A Battle Won

by Sean Thomas Russell

  ‘As do I, Mr Gould. Even so, I try never to hesitate, for that moment of indecision might bring about the death of one of my crew mates, and I am more able to live with the death of a stranger, who wants me dead, than with the loss of one of my own people.’

  ‘I agree, sir, wholeheartedly.’

  ‘Then you mean to continue with the service?’

  ‘I do, sir.’

  Hayden was very surprised, but gratified. ‘I am glad to hear it, Mr Gould.’

  For a moment they stood gazing at the ship’s wake etched on the black ocean. Hayden had a brief feeling that perhaps he had done well by this young man.

  ‘May I ask you a question, Captain Hayden?’

  ‘Yes. Certainly.’

  ‘Do you think I might make a passable officer, one day?’

  ‘Far more than passable, Mr Gould. I think you shall make an excellent officer, if you continue to apply yourself as you have these past months.’

  ‘That is my intention, Captain. I want to stand my lieutenant’s examination upon the moment I am nineteen years.’

  ‘I am confident you will acquit yourself with honour, Mr Gould.’

  A throat was cleared behind and Hayden turned to find Freddy Madison standing two yards distant.

  ‘Begging your pardon, Captain, I have been sent to invite you to table, sir.’

  ‘Is it that hour, already?’ But apparently it was. ‘Go along, Mr Gould,’ Hayden said. ‘I wish to have a word with the officer of the watch.’

  When Gould and Madison disappeared below, Hayden turned back to the rail, gazing out into the liquid night. There was no pressing need to speak with the officer of the watch; Hayden had only wanted a moment alone. England on the morrow – if the wind held. For all the weeks of their return Hayden had been wondering at this sudden recall. With all that he had learned from Barthe, he thought it likely that he was being brought home to do nothing but linger upon the land, without a commission of any sort. He rather doubted that Stephens, his one ally in the Admiralty building, had arranged his return. When first Cotton had saddled him with the Themis, Hayden had been so resentful – a job-captain yet again – but now the thought of having her taken away was more than distressing. He knew the ship, officers and crew. All were more than he could hope for. He worried, too, about what would happen to the good men who had served so loyally through all that had occurred over the last few months. Would they suffer the same fate as he? Was it guilt by association?

  This return to England was so fraught with hopes and fears. There had been times on this voyage when he could not bear to be parted from Henrietta for another minute let alone several more weeks. He yearned for her. Dreamed of her, and thought of her constantly. How he hoped she might be in Plymouth visiting her aunt. If only.

  The ship’s bell rang, jarring Hayden from his thoughts. His shipmates awaited. Their last meal together before they were all cast to the wind.

  Despite their return to late winter, and the coolness of the night, the gunroom was a place both light and warm. When all were seated, and an unusually large body it was, Mr Smosh raised a glass.

  ‘To our successful voyage,’ he said.

  Barthe, who had begun to lift his glass – water, only – returned it to the table with such rapidity that it slopped over. Others followed, though with a little more decorum, leaving only the clergyman with a raised glass.

  ‘Oh, my,’ the clergyman muttered.

  ‘Mr Smosh,’ Barthe admonished him, ‘it is the worst luck to toast a successful voyage before the ship is safely in port.’

  Hawthorne laughed. ‘See what a collection of superstitious heathens you have fallen in among, Mr Smosh?’ The marine raised his glass. ‘I shall take a little wine with you, sir, for I believe we shall arrive just as safely whether we toast or not.’

  Uncertain quite what to do, but not wishing to offend the smiling marine, Smosh completed his toast with a sip of wine. He then retreated into an embarrassed silence.

  Hayden could not allow this. ‘You see, Mr Smosh, like General Paoli, Mr Hawthorne is a man of the Enlightenment. Not only does he know everything worth knowing about the latest advances in scientific agriculture, he has shed superstition altogether.’

  ‘And religion, too, I dare say,’ Wickham interjected.

  ‘Not in the least true,’ argued the sailing master, ‘Mr Hawthorne worships Venus.’

  Which statement was met with much laughter. A toast was drunk first to the goddess, and then to all the fair Venuses any of them had ever known or even seen, which was regarded as a suitable replacement for ‘Wives and Sweethearts’.

