‘I had heard of the incident, Sir George’ said Clay, his face neutral. ‘Some of my people were ashore, but my inquiries have been unable to confirm if any of them were involved.’
‘No Rushes were ashore at the time,’ added Sutton.
‘Or Echoes, for that matter, said Windham.
‘Hmm, how very mysterious,’ said Montague. He looked over the rim of his wine glass at his subordinates. ‘Perhaps it is for the best that no further shore leave can be granted, as we are about to depart.’
‘Really, Sir George?’ said Sutton. ‘Have our sailing orders arrived then?’
Their host waited for Thomas to complete serving all his guests before answering.
‘They have indeed, gentlemen,’ he said. He paused to twist his plate of cheese round till the family crest on the rim was at twelve o’clock. ‘Part of my object in inviting you tonight was to share with you their contents. I know you are all aware that we are bound for the Indian Ocean, but I think only Captain Clay knows what our object is to be when we arrive. There is a force of French ships that have been operating in those waters and attacking our trade. Our orders are to hunt down and eliminate them.’
‘Do we know what force the French have, Sir George?’ asked Clay.
‘They have deployed three of their larger frigates,’ said there host. ‘Two of forty guns and one of thirty-six.’ Sutton whistled out loud.
‘Three frigates,’ he exclaimed. ‘They will be raising Old Harry with the East India trade.’
‘Where shall we base ourselves, Sir George?’ asked Clay.
‘At Cape Town. As you would expect, the Dutch had excellent naval facilities there, most of which were captured intact back in ninety-five when we seized the place.’
‘And when shall we depart for the Cape, Sir George?’ asked Sutton.
‘We must all be away from Portsmouth within two days,’ replied the squadron’s commander, looking round the table. His gaze alighted on the captain of the Rush. ‘You seem to find this intelligence distressing, Captain Sutton?’
‘Your pardon, Sir George. I did have an engagement I was anxious to fulfill before we left.’
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ said Montague. ‘Was it a matter of some gravity?’
‘Not really, Sir George. I had promised to call upon Miss Clay before I departed, but I shall not now be at leisure to make such a journey.’
‘How unfortunate,’ said Windham, staring across at his fellow captain without any trace of sympathy.
‘You shall have to blame your absence on the demands of the service, I am afraid,’ said the commodore.
‘I am sure Betsey will understand, John,’ said Clay. ‘Hasty departures have led to my failing to honour no end of such engagements over the years.’ Sutton nodded in reply, but said nothing. Clay turned back to their host. ‘Will we voyage directly to the Cape, Sir George?’
‘Not directly, nor together as a squadron. As is normal these days, no warship can be sent out from home waters without the opportunity being taken for them to offer their protection to some of the trade. One frigate will be required to go via the Gold Coast of Africa with a number of our Guineamen, while the rest of us will help to protect a large convoy bound for the Levant as far as Gibraltar.’ He turned towards Clay. ‘I had thought the Titan might nursemaid the ships for West Africa? They are ready for immediate departure. Could you leave with the tide tomorrow?’
‘As you wish, Sir George,’ he said evenly, while in his heart he felt the dread of leaving Lydia so soon. ‘I will need to work my people through the night on the last of my ship’s preparations, but that should be in order. I take it we will rendezvous again at the Cape once we have both completed our convoy duties?’
‘Quite so,’ said the commodore. ‘My ship will leave the following day, together with the Rush and the Echo.’
‘Then perhaps I might trouble you for a paper and pen, so that I may send a note to my wife. I, too, had an engagement I must needs break. She will be expecting me ashore tonight.’
‘Of course. Thomas, kindly pass the word for my clerk. Have him bring Captain Clay’s orders, too.’
While they waited for the clerk to arrive, Montague looked around his dinner table. God help me, he thought, what an indifferent collection of officers I have under my command. Young Windham looks as if he wants to call out Sutton at any moment. Sutton seems lively enough, but is now fretting about this Miss Clay. The only steady looking cove I have is her brother. His gaze met the calm, wolf-grey eyes of the Titan’s captain, and he raised his glass.
