The Darkening Sea

by Alexander Kent

  Sergeant Deacon jabbed the crouching boatswain with his boot. ‘What about this thing, sir?’

  ‘Put him in irons and send him over in the cutter.’

  The American master said, ‘You take a lot of authority on yourself for a mere lieutenant!’

  ‘I lied. I command Anemone. Captain Adam Bolitho, at your service!’

  He saw the desperation in the man’s eyes and said coldly, ‘Tell me your true destination, Captain Tobias. If you were an enemy I would respect you. But any one who tries to harm my country under the guise of neutrality can expect no mercy from me.’

  He heard shouts from the other longboat and watched the struggle on the other man’s face.

  The boatswain shouted at him, ‘Tell him, you cowardly bastard! I’ll not dance a hangman’s jig for you!’ He struggled round as the marines pinioned his legs with irons. ‘An island called Lorraine! That’s where!’

  Adam looked at the master and saw him sag. ‘You see, Captain Tobias, you lost your chance. A pity.’ As more men swarmed aboard he snapped, ‘Take him too!’

  Adam saw Lewis, his hat awry, pushing through the throng of people.

  He said, ‘Disarm these men, and have the marines cover them at all times.’

  He looked at the departing boat and turned away. He found he could not bear to watch Tobias staring astern at his lost command.

  He continued, ‘Sail to Cape Town and find my uncle. I will give you some written orders. Can you manage that?’

  He saw Starr nudge the sergeant. They probably knew Lewis was to be prize-master simply because he was the least competent of the frigate’s three lieutenants.

  ‘Aye, aye, sir!’

  ‘Take Deacon’s advice. He was once in a slave uprising. He knows how to deal with things like this.’

  He put his hand on the midshipman’s shoulder. It felt as hot as a raging fever.

  ‘Lorraine Island, Mr Dunwoody. A barren place, and not too far from Bourbon or Mauritius. I should have guessed. But for you …’ He shook him gently. ‘Well, we’ll not think of that. We shall rejoin the ship.’ He saw the brig’s crew being disarmed and sorted into watches. There was no resistance now.

  Once back aboard the Anemone Adam wasted no time in explaining to Martin and the second lieutenant, Dacre, and of course the sailing master, Old Partridge.

  ‘The brig carries stores enough for a much larger vessel, maybe other evidence if we had had the time to carry out a thorough search. My clerk can write orders for Mr Lewis. Then it’s up to us.’

  Martin exclaimed, ‘It might take weeks for him to find our ships, sir!’

  Adam looked at their intent faces and smiled gently.

  ‘Really, Aubrey, I do not think I said anything about waiting.’

  He saw Starr walking aft, the cutlass grasped in his hand.

  He said quietly, ‘But for that simple blade and Dunwoody’s quick observation …’ He grinned suddenly. ‘But we have troubles enough, eh? So let’s be about it!’

  Partridge hid a smirk. It was like hearing his uncle amongst them.

  * * *

  12

  Trust

  * * *

  OLD PARTRIDGE LEANED against the white-painted timbers and watched his captain and lieutenants studying the charts on his table. It was pitch black outside, the sky filled from horizon to horizon with a million stars. Some were huge, as if they were just above the spiralling mastheads, the others so faint and extended they could have been encircling another earth as yet unknown.

  The ship was sailing under close-reefed topsails, jib and driver, the motion lively but regular as they continued towards the north-east. Tomorrow would make it two days since the prize Eaglet had left them. Already it seemed that it could not really have happened, but for the brig’s master and boatswain, and the cutlass Dunwoody had seen, and about which he had not been afraid to speak out when they had been ready to fall back to the ship.

  Adam bent right over the chart and peered at the destination the prisoner had revealed. Partridge had already told him that the island called Lorraine was hardly known, and the charts were unreliable. There was a big lagoon, but no fresh water, nor even any trees for fuel or repairs. It sounded like one of the islands Catherine had described after the escape from the shipwreck.

