A Sea Unto Itself

by Jay Worrall

  “Beat to quarters,” Charles said to Bevan. “Have the starboard guns run out.” He turned to Sykes: “The colors, if you will, and hoist a white flag from the foremast.”

  “A white flag, sir?”

  “To show that we won’t fire on them if they don’t fire on us first.”

  “Yes, sir.

  At that moment, a puff of gray-black smoke showed from the fort. The distant bang and a spout in the sea, well short, came an instant later. “Carry on as you bear, Mr. Cromley,” Charles said. His keg with the flag on it, almost a marker buoy, had been placed by the entry port midships. A canvas envelope containing a precise description of the whereabouts of L’Agile’s crew was affixed just below the flag. Two men and Midshipman Hitch stood beside it.

  The mole came into clear view. Charles took up his glass and saw that the inner harbor was crowded to its capacity with small shipping, almost entirely single-masted sambuks and a few only slightly larger baghalas. A three-gun battery of six-pounder field artillery had been set up on the end of the breakwater, and he saw a party of French artillerymen running along the stones to man them. Beyond the battery, as he had been told, a single European polacre rode at anchor. He lowered the glass and looked upward to see that the union flag had broken out on the mainmast; the white banner requesting a truce running up its halyard.

  “Mr. Cromley, steer to run alongside the mole from fifty yards out.”

  The master acknowledged. Cassandra bore down at a goodly speed toward the harbor, its contents coming into easy view by the unaided eye. Charles thought the craft inside were a curious collection. Except for the polacre, they were adequate for running up and down the sea but too frail for fetching India. He counted fully fifty of them before he gave up. The foot of the mole showed alongside. The fort had not fired after its initial warning. The battery at the mole’s head was manned, the guns presumably loaded, the gun-servers standing beside their weapons. It would take courage, Charles decided, for them to stand like that. In any exchange with his own much heavier and more numerous broadside they would be annihilated in an instant. As Cassandra swept past unmolested, the French artillery captain raised his plumed hat in salute. Charles returned the greeting, then gestured to Hitch that the keg be lowered over the side and released. “We will stand off the shore, Mr. Cromley,” he said. “Make for the center channel of the sea.”

  “Mocha, sir?”

  “Mocha, Mr. Cromley, with all speed. Daniel, you may dismiss the men from quarters and house the guns.”

  Charles paused by the rail to look over the polacre. She flew no identifying flag. A lighter lay in the water alongside as some of her cargo was swung down in a net. He squinted into the reflected glare. Black men, barely clothed, huddled on the lighter’s boards. Other men stood over them—European men in broad-brimmed hats with muskets. The cargo net was a jumble of black arms, legs, torsos. More blacks crowded the merchantman’s deck waiting to be lifted down. He turned away in disgust.

  Charles saw Bevan staring through narrowed eyes at the polacre. “Jesus,” Bevan said.

  “It’s not our concern, Daniel,” Charles answered.

  Bevan looked at him seriously. “Don’t you find all this more than a little strange, Charlie?”

  “What, the slavery? It’s a foul practice, but not strange.”

  “No. I mean that they let us sail blithely by, taking in all the sights we cared to see. You’d think that if this was their staging area for the assault on British India, they’d go a little out of their way to shoo us off. They might at least have fired on us.”

  “We had a flag of truce,” Charles observed.

  “The French have been known to overlook such niceties before.”

  “They had no way to stop us. The battery on the mole was a joke.”

  “Then where’s their heavy ship? They must know Blankett and his frigates are encamped at the foot of the sea. Why isn’t the seventy-four here to protect the harbor from the likes of us?”

  “I don’t know,” Charles said.

  “I didn’t ask for an answer,” Bevan asserted. “I just said it was strange.”