  The first course was served, and there was a brief moment of relative quiet.

  ‘Dr Griffiths,’ Hawthorne observed. ‘Are you well, sir? I have never seen you looking so melancholy, and as you are of a decidedly morose character, that is saying a great deal.’

  The doctor paused with a soup spoon hovering. ‘I was thinking that it is very likely that this will prove the last time we shall ever sail together, and though I mislike almost every man aboard more than words can express, I felt a strange sadness settle over me.’

  ‘It is the soup,’ someone offered.

  But the laughter was brief and forced.

  Hawthorne saved the silence. ‘I am quite sure you are not shut of us yet, Doctor. Captain Hayden shall be granted his post by the Lords of the Admiralty, the Themis shall be his, and off we shall all set on a cruise that will make us rich beyond the dreams of avarice.’ He smiled at the surgeon. ‘Is that the phrase, Doctor? “Beyond the dreams of avarice”?’

  ‘I believe it is, and I do hope you are correct.’

  ‘I still do not understand why Lord Hood did not grant you your post, Captain,’ Gould wondered innocently. For this he received a glare from Barthe.

  ‘Is this another superstition?’ Smosh asked, glancing from Barthe to Gould and then back. ‘One does not speculate about officers making their post?’

  ‘In truth, officers do little else,’ Archer informed him.

  When the small laughter this occasioned had died away, Hayden, in an odd mood, turned his attention to Mr Smosh. ‘And what of you, Mr Smosh? Will you continue in the service or have you seen enough of this life?’

  ‘Indeed, Captain, I have no other wish but to continue. I am rather embarrassed to admit so romantical a notion, but I have felt a growing attachment to the sea.’ Smosh’s smile made it difficult to know if he was being ironical. ‘I find seamen refreshingly candid, and if you add to that an opportunity to see the larger world…’

  ‘And get yourself blown to hell in the bargain,’ Hawthorne interjected, and then hastily added, ‘or heaven, in your particular case.’

  The clergyman’s smile disappeared. ‘I am in God’s hands, Mr Hawthorne. I accept whatever fate He decrees.’ The smile returned. ‘Like so many of my fellows in the church, I have decided to take up the study of natural philosophy. It is my intention to learn the names of all the birds and shrubs, the purpose of every creature in the sea and the species of every cloud. After I have made numerous important contributions, the opportunity for which shall be afforded by our travels, my name will, I am confident, be put forward for membership in the Royal Society. At which point you shall all have no choice but to treat me with the respect I am due.’

  ‘Mr Smosh,’ Griffiths declared, ‘you are held in the highest regard among the men of this ship. If not for Mr Ariss,’ he nodded to the surgeon’s mate, ‘Mr Gould and yourself the influenza would certainly have claimed more souls than it did. Many of us, I believe, were brought back from the precipice by your diligent ministrations.’

  There were nods and words of concurrence all around the table.

  Spoons descended and were raised in a strangely syncopated dance. A full topsail breeze heeled the ship and strained the shrouds – a banshee muttering – and a quartering sea rolled the ship slowly forth and back.

  The mood around the table that night was one Hayden had remarked
many times before, as voyages drew to a close. All of the men present anticipated a return to England and loved ones with the greatest possible joy, yet the feeling in the gunroom was underlain by sadness or perhaps regret. An end to the familiar. The beginning of the uncertain – England and the ambiguous relations and commerce of the landfaring.

  Landsmen were often heard to say, ‘out of my depth’. Seamen, Hayden had often thought, were like boats hauled up onto the land, removed from their element. ‘On the hard,’ the seamen said of such vessels. And that was the seafarer, too. And yet they longed for it… until they were about to raise the shores of fair England, when a cool, little breeze of distress touched them.

  As bowls and dishes from the first course were cleared, Hayden took the opportunity to raise his glass.

  ‘I should like to make a toast, though highly unpalatable to present company: I give you the finest group of officers I hope ever to serve with. Gentlemen.’ Hayden raised his glass to the men seated around the table.

