Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead

by S. thomas Russell

  By midday, however, four days out from the Windward Channel, they reached the area Scrivener thought their best chance to intercept the Spanish frigates, and the area where they were most likely to find the French privateers Hayden prayed would be lying in wait with de Latendresse, Miguel, and his bride aboard.

  Hayden climbed to the crosstrees of the mainmast and surveyed the straits at every point of the compass. Not a single sail in the great expanse of blue. Dolphins passed in numbers, whales blew, and pilot fish swam lazily in the ship’s shadow, but men did not appear to venture into that small portion of the watery globe.

  Two sails did appear on the second day and proved to be a pair of Spanish transports. Hayden spoke both ships, but neither master had seen signs of either Spanish Navy vessels or French privateers, for which they were thankful. Taking Hayden’s warning seriously, they pressed on, doubly vigilant.

  It was the third day, at dawn, that Hayden woke to distant thunder. Bare feet came pounding down the ladder and the marine guard knocked immediately on the captain’s door, though Hayden had already rolled out of his cot and was pulling on clothes in the dark.

  More reports reached them before he mounted the deck, where he found Wickham climbing to the main-top with a glass slung over his back. Hardy was on watch and pointed immediately to the east as Hayden appeared.

  “There away, sir.”

  There were flashes on the horizon just then, and Hayden counted the seconds evenly.

  “Ten or twelve miles,” he pronounced. “Let us shape our course to the east.”

  Ransome appeared at that moment, still straightening his uniform.

  “Gunfire, due east, Mr Ransome,” Hayden informed him. “Call all hands. We will have breakfast and then beat to quarters. We shall be two hours or a little more coming up to them.”

  “Aye, sir.” Ransome went off, calling orders, as the schooner was brought onto a new course, yards shifted and sails trimmed to get the greatest possible speed out of their little ship.

  The wind shifted from north-east-by-north to east-north-east and every point between, keeping the sail handlers on the hop and the helmsman ever ready to work the ship a little to windward when the wind allowed, and tight on the wind when it did not.

  Hayden forced himself to eat a little breakfast, though afterwards he would not have been able to tell anyone what he had eaten. Coffee was welcomed like a dear friend, and though it gave an increased edge to his nerves, it sharpened the mind, which Hayden knew would be utterly necessary—for how he was going to take a more powerful ship with such a small crew was still a question he could not answer.

  Flashes and reports continued as the sky brightened and the sunrise spread over the sea. The flashes were then largely obscured by the growing light, but the reports continued for three quarters of the hour and then abruptly and ominously ceased. The quiet was more disturbing than the sounds of battle. Smoke, however, stained the horizon, rising up and spreading, before being swept down the wind. The smell of it reached them just as Wickham, astride the topsail yard, called out that he could see the tops of masts.

  Hayden took his glass and climbed the foremast shrouds to perch with Wickham on the yard. The impossible blue of the tropical sea spread out around them, and there, to the east, the masts could be seen in a mass so that the number of ships could not be counted.

  Hulls began to float up, backlit by the morning sun.

  “I make it six, Captain,” Wickham pronounced with some certainty.

  “Six?” Hayden was more than a little surprised. “Are there frigates?”

  Wickham did not answer immediately, but gazed a moment. “I cannot say, sir. It would appear some ships are alongside others, but some are behind and I cannot make them out clearly. I do see Spanish colours, though . . . of that I am certain.”

  The little schooner bore on towards the gathering of more powerful ships, and Hayden could almost feel the trepidation of his crew emanating up from the deck below and growing by the moment. The schooner was, undoubtedly, swifter than any of the vessels lying before them, but winds were never even across the face of the sea and many a slower vessel had been carried up to one more swift by favour of the winds.

  As they sailed on, the scene before them began to take on substance and clarity.

  “Two frigates, sir,” Wickham announced after a time. “Four other ships—converted transports, perhaps.”

  “Our privateers,” Hayden said.

  “Yes, and they are the ships flying Spanish colours, sir.”

  “Which I should have guessed. No doubt they were masquerading as a small Spanish convoy. I wonder if they had a private signal to put the frigate captains off their guard and draw their vessels near.” Hayden leaned over so that he might see the deck below.

  “Mr Ransome! It would appear we have found our frigates and our privateers. Let us lay-to on the starboard tack and see what they will do next.”

  Ransome acknowledged this and began calling out orders to the sail handlers and helmsman. In a moment the ship lay-to under reduced canvas, less than a league distant from the gathering of ships.

  Hayden gazed through his glass until his arms grew tired.

  “Will they move bullion from one ship to another?” Wickham wondered.

  “I cannot imagine they would,” Hayden replied. “It would be a difficult thing to manage at sea, and would you not rather have your treasure aboard the most powerful ship?” He gazed through his glass a moment more. “Tell me, Wickham, if you believe they transfer more prisoners off one frigate than they do from the other.”

  “Aye, sir.” A brief pause. “You believe they will not risk Spanish prisoners retaking the frigate carrying the bullion, sir, and will take the crew off?”

  “Assuming only one frigate carries silver . . . It might be both.”

