A sharp bang on his elbow made him jump.
‘Here, John! Your bailer!’ Kit was shouting. At once his detachment left him. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t let Kit die either.
He grabbed the bailer out of her hand and began to work, scooping up the water and hurling it over the side.
They bailed in a frenzy of effort, scooping and throwing, scooping and throwing, as the storm raged on around them.
At last, Kit sat back on her heels.
‘It’s no good,’ she panted. ‘We’re going down.’
‘My dear, I do believe we are,’ Mr Erskine said. His voice was light, almost amused, but John could hear that his throat was constricted.
John leaned over, exhausted. He was on all fours, the bailer floating on the water that now half filled the boat, covering his legs and above his wrists as he rested his hands flat on the bottom. There was no doubt about it. They were sinking fast.
Father will never know what’s happened to me, he thought. No one ever will.
Then he felt it – a movement under his right hand, a sensation of welling, of water pushing upwards.
‘Sir! I think I’ve found the leak!’
At once Mr Erskine was beside him, splashing down to feel about in the bottom of the boat.
‘Yes, it’s here. Good lad. It’s coming in between these two boards. Press down hard with your knee, John, and hold them together. Let me feel. Good. I believe that’s stopped it. Now bail, both of you, for your lives!’
Kit was already back at work, scooping and throwing. John, who had thought he’d been working as fast as anyone could, discovered that he could go much faster.
‘The water’s going down, I think, sir,’ gasped Kit at last.
‘It is. Most definitely. Take the oars, Catherine, and give me your bailer. Steer a steady course, two degrees north of the lighthouse. We’ll make it yet. Keep your knee pressed down, John, and bail.’
They went at it again like machines, feeling the water around them slowly fall. The next time John looked up, he saw with surprise that the storm was over. The last black cloud, fringed with white, was drifting away from the face of the moon. The land was far behind them, a low dark mass on the horizon.
Kit, who had been rowing her hardest for a long time, slumped forward across the oars. Mr Erskine gently moved her aside and took her place. She staggered to the bow seat and sat bent forward, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. John wanted more than anything to go to her, but his knee, now stiff and numb, was still pressed hard down on the boat’s boards. He shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure, and looking up, saw something he’d feared he’d never see again.
‘Look, sir! The Fearless! She’s over there!’ shouted John.
In the distance, no more than a mile or so away, the Fearless rode serenely to anchor. She looked magnificent, yet fragile, and terribly alone, as she floated on the moonlit, silver sea. She was the most beautiful thing that John had ever seen.
Chapter Thirty-four
By the time the little craft had bobbed alongside the Fearless, her three occupants were so spent they could barely speak.
‘Ahoy there!’ croaked Mr Erskine, lifting an oar to rap it against the great black side of the warship. ‘Is the watch all asleep? Ahoy! Wake up!’
An astonished face peered down from above.
‘Mr Erskine? Is that you? How came you . . . ?’
‘Never mind that! Get down here, you lubber, and fetch us up. This damned boat’s filling again. If you don’t stir yourself, we’ll be shark’s feed before five minutes are up.’
A moment later, sailors were climbing down the ship’s side, and John, tossed over a mighty shoulder as easily as if he was a sack of flour, was being carted up the cleats.
He was tumbled down on the deck beside Kit in a dripping, exhausted heap.
‘Why, Mr Erskine, it is you!’ The midshipman in charge of the night watch had run up, a lantern in his hand. ‘Are you all well, sir? Who’s this?’ He swung the lantern high. ‘But I know you two! You’re the lads who went over the side and drowned, months back. Good God, how came you . . . ?’
‘Contain your amazement, if you please,’ said Mr Erskine testily. ‘Present my compliments to Mr Catskill and stow these two boys in the sickbay. Find them dry clothing, a round of grog and a berth for what remains of tonight. No questions, do you hear, or I shall be obliged to ask in turn why a boat managed to approach up to the very hull of this ship without the watch noticing. Good heavens, man. We could have been a French boarding party. You should be flogged for this.’
