by Jason Vail
“Take it back,” Austin said.
“Take what back?”
“Don’t call me a fool.”
“You are a fool. This is just another of your stupid speculations.”
Austin stood up and threw his napkin on the table. “You will take that back!” he shouted.
“I will not.”
“I will have satisfaction then, damn you.”
The great cabin was suddenly very quiet. The other officers at table stared in open horror at what had just occurred. Even I had not seen this coming and it had blown up so quickly that I had not had a chance to intervene.
“Dueling is against the law in England,” I finally managed to say. “And even if it were not, we are confined to the ship. So there is nothing that can be done about this. You will have to wait until you get home.”
Crockett shot me a hard look and left the cabin without a word.
Austin looked around at the others for sympathy, but they avoided his eyes as if he had committed some terrible social faux pas. He said rather lamely, “You can’t make a revolution without guns or money or . . .”
He did not get to finish. Halevy of all people cut him off. “That will be enough, Mister Austin, if you please. Supper is already ruined.”
“So it is,” he said. And now he too went out.
Sunday afternoon, Austin ran up the gangway, his face flushed and excited.
“You are supposed to be dissembling, Mister Austin,” I said at the sight of him. “You’re not doing a very good job.”
“He’s got them!” Austin said. “He’s actually got them!”
None of us who heard this news needed to be told who “he” or “them” was.
“Only,” he said, deflating a little, “he won’t actually have possession until Wednesday or Thursday. And we’ll be gone by then.”
“Didn’t I tell you that London isn’t the only port in England?”
“Yes.”
“So we take the guns elsewhere.”
“And that would be?”
I had not really given the problem much thought, given the other things on my mind. But the answer fairly leaped into my consciousness. “Brighton.”
“Brighton? Where’s that?”
“It’s a fishing town on the Channel coast fifty miles due south of here.”
Sunday evening I had Austin and Crockett remain after supper.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “this is what you will do. After dark, the two of you and all our Rangers will row across the basin and be put ashore. Mister Austin will finish the negotiations for the muskets, arrange payment, and hire wagons. Mister Crockett, you and the Rangers will escort him and our investment to Brighton, to ensure that nothing untoward occurs on the way. It will take you three days on the road, I expect. Meanwhile I will sail Wasp around and meet you there.”
The two of them nodded without looking at each other
“I hesitate to send you both along on this,” I continued. “But I can see no other way to wrap up the business. You are both under naval discipline, and I now order you to put aside your quarrel. You may no longer be inclined to have anything to do with each other socially, but you will speak to each other from now on, at least on business.”
Both returned my gaze with sullen expressions.
“If you do not do as I order and you fail as a result, I will make sure that President Jackson knows. Do you understand?”
That got their attention. Neither of them wanted to displease Jackson. They both competed for his favor, you see. They nodded.
“Good, then,” I said. “Now, shake hands and make your preparations.”
Chapter 21
The Thames, Britain
December 1820
Dawn arrived on the day of our departure. A gray sky pressed down just over our heads, scattering a light but steady snowfall which dusted the yards, rigging and rails of all the ships about, giving them an almost festive appearance, and covering the most depressing aspects of the tenements that ringed the basin on Pennington Street and Mudlings Row as if someone had thrown a sheet upon them.
The crew went about the work of towing Wasp from the wharf and through the lock into the river. Those on board shivered while those straining at the oars in the boats rapidly shed their heavy coats, amid clouds of steam swirling about their heads.
We reached the river as the tide started its ebb, which began about 10:30, gathered in the boats and set topsails and jib, the slight northwest breeze hardly enough to fill them, and eased slowly down the Thames. A small crowd of children clad in rags watched us from the Cherry Garden stairs on the south side, probably waiting for the tide to recede so they could scavenge trash from the exposed river bottom.
We drifted past King’s Mills, sometimes hardly able to see shore for the snow; past Shadwell docks, where we heard terrific coughing from one of the smaller boats tied up there; around the bend where activity showed at Mores Ferry and a boat put out for the northern shore, holding for us in the stream until Wasp had passed; and into Limehouse Reach where the river ran due south to Deptford. The gap of Limehouse Hole, which led to the north basin of the West India Docks, emerged from the gloom to port. Then the curve of The Breach, an inlet of sorts where the turpentine works belched smoke, came into view just below the Hole, the stench of the place reaching even to us despite the contrary wind.
Willie stood at the taffrail, gazing down into the gentle swirls of our wake, bundled against the cold with a scarf about his chin. He had been uncharacteristically morose the last few days, and he seemed more so now.
“Sorry to be leaving?” I asked.
“No more than any other port,” he said.
“I thought you enjoyed London.” Actually, I had no idea if he had or not. Most of the men had done so, however, so I assumed the same for him, although he had never spoken about what he had done ashore.
“Well enough.”
“You should have. There’s more vice here than a man can enjoy in a lifetime. It will be a long time before you get back.”
“If I stay on this moldy bucket, that’s true.”