  Partridge had contended that it was unsafe for the unwary. Adam smiled. Everything was, in the great Indian Ocean. Like almost all the other islands in this area it must have changed hands many times as a pawn in strategy, and out of necessity, as a port for trade and a place for ships to shelter when the great storms came; like Mauritius itself, which lay some hundred and fifty miles to the west, ruled by the Arabs and the Portuguese and then the first true settlers, the Dutch, who had claimed it and named it after Prince Maurice of Nassau. After the Dutch had quit the islands the English trading companies had come, but unable to make the place prosper they had withdrawn. The French had occupied Mauritius and all the island group ever since. But the fact uppermost in Adam’s mind was this one flaw in the pattern. Lorraine.

  An island was always easier to defend than to capture. He had heard his uncle say as much many times. Even so, when the attack was finally launched against the main islands, the captains of the men-of-war and the army transports would have updated charts. Knowing nothing of Lorraine was like being blind, tapping with a stick in some unknown alley.

  The new Royal Marines officer who had joined the ship at Portsmouth as a replacement for his unfortunate predecessor, a Lieutenant Montague Baldwin, remarked in his somewhat affected drawl, ‘If there is an enemy vessel there, sir, she will soon know we are coming.’ His coat shone like blood in the deckhead lanterns as he stared at the chart. ‘If I could land a squad of men under cover of darkness we might be able to signal to you when you begin a final approach.’

  Lieutenant Martin frowned. ‘There are reefs a-plenty, soldier. You’d probably make more noise than we would!’

  Lieutenant Dacre said, ‘We should sight the island the day after tomorrow.’ He flashed his cheeky grin at the sailing master. ‘Or so we are led to believe!’

  Adam looked at them. The stimulus of danger was like being reborn. The challenge he had come to understand, respect, and sometimes fear. He was their captain: on his skill, or lack of it, their reputations and very lives depended.

  He felt the old surge of pride, which had even pushed the letter he had sent to Zenoria out of his mind. This was what he had dreamed about even as a midshipman. He had learned well from those who, knowingly or not, had set him on the path to this ship, his Anemone: his uncle and Valentine Keen, and even Herrick with his stolid backbone of experience. He almost smiled. He would never forget Allday’s part in it. The man of the sea. A true friend.

  Martin offered, ‘What about the prisoners, sir? Can we obtain new intelligence from them?’

  Adam looked up, his eyes distant. ‘Captain Tobias? I could ask him for advice and local knowledge and then do the opposite, I suppose. For he’d surely guide us on to a reef rather than help us, even if we shut him in the cable tier where he would be the first to strike!’

  Martin agreed. ‘The bosun, then?’

  Adam felt his ship tremble as if she had lost her way, then saw the lanterns circle about when she plunged forward again into another long trough.

  ‘It is a thought.’ Like most sailors the man probably knew little beyond his own duties. They were usually able to perform such things as daily navigation, and take noon-sights with sextants. But the charts themselves were something beyond their immediate duties.

  Much worse was the real possibility that the man, already terrified for his own life because of the accusation that he had been involved in the loss of the schooner Maid of Rye, might say anything that came into his head simply to ingratiate himself with his captors.

  Adam said, ‘The brig was certainly carrying enough supplies to keep a larger vessel at sea for a long while. There would be no need to enter one of the main ports and risk detection by one o
f our patrols.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘Even if we had any!’

  ‘Could it be the Yankee, Unity, sir?’

  ‘I think not. She has no need to hide, except behind her “neutrality”! Her presence out here, her ability to flaunt her flag openly in the midst of a war, is far more effective. Her captain is too shrewd a dog to miss that!’

  Suppose it was Baratte? Adam felt his blood pound. Another frigate maybe? No ponderous fleets and endless signals and counter-orders. Ship to ship, man to man. Like his uncle. He shied away from the thought. Like my father.

  He made up his mind. ‘Mr Partridge has laid off two possible approaches, and just as important, an escape route if the enemy is there and attempts to gain open water, where he can fight or run as the mood takes him.’ He watched their intent expressions, each seeing the unknown foe as something real now and not merely a piece of speculation. ‘We were short-handed even before we put a prize crew into the brig. We cannot afford to board or be boarded if our adversary is anything like our rate.’ He glanced at the two lieutenants. ‘Go around the divisions and speak with their gun captains. Each of our three midshipmen must be instructed as to what to expect.’ He brought out a few chuckles as he added, ‘Except young Dunwoody, perhaps. He appears to be more alert than his captain!’

