The Captain's Nephew

by Philip K Allan

  ‘A little visible from the masthead, sir,’ replied Clay, ‘but insufficient for our purposes yet. The hands are at breakfast at present. I was going to resume towing the ship after that.’

  ‘Hmm, that is a shame about the wind,’ mused the captain, ‘and you are quite correct about resuming our efforts to head north, but I had hoped for a little assistance from the elements.’

  Clay was about to reply, but stopped as his peripheral vision caught an unexpected movement above their heads. Both men looked up. Towering above the quarterdeck was the huge canvas square of the driver, hanging in a vertical drop between its two booms. An invisible force very slowly swung it out to one side. A moment later it swung back again as the tiny gust died.

  ‘Did you see that, Mr Clay?’ said the captain, a little unnecessarily.

  ‘I did sir, yes,’ Clay said, still looking up. Nothing happened for a minute, and then the driver began to move again, gave a lazy flap, and settled pressed against the resistance of the sheets. Both men exchanged glances. They could just feel the faintest breath of air on their faces.

  The quartermaster at the wheel suddenly spun the spokes through his hands. For the first time in a day and a night his rudder began to bite as the Agrius crept forward.

  ‘Captain sir, I have way enough to steer a course. Only just, mind,’ he said. Follett looked across to Clay.

  ‘A course of west by half northwest will serve us the best, sir,’ replied Clay.

  ‘Make it so,’ ordered the captain.

  ‘West and a half northwest it is sir, full and bye,’ came the reply from the wheel.

  ‘I believe you may belay the sweeps and boats, Mr Clay,’ said Follett. ‘Mr Windham, have the sails trimmed properly, if you please. Let us make the most of the little air we have.’

  As the frigate started to move, Clay heard the welcome chuckling sound of the bows cutting through the water. They were still only making a few knots, but this was still infinitely faster than they had been travelling the day before. After the oppressive heat of the last few days, even this tiny breath of air felt wonderful as it played across Clay’s face. Each mile to the north should also bring with it a freshening in the wind as they left the grip of the Doldrums behind them and returned to the flow of the trade winds. While Clay was speaking to Windham, he could see out of the corner of his eye the watch coming up from below, their breakfast complete. As they did so many climbed up on to the forecastle to pull their clasp knifes out from the spiny mass of them still stuck in the foremast. When each man returned his blade to the sheath that hung from his belt, he paused to slap the huge trunk of wood with satisfaction, convinced it was his intervention that had brought the return of the wind.

  For the first few hours, the breeze remained temperamental, dying out periodically to leave the Agrius becalmed again, but the intervals of calm grew shorter and shorter till by the time the watch was changed it was blowing reliably at last. The day wore on, with watch following watch, and all the time the wind strengthened. After two days of heavy torpor in the motionless water, the frigate came alive again. The sound of the sea on her bows grew from a steady chatter to a full plunging roar. Once more the wind made the mass of rigging drum and sing as it swept over the ship, while the hull resumed its familiar roll and sweep to each successive wave. Spirits lifted throughout the ship, except perhaps for Fleming the purser, who still moved about a little gingerly on his sprained ankle.

  When the sun eventually set among flaming clouds in the west, Booth and Clay were able to report to the captain that the frigate was once more astride fourteen degrees north, that invisible thread that led across the ocean to her enemy’s destination.

  ‘Excellent news, gentlemen,’ Follett enthused. ‘Make our course due west once more, and let us press on. Our enemy is ahead of us, and we have much time to make up.’

  *****

  Day after day the north east trade wind blew harder and harder, driving the Agrius onwards. Each watch, the crew trimmed the sails with unusual care, trying to urge a little more speed from their ship. All were captivated by the thrill of this chase, and the knowledge that somewhere ahead of them the red hull of the Courageuse battled along under a similar press of canvas. Perhaps she was hundreds of miles away, already approaching the shelving blue waters and palm fringed shores of the Caribbean. But perhaps she was just below the horizon. At this very moment the lookout at the masthead might be filling his lungs to hail the deck with the welcome news.