The midshipman stepped backwards.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I . . . I much regret, sir . . . It won’t happen again, sir.’
John, recognizing the fear in the young man’s voice, felt his spirits sink. How could he have wished to come back to the Fearless? How could he have forgotten the wretchedness of life in the navy, the cruel discipline, the suffocating heat of the decks below in the summer time and the dank chill in the winter, the boredom of the routine, the back-breaking work? The stench from beneath was rising to his nostrils even up here on the open deck. Already he was missing Betsy’s tarts and pies, her stews and casseroles. His stomach rose at the thought of the salt pork and stinking water that would be all he could expect from now on.
He picked himself up with an effort, and had to restrain himself from helping Kit to her feet.
She’s not a girl any more, he told himself sternly. She’s a boy. A boy.
He would have to keep a close guard on himself if he was not to give the game away.
They were stumbling down the nearest companionway, on their way to the sickbay, when they met a shambling, sleepy figure coming up.
‘Davey Gow, is that you?’ said John.
Davey’s mouth, falling open, made a perfect O in his pale, shocked face. He let out a scream of terror.
‘Ghosties! It’s ghosties! John Barr, who was drownded dead, and Kit Smith, come to haunt me! I never did nothing to hurt you, John, or you, Kit. Don’t haunt me. Don’t! Go away! Please!’
John laughed and put out his hand. Davey shrank away from him.
‘I’m no ghost, Davey. I never drowned. I’m here. Look. Touch my hand. It’s warm – well, it would be if I wasn’t so wet.’
With great daring, Davey put out a finger and touched the proffered hand.
‘Is it really you, John? I’m glad. I liked you when you was alive. I still do. And you, Kit.’
‘What is all this?’ the midshipman said, clattering down the companionway behind them. ‘What are you doing, you, boy, out of your hammock?’
Davey drew himself up. He was a foot taller than the young midshipman, but he pulled his forelock respectfully.
‘On my way to relieve myself, sir. Trouble in my stomach, sir.’
‘Go along with you, then, and keep quiet. Do you wish to wake the entire ship?’
Davey trotted on.
By next morning the entire crew of the Fearless was marvelling over the news that the two ships’ boys who had disappeared months ago, and were reported missing and drowned, had miraculously returned from the deep. John and Kit, however, knew nothing of it. They had crashed into their berths, under the grumbling eye of the unwillingly roused ship’s surgeon, and were so dead asleep that it took Mr Erskine a good few minutes to rouse them.
The first lieutenant, shaved and once more in uniform, looked remarkably fresh.
‘A story has been concocted to account for your being missing,’ he told them, as they stood to attention beside their hammocks. ‘Any who are interested, and that includes the entire ship, will be told that an unlucky fall took Kit over the side. John, who is known to be an excellent swimmer, plunged in to rescue him, but the current, being exceptionally strong here, carried him away from the ship. Your cries went unheard. Fortunately you kept your heads above water and were eventually cast up on the beach. You managed to live in hiding in a derelict chateau, thanks to the offices of a kind English
lady (your Betsy, you see, comes into the story). You stumbled by chance upon the nefarious doings of treasonous spies, whom you followed, in the hopes of uncovering their wicked deeds. You both assumed the character of footmen, in order to observe polite society and find out more about their treachery, and by a lucky chance met me in Bordeaux. I brought you back here.’
‘Rather far-fetched, sir, isn’t it?’ said Kit, her brow wrinkled.
‘No stranger than the truth, and as near it as possible.’
‘I suppose so, sir.’
‘I have seen Captain Bannerman,’ Mr Erskine went on. ‘It is all agreed. Kit – (as I shall now call you) – you will remain here in the sickbay and work under Mr Catskill. You will resume your male identity and will endeavour to remain as inconspicuous as possible.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Kit, beaming with relief.
‘As for you, John, the captain wishes to see you in his cabin. You are to report to him at once.’
With each word, the golden time at Jalignac was fading away from John, the weeks rolling themselves up like a carpet and disappearing from sight. The navy was reality now. It held him once more in its iron grip.
