The Pursuit

by Peter Smalley

  A slow almost imperceptible swell was running, and the wind had dropped to a strange, wafting restlessness over the quiet sea. Mr Loftus came down from the quarterdeck, knocked, and ventured into the cabin when his knock was answered by the tiptoeing Colley Cutton. He waited politely, his hat under his arm, then when Rennie made no acknowledgement of his presence, he cleared his throat, and:

  ‘Erm, may I speak to you, sir?’

  Rennie now glanced at him, and raised a finger to his lips. Very quietly: ‘Yes, Bernard?’

  ‘A change in the weather is imminent, sir.’ Lowering his own voice.

  ‘Yes yes, I saw the glass. You have the matter in hand? Good, good.’ Returning his attention to the cot.

  ‘I should like your opinion of my intentions, sir. The first lieutenant and I have—’

  ‘Pray keep your voice very low, if y’please.’ In a whisper, his hand raised. ‘The weather don’t greatly concern me at present. I place myself in your capable hands, entire.’

  ‘Will not you come on deck, sir?’

  ‘On deck? Why? The weather is about to change, as it contrives to do at sea very frequent. You are my sailing master, Bernard, and a man of great and wide experience, as is Mr Hayter. I trust you both to press on, west sou’west.’ A dismissive nod.

  ‘You . . . you are quite certain that you will not come on deck?’

  ‘Nay nay, I have said there is no need. West-sou’west, Mr Loftus, whatever the weather, hey?’ Peering down and losing all interest in his sailing master.

  ‘Very good, sir. Thank you.’ He retreated to the door, paused and was about to say something more, but was discouraged by Rennie’s excluding demeanour, and made his exit.

  On deck the sailing master said to the first lieutenant: ‘It did no good at all. He would not listen to me. He made it plain I was not welcome in his quarters.’

  James took his arm and drew him away from the wheel and the binnacle.

  ‘He would not come on deck?’

  ‘Nay, he waved me away. “West-sou’west, Mr Loftus, west-sou’west.”’

  ‘But this is damned foolishness, Bernard!’ Vehemently, but with his voice instinctively lowered. ‘I asked you to go below to him because he respects you in all matters of ship-handling – and this is his response? He has lost sight of the whole commission, and sails blithely into an Atlantic storm without the smallest sense of why he does it.’

  ‘To find the Terces, I expect.’

  ‘Find the bloody Terces? Hah. He does not give a fig for Terces, now.’

  ‘But this mood of his cannot all be about his cat, though, surely, that he watches over by the hour?’

  ‘In course it ain’t. His cat is a convenient distraction.’ A breath. ‘He knows full well that this is a failed cruise, Bernard. That we accomplish nothing by westing like this, into the immensity of the sea, into God knows what calamities of wind and tumult. Terces is lost to us, as she was lost to us before we came south from Norway. Captain Broadman and his passenger Olaf Christian den Norske will never be troubled by Expedient again, and we will never discover their purpose.’

  ‘Then in God’s name . . . why do we continue?’

  ‘It is Captain Rennie’s pride. His sheer stubborn damned pride. He will not be told, and he will not allow himself to be bested, not by man, nor ship, nor stormy sea, neither. He would rather die.’

  ‘Perhaps he would, but what about us? If he dies, so do we – all of us.’

  ‘Ay, Bernard, so we would. Unless he can be persuaded to change his mind – believing that the notion to do so was his alone.’

  ‘Well, I am not the one to try.’ A sigh. ‘I dare not get athwart his hawse.’

  A sudden flattening fan of wind rushed across the slow swell toward Expedient, and swept over the ship like a shiver.

  The storm broke at seven bells of the afternoon watch, after an uneasy period of gradually increasing wind and swell from the west, the lifting waves streaming spray in long smoky drifts. As the storm blasted in over her the ship rode down into the troughs and lifted herself on the heaving shoulders of the waves as hands shortened sail to foretopmast staysail, driver, and reefed topsails. At first she made at least some headway, tack on tack close-hauled, but soon her progress ceased and she was driven back, making only leeway in the furious onslaught of wind and sea. It became impossible to tack through the wind at all.

  Captain Rennie did nothing, and remained below in his cabin. The conning of the ship was left to Bernard Loftus, James Hayter, the duty quartermaster, and the four seamen manning the wheel, fighting to keep her head up.