  An hour the two sat upon the yard, observing the distant ships and the boats passing between them constantly, like bees among flowers.

  “Do you see the most southerly frigate, Captain?”

  “With her stern to us?”

  “Yes, sir, and no mizzen topmast. I believe they remove the most men from her, sir, and carry them to the other frigate and one of the privateer ships.”

  Hayden stared into the little lens of his glass a moment more, watching the boats, unable to be certain Wickham was right—but then, the midshipman’s eyes often proved better than his.

  “Sir, at the stern rail of the ship without the topmast . . . do you see, sir? All in white? Is that not a woman, sir, in a dress?”

  Hayden brought his glass to the ship Wickham named, and there he could make out several figures, some moving and others stationary. Among them, still as morning air, Hayden imagined he could make out the form of a woman dressed all in white, and he felt, as absurd as it might seem, that she gazed back towards the little schooner that bore her husband—for what other woman might this be? De Latendresse had left his own “countess” and family on Barbados—abandoned them, Hayden guessed. Could this be anyone but Angelita?

  Hayden lowered his glass reluctantly. “At least she is dressed as a woman this time,” he said.

  Wickham lowered his own glass. “Well, we have found them, sir,” he addressed his captain quietly. “What now shall we do?”

  Hayden glanced down at the deck below and aft. The cutter and barge, employed so recently on the isle of Guadeloupe and in Wickham’s escape from that island, sat upon the deck, the cutter resting inside its larger sister.

  “Do you remember, Wickham, whose idea it was to paint our boats black?”

  “I confess, sir, I do not.”

  “I cannot remember, myself, but whoever it was has my eternal admiration.”

  The privateers were several hours in transferring prisoners and repairing damage to the ships and their rigs. Hayden expected to see them sway up a mizzen topmast to replace the
spar the frigate had lost, but this did not occur; the frigate would almost certainly be faster than the converted transports even without the topmast and the sails that could be set upon it.

  About the time the sun reached its zenith, the little convoy got underway and shaped its course towards the Santaren Channel. Hayden kept his schooner some distance in the wake of the privateers and their prizes so that the ships were clearly visible from the masthead. He wondered if de Latendresse and Miguel guessed who followed in their wake. The loss of the schooner would have been news on Guadeloupe—everyone would have known the British had taken her—but exactly which British officer might not have been generally known.

  “So, where do you believe they are headed now, Captain?” Hawthorne asked.

  The two men stood upon the forecastle, gazing after the ships they followed.

  “I thought they might sail directly to an American port, but it would appear I was wrong on that count. A French port, therefore, must be the answer. The privateers must have investors who do not want to see the treasure they have captured divided up out of their sight. Guadeloupe is as good a guess as any.”

  “Guadeloupe is some distance off . . .”

  “Yes, and once we reach an island populated by Frenchmen, the odds swing drastically in their favour.”

  “So they would rise from ‘merely impossible’ to ‘utterly impossible’?”

  “Why, Mr Hawthorne, I have never known you to be such a pessimist. I should think they would not alter any more than from ‘merely impossible’ to only ‘somewhat more impossible.’”

  “If I may say so, Captain, I believe you are being overly optimistic.”

  “Perhaps so, but my heart is more involved in this matter than your own.”

  Neither man spoke a moment, and then Hayden broke the silence. “May I ask you a favour, Mr Hawthorne?”

  “Of course, sir. What might I do for you?”

  “If you believe I am making a particularly foolish decision, clouded by my feelings in this matter, would you be so kind as to bring this to my attention?”

  Hawthorne did not immediately answer, and then he replied, “I must tell you, Captain, I am more of a landsman than many comprehend. I might not possess the knowledge to judge your decisions. I should confess that on more than one occasion I have wondered at the . . . prudence of some of the enterprises you have undertaken, and in almost every case I was proven to be wrong and you in the right.”

  “But Mr Hawthorne, you are sensible of the mood of my officers and can judge for yourself when they are wary of some enterprise I am proposing.”

  “Perhaps, sir, but your officers have come to believe in your judgement and abilities to a degree that, for reasons of modesty, you might not believe. Many’s the time you have weighed the odds to a nicety and succeeded in some enterprise that none of them would ever have dared.”

  “You would think that losing my ship to the French, not so long ago, would have shaken their confidence more than a little.”

  “Everyone agreed that, if not for fog and a bit of bad luck, we would have slipped away, sir.”

  Hayden let this pass without comment; in truth, he wondered if he had not made several errors in judgement which had led to that particular calamity.

  Hawthorne nodded, his eye fixed on the sea before them. “If you wish it, Captain, I will endeavour to speak if I believe your emotions are clouding your judgement.”

  “Thank you, Mr Hawthorne.”

  “I am honoured, Captain Hayden, that you would ask me.”

  The matter, then, was left to silence.

  Twenty-nine

  Two men had been lost to the Yellow Jack, and the captain and two boat crews were prisoners of the French, but beyond those not insignificant calamities, Archer was beginning to count their cruise a success. The cruising grounds had proven richer than anyone expected, and though they had not taken a single prize that, on its own, would bring a man wealth, smaller prizes had been numerous enough that officers and hands were well content.