  Clay, like most people frightened of heights, had an exceptional regard for those who seem to be able to master such fears. He stood at his usual place at the back of the quarterdeck and watched the gymnastic skill of the lookout. It was Hoskins once more. He stood on the lofty royal yard, with one hand nonchalantly holding the thin oak shaft of the top gallant mast, while he shaded his eyes with the other. The Agrius was pitching violently as she hurtled along, and the wind was approaching gale force. This meant that his perch at the top of the foremast swept around in a large circle through the air. As Clay watched, Sutton came up to him.

  ‘I think we should pass the word for the captain, sir. She is becoming over pressed, and from the look of the sky this wind will only get stronger.’ Clay looked about him, gauging the feel of the ship under his feet. Away to the east the sky looked ominous. A squall of grey clouds was surging up behind them, billowing like boiling pewter. The captain had left strict orders that no reduction in sail should be made, other than in an emergency, without his approval.

  ‘I agree, Mr Sutton,’ he replied. ‘Kindly have him summoned.’

  Captain Follett strode up on deck, and looked about him, taking in the situation. Clay could see the play of emotions on his face, his desire to press on and overhaul the enemy in conflict with the need to look after his ship. The seaman in him won out.

  ‘You were quite correct to call me, Mr Sutton,’ he said. ‘Have the topgallants taken in, if you please.’

  Sutton gave the order, and soon the boatswains’ calls shrilled through the ship.

  ‘All hands! All hands to take in sail!’ The petty officers urged the top men on, racing up the rigging and out along the yards to bring in the sails, giving Clay yet more gymnastic skill to admire.

  With her sail area reduced, the Agrius moved a little easier through the water. Her speed seemed almost the same as before. Her hull was now at a less extreme angle, allowing the keel to grip deeper down as she raced through the water. But the wind continued to strengthen, and now became gusty. The approaching clouds covered half the sky, screening the sun into a sulphurous glow behind them. Clay could see that beyond the approaching wall of cloud patches of blue sky were visible. The squall would be brief but fierce. Beneath the clouds he could see the sea was dark and angry, in places it was slashed by a haze of falling rain. Sutton passed the word for the captain once more.

  When Captain Follett returned to the deck, it was obvious to all that the Agrius was again over pressed with sail for the conditions now, let alone for the approaching squall.

  ‘What changes do you propose, Mr Sutton?’ he asked.

  ‘I believe we need to take a reef in her topsails, and I would like to strike down her topgallant masts in preparation for the squall we have coming up behind us,’ replied Sutton. Follett considered the situation, the same conflict as earlier playing across his face. Again the sailor’s first priority to the safety of his ship won out.

  ‘Very well, Mr Sutton. Make it so.’

  Once again the boatswains’ calls shrilled through the ship, accompanied by the call of all hands. Again the petty officers urged the top men up the rigging, this time to reduce the size of the topsails by gathering up the top part of the sail and lashing it to the yards. In a wind this strong it was a difficult task. Sutton could see the men lying doubled over the yards, pulling and beating at the billowing canvas as they struggled to furl it in against the steel fingers of the wind trying to prise it from their grasp. Farther forward, Knight and his mates consulte
d with Clay on the best approach to the tricky task of swaying down the frigates upper masts. The point of maximum activity was at hand when a hail from the now forgotten lookout cut across the volley of orders.

  ‘Deck there! Sail ahoy!’

  ‘Where away?’ yelled Follett into the teeth of the gale.

  ‘One point off the larboard bow, sir. Looks like a man-of-war. Could be the Courageuse.’

  ‘Can you make out what sails she carries?’ asked the captain.

  ‘Top sails and reefed topgallants, sir,’ came the reply.

  ‘Mr Clay! Belay that order to strike down the topgallant masts,’ ordered the captain. ‘Mr Sutton, I will have those topsails reset and drawing if you please.’

  Confusion reigned for a few moments on deck as the hands stopped midway through their tasks, but the Agrius was fortunate that both Clay and Sutton were very good officers. Both men responded to the new orders, confidently working to resolve any confusion, and the frigate soon thrashed along again in the strengthening wind. On his way back to the quarterdeck Clay found himself stopped by Knight. Both men struggled to keep their footing as another gust of wind heeled the Agrius right over. The sea boiled along next to the frigate, washing close to the rail. A wave broke over the bows and swept along the main deck before the wind eased a little, allowing the frigate to rise back up again, water cascading from her scuppers and back into the sea.

