Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead

by S. thomas Russell

  “I am here, Sir William, to do my duty to King and country, but I will tell you I do not squander the lives of my men. I weigh the benefits of any action against the lives it will cost. I have always attempted to gain the greatest advantage for the least cost, in that regard.”

  “I am pleased to see we are of one mind in this,” Sir William assured him.

  Hayden found it difficult to hide his reaction. Jones was notorious for undertaking extremely risky actions of very dubious value. The only thing one could say in his defence was that he did not send his men into these dangers while he watched from a distance. Sir William invariably led the charge and risked all the dangers to which he subjected his crews. For this, the men forgave him much they would not otherwise.

  “I dine with the admiral this very night, Hayden, and will surely receive my orders then. How soon can you put to sea?”

  “Tomorrow, if need be.”

  “Excellent. We shall have our ships readied with all speed. Four or five days we shall require, for the crews shall have leave to go ashore, which will slow preparations to some small degree.” Jones paused. “You will note that we have painted our ships black—any little thing that will draw our prey nearer . . .”

  “I shall have our stripe painted black immediately, Sir William.”

  Hayden went down into his boat and Childers steered back to their own frigate. Time would certainly show him what he had fallen into, but he was of the impression that he had fallen in with a brave, perhaps even gallant, fool and two prize hunters. The war against France was not the primary concern of any of these men, he suspected. Jones was chasing reputation, while Crawley and Oxford sought wealth. Hayden did not want to tip the balance in either of these directions. It was his desire to prosecute the war against their enemies in a prudent but forceful manner.

  As his boat passed astern of Phaeton, Crawley appeared at the rail and waved Hayden near. “Might you have a moment, Hayden?” he enquired as the boat drew near.

  “Certainly,” Hayden replied.

  “Please, Captain, come aboard.”

  Childers brought their boat smartly alongside—a difficult thing to manage when a boat had lost all way and was so near. Hayden went up the side and was invited down into Crawley’s cabin, which was fitted out almost as splendidly as a house ashore.

  “Do you take tea?” Crawley asked.

  “With delight,” Hayden lied. He much preferred coffee, but tea seemed to be growing in popularity with some segments of society, though Hayden did not imagine it would ever become universal—the cost was simply prohibitive. From what Crawley had been saying over dinner, he could, no doubt, afford it.

  “What did you think of the Swedish King’s good knight?”

  “He comes much as described, I should say,” Hayden offered, tactfully.

  “I do not mean to traduce the character of Sir William, for God knows I esteem, even love him, but he will lead you into the most harrowing dangers for little or no gain. Oxford and I have often been able to balance Sir William’s desire to fly into peril at every opportunity, but if you will support him, Hayden—well, I know you are a man of good judgement, which poor Sir William lacks, if I may say it. You will quickly see what he is about, I have no doubt.”

  “Does Admiral Caldwell not give him specific orders?”

  “Mmm. You must realise that Sir William has a . . . how shall I put this? An inflated idea of his intimacy with the King and of the Admiralty’s opinion of him as well. As a result, he feels orders are for lesser men and are not binding upon him.”

  “Lacking judgement in all things,” Hayden said.

  “I fear so. To be perfectly candid, if left to his own devices, he would kill us all in a few short weeks. Jones, of course, would remain unharmed, as his person is apparently proof against cannon balls. As you are new to the Barbados station, I thought it incumbent upon me to warn you—the man would take on a first rate with a pistol. He has neither judgement nor fear, nor even the common animal trait of self-preservation. Oxford and I attempt to dissuade him of his most absurd plans, and support those that might yield some benefit without the massacre of our crews. You are a very steady officer, Hayden, and I do hope we can count on your support in this endeavour. Jones requires very little encouragement to pursue the most ruinous exploits.”

  “I shall attempt to use whatever small influence I might have to pursue those ends which might see this war made shorter, if notably less glorious.”

  “And in this Oxford and I are your brothers. Jones, God love him, is rather like a great gun. He requires others to aim him at the enemy, otherwise he would be spending shot to subdue the ocean.”

  Tea, which Hayden thought of as particularly thin, bitter coffee, arrived and the conversation turned to other matters. Crawley was a good seaman and knew the local waters intimately. He promised to send his sailing master over to speak with Mr Barthe to be certain his charts displayed all the most recently discovered reefs and rocks—a very great kindness, in Hayden’s opinion.

  As Hayden rose to leave, Crawley addressed him again. “Please, Hayden, do not misunderstand me. I esteem Sir William greatly. I have never met a braver man, and I have known many a courageous soul. With but a little aid from those around him, he is a great weapon against our enemies. Let us wield him wisely.”

  As Hayden returned to his boat and the short row to his ship, he felt more than a little bemused. Jones had warned him about Oxford’s and Crawley’s predilection to choose profit over duty, then Crawley had warned him to be wary of Sir William’s desire for glory while disregarding common sense. He now had only to have Oxford come to his ship and warn him about the shortcomings of both Crawley and Jones and the circle would be complete. He was not, however, expecting that to happen. Hayden guessed that Crawley and Oxford were much of one mind with regards to both the matter of Sir William and how best to prosecute the war against the French.