‘Aye aye, sir,’ he said, in a colourless voice.
But the interview that followed, in Captain Bannerman’s cabin, was far from colourless. It was so extraordinary, in fact, that as John left the august presence and emerged, blinking with astonishment on to the sunlit quarterdeck, he was half convinced he had been dreaming.
Mr Erskine was leaning on the rail, talking to a tall, narrow-faced midshipman. He beckoned John over.
‘Well, Mr Barr, and how did you find the captain this morning?’
‘Sir, I hardly know. I’m amazed. That is, I never thought, for one moment . . .’ He heard himself babbling and stopped.
‘Mr Barr has been promoted from the lower deck to be a midshipman,’ Mr Erskine said to the young man beside him. ‘He will be joining you in the midshipmen’s mess. This, Mr Barr, is Mr Williams, your new colleague.’
The midshipman put out his hand, but his expression was sour.
‘Congratulations,’ he said, without smiling.
‘Thank you, sir!’ John was almost light-headed.
‘No need to “sir” me,’ the other said contemptuously. ‘My name will suffice.’
He walked off.
‘You will be keeping a different kind of company from now on, Mr Barr,’ Mr Erskine said, watching thoughtfully as the stiff-backed young midshipman descended from the quarterdeck. ‘I have two words of advice for you. The first concerns your previous companions on the lower deck. You will now be in a position of command over them, and it will be necessary to establish new relations. Don’t be familiar with them, as you were in the past, but don’t be officious, either, or flaunt your new authority. There is a fine line to tread. The second concerns your new messmates.’ He paused. Mr Williams had now reached the gun deck below and was talking to two other midshipmen, who turned their heads to stare up at John. ‘A period of . . . adjustment . . . is inevitable. They are excellent fellows in the main, but apt to be a little boisterous in welcoming newcomers.’
John kept his face impassive, but his heart sank.
‘I see, sir.’
‘An account of your exploits in France will stand you in good stead. You may tell a certain amount, but you may not disclose the real names of Messrs Creech and Halkett. You will also, of course, keep the true identity of Mlle de Jalignac a close secret, and you will not visit her in the sickbay. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir, but won’t people think it odd that I have been rewarded with promotion, while Kit is to simply help out in the sick bay?’
‘Easily explained, my dear boy. Kit was wounded again during your dramatic escape from the spies and has sadly not fully recovered. He is obliged to stay close and quiet under Mr Catskill’s observation. Now report to the purser. He will provide you with the appropriate uniform and other items necessary to support you in your new rank, the cost of which will be deducted from your pay. Then get along to the schoolmaster. There is a navigation class in progress this morning, for which you will be damnably late.’
John took a deep breath.
‘Aye aye, sir.’
He turned to go.
‘Oh, and, John, there’s one more thing. You need not concern yourself about Mr Higgins. I should not say this, but I am happy to tell you that he is no more.’
‘He’s dead, sir? How?’
‘He was arrested last night as soon as I returned to the ship and confirmed to Captain Bannerman his involvement with the spies. He was put in irons while the captain considered how to proceed. The crafty fellow bribed one of his low friends to release him during the night watch. He managed to acquire a musket, loaded and primed, and forced two men to hoist out the jolly boat for him. It was the stupidest thing I ever heard of. Of course, he was bound to be discovered. The marines were alerted, and they shot after him as he tried to row himself ashore. One of their bullets pierced his heart. Mr Higgins won’t bother you any longer, John. You are quite safe from his attentions now.’
PART FIVE
DECEMBER 1808
CORUNNA
Chapter Thirty-five
It was winter now. The days had grown shorter and the winds colder. Foul weather in the Bay of Biscay buffeted the Fearless. Storms and squalls tore at the rigging, turning even hardened sailors green with seasickness as the ship rolled and pitched, standing to northward, then turning south again and again in her endless patrol across the mouth of the Gironde.