  ‘Begging your pardon sir, but can you speak with the captain?’ asked the boatswain, his face a mask of anxiety. ‘The barky carries way too much top hamper for this wind. It will end badly, I fear. We should have gone ahead with them reefs to the topsails.’

  ‘I understand, Mr Knight, but you heard the order as well as I did,’ said Clay. ‘I am in agreement with your view, however. Rest assured that I will speak with the captain directly.’

  Back on the quarterdeck Clay was intercepted by Yates holding out Clay’s oilskins. Clay pulled them on, grateful for the boy’s initiative. Although it had not started to rain yet, Clay was soaked with the spray the ship was throwing up in her mad rush through the stormy water. He thanked his servant and made his way across the steeply sloping deck to where the captain stood, clinging on to the binnacle. The squall was almost on them, and the sound of the pounding sea and howling wind was deafening. Clay leant close to his captain’s ear.

  ‘I submit that she is carrying too much sail, sir,’ he yelled. ‘We need to reef the topsails at the very least, and probably take in the mizzen topsail in altogether.’

  ‘I will not reduce sail until my enemy does, Mr Clay,’ he replied. ‘He will not evade me for a second time.’

  ‘With respect sir, the Courageuse is a larger ship,’ shouted Clay. ‘She is better able to endure such weather. She is also much farther west than us and in consequence will be enjoying lighter winds.’

  ‘That is as may be, Mr Clay, but I will not reduce sail a second time. We have lost our chase once already, it shall not happen again,’ replied Follett. ‘I will not be moved on this; I know my duty.’

  ‘But sir, this is madness!’ persisted Clay. ‘This squall will only endure for at best a few hours. We know already the Agrius has the beating of the enemy for speed in normal conditions and we are days out from St Lucia. If something should carry away in this gale, she will escape from us again!’

  ‘Mr Clay!’ Follett bridled with anger. ‘I must insist that you stop questioning my orders. I am in command here, not you. Now go about your duties.’

  Clay moved away from his intransigent captain, and struggled with difficulty up to the weather side of the quarterdeck, his anger with Follett ignited once more. He knew that, of the two of them, he was the better seaman, and Follett’s arrogant dismissal of his advice stung. More importantly this recklessness imperilled the ship, and every soul on board. He wondered whether their recent clashes were clouding Follett’s judgement. Did his dislike of Clay make it impossible for him to listen to his first lieutenant’s recommendations in the way that any good commander should?

  Clay returned his attention to the ship. The frigate was heeled right over in the strengthening wind. Over the side a bright strip of her copper-covered hull flashed and shone, rolled up clear of the waves. From where he stood the deck sloped downwards like the roof of a house, towards the angry sea. Huge waves of bottle green, flecked with foam, surged past them as the frigate continued to tear forward.

  Now the squall was all about them. Rain cascaded down, hissing onto the deck and making the sea alongside foam yeastily. The wind direction began to swirl and veer, almost taking the frigate aback for a moment before the quartermasters at the wheel managed to pay her off. Then a huge gust howled over the ship, forcing Clay to crouch down. He looked up at the mizzen topsail, the yard bent by the pressure of the wind like a drawn bow. Clay was marvelling at how the wood could take such pressure when the sail below it gave way. A small hole appeared for a brief moment in the centre of the canvas and rushed outward as the eager wind forced its way through. An instant latter the whole sail disintegrated, the fragments swept away in the wind, leaving only a fringe of whipping tails still attached to the yard. A split second later came a crack like a cannon shot from further forward, and the Agrius spun up into the wind.