  “All right, it’s strange.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Cassandra raced southward down the long, empty sea under every strip of canvas she would carry, including her studdingsails and royals. By Cromley’s accountings, she logged eleven and twelve knots, once averaging twelve and a half from noon to noon. Charles paced his quarterdeck during the daylight, twelve paces precisely in each direction as the limit of the deck would allow, up and down and down and up again, until he had every knot and imperfection of every deck board underfoot memorized.

  He found it unsettling that the lookouts sighted no sails of any kind, friend or foe; not even the meanest dhow. He attributed it to the thoroughness with which the French had scoured the sea. Where were they, particularly the larger ocean-going baghalas? Not at Suez or Koessir, he was sure of that. As to where else they might be secreted away he had no idea. His other thoughts were of his meeting with Admiral Blankett, requesting leave for his crew, and the repercussions if it were refused. He did not want to quit the navy, nor did he resent the promise he’d made to the crew. They deserved whatever consideration he could offer them. It would be the Admiral’s attitude that determined the outcome, and Charles would be deeply saddened to leave Bevan, Winchester, and the others behind while he made his way somehow to Bombay and from thence to home.

  At least then he would be able to return home. In the evenings, after his supper, he resumed adding to the long letter it was his custom to write to Penny. He did this dutifully, although he too frequently found his attention straying to the small Italian settlement at Massawa and the woman Teresa. He would welcome seeing her again, if only to speak. He remembered her eyes and smile, the earthy tone of her voice and its foreign rhythms. He could talk to her about his doubts and troubles. She would sympathize, he knew. It wore on him that he was practically alone in his efforts to uncover French intentions, in his upcoming confrontation with Blankett, in being so far from home in his wife’s time of difficulty. He needed sympathy.

  On such an evening, the fifth since passing Koessir, Charles sat at his table chewing at the end of a fresh quill while struggling with his letter to his wife. Augustus approached the table with a tray to collect the remains of his supper. Charles lay the pen down and raised his head. “Do you ever think about going home?” he said. “How would you feel if we did that?”

  “Me, Cap’n?” Augustus answered good-naturedly. “That depend on which home you speakin’ of.”

  “I mean Tattenall, in England, with Mrs. Edgemont and Miss Viola.” Charles pushed out an adjacent chair. “Please, sit.”

  Augustus lowered himself and sat carefully erect. “Yes. I think on it. I’d be pleased, if it were the time.”

  “The time might be sooner than you’d think.”

  The steward met Charles’ eyes. “Because you quit?” Augustus said.

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “I speak with some.”

  “I might have to,” Charles said. “You would return with me, of course.”

  Augustus was still for a moment. “It be best to finish what you start,” he said slowly. “You got to go on if you can. It eat you up inside otherwise. I be pleased to see Miss Viola when we done with what we come to do.”

  Charles did not find this advice to be immediately helpful. Nevertheless, when his steward had gone and he resumed his letter to Penny, he inserted a line that, “Augustus related that he will be pleased when he is able to visit with Miss Viola again.”

  The meridian attitudes the following noon showed them to have reached the sixteenth latitude. The outermost islands of the Dahlak Archipelago appeared as small specks to starboard on the barely ruffled sea. Charles stood alone, staring outward over the rail. Beyond those islands was the little colony of Italians and the woman. Over the bow, less than a full day’s sail at their present progress, lay Mocha and whate
ver awaited there. He would have preferred their course to be westward toward the African shore.

  “Captain, sir.” Beechum announced himself from a respectful distance.

  Charles turned. “Yes, Mr. Beechum?”

  “I apologize for intruding, sir,” the young lieutenant said. “But there’re three seamen who have requested permission to speak with you personally. I can tell them you’re occupied at the moment.”

  Charles looked and saw no one beside Beechum, or anywhere near him. “Who are they?”

  “Sherburne, Willits, and Giles, sir. They’re at the foot of the ladderway.”

  “Do you know what they want?”

  “No, sir. They only asked for a moment of your time.”

