'Boat ahoy!' came to them out of the darkness, the accents unmistakably, imperiously English. 'Lie to upon the instant or I shall blow you to Kingdom Come!'
'It's that one-handed bean-pole ...'
'It is the Kestrel…'
'I told you it was,' Fisher exclaimed gleefully.
'Well, tell that bloody lieutenant, before he shoots us!'
'Boat from Andromeda, permission to come aboard!'
'Come under my lee!'
They could see the irregular quadrilateral shape of the cutter's mainsail and the two fore triangles of her jib and staysail as she ghosted in towards the narrows and the Vikkenfiord.
'Put about, sir,' called Fisher, 'Andromeda's, towing out astern of us! There's a big Danish frigate and all sorts inside ...'
They were alongside now, a rope snaked out of the cutter's chains to take their painter, and the next moment they were towing alongside.
'Come aboard and report.'
Fisher scrambled up and over the cutter's side. 'Midshipman Richard Fisher, sir, from the frigate Andromeda, Nathaniel Drinkwater commanding.'
'He's right enough, Mr Quil'ampton, there's a frigate comin' up ahead.'
'Put her about, Mr Frey…'
'What's all that noise there?' The voice of Lieutenant Huke boomed into their deliberations as he shouted from Andromeda's, knightheads, his voice amplified by a speaking trumpet and echoing about in the stillness.
Quilhampton cupped his good hand about his mouth: 'Cutter Kestrel, Lieutenant Quilhampton commanding!' 'Follow me out, Mr Q and come aboard for orders.' 'That's Captain Drinkwater's voice,' advised Fisher. 'I know that.'
'We lay to under the trys'l, and when the weather moderated we made a good stellar observation and laid a course for the rendezvous. I guessed you couldn't afford to linger and that you had pressed on when we saw a man-o'-war's t'gallants away to the eastward, so we cracked on, thinking it was you.'
'That must have been the Odin,' observed Huke.
'Yes. Well, anyway, it was lucky we saw her, for it was just a question of watching her vanish. Frey, my first luff,' he explained for Huke's benefit, 'took a bearing. We ran down it and here we are. I thought we were heading for a wall of rock and was just about to put about when your young midshipmite hove out of the darkness.'
'Well, I am damnably glad to see you, James. Forgive my lack of hospitality, but we've been cleared for action for some time now. To be truthful, I didn't expect to see you again, first on your own account, and then on ours. We've just taken a drubbing.'
Drinkwater explained the day's events.
'So we've the goods, the Dane who brought them, and the Yankees who are going to tranship them to North America all boxed up in the Vikkenfiord, eh?' Quilhampton said with an air of satisfaction, when Drinkwater had finished.
'That's certainly an optimistic view of the tactical situation,' remarked Drinkwater drily.
'Well, they might think they've the measure of you, but they don't know I'm here yet.' Quilhampton grinned enthusiastically.
'True, James, true.'
'It's certainly food for thought,' said Huke. 'Will you be able to beat out behind us?'
'Yes. She ghosts in light airs and she's fitted with centre-plates. She can point much closer to the wind than you.'
'Gentlemen,' said Drinkwater, 'we will lie to now, until daylight. Recover the boats, Mr Huke, as soon as we are clear of danger. Then let us get an hour or two's sleep. Tomorrow we will see what we can accomplish. It will be the first of the month, I believe.'
"Tis already that, sir.'
Lieutenant Huke had conceived a liking for his odd and unorthodox captain. During the crazy interlude of the great dousing Huke had noticed, as had many others, that in addition to the faint facial scar and the powder burns on one eyelid, Captain Drinkwater was disfigured by a lop-sided right shoulder and a mass of scar tissue which ran down his right arm. These were the legacy of two wounds, one acquired in a dark alleyway in the year 1797, at the time of the great mutiny, the other the result of an enemy shell-burst off Boulogne, four years later. Such marks earned their bearer a measure of respect, irrespective of rank. In a post-captain they bespoke a seasoned man.
But, on that night and for the first time, Thomas Huke considered Captain Drinkwater's conduct to be, if not reprehensible, at the very least most unwise, an error of judgement. The first lieutenant felt that the matter of Malaburn could not be left until the morning.