By the end of December, the crew of the Fearless, tired and dispirited by the crushing boredom of the seemingly endless blockade, had grown restive. Fights broke out with greater frequency. Mutterings of discontent occasionally boiled over into threats of outright mutiny. Captain Bannerman, never a vindictive man, had been forced to resort to frequent floggings to keep the men in order, and the normally pleasant relations between officers and crew had become soured with mutual distrust.
The four months that had passed since John had rejoined the ship had been almost the hardest of his life. He had missed Jabez and Horace, Mr Tawse, Tom and Davey, and he had felt awkward when they’d spoken to him respectfully and called him ‘sir’. He had visited his old berth once or twice, but the only boy left with Mr Tawse was Davey. Tom had joined the elite corps of topmen and was learning fast to work at the very summits of the masts, managing the highest sails and spars. Sometimes John caught sight of him way up aloft, trying to outdo the others in daring, earning his new scarlet waistcoat by braving the windiest weather and iciest cold.
John’s new companions, the other midshipmen, who ranged from thirteen to thirty years of age, had treated him disdainfully at first, and one or two had set out to humiliate and bully him. He’d held his ground and was accepted now, more or less, in their boisterous, noisy company, but he had made no close friends among them. He knew his reserve made him unpopular, but he could not change himself.
He desperately missed Kit. Twenty times a day he thought of something he wished to tell her, or heard something he knew would make her laugh, or flared with indignation at an injustice he knew she too would have hated. They managed to meet from time to time, slipping up to the fo’c’sle in the evening watch, but these occasions were frustratingly rare. Mr Catskill kept her closely confined to the sickbay, which an outbreak of fever had filled with groaning sailors. John found himself pacing the deck most evenings alone, returning cold and bad-tempered to the midshipman’s berth when the hammocks were piped down.
It had seemed to John, and to the rest of the bored and weary crew, that they would be stuck forever churning backwards and forwards through the choppy water along the coast of France, while the great war in Europe raged inland and other ships in His Majesty’s navy cruised the high seas, taking prizes, fighting battles and covering themselves with glory.
But everything changed one cold, breezy morning in early January.
‘
Sail-ho!’ the lookout aloft cried out.
John, who was on the lower deck taking a message to Mr Erskine, heard the stir on the main deck above as everyone ran to look. By the time he had gone up himself, the ship was alive with speculation. Not one, not five, but thirty sails out at sea had been counted already, and more were becoming visible all the time. The captain was marching up and down on the poop deck, his telescope to his eye.
‘It’s an entire fleet, so it is,’ a sailor near John was saying, raising a tattooed hand to shade his eyes as he looked out to sea. ‘Is it from God and all the saints, now, or from the divil himself? If it’s the Frogs, we’ll be all be singing with the mermaids before the day is out.’
John, used to the empty splendour of the sea, watched with amazement as ship after ship, the whole day long, blew towards them out of the horizon. The fleet had quickly been recognized as British, and everyone had waited with longing for the command to set sail to join them, only to watch with mounting disgust and despair as it sailed serenely past.
‘I zeen two hundred transports, a deal of frigates and ten or more ships of the line,’ John heard Jabez say to Mr Tawse, as the two of them stood looking out to sea, their collars turned up against the bitter north-east wind. ‘What do you make of it, Mr Tawse?’
‘What I make of it, Jabez my lad, is that something big’s afoot, and if this ship’s barkers ain’t all in perfect working order, heads will roll, yours and mine especial.’
‘I reckon that means a general inspection of the guns, don’t it, Mr Tawse?’ Jabez said slowly, after a moment’s rumination.
‘It does, Jabez. It does. Stow that plaguy parrot of yours out of harm’s way and get those gun crews hoppin’.’
The early dusk of winter was settling over the sea, smudging the horizon to a grey blur, when a frigate, detaching itself from the vast fleet, scudded across the water towards the Fearless. An hour later a young lieutenant in a smart uniform fresh from an English outfitter was being piped on deck. He disappeared into Captain Bannerman’s cabin, a bundle of papers under his arm, and for the next half-hour rumours ran wild round the ship.
Secrets of the Fearless Page 24