’ Ransome whispered as his cutter ranged up near Hayden’s barge.
‘Sir William, I believe, has gone aground. Back the oars, Childers, let us give them room.’
This was done. Through the darkness, Hayden could just make out the shape of the boat, the shadows of men slipping over the side to heave it up and off. Shore was only a quarter of a mile distant and anyone there would certainly have heard this.
Looking about, Hayden estimated that he could make out a boat at sixty or seventy yards, and a group of four boats would likely be visible further off. Given that, he wondered if they would not have been better to come down the very centre of the large bay, as distant from the shores as could be – but he had not been the one making the decisions. He had deferred to Jones, whose experience in those waters was much greater than his.
It took a few moments for Jones to get his barge afloat again, and the other boats to give him room to manoeuvre. Once all was sorted, they set off again, this time giving the shoal room. They bore on in this manner for a short while and then Jones altered course again, almost due west.
‘Do you know, Childers, I am beginning to have my doubts about coming so near the entrance to the careenage.’
‘I agree, sir. There are batteries there, and men on watch, I have no doubt.’
Hayden did not want to alter his course and lose sight of Sir William but he was also losing his faith in the man’s plan to skirt the shore. He gazed out into the bay. The dark mass of a vessel seemed to materialize out of the smoky darkness, riding lights aglow.
‘That does not look like a fishing vessel,’ Hayden whispered to his coxswain.
‘I agree, sir. It would appear to be a transport.’
Then, to the right of this, another vessel came into view, and then another not so very distant from that. And then, as though a little mist had hung over the water and been swept away, a bay filled with ships opened up to them.
‘Is it a fleet, Captain?’ Gould whispered.
‘A convoy, perhaps. I wonder how long it has been
in port?’ His mind went immediately back to the meeting between the comte and Caldwell at which he had acted as translator. ‘The French have no plans for further attacks this season,’ the Frenchman had told the admiral. ‘They have not got the ships for such adventures.’
‘Will they not be reinforced from France?’ Caldwell had asked him.
‘Not this season, Admiral.’
Either the comte did not have the correct information … or he had lied.
‘Catch us up with Jones,’ Hayden said softly.
The oarsmen increased their pace and Hayden’s barge quickly overtook that of Sir William, who stood in the stern sheets of his boat, gazing about, his white breeches appearing almost to glow palely.
As Hayden drew alongside he ordered his men to avast rowing and Jones did the same, the two boats drifting on.
‘Where is our little brig?’ Jones muttered, as he stared into the darkness.
‘Sir William,’ Hayden almost hissed, ‘there is a convoy here … and at least one frigate that I can make out. This is almost certainly a military convoy … bearing troops.’
‘Yes,’ Jones said distractedly. ‘We shall inform the admiral.’ He pointed into the night. ‘She must be up in the very head of the bay, where it is too shallow for the larger ships.’ He sat down and ordered his boats on.
Hayden sat, dumbfounded.
‘Sir,’ Childers said softly, ‘he is not going after this brig yet … There must be five thousand French sailors aboard these ships.’
‘Yes … Follow Sir William. I shall try to dissuade him from this folly.’
It took a moment for Hayden’s boat to overhaul Jones’s and, when it did, Sir William pointed up the bay.
‘That must be her, there,’ he informed Hayden.
‘Sir William,’ Hayden replied, ‘there must be thirty ships in this convoy – at the very least. Two of them appear to be frigates—’
‘That is the beauty of it, Hayden,’ Jones whispered. ‘They will never for a moment be expecting us. We can slip aboard, take the ship by stealth and sail it out without the French being any the wiser.’ He pointed again. ‘Do you see those lights? I would wager our ship is there.’
Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead Page 18