  A bell chimed out from the forecastle, the sound almost buried in sea-noises like an underwater chapel. He said, ‘This time tomorrow …’ he glanced at the chart as if he could see the island and its lagoon, its lack of proper soundings and bearings ‘… we shall beat to quarters, and I will go round the ship myself.’ In his mind he saw his uncle, then a captain, doing just that aboard his old Hyperion, showing no trace of his inner doubts and fears as he walked amongst his men. I must be like that. I must never forget. ‘And then at first light we will begin our final approach …’

  The marine lieutenant said soberly, ‘Christmas Day, sir!’

  Martin said, ‘The people will be looking to you, sir!’

  It fell to Old Partridge to say what was in all their thoughts.

  ‘An’ to God, I ’ope!’

  Captain Adam Bolitho lay on his back below the tall stern windows of the cabin and stared unwinkingly at the skylight. It was still dark on deck and there was too much caked salt on the glass to know if there were even any stars.

  From without Anemone would appear to be in shadow. Gunports sealed, hatchways and skylights covered and lanterns reduced to a minimum. Even the ship seemed quieter, he thought vaguely. There was an occasional shuffle of bare feet overhead, or the crisper step of a lieutenant or warrant officer. His cabin groaned as the rudder lifted towards the surface and was then followed by the gurgle of spray when the ship ploughed forward again.

  He sat up and pushed his fingers through his unruly hair. What did his officers think about it, really think? How did they see his proposed attack? The lagoon might be empty when they got there anyway, and he guessed that many of his men prayed that would be so. In his heart he felt there was an enemy. It was the obvious choice of a rendezvous for anyone competent enough to grope his way through the reefs and hidden sand bars.

  Some might see his intention as pure vanity, the search for glory. He tried to reassure himself with a smile. Precious little of either if his ship came to grief.

  Partridge had suggested there were two passages into the lagoon, but even he had no experience of this dismal place. Which was the right one?

  He had spoken with the Eaglet’s master, Joshua Tobias, but without result. If Tobias survived it was unlikely that American pressure would release him and his ship. To become involved, even if he only wanted to save himself, would only condemn him.

  He felt suddenly angry. Why risk Anemone and men’s lives on a whim? If he stood offshore the enemy would see him and perhaps remain safely at anchor. If she ran for it they could fight in the open. The alternative was to blockade the approaches until help arrived. It might take weeks before Lieutenant Lewis found his uncle or one of the patrols.

  And what if another enemy arrived in the meantime, perhaps even Baratte himself? His head throbbed as his mind grappled in every direction.

  He got to his feet and moved about the cabin, seeing as others might the set of her reduced canvas, the glow of the compass light, the watchkeepers, all of whom would be thinking of the dawn.

  He strode to the screen door, feeling his ship beneath his bare feet, rising and dipping and tilting slightly to starboard under the pressure in her sails. The marine sentry almost dropped his musket as he pulled open one of the slatted doors. He had probably been asleep on his feet.

  ‘Sir?’ The whites of his eyes seemed to glow in the solitary watch lantern.

  ‘Fetch the …’ He hesitated and saw the first lieutenant leaving the empty wardroom.

  They greeted each other like old friends rather than men who had been sharing the watches with barely a break.

  Adam asked, ‘Can’t you sleep either, Aubrey?’

  Martin tried to contain a yawn. ‘I have the morning watch, sir.’ He too listened to the ship around and above them.

  Then he followed Adam aft into the cabin and the sentry lapsed into a doze once more.

  Adam held out his hand. ‘Happy Christmas, Aubrey.’ It sounded so solemn that he wanted to laugh.

  Martin sat down. ‘I cannot believe it.’

  Adam took a bottle from his cupboard and then two glasses. It gave him more time to think. There was nobody he could ask. If he revealed even a hint of uncertainty he would lose their confidence. The margin between life and death.