He excused the captain on the grounds that Drinkwater did not know the man, despite the claims he had made about their escape from gaol and extraordinary migration north. Drinkwater had not had his suspicions aroused as had Huke. As an experienced first lieutenant Huke had acquired an instinct for trouble-makers, sea-lawyers and the disobedient. There were attitudes such men struck, inflections they used when spoken to, places in which they appeared unaccountably and times when they were late in mustering. A man might do such things once or twice in all innocence, but persistent offenders were almost always revealed as falling into one or other of these troublesome categories. Malaburn had been one such, conspicuous from the first day he had come aboard at Leith.
'Provoked me,' Mr Beavis had reported back in Leith Road. The master's mate had been in charge of one of the ship's three press-gangs sent to comb the ale-houses and brothels of Leith and Granton for extra hands a few days before Huke struck 'lucky' and obtained what he wanted from the merchantman. 'Almost dared me to take him,' Beavis had expanded, 'but, like most braggarts, gave in the moment we got a-hold of him.'
There seemed little enough in the remark at the time, except to draw Lieutenant Huke's attention to the man as he was sworn in. And although Malaburn had overplayed his hand a trifle in his eagerness to get himself aboard His Majesty's frigate Andromeda, he had succeeded in fooling them all. Until, that is, Captain Drinkwater made his mysterious revelation, alluding to the curious desire of the Americans to be pressed. The assertion fitted not just the group lifted from the merchantman, but also Malaburn.
Thus it was that Lieutenant Thomas Huke decided not to allow Malaburn to elude his just deserts an hour longer and why he passed word to Sergeant Danks to muster half a dozen of his men at the main capstan.
Drinkwater had not wished to raise a hue and cry for the one member of the ship's company unaccounted for after the action with the Odin for a number of reasons. The first was that, as far as he could determine, few people as yet realized that the letting go of the anchor had been a deliberate act, rather than an accidental misfortune. The anchor had been cleared away ready for use as they closed the land, a cable bent and seized on to it. It was possible that a chance shot had carried away the lashing and it had fallen from the fore-chains. Old seamen could tell countless tales of odder circumstances; of balls hitting cannon muzzles with such exactitude that they opened them like the petals of flowers; of a shot which had destroyed the single remaining live pig being fattened for an unpopular captain, and so forth.
More important, the conspicuous arrest of the handful of men hiding on the heads had looked like the rounding up of a group of yellow-bellies, an untruth given credibility by the fact that the men were newcomers who had kept themselves to themselves and failed to court popularity with their shipmates. Their reason for doing so was now apparent to those in the know, but had not yet permeated through the ship. Doubtless the truth would get out in due course, but Drinkwater wanted his men rested, not seething with vengeful discontent that the men now clapped in the bilboes as cowards had tried to deliver them all into the hands of the enemy.
From what he could glean, his prisoners, having done what they could to incommode the British frigate, were to have escaped to the American ships in the fiord. When the Danish ship appeared, Malaburn had changed the plan, seeing a greater chance of success in the overwhelming of the Andromeda by the Odin. Drinkwater also wondered whether Malaburn had thought the British ship was retreating, that she had given up hope of cutting out the Yankees from under the D
anish guns in the fort, and that the sudden appearance of the Odin gave him an opportunity both to destroy the British ship and to secure the escape of himself and his fellow conspirators before it was too late. It was, after all, a risky and uncertain business, being pressed into the service of King George.
If that was how Malaburn's mind had construed the day's events, he had demonstrated a commendable adaptability. Once the Andromeda had been brought to her anchor, confusion reigned upon her decks and her officers were distracted with the business of resisting the attack of the Odin. Drinkwater imagined Malaburn's party were hoping they could soon escape by getting aboard the Danish ship as she dropped alongside to board, and giving themselves up.
Whatever their expectations, and fear of a return to incarceration in Dartmoor must have been a powerful motive, their leader had been a man of determination, and if Drinkwater did not wish to stir his ship up that night, he did not wish to lose her either. What he feared most was an incendiary attack. A lone man with flint and steel could set fire to the frigate. For all her mildewed damp, there were combustibles enough to set Andromeda ablaze like a torch. Drinkwater had seen the fearful sight of ships burning and exploding and the thought made him shudder.
