A Battle Won

by Sean Thomas Russell

  ‘As of an hour ago, that was my situation, Mr Barthe, but the Port Admiral had other ideas.’

  Archer came rushing to catch them up.

  ‘Bloody-minded Cotton?’ Barthe wondered, lumbering down the steps after Hayden.

  ‘You’ve met him, I see.’

  ‘Thank God, no. But he has a reputation.’

  Hayden opened the door into the gunroom and found Dr Griffiths sitting at the table, bent over an open book. The man removed his spectacles, a smile overspreading his narrow face. Quickly, he rose and cracked his skull cruelly against a beam.

  ‘Damn and blast!’ he cried, reaching up to clasp his scalp. He winced and laughed at the same time. ‘You would think I had never been below decks before. Mr Hayden… what a pleasure it is to find you entering our gunroom once again.’

  ‘A pleasure no greater than my own at finding you in your usual place. I thought you had all been sent ashore?’

  ‘The new captain wanted to be shut of us,’ Barthe answered, ‘but by all accounts he has gone up to London to lobby the Admiralty for a different ship. So we were all ordered back aboard, if you can believe it, our services not wanted elsewhere – such is the bad name we have acquired who served Captain Hart. I think the ship will swing here and rot for want of a captain.’

  ‘Rotting is not in her immediate future, Mr Barthe.’ Hayden reached inside his coat and removed the letters given him by the Port Admiral’s stealthy secretary. ‘My orders and commission. I am to take command and convey you all to the Mediterranean to join Lord Hood… at Toulon. We might gather all hands on the gundeck at the change of watch and I will read my commission.’ Hayden broke the seal on his orders and read. ‘Well, here is a little detail the admiral failed to convey… We are to act as convoy escort as far as Gibraltar.’

  ‘Is this not late in the season for a convoy?’Archer wondered, incredulous.

  ‘I have heard there is a convoy delayed in Tor Bay these six weeks past, owing to weather at first and then to one damned thing or another.’ Barthe shook his head as though this were clearly the result of some Admiralty incompetence.

  ‘That is the one,’ Hayden responded, referring to his orders. ‘Pool has command of it.’

  ‘Richard Pool? I know him, Mr Hayden,’ Barthe said, his mouth turning down. ‘There is not a more ambitious man in the fleet, I would venture, though I will confess he is a passable seaman.’

  ‘His vaunting ambition has landed him on convoy duty, it would seem. We are to carry a pair of passengers with us – parsons, if you can believe it – sent out to minister to Hood’s heathen hordes, apparently.’

  Archer laughed. ‘A pair of parsons for Hood’s heathen hordes. Very good, Mr Hayden.’

  ‘Mr Hayden is only in temporary command, Archer,’ Griffiths said, ‘no need to patronize him.’

  Archer laughed, and blushed.

  ‘Is there a man we might send to reliably collect my belongings and carry them aboard?’

  ‘Childers, sir.’

  ‘He will do nicely. We are for Tor Bay on the morning tide, Mr Barthe. How are we for stores and water?’

  ‘A sufficiency to see us all the way to Gibraltar and beyond, sir. We have shot and powder aplenty, our copper is clean and sails and rig are in near perfect order. We are a few hands short, sir, but that is a small matter.’ Barthe smiled. ‘We have almost all the men who sailed with us to France, Mr Hayden, for no other ship wanted them, not thinking that the mutineers had all gone to the hangman and the men remaining all seamen of the first water. The press has brought us some very good men – fishermen and merchant sailors. Oh, we’ve a passel of landsmen and boys but Mr Franks has been teaching them their ropes and they will soon pass for seamen.’

  ‘How fares Mr Franks?’

  ‘Hobbled, sir, and he goes aloft but slowly. There is nothing wrong with his arm, though; he can still wield a rattan with the best of them. He’ll manage.’

  ‘Are you first lieutenant, Mr Archer?’

  Archer, who had appeared to be contemplating other matters, shook himself like a schoolboy caught daydreaming. ‘No, sir. Saint-Denis is first; he is ashore at the moment. I am second and we have, as yet, no third. Without a captain we have not a single middy, though I am sure Hart’s former charges would all sign on with you in a moment, were there but time to alert them.’