  ‘It is a highly unpalatable toast,’ Hawthorne agreed, ‘for we cannot raise glasses to ourselves. So I must reply – to Captain Hayden, post or no, he brought the convoy through after Pool was shut of us, sank a frigate and a seventy-four, brought us out of Toulon when we were certain to be made prisoners, hauled guns to the mountaintops, and cut out as sharp a French frigate as you are likely to find.’

  ‘To Captain Hayden,’ the others seconded.

  This small ceremony had the effect of rendering Hayden unable to speak for a moment, such was the up-welling of feeling.

  A song was then sung, as melancholy as the mood.

  The meal came to an eventual, though regretful, conclusion, and as the officers streamed out, Hayden asked the sailing master meet him in the great cabin.

  When Barthe arrived, but a moment later, Hayden rose from his perch upon the gallery bench, and took two paces, gathering his thoughts.

  ‘Mr Barthe,’ Hayden began, turning towards the sailing master, seated by the table, his colour high, despite refraining from all spirits that evening, ‘may I ask you a question?’

  This request appeared to surprise the sailing master, who drew back with a look of some confusion. ‘Certainly, sir.’

  ‘Are you in possession of some knowledge regarding Lord Hood’s apparent decision not to grant me my post?’

  Barthe shifted uncomfortably in his chair and placed a hand on the edge of the table. ‘You know the service, Captain: there are always rumours, most unsubstantiated if not outright fabrication…’ His sentence trailed off.

  ‘I am certainly not asking you to break a confidence,’ Hayden stated quickly. ‘If you feel you cannot, in good faith, speak…’

  ‘It isn’t so much that, Captain – certainly I could never reveal how I came by this knowledge…’ Again the sailing master’s voice trailed away, and he sat for a moment, staring down at his knees. A slight nod of the head, and he looked up. ‘I cannot tell you if this is true, sir, but I was informed that Lord Hood would never grant you your post because he was aware that the Admiralty would not confirm it. He comprehended that this would occasion great embarrassment, from which he hoped to preserve you.’

  ‘Ah,’ Hayden breathed. ‘And why is it that the Admiralty would not confirm my appointment, I wonder? Other than the First Secretary, I have laboured under the belief that no one within the confines of that building was aware of my existence.’

  ‘It would seem, sir,’ Barthe replied very quietly, ‘that it is not the case. I do not know who, sir, but there is someone who is very familiar with the name “Hayden”. The rumour I heard, Captain, was that more than one man had his hopes pinned upon your dear mother, in her youth, but these hopes were dashed when your mother became attached to your father.’

  Hayden stopped utterly still. ‘Mr Barthe… if such an event did transpire it would have occurred over a quarter of a century ago. Disappointed hopes, and any resentment they might have engendered, could not persist for so long, nor can I believe that anyone would seek their revenge upon the child of this union; we are not Corsicans.’

  Barthe shrugged. ‘It would seem impossibly petty, and perhaps it is not true, but I was told that some gentleman within the Admiralty is determined to block your advancement. Lord Hood did all that he could for you, leaving you in command of the Themis. It is as though you are caught in the middle of a pushing match – one gentleman driving you down while another forces you up. The sum of all this is that you cannot move either way. One blocks you from gaining your post; one will not allow the Themis to be given to another. It is not the strangest story I have heard in my career.’

  For all of him, Hayden wanted to ask Barthe for a name, but knew that he could not. The sailing master had revealed more than he had wanted to as it was.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Barthe.’

  ‘I am terribly sorry, Captain,’ the sailing master replied, ‘to be the bearer of this news. And as I have said, I cannot vouch for the truth of it.’

  ‘Do not apologize. If it proves true, certainly it would explain many things that have occurred.’

  ‘I can tell you this, sir, the captains of the fleet – those who could see beyond their own noses – thought you a most enterprising officer. Our escape from Toulon was much discussed, and raising guns to the hilltops, in defiance of the army’s predictions, met with great approval.’

  ‘It would certainly please me to learn that I was finally overcoming the character that has been attached to me since I served under Hart.’

  ‘Oh, I think you have an excellent character among the captains of Lord Hood’s fleet, sir. Very good, indeed.’