‘Gentlemen, I fear our evening draws to a close,’ he said. ‘We must all shortly return to our various preparations for departure. We have an excellent squadron commanded by three of the most able young officers the service can boast. I give you a successful voyage, and damnation to the French!’ The toast was drunk with approval, and then there was a pause while all looked at Windham.
‘W...what now?’ he muttered, peering around him.
‘You’re the youngest!’ hissed Sutton.
‘Oh, yes…. Gentlemen, the King!’
*****
The straggling line of Guineamen and their escorting frigate sailed across a world of deep blue and dazzling white. The sky was dotted with towering columns of boiling cloud that marched towards the unseen coast of tropical Africa that lay ahead, just beneath the horizon. They were matched by the columns of snowy canvas that the ships had spread to catch the wind. It was six weeks since the Titan had made her hasty departure from Portsmouth with her charges. That day had been grey and chill, the sun no more than a pale disc lost in veils of cloud. Now it was a globe of fire that sucked moisture from the waves till the air was thick with humidity. It was just after noon, and so high was the sun overhead that even the profusion of sail the frigate carried gave little shade to the group of men who sat in a line along the forecastle rail.
‘You has to be more gentle than that, our Sam,’ urged Trevan, as the Londoner’s hook splashed into the water. ‘The fish will be shy of such a commotion.’
‘What! They’ll take note of my little splash over the wake of the bleeding barky?’ exclaimed Evans. ‘How does that work, then?’
‘The barky’s motion is sort of constant, like,’ explained the Cornishman. ‘They’ll be used to her by now. I shouldn’t wonder if there weren’t shoals of them, a-lurking under the hull.’
‘If that’s the case, the buggers don’t seem partial to pork fat, at all,’ said O’Malley. He examined the piece of rind he had saved from yesterday’s dinner with distaste as he pushed it onto the hook, before lowering it down to join the other lines that bobbed about in the Titan’s gentle bow wave.
‘Try to animate your hook a little, Sam,’ suggested Sedgwick. ‘Make them curious as to what it may be, like this.’ He held his line outstretched in front of him and thrummed his fingers against the string. Sam tried to imitate his friend, but after several minutes without result, his attention began to wander.
‘So is them the ships what slavers use?’ said Evans. He pointed across towards the line of Guineamen that sailed along on a parallel course in their lee.
‘No, no, your slave ship is a much sleeker and handier craft. He has to get up all them little creeks and rivers, and the like,’ said Trevan. ‘They be proper fast an’ all, to hurry their cargo across to the Americas before they should perish.’
‘That’s right,’ said O’Malley. ‘They don’t need any escort from the likes of us. They can give fecking topsails to most privateers, and still beat them in a chase easy as kiss my hand.’
Sedgwick concentrated on his line. He let the simple task of fishing calm the unwelcome memories that his friends’ talk had awoken. After a moment he became aware that it had gone quiet. When he glanced up, the others were looking at him.
‘Sorry, lads, I wasn’t attending,’ he said. ‘What was said, again?’
‘Sam asked how long it took them slavers to cross to Barbados,’ said O’Malley. ‘I th
ought six weeks, but Adam was having none of it.’
‘I can’t really remember,’ he replied. ‘It was hard to judge, confined as we were. I remember having no notion that it might end at all, until it did. Perhaps it was six weeks, or maybe longer?’
‘I dare say it were hard to judge, Able, lad,’ said Trevan. ‘For them as was below decks, like.’
‘So if them ships ain’t slavers, what are they bleeding here for, then?’ persisted the Londoner, pointing with his fishing line towards the Guineamen once more.
‘It’s not just your slaves as is to be had in these waters,’ said O’Malley. ‘There’s all manner of treasure. Gold dust, elephant’s teeth, palm oil, pepper – they don’t call it the Gold Coast for fecking nothing. Not that we shall be having any of that. It’ll be touch and go for us, drop off the Guineamen and away to the Cape, you mark my words.’