  ‘We must find some reefers. Perhaps they might join us in Tor Bay.’ Hayden took out his watch and thumbed it open – not quite noon. ‘Will you have all the bills of lading, manifests, accounts, crew-lists etcetera put into my cabin, Mr Archer. And I will require a boat to carry me ashore for a dinner engagement. Can we find Lieutenant Saint-Denis? – there is much to do before we sail.’

  ‘I will send someone with Childers to track him down, Captain.’

  Hayden took Barthe and Franks with him, and went over the Themis from keel to truck, surveying all her gear, stores and armament, the crew’s quarters, sick-berth – in short, every aspect of the ship that pertained to her coming voyage, which was nearly everything. To Franks’s embarrassment, Hayden had the bosun renew a few ropes aloft, and guessed from the man’s reaction that neither his mates nor the crew were being quite honest with him about what work was needed high up in the rigging – taking advantage of the bosun’s difficulties with climbing.

  When this task was complete, and it required several hours, Hayden repaired to the captain’s cabin, only to find it already occupied, or at least containing another’s belongings.

  ‘It seems, Mr Archer, that someone inhabits my cabin.’

  ‘Saint-Denis, sir. I shall have his servant remove his belongings, immediately. My apologies, Mr Hayden.’

  ‘Mister Hayden should be addressed as “captain”, now, Mr Archer,’ Barthe reminded him slyly.

  ‘Of course,’ Archer said quickly. ‘I shall not make the mistake again.’

  ‘Not to worry, Mr Archer.’ Hayden laughed. ‘I have not grown used to it myself.’

  Servants were sent for and the first lieutenant’s belongings carried away, leaving Hayden walking about an empty cabin. Perseverance Gilhooly, Hayden’s former writer, appeared at that moment, leading two seamen who bore a small writing table.

  ‘Gilhooly!’ Hayden greeted the boy, known as ‘Perse’ to most. ‘Are you ready for a promotion to captain’s clerk? – or perhaps we should make that job-captain’s clerk.’

  ‘I am quite prepared to be a job-clerk, if that is my title, sir, and very pleased I am to see you back aboard.’

  ‘Thank you. There is a mass of paperwork to be got through and I intend to start at once. Are there chairs…? Ah, there they are.’ Two seamen bearing chairs entered at that moment.

  Barthe’s mate hurried in, pushing through the door past the exiting seamen. He placed a leather-bound book in the sailing master’s hand.

  Barthe held it up for Hayden to see. ‘Harbour log, if you please, Captain.’ He placed the book on Hayden’s desk.

  ‘Let us keep an eye on this one, Mr Barthe. I shouldn’t want it going astray.’

  ‘I don’t think we have any thieves aboard at the moment. It was never explained to me how my log suddenly reappeared at the court martial…’

  ‘Nor was it explained to me,’ Hayden said. Hayden turned the cover of Mr Barthe’s log so as not to meet the man’s eye. He was responsible for retrieving the stolen journal, but did not want it known. His hand stopped as he flipped a page, and he glanced up at the sailing master, who appeared more careworn than usual.

  ‘You were aboard for the hangings, Mr Barthe? This is your hand?’

  Barthe glanced down at his neat, four-square writing, his eyes closing for a second, the round face falling slack. ‘I was, sir. The new captain was too ill to attend. Mr Franks and… and I made the nooses. Saint-Denis oversaw the executions – and rather coolly, too – earning him the distrust of the crew. At least we were able to use men new to the ship to haul the ropes, sir, so they were strangers to the condemned. A small comfort.’
>
  ‘I am sorry you had to take part in that, Mr Barthe. It was a nasty business.’

  ‘A few men I did not mind seeing go up, sir. They abused us terribly after they took the ship, even to the point of killing men, but others were less guilty, if that is possible. The sight of them being hauled aloft will haunt me all my days, I fear.’

  ‘The price for having a conscience and a sense of duty.’

  The two seamen stood awkwardly a moment, and then Barthe, unaided by Hayden’s homilies, performed a quick bow. ‘I must leave you to your work, Captain.’ He retreated, his habitual rolling gate suddenly mechanical and stiff.