  “Thank you,” Charles said. “I’ll go down.” He turned from the railing and started forward. What was it now? The three were all able seamen. He’d thought they would be satisfied with his promise. Perhaps it would be better if he were to resign and leave his troublesome crew to some other captain’s methods; his had clearly failed. He passed the marine sentry at the head of the ladderway with barely a nod and descended. “You wished to see me?”

  All three removed their hats. Sherburne spoke. “We beg yer pardon, sur, but we ‘ave been speakin’ among the ‘ands. We ‘ave a request to make.”

  Charles frowned. “Of course you do. What do you want this time, feather beds, maid service?”

  Sherburne glanced at his mates, then shuffled his feet. “It ain’t nothin’ like that, sur. We’re satisfied for ourselves. We ain’t desirin’ ye to quit. We don’t want no other captain.”

  Charles swallowed, looking from face to face. Willits and Giles nodded in agreement. “What if I cannot obtain leave for you ashore in Mocha?” he said.

  “We’d like to have it, sure enough,” Ben Willits said. “But if we can’t, we’ll have it somewhere else.”

  Charles wasn’t sure what to say. A lump rose in his throat. “Thank you,” he offered. “I sincerely appreciate your sentiments.”

  “We know there been troubles at times,” Sherburne said. “We got it sorted out now. It won’t be that way no more.”

  Charles knew what that meant. It was significant that all three spokesmen were senior seamen. It meant that their type had come to an agreement and asserted their authority over the remainder of the crew. He imagined there were some bruises below decks. “Thank you again for your confidence,” he said. “I will still do my utmost to give you time ashore.”

  *****.

  The dusty pink battlements of Mocha showed along the Yemeni coast to port at mid-morning the next day. Cassandra's lookout in the mainmast had long since reported two British warships at anchor in the roads. With the aid of his glass, Charles made them to be Blankett’s small two-decked, fifty-gun flagship, Leopard, and the frigate Daedalus. Both wavered in his lens from the shimmering heat rising off the water. He assumed this indicated that Fox and Hellebore were out keeping watch at the foot of the sea.

  “Run up the colors and our number,” Charles said to Sykes. “We will prepare to salute the flagship as we are closer to. Take care to do it smartly so as not to displease the admiral.” He guessed Blankett would find some reason to be displeased anyway; he just seemed that kind of person.

  Charles turned to Bevan. “As soon as we get the anchor down, we will put all of our boats into the water. The jollyboat will go over on the side nearest Leopard, the launch and cutters on the off side.”

  “You have a plan?” Bevan said. The two had discussed Charles’ intention to gain leave for the crew.

  Charles nodded. “Load a few water casks into each, and as many of the men as they’ll carry. We’ll make a show of replenishing the supplies while allowing a number to roam the town. It’s possible Blankett won’t notice. If we can drag it out for a few days we might give them all a spell on shore.”

  “And if the admiral does notice?”

  “Then I shall have to think of something else.”

  “You’re not going to resign your commission, are you?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Good; see that you don’t.”

  Cassandra began her salute as she rounded the spit of land with its crumbling fort protecting the northern edge of the harbor. Leopard returned the courtesy then promptly ran up the signal, Captain report on board flagship.

  Charles climbed down into the waiting jollyboat, uncomfortably hot in his heavy uniform coat and hat. In his pocket was the report he had prepared on his engagement with L’Agile, and the results of his looking into Koessir and Suez.

  He was met at the entry port on Leopard’s gundeck by Lieutenant Danforth. “The admiral anticipated your return before now,” he greeted him.

  “Really?” Charles said. “I can’t imagine why.” He wondered if the lieutenant had been instructed to be intentionally rude in order to keep visiting captains off balance.

  “In future you should attempt to be more timely in the execution of your orders,” said Danforth.

  “In future you should show more respect when addressing a superior officer,” answered Charles.

  Danforth frowned, then turned to lead the way aft to Blankett’s cabin.

