The Pursuit

by Peter Smalley

  ‘Swivels? Christ’s blood, are they mounted in full view?’

  ‘No, sir, no, they are hid under canvas. But they are there – merely to warn other boats off, like – should they be required.’

  ‘Oh. Very good.’ Peering down at the boat, and then – shading his eyes – eastward toward the brilliant beginning disc of the sun as it peered over the dark line of the coast.

  James was on the point of sending young Madeley below to the great cabin to inform the captain of their imminent departure, when Rennie came on deck.

  ‘The moment you have departed, Mr Hayter, the ship will stand away to the west. We will then keep station for four-and-twenty hours, and await your return.’

  ‘Very good, sir. And if we were delayed beyond one day . . . ?’

  ‘Delayed?’

  ‘Well, sir, bad weather may close in, and make it impossible for us to return to the ship. Should we then remain at Bergen, and go ashore?’

  ‘Remain there? Good God, no. I am quite confident the weather will favour us. The question of going ashore therefore need not trouble you. You will go quietly into the anchorage at Bergen, find out if Terces is there, as I have requested, and return at once. You have your charts?’

  ‘I have them, thank you, sir.’ James showed him the charts rolled in protective canvas.

  ‘Your Hadley’s?’ The old naval term for the quadrant, equally applied to the sextant, which replaced it.

  ‘Charts, sextant, glass, and provisions, sir.’ Confidently. ‘All stowed aboard.’

  ‘Rations for each man for . . . how many days?’ Cocking his head.

  ‘I thought it prudent to provision us for three days, sir.’

  ‘Well well, I do not quite understand why. However, you are in command of the pinnace, Mr Hayter.’ A glance at the rising sun. ‘Time for you to be away.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Moving to the gangway stanchions at the top of the side ladder. Rennie stepped there with him, and thrust out his hand. James gripped it.

  ‘Godspeed, James.’ A brief smile, and a nod. James ran down the steps to the waiting boat, and Rennie went aft, and stood watching from the starboard rail as the pinnace was shoved off by a seaman standing in the bow with a boat-hook. Clinton Huff gripped the tiller in the stern sheets, and James beside him raised his voice in the timeless instruction:

  ‘Make sail!’

  The lateen yards raised and braced round, the sails trimmed, and the thirty-two-foot pinnace, with her complement of eight souls, found the wind and began to tack away toward the coast, and was soon a small black silhouette against the glittering sea.

  *

  Mid-morning and the coast of Norway – the islands lying outside the port of Bergen – now clearly in view from the pinnace. Rocky shorelines, spruce and pine, and green slopes. Beyond, inland on higher ground, the still unmelted snow. The clear light of dawn had given way to a low, overcast sky, with patches of mist on the hills. The air was chill over the sullen sea.

  They had encountered numbers of fishing vessels as they neared the coast. James had ordered the pinnace’s fishing net deployed over the starboard gunnel. They had acknowledged the shouts and waves from these fishing boats merely by waving in distant salute, nothing more, and had kept to their course. And now:

  ‘Sail of ship to the south, sir, approaching.’ Clinton Huff, pointing.

  James turned and peered, and raised his glass. He saw at once that it was a brig, and that she carried Danish naval colours, red with a narrow white cross. Since Norway was subservient to Denmark, these were Danish waters. The brig was making directly for the boat. A puff of smoke in her bow, and then – alarmingly close – a fountain of spray as the roundshot struck the sea. The thud of the gun.

  ‘Christ Jesu.’ James lowered his glass. ‘We cannot outrun the Danish navy, I fear. We must do as they wish directly, or be smashed into splinters.’ He gave the order to shorten sail, and the pinnace lost way. The cries of seabirds overhead. The faint whispering of the wind over the cold water.

  ‘Ain’t Denmark a friendly nation, sir?’ Clinton Huff. ‘Ain’t Norway?’

  ‘They have seen Expedient standing off, I am in no doubt, and guessed that we have come from her, and wish to know why.’

  ‘What shall we tell them, sir?’

  All eyes in the boat were on James.

  ‘We shall say that we are fishing, to provision our ship.’ With a confidence he did not feel. ‘In the bow, there. Look to your net, now.’