  ‘We must wear!’ James bellowed into the sailing master’s ear.

  ‘Shall I inform the captain?’ Cupping a hand to his mouth in reply.

  ‘I will send one of the duty mids. Mr Glaister!’

  ‘Sir?’ The boy was pale and frightened in his foul-weather cloak.

  ‘Go below to the great cabin, and ask the captain with my compliments—’

  A tremendous sea smashed over the bow and flung deluging folds across the decks. James ducked his head, clinging to a stay, then:

  ‘Say that we will like to wear ship, and run before! Jump, lad!’

  The boy departed.

  Another huge sea flooded up and over the bow, and slewed aft over the sloping deck. The wind whipped, whistled and howled in the rigging. Ahead the view was a wilderness of grey-green moving dunes, laced with runnels of spray, and spray whipped into smoking drifts from the quivering crests. Expedient ran shuddering down into another trough.

  ‘We must rig lifelines, Mr Loftus!’

  ‘Ay, we must. Mr Tangible!’

  The boatswain did not appear.

  ‘Mr Tangible!’

  ‘Ay, sir?’ He came lurching aft.

  ‘Lifelines, Mr Tangible, fore and aft!’

  ‘Lifelines . . . ay-ay, sir . . .’And he stumbled away forrard.

  The sailing master stared at him, and turned to James, cupping his hand. ‘I believe the boatswain is drunk!’

  ‘I think y’are right, Mr Loftus!’ James nodded, his face streaming. ‘He reckons he is going to die!’

  ‘But, God damn him, that is no excuse! We cannot allow a senior warrant officer to stumble about on deck in drink!’

  ‘If I am not mistook, he is merely one of many.’ James, shaking his head.

  ‘But how has this happened!’ In genuine dismay. ‘I have the only key to the spirit room!’

  ‘The only official key. Or perhaps they have broke the lock. I cannot say I blame them.’

  ‘What? You do not mean that you approve of it!’ Shocked.

  ‘Ain’t a question what we approve of, you and I. Any man has a right to dazing comfort if he believes death sits upon his shoulder.’ The ship began to sag off, yawing and groaning. ‘Bring her up, there! Keep your luff!’

  ‘D’y’mean – we should all be drunk on deck?’ Bernard Loftus, in further dismay.

  ‘Nay, not quite! Else we could not fight to save the ship! – We cannot wait for the captain’s approval! We must wear, or be damned to hell!’

  ‘I agree!’ A brief nod, and: ‘Stand by to wear ship!’

  But when a few moments after the ship began to come round by the stern, Captain Rennie appeared on the quarterdeck, and came aft:

  ‘Why are we going about, Mr Hayter? Why do not we proceed west-sou’west?’

  ‘The storm is too much for her, sir!’ Over the wind. ‘I sent one of the mids below with a message! We must wear and run before, and save ourselves!’

  ‘We shall do no such thing, thankee! Our course is west-sou’west! – You there, quartermaster!’

  And Captain Rennie began bellowing instructions to reverse the manoeuvre.

  Even as he did so a tremendous sea smashed over the larboard side of the ship, swinging as she was beam-on, and this inundation was so severe that for a long, horrible moment it seemed the ship would founder. The whole of the forecastle and waist were under water, and the great weight
of that water drove the ship lower and lower. By pure luck the force of the wave not only drove the ship sideways, but swung her round to head east, in the direction of the wave itself. She wallowed under many tons of sea water, then with a creaking, groaning, protesting shudder found her feet, and lifted herself. The great weight of water poured and tumbled from her decks, gushed from her scuppers, streamed from every part of her, and she lived, riding up out of the following trough.

  Rennie and James had been thrown off their feet by the force of the wave, and had survived by clinging to the rail as the sucking rush of the sea swept them horizontal, like clinging seaweed on tidal rocks. Bernard Loftus managed to stay on his legs, clinging for his life to a backstay. His hat was gone from his head, and his coat torn at the sleeve. He had swallowed sea water, and was struggling to breathe. The quartermaster was gone from his place by the wheel. The four seamen steering had survived by clinging to the spokes.