“Careful what you say. She can hear you.”
He glanced up at the mizzen as we slipped by the ships at Wells dock yard, some already beginning to lean as their keels settled into the mud. “Sorry, baby,” he muttered as he stroked the rail. “I didn’t mean that.”
I wondered what had made Willie so bitter. Normally, one did not inquire into the personal affairs of other men, but thinking it was mere woman trouble, the most common source of discomfort, I blurted discourteously, “What’s bothering you, Willie?”
“Nothing you can do anything about.”
“You have me worried, as if I should send for the parson.”
Willie smiled thinly. “I was hoping I would get a chance to see him.”
“Him who?”
“Tarleton.”
“Why on earth would you care about that?”
“No reason. He seems like an interesting figure.”
“An interesting figure? Don’t tell me you’ve been reading his memoires.”
“Austin gave them to me, yes.”
I was so astonished by this outlandish conversation that I stayed quiet. He filled the silence with, “He had something to do with my family . . . when we were in Carolina.”
From his tone, whatever that had been was something he did not want to talk about, so I did not pry any further. “We never would have had the chance, even if we’d tarried. He’s a hundred miles from here and unlikely to show up for another month. It isn’t the season yet.” Those in society, of which the Baron Tarleton was certainly one, did not begin arriving in London until after Christmas. All the foxes and the grouse in the countryside had not yet been killed, you see, or Parliament gathered at Westminster, which was their excuse for coming here.
“Yes,” Willie said. “So I heard.” He added, “Imagine how David would have reacted if I insisted that we stay for it. I’d have to fight a du
el with him instead of poor Stephen.”
“Let’s hope they don’t kill each other before they get to Brighton.”
“I was wondering why you’d send them off together. Hoping they’ll kiss and make up?”
“I might have thought that.”
“No, you aren’t devious enough.”
“All right. It was just a foolish mistake.”
He nodded. “Of course it was.”
“Just don’t put that in your memoires.”
“I shall give the request its due weight.”
Deptford loomed into view, marked by the imposing buildings of the Kings Yard, and here the river began another great curl that would take it back almost due north. Lights were visible in the windows of the Naval College at Greenwich at the height of the bend, with a few people hurrying about their business through the snowfall. As we entered the northern reach, the wind was such we had to take in the tops and make headway under the jib, headsails and spanker alone, hardly enough to get Wasp going. It was a long time before we arrived at the top of the reach, where the river turned sharply southeast, and we were able to unfurl the topsails again and make proper headway. The river ran more or less easterly now, and by four o’clock Canvey Island had come into view to larboard. All about we could see the marshes and mudflats that lined the river’s mouth.
By this time, about six hours after our departure, night was falling, the snow had ceased, and visibility had increased to several miles. The lookouts in the tops reported few sails ahead, since only the most reckless sailor attempted the Thames approaches in the dark, especially now that the tide had begun to rise again.
It wasn’t until then that something Admiral Cockburn said registered as being significant: “If you must exchange further pleasantries with Spanish vessels, please do so far from British waters. Particularly around the mouth of the Thames.” I had taken it as no more than warning me off fighting Spaniards in Britain’s vicinity. But it was more than that.
For Cockburn meant to warn me, not of English retribution, but of Spanish predators lurking just ahead. With luck, the Neptuno was still at London. But that meant the second frigate, the sloop, and the little schooner were out there waiting for us.
Our best bet was to plunge ahead and try to get by them during the night. Yet with a rising tide, it was very dangerous to grope our way in the dark through the shoals that lay ahead.
“Mister Hammond!” I said at the quartermaster. “Come due north! Mister Halevy! Back the fore and main tops! Topmen to the main and foretop yards! Leadsmen to the bow! Prepare to drop anchors, fore and aft!”
The North Sea
December 1820
We anchored close to shore in five fathoms at a place called Hole Haven just west of Canvey. That may sound like a lot of water, but according to the chart the ground shoaled abruptly not far from that spot to less than half a fathom at low tide. The men took in sail and I sent them to supper, while I paced the quarterdeck, considering what to do now.
No one was on deck but me, and for once, I felt completely alone, even though the muffled voices of the crew at supper filtered up from below, mingling with the groaning of the ship and the whisper of the wind. The three-quarter moon was only a vague glow in the sky, masked by low cloud. I sent my mind flying through the dark beyond the channels and shoals to see what the enemy was doing, but my vision was foggy, hampered by doubt and uncertainty.
Footsteps sounded behind me. I turned to see who had come to steal my solitude. It was Willie. He had brought my pipe from my cabin. He drew on it, causing the ember in the bowl to flare, which cast a shadow from his narrow nose. He handed me the pipe and a small tin. It lacked a cap and emitted the aroma of rum. I took the pipe and, reluctantly, the tin as well, while Willie sucked on his own pipe. We stood together a long time gazing toward the North Sea, which we could see only in our imaginations.
“Well,” he said, “are you going to hog it all?”