Malaburn, languishing in the dark recesses of the hold, was unlikely to cut his own throat with two of his countrymens' privateers in the offing. Why else had he preserved himself? In the morning they would winkle him out. With that thought, Drinkwater heaved himself into his cot and pulled the sheet and blankets over his shoulders. Let Malaburn stew in his own juice, believing, perhaps, that no one had noticed his absence.
Drinkwater's face was already scabbed, a thick crust which rasped uncomfortably on the pillow. The last thing he saw in his mind's eye was a spinning epaulette which diminished in size as it faded into the far, far distance.
'Pistols and bayonets,' Huke whispered, 'there's no room for muskets. Cold steel unless he fires, and only shoot if you are sure of hitting him. Take my word he's not just a mutinous dog, he's an enemy, a Yankee. He is aboard to make mischief and ensure this ship strikes to either those privateers we saw at anchor or that blasted Dane. So, if you can't seize him, and he resists...' Huke made an unpleasant, terminal squawk and drew his forefinger across his throat. 'D'you understand?'
A murmur of assent went round the little group of marines. They had a comrade to avenge. Four lanterns stood on the deck at their feet, lighting their white shirts and breeches. With their braces over their shoulders in place of cross-belts the pale ghostly figures had appeared in the gloom of the orlop to arouse the curiosity of the lesser officers quartered there. Huke had sent the inquisitive back into their tiny cabins with a sharp word to discourage their interest.
'Very well. You two go with Sar'nt Danks up the larboard side, you and you, with me to starboard.' Huke nodded and Danks bent to the padlock holding the securing bar over the aftermost grating which led down into the hold. Huke drew his own hanger, laid it on the deck and quickly rid himself of his baldric and coat. Then he recovered his sword, drew a pistol from his belt and, as Danks lifted the grating, led the party down the ladder into the hold.
On the quarterdeck, Lieutenant Mosse had the watch. He was dog-tired and would be glad to get below at midnight, but he was not insensible to the fact that, even under the easy pressure of the main and fore topsail, and a single jib, the Andromeda had edged closer inshore than he liked. With an effort he bestirred himself, ordered the helm put over and the yards trimmed. As the order was passed, he was aware of groans of reluctance, but the watch mustered at their posts, the yards swung in their slings, trusses and parrels, and Andromeda headed out to sea.
Shortly before the watch below was due to be called, when the minutes dragged and it seemed that the march of time had slowed beyond human endurance, the tired Mosse and his somnolent watch were jerked wide-awake. What sounded like a muffled cry came to them. Its source seemed to be some way away and someone said it sounded as though it had come from the Kestrel, which had last showed the pale shape of her sail two miles to the south-east. Then a jacketless marine arose from the after companion with the shocking speed of a jack-in-the-box.
'Sir! Mr Huke's hurt! In the hold! There's bloody hell on down there!'
As he had raced up from the hold, the distraught soldier had raised the alarm throughout the ship. The curious officers quartered in the orlop, led by Mr Beavis, had not gone quietly to bed, but had remained clustered by the open grating. The sudden cry had stunned them, then there was a brief hiatus and the marines emerged, with Danks throwing the grating down behind him and thrusting the padlock through the hasp on the securing bar. The sudden volley of questions wakened the midshipmen and the other soldiers nearby. One of the marines nursed a badly gashed leg, another was sent into the berth deck to find Kennedy, a third to the quarterdeck. This man raised the alarm at each sentinel post, including the one outside the captain's cabin, and this sentry, aware only that the frigate was suddenly buzzing with an almost palpable anxiety, called the captain.
Drinkwater had fallen into the deep sleep of exhaustion from which he was unnaturally wrenched. Instinctively he pulled on his coat and went on deck. After five minutes of total confusion he learned that Huke had taken a party of marines into the hold to 'deal with Malaburn'.
With great difficulty he suppressed the oath welling in his throat. He was ready to damn Huke for an interfering fool, to set aside any merit the man might possess, for this contravention of orders, this unwanted display of initiative. His body ached for rest, but his heart had taken flight and hammered in his breast. He silenced the hubbub around him. 'Mr Mosse, send the off-duty watch below and stop this babble.'
'Beg pardon, sir, but 'tis almost eight bells
'Very well,' snapped Drinkwater, 'have the men relieved in the normal way.' He turned to the marine. 'What's your name?'