  Hayden returned to the Themis, spoke at some length with his officers about the progress in refitting their ship for sea, and then retired to his cabin, sending his writer in search of Rosseau—Hayden’s cook.

  The Frenchman appeared a few moments later, wiping his hands on a square of cotton. “Is the capitaine displeased with his food?” he asked in French.

  “The captain is delighted with his food, Rosseau,” Hayden replied in the same language. “I commend you for it.”

  “You are very gracious, Capitaine.”

  “Have you been ashore, Rosseau?”

  “I have. Your steward and I have been procuring stores at your request and instruction.”

  “And I am most pleased to hear it. Did you encounter any of the French refugees while you were on land?”

  “A few servants, Capitaine, in the market. I did not speak with them.”

  “Have you ever heard of the Comte de Latendresse?”

  Rosseau considered this a moment and then shook his head. “I have not, but there were so many noblemen . . . before the revolution.”

  “Indeed there were. This particular comte is here, on Barbados, claiming to be a refugee from the revolution. I harbour some small suspicion that he is neither a comte nor a refugee.”

  “The Jacobins, Capitaine, they are very cunning. They place men—and women, too—into the midst of their enemies. In France, you never know whom to trust. I have seen brother betray brother.”

  “Perhaps that is true of Barbados as well. I am in need of a French native to . . . mingle with the French refugees. I would like to discover if this comte is a royalist, as he claims, or no comte at all and a Jacobin.”

  “You wish to make someone a spy?” Rosseau’s mouth turned down. “It could be very dangerous, Capitaine.”

  “That is why I would only accept a volunteer. I would never put a man into such a situation by order.”

  A protracted silence ensued, becoming increasingly
awkward.

  “I have been seen,” Rosseau explained, “coming and going from the ship. It is no secret who and what I am. To convince anyone I am a Jacobin—even a Jacobin spy . . . But let me go ashore and find out what I may about this man. I do not think there is any way a British captain’s chef would win his trust, but he must have servants . . .”

  “Do not put yourself in danger,” Hayden said firmly.

  “I am already in danger. The moment I agreed to speak to this comte’s servants I crossed a border into a lawless land. I will not pursue this matter at foolish risk to myself—assuming I can recognise the dangers in time. I am not like you, Capitaine—a warrior. I am merely a chef. And I am frightened.”

  Sixteen

  It had been with some difficulty that Hayden had parted from his new bride the previous evening to be aboard ship so that the anchor might be weighed at first light. It was the first time Hayden had gone off to sea—to war—since he had wed less than a fortnight previous, and he was not certain how his new bride would bear up to this turn of events.

  To his surprise, or perhaps disappointment, she had been surprisingly stoic, saying only that she believed God would protect him. Hayden, himself, was not so certain that God approved of this or any war, but then the Old Testament was rife with battles and the perceived intervention of the deity, so perhaps he was wrong on that score.

  Their orders were very simple—to cruise the French islands, as far north as twenty degrees, and to disrupt the enemy’s commerce wherever this could be managed. It was, to the disgust of Jones, yet another prize-hunting cruise with the single intention of enriching the officers involved—including the admiral. The crews would never complain, because they shared in all prize monies, and the officers seemed to consider it no more than their due for braving the Yellow Jack. Crawley and Oxford were entirely pleased and prepared to execute these orders with the highest possible degree of diligence.

  Both Hayden and Jones were of the opinion that their squadron’s efforts could have been much better directed in aid of the war effort, but Caldwell was yet the commander-in-chief of the Barbados station, so they had little say in the matter.

  The little squadron of four crack frigates had shaped their course to the north-north-west and had hauled their bowlines the moment the trade had found them. This course would allow them to cruise out of sight of the French islands while watching for ships approaching from the west or north.

  The four frigates stretched out in a line abreast, the distance between being about five English miles. The two most distant ships were then five leagues apart and out of sight to one another. Signals, however, passed quickly between the frigates and this formation allowed them to sweep the greatest area of ocean.

  Hayden had been surprised to learn that the frigate captains had not entered into an arrangement to share prize money equally, which was very common on such stations. Jones, of course, did not care much for prize money but had claimed Oxford and Crawley were far too concerned with lucre. It occurred to Hayden that Jones might not approve of such arrangements, as he was only there to carry war to the French, not to enrich himself. The more Hayden considered it, the more likely this explanation seemed.

  “Not a sail in sight that does not belong to a fisherman, sir,” came a voice from behind, interrupting his thoughts.

  Hayden stood at the windward rail on the quarterdeck—the captain’s exclusive few feet of deck. Archer, who had spoken, was by the skylight to Hayden’s cabin.

  “It is a sadly empty sea, Mr Archer. Let us hope it does not long remain so.”

  “It is said to be a rich cruising ground, Captain. I am certain it will not prove a disappointment.”

  Hayden beckoned the lieutenant near. “I have been meaning to enquire, Mr Archer: Where have our Africans gone?”