  Hayden gave his coat to a marine who had been assigned as his servant, forced himself down into a chair, and drew the first paper off the pile – the ship’s muster. There were names he recognized: Chettle, the carpenter, Childers, who had been Hart’s coxswain and would, temporarily, serve Hayden in the same capacity, or at least so Hayden assumed. Among the familiar, though, he found many names he did not know. A few of these were so evocative in their own right that he could almost put faces to them. Herald Huggins would certainly be a solid, no-nonsense seaman, Hayden was sure. Makepeace Bracegirdle was no doubt a god-fearing belt-and-braces type.

  Manifests, bills of lading, sick and hurt lists, watch and station bill, the harbour log. A veritable tidal wave of paper sent to overwhelm him, Hayden thought, but stuck with it until the pile had, one wretched sheet at a time, passed across the desk to the ‘signed and read’ side.

  Hayden sat back in his chair, lifted his forgotten coffee cup, and drained the cold remains. A glance at his watch confirmed what his stomach suggested – dinner was in the offing. He looked around Hart’s cabin, which was his temporarily and not for the first time. It seemed a post captain’s rank and the ship that he hoped would come with it remained very distant. Damn and blast Cotton for taking away the Kent – a position he felt was less than his due. And now he was a job-captain again. A bloody job-captain!

  A knock at the door.

  ‘Enter,’ Hayden called, trying not to let his anger and frustration boil over onto the innocents.

  The sentry stuck his head in. ‘Lieutenant Saint-Denis, if you please, sir.’

  ‘Send him in.’

  Saint-Denis swept in, hat tucked beneath his arm, a forced, not unpleasing, smile, manner too familiar. Above a high forehead, lank, yellow hair, thinning. A beautifully tailored uniform could not hide the narrow chest, angular shoulders or broad hips. Although only just Hayden’s senior, the lieutenant appeared to be rushing towards middle years, his handsome youth already behind him.

  ‘Mr Hayden, I cannot begin to tell you what pleasure it gives me to meet you.’ He waved a hand towards the empty chair. ‘May I?’ Then sat before Hayden could answer. ‘I fear I shall not be with you long and for that I apologize, but Captain Davies will no doubt send for me. I am very confident that the Admiralty will honour him with a ship of the line – perhaps a flagship – and he has vowed to take me with him; believes he cannot do without me, really. But I am sure you will find an adequate officer to take my place. Archer has not my years of experience nor, if I may say, aptitude, but might do… if you cannot find another.’

  ‘Yes,’ Hayden answered, returning to his own chair. ‘I dare say he might, but until such time as the Admiralty has instructed me otherwise you are still first lieutenant of the Themis and there is a great deal of preparation to complete before we can sail, which we shall do, weather and tide permitting, on the morrow.’

  Saint-Denis glanced away, turning a little in his chair so that he hung an elbow over the back, and then crossed one thigh over the other. ‘Certainly, Hayden, I shall give you every assistance within my power until my summons arrives. I am cognizant of your situation – lacking middies and without a full complement of officers.’ He raised a finger and wiggled it at the deck-head. ‘Perhaps I might find you some midshipmen among my acquaintance, though most of the families in my circle might think a career in the Navy beneath their progeny – unlike our own families, eh?’ He laughed. Hayden did not.

  ‘I shall choose my own midshipmen, Lieutenant, thank you. Would you find the purser and locate these stores?’ Hayden took up a list from the writing table and held it out. ‘I have a suspicion that some of our victuals have gone astray.’

  For a moment Saint-Denis made no move to take the list, but then rose and reluctantly retrieved the paper from Hayden. ‘As soon as I have changed my uniform.’ He made the slightest nod. ‘Mr Hayden.’ And retreated stiffly.

  As Saint-Denis passed out, Dr Griffiths leaned in. ‘Have you a moment, Captain?’

  ‘By all means.’

  Griffiths glanced over his shoulder at the retreating back of Saint-Denis and when the door was closed enquired quietly, a smile only half suppressed, ‘How went your interview with Saint-Denis?’

  ‘He is, I am informed, to be recalled by Captain Davies and shall grace us with his presence but a few hours.’ Hayden did not add that, clearly, searching for mislaid stores was beneath so gifted an officer.

  ‘I should not count upon his leaving,’ Griffiths said, almost a whisper. ‘I have heard a rumour, yet to be substantiated, that Davies wished to be shut of the man. None of the captain’s other chosen officers were sent aboard – only Saint-Denis – who has been directing daily missives to Davies, and to his father, with increasing desperation. No replies have been forthcoming.’