‘We may not have gold dust, but we do have a bite,’ exclaimed Sedgwick, as his line began to jerk in his hand. ‘Help me get it landed, it feels big.’
Evans joined the coxswain and together they hauled in the large and very lively fish. They dropped it down onto the planking, were it thumped around the deck, gasping and flopping before Trevan stunned it with a blow from a belay pin. The fishermen crowded around their catch in admiration. It was a long silver fish with yellow fins and tail, and a glow of lemon on its belly.
‘It be a right handsome creature,’ said Trevan. ‘Looks a bit like some manner of bass.’
‘It is what my people call a ladyfish,’ said Sedgwick. ‘They are very good eating.’
The others looked at him for a moment.
‘Of course you would fecking know,’ exclaimed O’Malley. ‘Wasn’t you a fisherman from around here once?’
‘I wouldn’t have come out this far, but we had ladyfish close into shore, too,’ said the coxswain, his eyes watching the dying animal.
‘Well that’s good,’ said Evans. ‘I was a wondering how we might tell which of these foreign fish is sweet and which is poison. Let’s catch another.’ He and O’Malley returned to their lines with renewed enthusiasm. Trevan waited with his friend.
‘You all right, Able?’ he said. ‘You seem low in your spirits.’
‘It’s only memories, Adam,’ smiled Sedgwick. ‘I find it proper strange to be catching ladyfish again.’
‘Over ‘ere, Able!’ called Evans. ‘I can see a whole load of them fish of yours, gathered around some flotsam.’
‘Not just one bit of sea drift, neither,’ said O’Malley. ‘Fecking ocean is covered with them.’
The others joined their friends at the rail. The sea ahead of the frigate was now dotted with a line of low, dark shapes in the water. Sea birds squabbled overhead, while the flotsam itself jerked and turned in the oily water as something bit at it. The nearest piece drifted closer, surrounded by a silver halo of fish.
‘Shit,’ muttered Evans. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ The others watched in silence as the corpse of a black man bumped against the side of the ship.
Chapter 3 Freetown
Once the convoy reached Freetown, the Guineamen quickly departed, splitting up and making their way to the various trading posts of the Gold and Ivory Coasts farther to the east. This left the Titan as the only substantial vessel at anchor in Tagrin Bay. Clay could see his ship as it swung at anchor, with awnings spread to shelter the anchor watch on deck from the sun. The tide was full, and a swarm of dugout canoes, loaded with fishing nets, were heading past the frigate as they made for the open sea. He stood at a window that looked out onto a busy square of red earth, dominated by a single large tree in its centre, with widely spreading branches. In its shade were lines of traders with their wares spread out around them on rush mats. He could see piles of tropical fruit, baskets full of squawking chickens, heaps of tubas and plantains, all being haggled over by a colourfully dressed crowd. On the far side of the tree was the beach where Clay had arrived earlier, with the bay and his ship beyond. There was a substantial crowd of locals there too, all gathered around the waiting crew of his barge. The hands seemed to be behaving themselves as they played with the little barefoot children, or flirted in mime with their older sisters. He could rely on Sedgwick to make sure that matters did not get out of hand.
But now a second crowd had started to gather in front of him, composed of locals who had been passing to and fro, but had stopped to stare at the tall white man in his magnificent captain’s uniform in the window. He began to feel self-conscious, and ducked back into the room to retake his place on his battered wooden chair. Once seated again, he looked around the room. Of all the colonial residencies he had seen, that of the Grosvenor of Sierra Leone was the most modest. It consisted of a row of wooden cabins that stretched across one side of the square. Had it not been for the sun-bleached union flag that fluttered from a pole outside, he might have entirely missed that these shacks were the seat of local government. He was in the best maintained of them, in what he had been assured was the governor’s office. The floor was composed of bare planks, which had been much feasted on by the local insect population, to judge from the numerous little holes in the wood. The walls had been finished with a plaster of mud and straw and then painted over with lime wash. The windows had no glass in them, and the only furniture in the room was a roughly built desk, three chairs, and a substantial bible on a lectern by the door.