  Half a glass, and the brig now very near. A break in the cloud, and shafts of sun made dazzling pools on the dull metal of the sea, into which the brig sailed. James stood up on the stern sheet bench of the pinnace, and waved. No answering sign from the brig, and presently she sailed within speaking distance, out of the brilliance, came off the wind and lost way. Her gunports open, and her four-pounders run out. An officer at her rail, and the brief glint of his speaking trumpet as her boat was hoisted out.

  ‘Boat ahoy! Are you coming from the English frigate?’

  James cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Boat’s crew from HMS Expedient! We are fishing!’

  ‘We are going to board you, and take you in tow.’

  ‘We have no need of towing, thank you. We must return to our ship.’

  ‘You do not have a choice. Heave to, now. Do not resist.’

  The brig’s boat was now lowered into the water, and filled with a crew, who shoved off and began at once to row toward the pinnace.

  ‘What shall we do, sir?’ Clinton Huff, hardly above a whisper.

  ‘Nothing.’ Quietly.

  ‘Are we to be took pris’ners, sir? On the open sea?’

  ‘This ain’t the open sea, though. It is Norway’s waters, and the Danes command them.’ And he gave the orders for the pinnace to heave to.

  The boat came alongside, and two members of its crew, each armed with a brace of pistols, stepped aboard the pinnace with a towing cable, and secured it in the bow. The boat returned to the brig, leaving the two men in the pinnace, and after a brief delay the towing cable grew taut, lifting out of the water in a curtain of droplets, and the pinnace fell in line astern of the brig, bobbing and dipping in the wake as the brig got under way.

  ‘They will take us into Bergen,’ murmured James to the coxswain. ‘Which was always our design.’

  ‘But we is pris’ners, sir.’

  ‘We ain’t at war with Norway, nor with Denmark, neither. We will see if Terces is moored in the harbour, and then these fellows will be obliged to let us go, and we shall return to Expedient.’

  ‘Can we be ’tirely certain of that, sir?’

  ‘They have no grounds on which to detain us.’ Again with a confidence he did not feel. ‘I shall speak to the brig’s captain, one sea officer to another.’

  ‘Ay-ay, sir.’ Glumly the coxswain settled on his little stool, and said no further word.

  In the early afternoon the brig sailed in toward Bergen – the sheltered harbour, the buildings and steeples of the prosperous town, with steep green hills behind, and a scattering of snow along the ridges – and made her signals.

  When the pinnace had not returned to Expedient on the following day, Captain Rennie overruled himself and decided to hold station a further twenty-four hours. He summoned his sailing master.

  ‘We will go about, Mr Loftus, and continue to tack north and south off the coast, and then anchor overnight. The pinnace will return by noon tomorrow, I am in no doubt.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  The day passed, and the night, and when late in the morning of the day following there was no sign of the pinnace Rennie grew seriously anxious and dismayed. He was careful not to show it, however, but paced his quarterdeck steadily, as if he were entirely unconcerned. Mr Leigh had the deck, and when at last Rennie paused to make conversation, the first lieutenant made clear his own anxiety:

  ‘Should we send in the launch, sir, d’y’think?’

  ‘Eh? The launch? Good heaven, no.’ A dismi
ssive shake of the head.

  ‘Sir, that Danish brig we sighted brief, the day before yesterday . . .’

  ‘Well?’ Glancing eastward toward the mist-shrouded coast.

  ‘Was she the cause?’

  ‘Cause of what?’

  ‘Well, sir, the disappearance of the pinnace.’

  ‘The pinnace has not disappeared, Mr Leigh. It has not vanished. It is delayed.’

  ‘Yes, sir. But perhaps the brig has caused that delay. Don’t you think so?’

  ‘That is nonsense, Mr Leigh, you know. The pinnace wore no colours and was disguised as a fishing vessel, with nets and so forth, and all the crew in soft hats. Why should a foreign brig interfere with such a boat? Hey?’

  ‘Well, sir, the brig ain’t foreign, exact, in these waters. These are her waters.’

  ‘Well well . . . well well.’ Irritably. ‘There could be no plausible reason for them to suffer interception in the boat, Mr Leigh. They are fishermen, going about their business. Fishing.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Only they have been fishing a very long time, have they not?’

