On the Lee Shore, page 22
Chapter 15
Escape
‘If I had a farthing for every time we have proceeded down the Iroise Channel this commission, I should no longer be obliged to make my living as a King’s officer,’ said Lieutenant Blake to Lieutenant Preston as they stood together on the quarterdeck of the Titan. Blake was officer of the watch, and so compelled to be there, but his friend had joined him merely to enjoy the early morning light and to keep him company. The strong wind that pressed the frigate forward still had a little of the gale’s residual chill, but it was backing towards the south with every moment and was losing its sting. The blue sky above them was dotted with white domes of cloud that hinted at calmer weather ahead. Preston looked at the patterns of cloud shadow and bright sunlight that dappled the coast and sea for a moment.
‘So what occupation might you follow, John?’ he asked. ‘If your torrent of farthings was ever paid to you and you no longer had to serve as a lieutenant.’
‘I might try my hand as an artist,’ said the young man, after a few moments of thought. ‘I have always enjoyed drawing and I showed a modest ability at painting when I was a child.’
‘Really?’ said Preston. ‘You do surprise me. So why don’t you?’
‘What, give up my career and paint?’ laughed his friend. ‘I have not actually been paid those farthings for our frequent visits to this stretch of sea, you know, Edward.’
‘Granted,’ said Preston. ‘But I meant that you could still pursue your interest in art without having to stop being a naval officer. Does our time off duty not give you the leisure to pursue other interests? Many of the men use their time below deck to do scrimshaw and the like. My friend Croft once served onboard a ship with a lieutenant who had a passion for marine life. He had half the gunroom fishing over the side for all manner of creatures for him when they were off duty. I believe he was quite an accomplished cove, with learned papers read at the Royal Society and such like. I don’t see why you might not do a little sketching, if you feel so inclined.’ He pointed towards the fabulous view that had opened up all around them. ‘You have plenty of agreeable subjects.’
In response Blake turned his back on the coastline. ‘Mr Butler,’ he said, ‘my compliments to the captain, and we will shortly be in a position to start our observations of Brest.’ While he waited for Clay to appear, he ran a quick eye over the ship to make sure that nothing was out of place. Once he was satisfied he looked back at his friend and laughed out loud. Preston had pushed his hat to the back of his head in a rakish manner and had pulled out his neck cloth into a ballooning cravat. In one hand he held the slate that normally hung by the wheel for recording course directions, while in the other he held a stick of chalk at arm’s length as if he was measuring perspective.
‘I am pleased to hear my officers are enjoying themselves this morning,’ said Clay as he approached the pair. Preston began to stuff his neck cloth back into his shirt while Blake returned the slate and chalk to their place beside the wheel.
‘Your pardon, sir,’ replied Preston, catching at his hat just in time to prevent it from falling to the deck.
‘No matter, Mr Preston,’ he said. ‘I am sure the jest was worth it.’ He then looked around to find the two midshipman waiting to one side, both grinning at the discomfort of the lieutenants. ‘Mr Russell, Mr Butler, do you have your spy glasses and note books? Excellent, aloft you go now.’
‘Any sign of those eels of yours, Mr Blake?’ asked the captain as he watched the two young midshipmen scamper up the shrouds.
‘No, sir,’ replied the officer of the watch. ‘I had a good look into Bertheaume Bay earlier and saw no ships of war at all. Perhaps they have returned to the shelter of Brest to avoid the storm.’
‘Let us hope that is the case,’ said Clay. ‘We are close enough in shore now. Kindly bring her to the wind, and let us see what our two little spies have to report.’
‘Twenty ships of the line, same as last time, sir,’ said Butler, once the two midshipman had returned to the deck and consulted together. ‘But only five frigates now, sir. There were ten last time, two of which were stationed in that bay.’
‘Now, are you sure of what your saw?’ asked Clay. ‘Take your time and think. It is most important that you are certain in your view.’
‘Quite sure, sir,’ supplemented Russell. ‘You could see the gaps in the line of moored ships where they had been.’
‘Did you look for them elsewhere in the harbour?’ persisted their captain. ‘Might they not have been amongst the smaller shipping, or returned back into the inner harbour? If you want to return aloft to check, I shall not be angry.’
‘That will not be necessary, sir,’ said Butler. ‘They have definitely gone.’
‘Very well, gentlemen,’ said Clay. ‘So we have as many as five frigates that have slipped out to sea.’ He thought for a moment, and then something else occurred to him. ‘What has become of all those tents you saw a few weeks back? The ones just on the other side of the headland?’
‘Oh, no need to worry about those,’ said Butler. ‘They have all disappeared too, sir.’
‘What!’ exclaimed Clay. ‘The soldiers and guns as well?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Russell. ‘You can still see the marks on the ground where the tents once stood.’
‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ said the captain. ‘That has been most illuminating.’ He spun on his heel and called across to the officer of the watch. ‘Mr Blake, kindly lay us on a course that will most directly take us back out to sea. I want you to close with the flagship as soon as may be convenient. Signal to the commodore that I wish to come onboard, and that it is urgent.’