  Captain Rennie was coughing violently, and choking, and could not speak. James found his voice, and roared:

  ‘Mr Tangible! Hands to reduce sail! We will haul up the driver in the brails, and hand the maintopsail! We will scud on the foretopsail alone!’

  He turned his attention to the men at the wheel. ‘Your course is east-nor’east! Hold her steady, and let the wind do what it will! Handsomely now, lads!’

  James fought his way aft in the fury of the wind, clinging on to falls and the rail, and made a search for the quartermaster, thinking he lay perhaps under the flag lockers, or tangled up behind one of the guns. The man was not there. James turned to face forrard, and dashed stinging spray from his eyes. To himself:

  ‘The poor wretch is lost.’

  He was not lost, however, and soon came stumbling up the ladder from the waist, where he had gone in an attempt to find the boatswain just before the freak wave struck. He resumed his place at the wheel. The after-guard clapped on to falls, and hauled up the driver in the brails, staggering on the wind-lashed deck as they worked.

  Expedient, still streaming excess water, and sluggish in answering the helm, had survived.

  But her captain was not content. In spite of the ferocity of the storm, he was determined to resume his original course. He attempted to give the orders, but because of a coughing fit was unable to do so for half a glass, and he clung to the binnacle, scarcely able to get his breath. Thus Lieutenant Hayter was able to prevail in the matter of the ship’s direction. Only when Rennie had recovered his voice, if not his composure, was he able to attempt to countermand his lieutenant.

  ‘Mr Hayter . . . hhh . . . Mr Hayter! We will—’

  A hand at his elbow, tugging there, and Rennie turned in astonishment to find his steward Colley Cutton, his body hunched against the storm.

  ‘Oh, sir, if you please! The cot has tipped over, sir, and they has all gone!’

  ‘What? What did y’say?’ Cupping a hand to his ear. ‘Speak up, man!’

  ‘Dulcie and the kittens has vanished, sir!’

  ‘What!’ And Rennie at once dashed below, in fear and consternation.

  When he burst into the great cabin it was just as his steward had said. The cat and her kittens were nowhere to be seen, and their new cot lay upturned on the canvas squares of the decking, in a scattering of oakum. Water had dripped through from the skylight into the cabin, the decking was wet, and the darkness of the storm had made the space gloomy.

  ‘We must search for her, d’y’hear me, Cutton!’

  ‘I has already done so, sir. She is gone.’

  ‘She cannot have gone far, in a ship at sea. The cot tipping over has startled her, and she has found another place to hide and protect her infants. We will search for her, and find her. Jump, man, jump.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’ Obediently turning about the cabin, bending and peering and bracing himself against lockers and racks as the ship rolled and lifted and spray battered the stern-gallery windows.

  Rennie himself began a search of his sleeping cabin, and the coach, and found nothing.

  ‘Dulcie . . . Dulcie . . .’ he called. The shrieking wind mocked him, as if it heard his anxious calls from outside, and wished to make him despondent. He braced himself against a timber standard, and sniffed in a lifting breath. ‘Dulcie . . .’

  A faint sound, under the roaring and shrieking of the storm.

  ‘Dulcie . . .’ Returning to his sleeping cabin.

  Again the faint sound, this time a little more distinct. The mewling of kittens.

  ‘Dulcie, my dear, where are you . . . ?’

  He knelt, bent very low and found them, the cat and her brood, huddled in, forrard of the quoin, under the carriage of the starboard gun. Safe.

  ‘Thank God.’ A heartfelt sigh – and then he felt himself a fool. In God’s name what was he about, crawling on his knees below, when he should be in his place on the quarterdeck? What business had he, with his ship in danger, to be fretting over a cat, that could perfectly well take care of herself, good heaven?

  ‘Up on your legs, William Rennie. Up, by God, and on deck.’ His steward heard him, and thinking himself summoned, came into the sleeping cabin. The ship rolled heavily as Rennie got to his feet, and he staggered.

  ‘Are you quite well, sir?’ Colley Cutton, extending a supportive hand. Rennie thrust it aside.

  ‘In course I am well.’ Brusquely. ‘The cat is there, under the gun. What a very great deal of fuss and commotion over nothing, Colley Cutton. I am going on deck. You will bring me a flask directly, d’y’hear. Three water grog.’