  Rennie did not reply, but glared at his lieutenant, and then strode away aft to the tafferel, where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Presently:

  ‘Mr Leigh.’

  ‘Sir?’ Attending him.

  ‘I will inspect by divisions.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ His hat off and on, and he went forrard to the breast-rail and gave the necessary instruction to the boatswain’s mate, who raised his call and sent the high-pitched summons echoing along the deck.

  When Captain Rennie had inspected his people, and his ship, and dealt with the small handful of defaulters, he waited on deck for noon to be declared, then went below to write up his journal. He was busying himself with the daily routines and tasks of command, but he was fully aware that to continue with these dutiful trivialities would not answer indefinitely. If the pinnace did not return very soon, he must act. He took up his quill and opened his journal, then:

  ‘Cutton, there! Colley Cutton!’

  ‘Sir?’ Coming into the day cabin.

  ‘Tea.’

  ‘Not wine, sir? Before your dinner?’

  ‘Are y’deaf, or just a damned fool? Tea, I said.’

  ‘As you wish, sir. Only I has not prepared none. I must boil my spirit kettle in the quarter gallery, wiv your ’dulgence, sir.’

  ‘Yes yes, get on, man. Cannot you see I am at work?’

  ‘Very sorry, sir. I shall hendeavour to be silent as a mouse.’

  ‘Do so.’ Then, by an association of thought: ‘What has become of my cat, by the by?’

  ‘I b’lieve she has felt herself unwanted, sir, since the hepisode of the rat.’

  ‘Unwanted? What nonsense is this? How are you able to ascertain whether or no a mere beast has such dainty understanding?’

  ‘By her dee-meanour, sir.’

  ‘Her what?’

  ‘She shrinks away, and resides in dark corners, and don’t like to converse wiv me.’

  ‘Converse?’

  ‘She don’t miaow in greetin’ no more, nor bump ’gainst my leg for her supper.’

  Now from without:

  ‘De-e-e-e-e-ck! Sail of ship to the east! It is Terces!’

  ‘Christ’s blood!’ Rennie leapt up on his legs, upsetting his inkwell, snatched up his hat and glass, and ran to the companionway ladder.

  ‘She will not like to be called “a mere beast”, neither.’ Colley Cutton, under his breath.

  *

  The small black-painted ship had already emerged from behind the long narrow island of Sotra – which sheltered Bergen harbour from the worst of the North Sea storms – and was running north, weathering the line of islands beginning with Askoy, Toftoy and HolsnØy. In the distance to the north lay Seloy and Fedje, and a host of small, rocky outcrops. Rennie peered at the pursuit through his glass.

  ‘Shall we beat to quarters, sir?’ Mr Leigh, shrugging into his undress coat as he joined the captain.

  ‘Nay.’ Rennie lowered his glass. ‘Much as I wish to serve out that blackguard Broadman for what he has done to us, my orders are to pursue him, not to engage him in a sea action. Should he turn and beat toward us, and be so impudent as to attack again, time enough then to clear the decks, Mr Leigh. He will discover that I am no water plant, content to be chewed upon a second time. For the present we will simply . . . Good God, the pinnace! I had forgot the pinnace!’

  He paced the quarterdeck a moment, then bellowed aloft to the lookout in the main crosstrees:

  ‘Where does she head now, lookout?’

  ‘North, sir! And cracking on!’

  Rennie sniffed in a great breath, turned aft a moment, then:

  ‘I do not like to abandon the boat’s crew, in all conscience. However, I cannot discover what has become of the pinnace, at Bergen, and at the same moment resume the pursuit.’

  ‘De-e-e-e-ck!’ The lookout, cupping a hand to his mouth as he bent down from his precarious position, hooking his other arm through a stay. ‘Terces appears to be towing a large boat, sir! Overly large for a small ship!’

  The lookout resumed his observation of the Terces, raising his glass.

  Rennie raised his own glass, could not see the towed boat, and turned to his first lieutenant. ‘Go aloft, if y’please, Mr Leigh, and tell me at once what you see.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Merriman Leigh shrugged off the coat he had just donned, removed his hat, slung his glass in its strapped case over his shoulder and ran forrard to the main shrouds. He jumped into the shrouds and ran nimbly up the ratlines, hung a moment in the futtock shrouds of the top, climbed easily over and up, and was soon in the crosstrees with the lookout.