  A blast of wind produced an extended, wailing moan and rain pelted down on the deck overhead.

  ‘You mean to say I might not rid myself of the man?’

  ‘I fear it is so. I gather you cannot simply allow him to go off to London to join his patron?’

  ‘No. I’m afraid I cannot. Who is he, pray? He appears to believe himself a person of some consequence.’

  ‘So he does, and it would appear to be true, but there is something amiss in the world of Caspian Saint-Denis. Time, I suspect, will see the story come out.’ Griffiths glanced at the pile of papers on Hayden’s little desk. ‘I have been sent to invite you to dine in the gunroom this evening, but I am informed by Childers that you have a previous engagement?’

  ‘I fear it is true, Doctor. Another night, I hope?’

  ‘The first you are not spoken for. I have one other small problem that I hate to bring to your attention when I know you are so busy…’

  ‘It is my lot, I fear, to hear the problems of others. What is it, pray?’

  ‘My assistant has been away these six days attending to a private matter, but he is now a day overdue. I fear we might sail without him.’

  ‘Ariss?’

  ‘The very man.’

  ‘There is little we might do, Doctor. I am to sail for Tor Bay the moment weather permits. Any not aboard will have some small chance of finding us there, but I believe the convoy is to depart the moment this sou’east gale abates. You might send a letter appraising Ariss of this, but beyond that there is little either of us can do.’

  ‘I shall sit down and write immediately. Have a pleasant evening ashore, Captain.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor, but I do not look forward to bearing news of my impending absence – very likely for several months – to a certain lady.’

  Two

  ‘Has your ship come in, Captain?’ Henrietta asked as she entered the room. She smiled and flushed with pleasure, then even more so realizing how transparent this must be.

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’ Hayden felt a deep sense of embarrassment, almost humiliation, over what the Port Admiral had done to him that morning.

  ‘There is a mysterious answer,’ Elizabeth said, her face suddenly solemn, lovely head tilted to one side. ‘Pray, what do you mean, Captain Hayden?’

  Elizabeth and Henrietta continued to take singular pleasure from addressing him as ‘Captain’, though each and every time Hayden was reminded that he was only master and commander. And now he did not even have a ship of his own, information that it pained him to reveal.

&n
bsp; Hayden worked a little moisture into his mouth. ‘The Kent is still at sea and the Port Admiral has, with the blessing of the Admiralty, placed me in temporary command of the Themis. I am to escort a convoy to Gibraltar and then deliver the ship to Lord Hood, who will find her a captain from among his own officers.’

  Robert stifled a curse and turned away in anger and frustration.

  Henrietta looked confused by the reaction of Robert and Elizabeth, whose countenance had undergone a drastic change.

  ‘But is a frigate not more desirable than a sloop?’ she asked. ‘Is it not a post ship?’

  ‘It is, Miss Henrietta, but unfortunately I am only a job-captain… yet again, and my own ship will be given to some other.’ Hayden felt his face flush warm. ‘Once I have delivered the Themis to Hood I shall be without a ship, cooling my heels in Gibraltar, perhaps, until a vessel can be found to bear me home.’

  ‘Oh…’ Henrietta said softly. ‘Then you could be away for some… weeks?’

  ‘Months… I fear,’ Hayden almost whispered as though he might soften the blow.

  Henrietta’s eyes glistened and she turned her head away.

  ‘Come, Robert,’ Elizabeth said, beckoning to her husband, ‘I have something to show you… in the dining room. Please, excuse us.’

  Hayden and Henrietta stood by the fire. A gale of wind finding its way down the chimney sent a little puff of greyish smoke spinning out and ceiling-ward. A graceless silence prevailed for a moment, and then they both moved forward and their lips met, almost shyly. They had been stealing kisses for the past two days, as though already engaged.

  ‘Your disappointment is very great, I can see, but it will all come out right in the end,’ Henrietta whispered, overcoming her distress.

  ‘Yes, I should not let temporary setbacks affect my mood so.’ He took her hand.

  ‘Some months you say?’ she said softly.

  Hayden nodded, trying to read the look in her eyes.

  ‘Well…’ she said, glancing away from this questioning gaze.

  Neither knew what to say, but then, as was often the case, Henrietta rescued them from this troublesome silence.