  The weather had been excellent, the cold, English winter a broad ocean away. The West Indies, Archer had begun to think, could be something of a paradise but for the Yellow Jack and the war.

  The hands worked about the ship, kept busy by the officers, and the watch below gathered here and there in the shade of the sails to discuss how best to squander their prize money upon return to England’s shores.

  Along the deck, Archer saw Mr Barthe staring aloft and speaking to the bosun, who nodded agreeably. The two had become a society of mutual respect in the last months. Archer missed poor, unlucky Franks, but it was a great comfort to have such a capable bosun. Barthe spotted the acting captain as he approached and touched his hat.

  “Captain Archer,” he said, with barely a trace of irony.

  “Mr Barthe. Do we have trouble aloft?”

  “Chafe, Captain,” Barthe informed him. “Nothing a properly positioned thrummed mat will not address.”

  “Chafe has become like a troublesome relative, one who constantly requires a little propping up, a little fluffing, to keep her happy.”

  “On deck!” came a deep-voiced cry from aloft. “Sail, south-by-east.”

  “Can you make her out, Adams?” Archer called to the lookout, chafe and thrummed mats forgotten.

  “A two-sticker, sir. Schooner, looks like. Sailing north, Mr . . . Captain Archer.”

  “Let us shape our course to intercept her,” Archer said to the sailing master.

  “Aye, sir.”

  Archer walked aft and called for his glass, which soon revealed the smudge of sail, heeled well over and showing no signs of running.

  “They must have seen us by now,” he muttered.

  “She looks very swift, sir,” Maxwell observed.

  “Indeed she does. Which is why she shows no fear of us. Despite her truncated length, we would never catch her close on the wind, and her master appears to know it.”

  “Could she not be British, Captain?”

  “It is not impossible, though here . . . unlikely. We shall see. We will show her our colours if it appears she might outrun us.”

  The ensign was arranged on deck and made ready to send aloft. It was entirely possible this little ship was Spanish or a neutral—American ships plied these waters in great numbers, and ships from the British colonies farther north traded here as well.

  The two vessels approached each other, and when the schooner was distant some mile and a quarter, she sent British colours aloft and made the private signal. Archer ordered this answered and hauled their own ensign aloft. Within half an hour, the two ships hove-to within hailing distance and the lieutenant in command of the smaller ship swung out a boat and came aboard the Themis. Archer recognised him from Barbados, a thin, young officer with an oddly stooped carriage for someone so young.

  “I have orders for you from Admiral Caldwell,” he said, after pleasantries had been exchanged.

  “For Captain Hayden, you mean,” Archer responded.

  “No, sir, for you. Captain Hayden sailed from Barbados several days ago, and I have been searching for you or Sir William . . . or any of the frigate captains ever since.”

  “Captain Hayden was not captured?” Mr Barthe interjected.

  “No. He managed to escape Guadeloupe in a captured French schooner, with most of the men accompanying him, I am told. Caldwell sent him off in this schooner with orders I was not privy to.” He handed a sealed letter to Archer. “And I was sent to deliver these to Sir William if possible, but if not to any commander of a British frigate.”

  “Well, you have managed that,” Archer replied. “What are you to do now?”

  “I shall continue to look for Sir William for a few more days and then return to Bridgetown.” The young man lowered his voice. “Before I sailed, a rumour had begun to circulate that Mrs Hayden
had been abducted by her brother and perhaps a French spy.”

  “That sounds very dramatic,” Archer said. “Was there any truth to it?”

  The young officer shrugged. “I cannot say, sir, but the rumour was believed to have begun with the admiral’s servants.”

  For a moment the three men stood awkwardly silent.

  “Have you any idea where I might find Sir William or the other frigates?”

  “Cruising east of the French islands. They planned to watch the passes between.”

  The lieutenant nodded. “I should be about my business, Captain, if you have no further need of me?”

  “By all means. And good luck to you.”

  A few moments later, Barthe and Archer retreated to the captain’s cabin and Archer opened the admiral’s orders, which were addressed to Sir William Jones, Captains Oxford and Crowley, and himself.

  I have discovered, beyond reasonable doubt, that the Comte de Latendresse is not a loyal ally of our king and adherent to the royalist cause, as we believed, but is, in truth, a Jacobin spy who has played us false. De Latendresse, through the agency of Don Miguel Campillo, has come into possession of information regarding a Spanish frigate sailing from Vera Cruz to Spain bearing silver. Captain Hayden and I believe that de Latendresse and Campillo have engaged ships to intercept this frigate belonging to our Spanish allies, very likely in the New Channel of the Bahamas. I have dispatched Captain Hayden in a schooner to find and warn the Spanish of this plot. As there is a very real danger that he will not intercept the Spanish vessels or that he will arrive too late, you are to set out immediately for these waters or towards any place that subsequent intelligence would indicate, to warn our allies or protect these ships from predation by enemy vessels. If you find yourself in company with Captain Hayden you are to place yourself under his command until such time as he sees fit to release you.

  Archer passed the letter to Barthe, who stood fidgeting nearby. He took it to the window and angled it to the light, his face growing more serious with each sentence.