  ‘Would that I could do it so readily.’ Rennie, murmuring to himself as he watched. ‘Alas, I cannot.’

  Presently Lieutenant Leigh called down: ‘The towed boat has the look of a pinnace, sir!’ He gripped a backstay and slid to the deck.

  ‘A pinnace, Mr Leigh? Are y’sure?’ Rennie, as the lieutenant joined him.

  ‘I could not absolutely swear to it, at this distance, but I am nearly certain it is our pinnace, sir.’

  ‘Yes yes, I understand you. But how in God’s name . . . ?’ He frowned, stared eastward toward the other ship, then Mr Leigh:

  ‘When we sighted that Danish brig close inshore a few days since, sir, our pinnace had only just gone from view.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I think now that it’s entirely possible the brig came between us and the pinnace and hid it from view.’

  ‘I suppose that is possible . . .’ Then, thinking aloud: ‘And the brig closed the pinnace and towed it into Bergen, or escorted it in, under the threat of her guns . . .’

  ‘Yes, sir, exact.’

  ‘Ay.’ Nodding. ‘Ay. Which would explain why the pinnace did not return – because it was held at Bergen, and the crew took prisoner. Took prisoner, and then brought from the brig into Terces, in the harbour, so that she might slip quietly away into the open sea, taking our boat’s crew and their intelligence with them, in the hope that the escape would go unobserved. Mr Loftus!’ Turning.

  ‘I am here, sir.’ Bernard Loftus was standing by the wheel, where Rennie joined him.

  ‘D’y’know this coastline, Mr Loftus?’

  ‘I have had some experience of it, years ago.’

  ‘Hazardous waters, would y’say, standing in? Difficult to navigate?’

  ‘The islands and the coast itself abound with rocks. I would not wish to attempt a passage along the coast in darkness. But in daylight . . . long experience of these shores by naval and merchant ships has given us intimate knowledge of the coast, and the Admiralty charts are more than adequate.’

  ‘We are going to need all of that knowledge. If, as I expect her to, Terces shadows the coast northward until she is able to break clear and head west into the North Atlantic, we cannot afford to lose sight of her again. As it is, we have f
ound her by pure good fortune. Had we been tacking on the southerly leg, standing off, it is probable we should never have seen her at all. Lay me in just close enough to weather those islands safe, Mr Loftus, so that we may track that villain near. The time for standing off and following at a distance is past. I am going to dog him.’

  ‘Ay-ay, sir.’ A hand to his hat. ‘Mr Tangible! Stand by to tack ship!’

  ‘When shall we make the attempt to free the prisoners, sir?’ Mr Leigh.

  Rennie did not know the answer. He had not wished to confront that conundrum quite so soon. In reply he sniffed, nodded sagely, and:

  ‘In due course, Mr Leigh. For the present our task – keep Terces in plain view ahead. You there, Mr Madeley. Go below to my day cabin and bring me the large chart laid out on the table. Jump now.’

  Expedient swung over on the larboard tack, and began to sail east-by-nor’-east in toward the line of rocky islands, the sea like beaten pewter under a low grey sky.

  As Expedient passed beyond the channel between Sotra and Askoy and swung north, mist swirled down from the hills and eddied over the shoreline, and another vessel emerged from that channel and began at a discreet distance to shadow the frigate. The Danish brig.

  *

  Rennie stood by the starboard knight’s-head in the bow, his glass focused ahead on the pursuit. He was indifferent to the spray that flew up and round him and had already soaked his coat and hat, except when it interfered with the lens of his glass. Mr Leigh had joined him. Presently, without turning round, Rennie:

  ‘Well, Mr Leigh? You have a question?’

  ‘I wonder why Terces has took our boat’s crew prisoner, sir, that is all.’

  ‘To prevent them from returning to us with their intelligence, in course.’

  ‘Well, yes . . . except that they could have been prevented from doing it by the brig, don’t you think so, sir? Why did not the brig detain them at Bergen? Further, why does Terces tow the pinnace? Why tow a large boat that can only inhibit the speed of their little ship?’

  ‘Well well . . . we shall discover that, Mr Leigh, when we rescue the boat’s crew, and our Pursuit Officer.’