  When the flask was brought to him on deck a few minutes after, Rennie found that it contained not grog but unwatered spirit. He was about to admonish his hunched, head-ducking steward, but thought better of it and dismissed him, and Cutton fled below.

  Rennie turned his head out of the blasting wind and sucked down a mouthful of raw rum. He felt the benefit at once – a deep, grateful warmth that lifted him to his purpose, which he now saw clearly. To Lieutenant Hayter, at the binnacle:

  ‘We will run before until this storm of wind blows itself out – a few glasses. “Small showers are long, but sudden storms are short.” Hey, Mr Hayter? Terces is also running before, astern of us, I am in no doubt. We will thus lose nothing in the pursuit.’

  ‘Ay-ay, sir.’ James touched a hand to his hat, which was wedged firmly on his head. Happily he had been vindicated in his opinion that Rennie would wish to run before and save the ship, so long as he believed it was his notion to do it.

  Expedient ran before the wind four-and-twenty hours. The wind and the waves began to diminish and decrease late in the afternoon of that following day, and Captain Rennie paced his quarterdeck in eager anticipation of being able to go about very soon, and run west-sou’west once more. A shout from the maintop lookout:

  ‘De-e-e-e-ck! Sail of ship to the east! Three points off the starboard bow!’

  Captain Rennie brought up his glass, and focused. The ship lay perhaps two leagues ahead. Three-masted, square-rigged.

  ‘Can you see her colours, there!’ Lieutenant Hayter, calling aloft. A brief delay, then:

  ‘No colours flying . . . she has the look of a frigate, sir!’

  ‘A frigate?’ Rennie peered again. The lookout was right. She was a frigate. The sinking of Expedient into a trough cut off his view, then as the sea lifted he saw the frigate again. She appeared to be drifting.

  ‘She is in trouble.’

  ‘With your permission, sir, I will go aloft and see for myself.’

  ‘By all means.’

  James Hayter ran forrard to the main shrouds, his cased glass slung over his back, jumped up the ratlines and was in the maintop in half a minute. He unslung his glass, slipped it from the case and focused it. A moment after, he pushed the glass back in its case, clapped on to a backstay and slid to the deck. He came aft, steadying himself as the ship rose steeply on the shoulder of a wave.

  ‘Well, Mr Hayter?’

  ‘I believe she is the Hermione, thirty-
eight, from the admiral’s squadron. She looks to be severely damaged, sir, lying low in the water, and drifting.’

  ‘Very good, thank you. Mr Tangible!’

  The boatswain came aft, looking haggard. ‘Sir?’ A waft of stinking breath.

  ‘Hands to make sail, Mr Tangible. Courses and t’gallants, in addition to our topsails. We must crack on. The frigate ahead of us two leagues is in danger of sinking.’

  ‘Ay-ay, sir.’

  The calls, echoing along the deck. Topmen aloft, furled canvas loosed from the gaskets on the yards and sheeted home filling, and soon Expedient began to pick up speed across the hills and vales of the rolling sea, where before she had been merely scudding.

  When Expedient reached Hermione and hove to, a glass after, Rennie and James saw that her maintopmast was gone, her rudder broken, and she was obviously leaking badly, so low and sluggish did she lie. The cable of what presumably had been a sea anchor lay limp and useless, trailing over the stern.

  ‘I will send a boat at once,’ Rennie decided. ‘The sea is heavy, still, but we must take the risk.’

  ‘With your permission I will go in the boat myself, sir.’

  ‘Very well, thankee, James. I will send Mr Adgett and a repair crew with you, to do what they are able in the immediate. Take my coxswain Clinton Huff, and one of the duty mids – Mr Madeley. Give her captain my compliments, and say to him that I am at his disposal, and will do my utmost to aid him in any way I can. – Mr Tangible! We will hoist out the pinnace, if y’please! – I will like a comprehensive report on her condition of repair, the number of men injured and so forth, by the change of the watch, James.’

  ‘Ay-ay, sir.’

  When James came alongside the wounded frigate he saw that she was even more heavily damaged than he had thought. He could hear the clanking of pumps, and water was sluicing from her scuppers, but the pumps were losing the battle. Her rudder had been torn completely away. There were very few men on deck, and her fore yards were not braced. Square sails not in the brails hung down torn and flapping, falls trailing. Her mainmast was little more than a stump. Hermione was in a very bedraggled condition.