  Unfortunately, Hayden could not forget Winter’s unkind words aboard the Victory. Certainly that man was not singing his praises – nor would be Pool. ‘Thank you, Mr Barthe. I do hope that proves true.’

  Barthe was about to rise, but stopped. ‘You are a very decisive officer, sir, if I may say so. It is a quality that could benefit us all, both ashore and afloat.’

  Hayden tried not to smile. ‘If you are referring to my reticence regarding certain affairs ashore, I can assure you that my mind is completely made up on that matter.’

  ‘I am very happy to hear it, sir. May I offer my congratulations?’

  ‘Not quite yet, Mr Barthe, and I would prefer you not to mention this to any other.’

  ‘Certainly not, sir.’

  ‘Good evening, then, Mr Barthe. We shall most likely be in Plymouth on the morrow and very happy Mrs Barthe and all of your daughters will be to see you home, I am sure.’

  ‘Not as happy as I shall be to see them, sir. Good night, Captain.’

  Hayden crossed to the gallery bench and sat down, gently, elbows on knees, fingertips of either hand touching. There it was. Someone within the Admiralty was blocking his rise in the service… because of disappointed hopes! But could such a thing be true? Could there be any man embittered and vindictive enough to punish the child of a woman who had injured him? The answer was, Hayden well knew, certainly there could. And perhaps it was not Hayden’s mother the man reserved his resentment for – but Hayden’s dead father. Was he not told, repeatedly, that he reminded people of his father?

  Hayden shook his head and laughed. It seemed utterly mad. Certainly, he would rather believe that someone blocked his way for private reasons than that he could not progress in the service because he was thought a blunderer. Many a man of limited ability told stories of lack of connexions or of enemies within the service who blocked his advancement. Did Hayden really want to join that pitiful company?

  Best to say nothing, but keep his ears open. He never paid much attention to rumours within the service. Gossip had always seemed to him to be the preoccupation of lesser minds. A terrible snobbery. It was time to begin listening a little more carefully. After all, he would have the well-being of a family to guard in the future. A little wave of anxiety washed through him at this thought. What if Henrietta had suffered a change of heart?

  He took
out all of her letters and spent the next hour reading them through from first to most recent, and when he was done, felt utterly convinced that her heart was more constant than sunrise. Every day her feelings would be renewed as bright as the day before. He hoped only that his would always shine as strongly.

  It was as though he had never left: Plymouth dripping under a sheen of English rain, a low groundswell unsettling the harbour. The blue Mediterranean sky and warm, windless afternoons seemed impossibly remote – memories of a summer long past when he had been young and in the admiral’s favour.

  Hayden was anxious to get ashore, now that all his doubt had been swept away. To this end, he had sent a note to Lady Hertle at the earliest permissible hour. It was his secret hope that Henrietta visited her aunt and that he could see her that very day and ask the question to which he was determined to have an answer. That he had hesitated at all now seemed impossibly foolish and he hoped that Henrietta had not been injured by his reluctance.

  Paperwork fanned across Hayden’s beautiful table, the quantity being far too great for his small writing desk. Both Mr Barthe’s log and his own journal lay open, as he composed his account to the Admiralty and letter to the Port Admiral. There were monies to be accounted for, stores to be tallied, requests to the Ordnance Board and the Victualling Board. The Hurt and Sick Board must be alerted to the injuries among Hayden’s crew, and the Navy Board could not be ignored. The Hurt and Sick Board had requested a detailed account of the influenza, which fortunately Griffiths would write; Hayden only need add a few observations and a signature. Then, of course, there was the First Secretary of the Navy, Mr Stephens, to be sent a missive. Hayden still did not know why he had been so quickly recalled to England and hoped that Philip Stephens might be inclined to intercede on his behalf. Mr Barthe’s news of the previous night seemed somewhat unlikely in the light of day, but Hayden could not discount it either.

  All his officers hoped for leave to visit loved ones and friends, and no one wanted to be left aboard to oversee the thousand details required to make the ship ready for sea again. Hayden counted himself among the latter. Hood might have left him in command of the Themis, but he was not so certain that his friends in the Admiralty, whoever they might be, would keep him in that position. Add to his uncertainties the want of a ship, and it appeared quite a list.