‘May I assist you, captain?’ asked a young, ginger-haired man in shirtsleeves who came into the room, wiping his hands on a rag.
‘Yes, please, young man. I had hoped to speak with the governor? Could you let him know that Captain Alexander Clay of His Britannic Majesty’s ship Titan is here to see him?’
‘Ah, yes,’ said the man, offering his hand a little shyly. ‘That would be me. My name is Mr Thomas Ludlam. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, captain.’
‘My dear sir!’ said Clay, jumping to his feet to seize the proffered hand. ‘You must think me dreadfully rude. I suppose that I was expecting someone... eh... perhaps a little more senior in years.’
‘No matter, captain,’ said Ludlam. ‘Most visitors are surprised when they meet me. White men die so readily of fever on this coast that it is not so unusual to find a printer of three-and-twenty holding such a position. Might I get you some refreshment? I am afraid I only have fruit juice or palm wine to offer.’
‘Not for me, Mr Ludlam, I thank you,’ said Clay as he retook his seat.
‘I am afraid we are not so used to visitors,’ explained his host. ‘Which is why we lack many of the refinements of civilisation. But we find we manage tolerably enough with what the Good Lord provides for us. Have you been to Freetown before, sir?’
‘No. It is my first time on this coast. I must confess to be quite intrigued by your colony. From the look of the dwellings, I collect it has not long existed?’
‘It was established some seven years ago to resettle former slaves from the Americas, at the behest of Mr Peters and Mr Clarkson,’ explained Ludlam. ‘Both men are prominent in the abolitionist movement at home. They desired to create at least one sanctuary on this benighted coast where Negros may live without fear of being enslaved.’
‘That is an admirable project,’ said Clay. ‘And it is clear that I have come to the right place, for it was advice on the matter of slavery that occasioned my visit, Mr Ludlam. Might I share the particulars with you?’
‘By all means, captain,’ said the young governor.
‘My ship was out in the offing, perhaps thirty miles from land, the day before yesterday, when we made a most unpleasant discovery,’ said Clay. ‘We encountered the bodies of a number of dead Negros afloat out at sea. There were almost fifty of the wretches, all of whom had long since drowned. My surgeon examined what was left of them. He tells me that all would have been young persons in their prime, naked and they were chiefly men. I wondered if you might be able to give me some insight into how they might have got there.’
‘Given the number of bodies
, and that they were so far from the coast, there is only one possible explanation. They will have been cast into the water from a slaver.’
‘Because they were dead?’ asked Clay.
‘I think not, captain,’ said Ludlam his face grim. ‘To be sure, a slave ship will toss the dead and dying over the side without a moment’s compunction, but you say they were found only thirty miles from Africa? In that case they will have been at the start of their terrible ordeal. The unfortunates you discovered were, in all probability, alive when thrown into the sea.’
‘But I understood a slave cargo to be very valuable. Why would a slaver throw it overboard?’
‘I can only imagine him doing such a thing if he was seeking to lighten his ship,’ said Ludlam. ‘In order to escape from some form of pursuit, perhaps.’
‘I dare say he might,’ mused Clay. ‘But escape from whom? An enemy privateer would be the most likely explanation, but it would need to be a swift to threaten to overhaul a slave ship out at sea.’
‘Many nationalities send their slave ships to this coast. A British or Portuguese vessel would fly from a French or Spanish attack. Only the neutral Americans have nothing to fear.’
‘So these slaves in the water may be a sign that a British slave ship has been attacked?’ asked Clay.
‘It is certainly likely, captain,’ said the governor. ‘What do you intend to do about it?’
‘My duty is clear. I cannot let an enemy prey on our commerce. I must hunt this ship down. Where do you suppose I may find them, Mr Ludlam?’
‘You are the expert on such matters, captain.’ The governor pulled out his fob watch and flipped it open. ‘Now, I am sure you will not want to miss the tide.’
The Distant Ocean Page 4