  It was claret but it could have been anything.

  Martin looked at him. ‘Sweethearts and wives, sir!’

  They both drank and Adam thought of the letter again. If only you knew.

  He said, ‘I want a good hand at the masthead, Aubrey. Tell Jorston to do it when we start the final approach. He’s a first-class seaman, due for sailing-master whenever he can be spared. Knows the state of the sea-bed, the run of the tide just by looking at it.’

  Martin watched the captain refilling the glasses, fascinated. It was like seeing his mind at work.

  Adam said, ‘Both anchors catted and ready to let go.’

  Martin waited, then asked, ‘You really think we’ll fight, sir?’

  Adam seemed far away. ‘I know it.’

  He was suddenly wide awake. ‘Fetch the prisoner, the boatswain – Richie, isn’t it?’

  Martin stared at him. How could he remember such details?

  Adam smiled. ‘Send for the master-at-arms and tell him. I want you here with me.’ He should have said need, he thought.

  They said little as they drank their wine and listened to the ship and the sea, each one of them elsewhere in his thoughts, each with somebody else.

  The doors were opened and the bosun, accompanied by the master-at-arms and the ship’s corporal, lurched across the tilting deck. Richie wore leg-irons and each step was slow and painful.

  He stood quite still, staring down at the young captain he had once thought to be a mere lieutenant.

  ‘I’ve nothin’ more to say.’

  The master-at-arms snapped, ‘Sir!’

  Adam said, ‘A chair, Corporal.’ As the man struggled into it he added, ‘Wait outside, Master-at-Arms.’ The two representatives of the ship’s discipline left, obviously mystified.

  Adam said, ‘I have to know certain things. First, what part did you play in the loss of the Maid of Rye?’

  The man seemed taken aback, as if he had been expecting something else.

  ‘Nothin’, sir!’ He saw Adam turn as if to call the master-at-arms back into the cabin and said vehemently, ‘I swear to God, sir, it’s the truth!’

  Adam watched him. ‘I’m listening.’

  Richie looked at Martin as if to gain his support. ‘She was already run ashore, sir, in the Gulf of Guinea it was. There was a terrible blow o’ wind and we lost some of our canvas before we could claw clear!’

  ‘Why did you call your capta
in a coward? Was it because he did not stand up for you when we boarded Eaglet?’

  Richie looked at his leg-irons as if shocked at what he saw.

  ‘He wouldn’t go to the schooner’s rescue. Some of ’er people had managed to get ashore – not many, I think. We didn’t know she were a man-o’-war at that time. The men who managed to reach the beach were set upon by natives. Hacked ’em to pieces. Even above the wind we could hear ’em screamin’!’ He gave a great shudder. ‘Probably thought she was a bloody blackbirder!’

  Adam reached down and gripped the cutlass, the new short-bladed one which Dunwoody had helped load into the ill-fated schooner. Richie stared at it dully. ‘We picked up just the one man, sir. He’d gone outboard when the vessel struck. I went over the side after him even though the Cap’n was shoutin’ for me to stop! He was afraid he’d follow the schooner on to the beach!’

  Adam found time to wonder how many of Anemone’s company could swim. Very few probably.

  He looked at the cutlass. The man could be lying. Some of the others from Eaglet might confirm or refute his story. But that would take too long. They might never know now.

  Richie said thickly, ‘The man lived for an hour or so. It was then that we knew she was a King’s ship. He was a seaman, like I was once.’ He sounded beaten, as if he had already seen the sentence of death.

  ‘Where you got those scars on your back? A striped shirt at the gangway?’

  ‘Yessir.’

  Adam stood up and crossed to the cabinet again. He could feel the man’s eyes following every move, as if he expected to be taunted, despised.

  He said slowly, ‘You know this island of Lorraine, Richie.’ He saw him watching the cognac as it mounted the side of the glass while the deck went down again. ‘You’ve visited it many times?’

  ‘Once, sir. Just the once.’

  Adam glanced at Martin’s anxious face. ‘Once.’ He held out the glass. ‘Get this into you, man.’