  Clay rushed forward along the weather side gangway to see what had happened. Behind him Follett and Sutton shouted orders, getting the remaining sails in and setting a storm jib to keep the frigate’s bows to the waves while the damage to the ship could be assessed. Clay joined Knight beneath the foremast. The boatswain looked up at the topsail yard, the rain cascading off the back of his hat and flowing down his sodden pigtail. One half of the yard was still attached to the mast, but was badly sprung. On the other side of the mast it ended in a torn mass of splinters. The other half of the yard, complete with a few fragments of sail, was thrashing around in the gale, still attached to the ship by various lines. Knight was organising to have it brought under control and lowered down to the deck before it could do any further damage to the rigging. He looked around as Clay approached, shaking his head, his face angry.

  ‘I told you she couldn’t take a blow like this with all that canvas showing, sir,’ he lamented. ‘She’s a willing enough ship, none in the service more so, but that last blow was too much for her.’

  ‘I understand, Mr Knight,’ said Clay. ‘I did attempt to persuade the captain, but without success. How long before you can repair the damage?’

  ‘I can do little more than secure matters in this squall, sir,’ replied Knight, puffing out his cheeks. ‘Once it blows over, Chips will need to make a new yard out of one of the spare spars, and we will need to get new sails bent on it, if we work through the night.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Knight. Once you have secured the broken yard, can you make good any damage that the rigging may have suffered.’ said Clay.

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ replied the boatswain, turning away to shout instructions at the men working aloft. Clay turned to Croft, the midshipmen stationed on the forecastle.

  ‘Mr Croft, my complements to the carpenter, and can he start work on a new foretop yard as soon as is convenient.’ Croft saluted and disappeared off to find him. Clay returned to the rear of the ship to report to the captain.

  When Clay got back to the quarterdeck he found that Follett had gone below. Sutton was busy with a party of men swaying down the mizzen topsail yard to check for damage, and to replace the destroyed sail.

  ‘Where is the captain, Mr Sutton?’ asked Clay.

  ‘Gone below sir, with a face like thunder,’ replied Sutton. ‘God, what a mess!’

  ‘What a mess indeed,’ agreed Clay. ‘Any sign of the Courageuse?’

  ‘Out of sight now, and probably long gone, I am afraid, sir,’ said Sutton. He took Clay by the arm, and drew him away towards the rear of the quarterdeck, out of the hearing of the crew.

  ‘I heard your conversation with the captain earlier. We all did. If only he had listened to your recommendations Alex, this could
all have been avoided. Mr Booth believes that it was pure good fortune that the mizzen topsail burst when it did, otherwise we might have been blown over on our beam ends and the ship would have foundered. Where would we all have been then? We can’t go on in this fashion. He is sure to get us killed.’

  ‘John, you know I cannot listen to talk like this,’ hissed Clay in reply. ‘He is our captain, and for as long as that remains the case we should give him our loyalty. Please carry on here. I must go and report to him on the state of the ship.’

  Sutton looked after the retreating back of his friend. He was not disappointed with the way their conversation had gone. Clay was a cautious man, and their conversation had skirted around the mutinous. Sutton knew his friend well, and he took comfort in his careful phrasing. In particular he noticed the note of qualification, that “for as long as that remains the case” which had not been there before in his friend’s definition of loyalty to the captain.

  *****

  ‘Well Mr Clay, what do you have to report?’ asked Captain Follett. He had changed out of his wet clothes, and sat behind his desk sipping at a hot rum. Behind the captain the sweeping panorama of ocean was visible through the row of cabin windows. The sea was still rough, but the worst of the squall had past. Beams of sunlight had broken through the clouds, and the sea colour was transforming back to its more familiar blue. Follett did not offer his dripping first lieutenant either a chair or a drink, but instead sat hunched in his seat, dangerous and angry.

  ‘The foretop yard is broken clean through, sir. Mr Knight is securing the broken yardarm down on deck, and is making repairs to the damaged rigging. The carpenter and his crew will shortly start to work on the spare main yard, reducing it in size so as to create a replacement. Mr Sutton is checking the mizzen top yard for damage as we speak, after which the sail maker will bend on a new sail. We will need to check for any less obvious damage to the ship sir, but we should be able to get under way again sometime tomorrow morning.’ Clay waited for some response to his report. Follett stared for a moment out of the stern window before he asked his next question.