  The young officer’s eyes went a little wider. “You do not know, sir?”

  “I should not have asked if I had.”

  Archer looked decidedly uncomfortable of a sudden. “Why, Mrs Hayden took them under her wing, sir. They are to learn English and enter service until we work out what is to be done with them.”

  Hayden took hold of the rail. “They have entered service . . . in my home?”

  “So I have been informed, sir.” Archer had taken a step back and was not meeting his captain’s eye. “I suppose Mrs Hayden believed that servants were a matter for the lady of the house . . .”

  “Indeed. I should agree, especially so as I shall be at sea much of the time, but . . . we have saved these poor people from slavery . . . so that they might act as my servants?!”

  “Only very temporarily, sir.”

  “And who was it approached Mrs Hayden on this matter . . . without first speaking to me?”

  Archer looked positively alarmed at this question. “I—I do not know, sir.”

  “Perhaps someone else does. Pass the word for Mr Wickham.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The midshipman arrived a moment later, stuffing an arm into his coat as he did so, his colour high.

  “I do apologise, Captain,” Wickham began before Hayden could open his mouth to speak. “I did not for a moment think Mrs Hayden would fail to mention the matter to you.”

  “And how is it, Mr Wickham, that you spoke with my wife without me knowing?”

  “Mr Gould and myself encountered Mrs Hayden and a maid returning from the dressmaker. She very kindly asked what had brought us ashore, and we explained our predicament, sir—finding positions for our poor Africans, sir. Not for a moment did I expect her to offer to take them on, sir, or I would never have said a word. I should always have spoken to you first, sir.”

  “I believe you would, Mr Wickham. I do wish that someone had seen fit to inform me.”

  “I apologise again, Captain.”

  “On deck!” came the call from above. “Sail! Point off the larboard bow.”

  “Your apology is duly accepted. Lay aloft and see if you can descry this sail, if you please.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Hayden watched the boy scramble aloft, his injured hand slowing him only a little.

  The Africans were serving in his house! The Africans they had rescued from slavery! He could only imagine trying to explain that to a member of the anti-slavery league. He should look a fool in more ways than he cared to count. How he hoped this strange sail belonged to an enemy frigate so his mind would be forced to matters other than feeling utterly foolish.

  Hayden called for his glass and made his way forward. The lookout was not wrong: It was a sail and certainly no fisherman. Hayden stood at the rail, gazing through his glass while several of his officers lined the bulwark beside him, their own glasses fixed on the distant point.

  “Mr Archer,” Hayden said after a moment.

  “Sir?”

  “Shape our course to intercept that ship. We shall beat to quarters and signal Captain Jones that we have a strange sail in sight—north by west.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The ship fell off onto her new heading, with only minor shifting of yards and trimming of sails. The hands went quietly to their stations, barely controlled excitement apparent on every face. Signals were spread upon the deck and then hauled aloft, where they curled and fluttered in the enduring trade.

  They were not half of the hour upon their new course when Wickham called down from aloft.

  “On deck! They have smoked us, Captain. She is running, sir.”

  Hayden ordered the course altered to intercept their quarry, then paced the deck while the distant sail grew marginally larger by the hour. By early afternoon it was apparent that they would catch the strange ship up before darkness descended. It was also clear she was a transport.

  “On deck!” the lookout cried. “American flag at the mizzen, sir.”

  “Mr Archer!” Hayden called out to his first lieutenant.
“If she does not heave-to we will fire a shot across her bow. Have a boat ready to launch. I will send Mr Ransome to see if they have any English hands we might press.”

  “Aye, sir. I shall have the boat made ready.”

  Hayden alerted the other members of his squadron that the strange ship was an American transport and then watched them return to their previous courses, leaving him to catch them up later.

  Realising that the British frigate would overtake them before darkness, the transport hove-to, resigned to the inevitable. The master of the transport came to the rail and called out to Hayden as the Themis lost way a pistol shot to windward. “I am an American vessel engaged in legal trade, Captain!” he called out. “I protest, sir. Protest most bitterly at being searched on the open sea.”

  “I am under orders, sir,” Hayden replied. “Stand by to receive a boarding party. The more quickly you comply with my lieutenant’s requests, the more quickly you shall be on your way.”

  The British cutter went into the water and a party of marines, midshipmen, and hands, under the command of Lieutenant Ransome, was quickly alongside the American ship. The examination of papers, cargo, and crew took the better part of two hours, and it was all but dark when the British cutter was manned again. The two ships had drifted a little apart, but Hayden could see Ransome had pressed a few men out of the transport, for they were gathered in a resentful knot in the cutter’s bow.

  “It would appear we have some new members of our crew, sir,” Archer noted.

  “I do hope Ransome has found us some prime seamen, and not troublemakers.”

  The coxswain brought the boat alongside, and Hayden went forward through the gloom to see what Ransome had uncovered. The lieutenant came over the side, touched his hat to Hayden.

  “General cargo, sir.” He offered Hayden a sheet of paper. “Cotton and cotton goods, sir. Some lumber.”

  “You found us some recruits, I think?”