By it he meant the rum. I tried not to drink aboard ship. Once I started it was often hard to stop, for not only was the glow it delivered pleasurable, but it also drove away memories that I was glad not to confront when I was alone. But a captain who got drunk on ship set a very bad example.
“You will undo me,” I said.
“It will keep you warm. There isn’t enough there to make you light headed.”
“But there is more below.”
“I shall be your conscience.”
“You’ve tried that before.”
“I’ll try harder this time.”
I smiled and took a drink, grateful for the fire it brought to the throat and belly. I handed him the tin.
“I wonder if David and Austin have killed each other yet,” Willie said.
“No you don’t.”
“My, you’re testy tonight.”
“I did not sleep well.”
“Liar.”
He drank and handed the tin back. I sipped and swirled the tin, gauging how much remained and thought longingly of the barrels of whiskey below.
“What’s bothering you?” he asked as I passed the tin back.
“Well,” I said after a long pause, “we know where that third rate is. She shouldn’t be able to leave London until tomorrow noon, at least. That leaves the other three.”
“You’re worried about that?” he asked derisively, tilting his head back to drain the tin. He waved toward the east. “There’re out there, of course.”
“But where there is the question.”
“How so?”
“You’ve seen the chart,” I said. As the ship’s navigator he would have studied them as diligently as I had. “There are two passages through the sands at the mouth. One angles toward the northeast. It is the deeper and wider one and is the most frequently used as it is the safest. The second leads directly eastward, but is narrower. Both have to be covered if the Spaniards want to maintain a blockade. So, the question is where have they put the frigate and where the sloop?”
“It’s hard to think like a Spaniard,” he said, drawing on his pipe. “They are so different. You never know what they’ll do.” He tapped the pipe on the rail and sent the expended embers into the river. As he reloaded the pipe, he continued, “On the other hand, they are naval men. They will do the conventional thing. The frigate will be at the northern passage and the schooner at the south.”
“So you think that they will think I will be conventional too?”
“Well, you are a blockhead at times. And you’re English besides. The English are noted blockheads.”
“I am a Scot. We Scots are a devious bunch.”
“Your father was Scots, or so you claim anyway. That doesn’t make you a Scot. My father was — well, I am not one of his people either.”
“What are you, Willie?”
“I haven’t decided yet. A man of the sea.”
“So, which passage would you take?”
“You’re the captain, not me.”
“This is not helping.”
“If you were drunk, I would sound brilliant.”
“You haven’t said anything yet that remotely could be taken as brilliant, even by a drunkard.”
“Yes I have. I’ve told you were the frigate is.”
“It doesn’t matter, I suppose. Whichever one we meet, we have to get by her and lose her if we’re to meet our boys at Brighton. Any ideas how to do that?”
“Not my job. I just tell you how to get from here to there. It’s your job to figure out how to do it.”
I grunted in reply.
Willie put a hand on my shoulder. “They will expect you to be a blockhead. I’m sure of it.”
He turned away and went below.
Of course, it mattered a great deal which passage I chose. If we met the frigate, we might have to fight to get by her, and while I was convinced we could escape, we could not do so without damage, and that was something we could not afford.
The tide turned about five. I felt it by the way Wasp tugged at
her anchors. But it was not light enough for almost another two hours to get safely through the shoals that lurked beneath the waters. They were said to be sand and mud shoals, but I have known them to be hard and cruel and capable of ripping the bottom out of a ship. Not a few had been lost close to where Wasp skimmed along at a stately five knots, leaving hardly a wake behind. It is nerve wracking to sail the approaches to an unfamiliar river or port. I had sailed about the Thames as a midshipman, but then I had not been responsible for the ship and had, like every man aboard, simply assumed that the captain knew what he was doing and that we were safe. It never occurred to me at the time how much anxiety the captain had expended in what had seemed to me an easy sail. Fortunately, as we approached the River Medway, a coast merchant brig emerged from the river and entered the channel ahead of us, and I had Wasp follow her out.
The coastal brig took the south passage, what the charts called the Prince Channel, so we did too, as much for her guidance as for the hope that the schooner and not the frigate lay ahead. I also thought that Wasp might somehow be mistaken for just another merchant ship with that company, a vain thought perhaps, but the desperate grasp at the thinnest hope.
The blustery wind picked up and the brig set her main courses to take advantage of. I had Wasp follow suit but had to be careful in how we managed the yards that we did not overtake her, for Wasp was a far more nimble ship. Together under main courses and topsails, we plunged through a frothy sea, scattered cloud blowing away in shreds above our heads, a fine clean day.
By noon, Margate lay off the starboard rail, a low gray line in the distance.
We cleared the shoals and the brig turned northward.
Beyond the brig, a single sail was visible about five miles away. My gut trembled at the sight of it. I raised my glass for a look. My hands shook so that the view it afforded wavered, but after a few deep breaths they settled down. Willie came up and examined the ship, which was turning in our direction, through his own glass.