  “Captain Edgemont,” Rear Admiral John Blankett said from behind a small desk in a cabin not much larger than Charles’ on Cassandra. He was without his uniform coat and had removed his stock. The top several buttons of his shirt were also undone in deference to the roasting heat. He did not rise, but nodded for Charles to sit in a chair opposite. “I trust you have completed your meanderings up and down the sea,” he said testily. “You have certainly taken your time.”

  “Yes, sir,” Charles said, biting back the urge to say anything more. He wondered if Blankett knew how long it actually took to sail to Suez and return.

  “You have deposited this spy Jones in Egypt, I presume.”

  “Yes, sir. I am to return to take him off north of Koessir in a little over a month’s time. We will sail as soon as our supplies are replenished.”

  “I will return to the subject of Jones and what you will or will not do for him in a moment. First, you have been to the head of the sea. I assume you have formed an impression of French intentions, should they have any. What have you found?”

  What did he mean by “what you will or will not do?” Charles thought. The Admiralty had ordered him to both deliver and recover the man and his companions. There was no question about this. “I have investigated both the ports of Suez and Koessir, sir,” he said, attempting to read Blankett’s attitude. “Suez is for all purposes empty. There are a sizable number of dhows and coastal craft at Koessir, being collected for some purpose. I have it in my report.” He removed the envelope from his pocket and laid it on the desk.

  Blankett did not touch or even look at the document. “So there is no evidence of any armada of sea-going transports for India. I knew it was an Admiralty pipe dream.”

  “Sir,” Charles said, “I found no such transports in the Egyptian ports. That does not mean the French couldn’t be keeping them somewhere else. The Red Sea is bare of the larger Arab shipping. They’ve disappeared to someplace. We also encountered the French national thirty-two-gun frigate L’Agile on two occasions, the second at the entrance to the Gulf of Suez. We were fortunate enough to carry her.”

  “A frigate?” Blankett said. His mood lightened. “Did you really? Where is she?”

  “I put the crew ashore and touched off her magazine, sir.”

  “How much damage did you sustain?”

  “Minimal, sir. We caught her in circumstances favorable to ourselves.” He would have said “none,” but he didn’t think the admiral would believe him.

  “A frigate,” Blankett repeated. “I owe you an apology. I remember your mentioning something like that when you first arrived. If I recall correctly, you speculated on the possibility of two sets of sail. Have you seen any sign of the other?”

  Charles steeled himself. “No, sir. But I have reason to be
lieve the second to be the seventy-four-gun Raisonnable that accompanied L’Agile into the sea.”

  Blankett actually laughed. “That’s ridiculous, captain. It’s not possible; not possible at all. The resident, Mr. Underwood, is very well informed of goings on the length of the Red Sea. He would certainly have informed me if there were the slightest hint of an enemy ship of the line in these waters. She’d be too big for somebody not to have noticed. I have had my own craft patrolling in the south. They’ve reported nothing like that.”

  “But, sir,” Charles said.

  Blankett scowled. “Oh, come now,” he said. “We mustn’t allow ourselves to see perils behind every headland.” He held up hand to forestall Charles’ protest. “You haven’t actually seen this warship. What evidence have you that she has come onto the scene? Mind you, I want hard facts, no ghosts or demons.”

  The muscles of Charles’ stomach tightened. He knew in his gut Raisonnable was nearby. She would be with the transports the French had assembled—wherever they were—protecting them from discovery and preparing to clear a path for them when it came time to exit the sea. It wouldn’t be difficult. He looked around him at Blankett’s cabin and the four canvas-shrouded eighteen-pounder cannon. With Raisonnable’s thirty-six pounders on her lower gundeck, it would hardly be a fair contest. The only fact he possessed was that she had been in consort with the frigate in the Atlantic. It was enough for him to go on; he knew it would not be enough for Blankett. “I have nothing concrete, sir,” he said.

  “Then we are agreed,” Blankett said with a forced smile. “There’ll be no more nonsense about that.”

  “No, sir,” Charles said. “But there was the frigate.”

  “Could have been any number of reasons for her presence. In any event, she’s no threat to us now.”