'Private Leslie, sir.'
'Well, Leslie, what happened? Tell us in your own words. You went into the hold to arrest Malaburn. By which hatchway?'
'The after one, sir, in the cockpit...'
'Go on.'
'Well, sir, we was in two parties, I was wiv Mr Huke, like, and Sar'nt Danks led the other up the larboard chippy's walk. We 'ad lanterns, like, an' bayonets and a brace of pistols. Orders was to apprehend, but to shoot if the bugger — beg pardon, sir — if 'e tried anything clever ...'
'You were going up the starboard carpenter's walk, is that right?' Drinkwater tried to visualize the scene. The carpenter's walks were two passages inside the fabric of the ship's side enabling the carpenter and his party to get at the frigate's timbers quickly and plug shot holes. The multifarious stores stowed in the hold were inboard of these narrow walkways. The men would have started outboard of and abaft the cable tiers, then edged forward past barrels of water, beef and pork, and sacks of dried peas and lentils.
They would have been walking on gratings. Below their feet the lower hold contained barrels of water stowed on shingle ballast, and the shot rooms. It was a hellish hole, inhabited by rats and awash with bilge water, the air thick and mephitic, the lanterns barely burning.
'I was the last man in my file, sir. I could jus' see Lieutenant 'uke, sir, wiv 'is lantern, like, when 'e gives this God Almighty screech and the light goes out. Then the bloke in front of me shouts out, turns round an' says, "Christ, Hughie, the bastard's got me, get out!" He bumps into me an' I ain't got no way out but the way I come in, and Sarn't Danks is shoutin' out from the uvver side, "What's wrong?" an' I don't know, 'cept Lieutenant 'uke's copped it, and my mate wot's pushing me shouts out "Get back in the orlop, Sar'nt!" So out we comes.'
'And Lieutenant Huke is still down there?'
'Well, yes, sir ...'
'Damn and blast the man!' Drinkwater muttered, inveighing against the idiocy of the first lieutenant, but now doubting the wisdom of his own passive policy. Private Leslie thought he himself was the object of this damnation.
'I'll go back, sir, jus' give us another lantern, a
n' I'll go right back.'
'Yes,' snapped Drinkwater, 'you will. Give me a moment to dress. Wait outside my cabin, pass word for Danks to report to me.'
He dressed quickly, thinking while Danks stood in the darkness of the day cabin and repeated, in less detail, for he had been on the far side of the ship, what Leslie had already related.
'You didn't think of going to Mr Huke's assistance?'
A short silence followed, then Danks said, 'I wasn't sure what to do, sir. I didn't really know what had happened, except that Lieutenant Huke's dead, sir.'
'Dead? Who said he's dead?'
'Well, sir, I ... I don't know.' The puzzlement was clear in Danks's voice. It was not fair to imply Danks was a coward. Huke's ill-conceived stratagem was too prone to confusion to blame poor humiliated Danks.
'Very well, Sergeant. Have your men remustered, all of them. In the orlop. I'll be with you direcdy. Send in a light.'
When Danks had gone Drinkwater finished dressing. He could do this in the dark, but he wanted light to complete his preparations. Frampton, attired in a long night-shirt, appeared with a lantern.
'Will you be wanting anything else, sir?'
'Not at the moment, Frampton, thank you,' Drinkwater said. The steady normality of Captain Pardoe's steward stilled the racing of his own heart. He could never think of Frampton as his own man.
He went to the stern settee, lifted the seat and drew out the case of pistols. Then he sat down and, placing the case beside him, opened it, lifted out the weapons and checked their flints. Having done that he carefully loaded both weapons. He had had a double-barrelled pistol aboard Patrician, but these were a new pair and he thrust them through his belt. Then he stood for a moment in the centre of the cabin and retied his hair. When he had finished he drew his hanger and passed the door on to the gun deck.
A garrulous crowd had gathered in the orlop and the appearance of the captain silenced them. 'This is a damned Dover-court, be off with you! Marines, stand fast. You there, Mr Fisher! Pass word to have the surgeon standing by. Oh, and please to lend me your dirk, young man. Here,' Drinkwater turned aside to Beavis, 'be so kind as to look after this for me. He handed his hanger to the master's mate.
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