*****
‘Captain Clay, my dear fellow,’ said Sir Edward Pellew, as the last twitter of the boatswain’s pipes squealed into nothingness, and his visitor’s hand descended from the side of his hat where it had been held in salute. He grasped that hand, shook it and smiled at his subordinate. ‘Delighted to see you again. I take it that the Titan came through our recent blow unscathed?’
‘Tolerably well, sir,’ replied Clay. ‘We did have a stay sail blown out while the hands were at dinner, and a little of our rigging was wounded, but I have a good boatswain in Mr Hutchinson who has put all to rights once more.’
‘That is good news. We shipped rather a lot of water, but endured nothing worse. Will you please come this way?’ The commodore led him under the quarterdeck and past the marine sentry who stood to attention outside his cabin door. Inside was the familiar luxury he remembered from before. The same thick Persian rugs under his feet, and he still found himself scrutinised by the gilt framed portraits that looked down from the bulkheads. I shall have a picture of Lydia commissioned to hang on my cabin wall, once we are married, he told himself. After a moment he reached forward to lightly touch the cherry wood of Pellew’s desk. If we are married, he corrected himself, remembering how noncommittal Lady Mary Aston had been when they had met.
‘Do please take a seat, Captain Clay,’ said Pellew.
‘A glass of sherry, sir,’ murmured a steward at his elbow, and Clay accepted the proffered glass from the tray.
‘Now what has happened to bring you out to see me?’ asked the commodore. ‘Pleasant as your visit is, I take it this is not just a social call. Are the French out?’
‘I believe they are, sir, but only in part,’ he replied. ‘The twenty ships of the main battle fleet are still at anchor, but five of their frigates have gone.’
‘Yes, I did fear they might avail themselves of the opportunity of this storm to slip a few of their more weatherly ships out,’ said Pellew. ‘They often do this after a blow, knowing our heavy units will have fled back to Torbay, and we will have been driven from our proper station. Generally they are sent out on a cruise to attack our commerce. Very vexing, to be sure.’
‘Sir, if it were but one or two ships, that might be the case,’ said Clay. ‘But five frigates on the same night? Does that not strike you as more like a squadron, despatched with the object of creating some particular mischief?’
‘Perhaps,’ said the commodore, sipping at his drink. ‘Do you have any other intelligence to support your view?’
‘I do, sir,’ he replied. ‘For a week now I have suspected the French of having in preparation some design they wished to conceal from us, hence those two frigates stationed in Bertheaume Bay to intercept our approach. Now their object has been achieved both ships have gone. The Titan was able to make her observations with perfect ease this morning.’
‘That is certainly suggestive,’ agreed Pellew, ‘but hardly conclusive.’
‘No sir, I agree,’ he replied. ‘Do you recall the brigade of troops in a tented encampment I informed you of? They too have disappeared. I surmise the troops have been taken onboard the five frigates. It is this accumulation of detail that makes me fear the worse.’
Pellew waved forward his steward to refill the glasses, and then he looked out of the stern window, deep in thought. Outside the blue Atlantic stretched to the silver horizon, with only a few little islands close at hand to break the seascape.
‘I believe you may have the truth of it. Five frigates, and let us say two thousand troops, somewhere out there,’ he said, pointing at the empty ocean. ‘Where are they going, Clay?’
‘They will not be bound for the West Indies, sir,’ offered his visitor. ‘Now that we have deprived the enemy of their sugar islands, there are no garrisons for them to reinforce, and a single brigade is too small a force to attempt any conquests.’
‘Agreed,’ said the admiral. ‘I would add that we can rule out the Mediterranean for a somewhat different reason. If they were bent on forcing their way past our forces at Gibraltar they would have sent ships of the line, not just frigates. Very well, not west across the ocean to the Caribbean, and not south to enter the Med. Are they headed north then?’ Both men looked at each other as the same thought came to them.
‘Ireland,’ said Clay. ‘Isn’t the militia struggling to contain the rebellion there?’
‘That’s right,’ said Pellew. He put down his glass with decision. ‘That damned rebel Wolfe Tone is still proving troublesome, together with all those United Irishman. Two thousand trained French troops coming to assist them would be an infernal problem. Doubtless they will be carrying arms and supplies for the rebels too. The Munster coast is no more than three hundred miles away.’ He got up from behind his desk, and began to pace up and down the cabin.
‘Very well, we must go after them then,’ he said. ‘Yet I cannot leave Brest unguarded. The Argo can take your place in the Iroise Channel to keep an eye on the French. The Phoebe is the swiftest of my five frigates, so I shall send her with word of all this to Admiral Bridport. He should be on his way back from Torbay with the fleet. So that leaves you, me and Captain Warburton in the Concord to go after them. Three of ours against five of theirs. They are not the kindest of odds.’
‘I have faced worse, sir,’ said Clay. Inside he felt rising excitement at the prospect of action.
‘So you have,’ smiled Pellew, and then his face changed. ‘But I was forgetting. Are not a good number of your people Irish? Can they be relied on in such a fight?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Clay. ‘I would stake my life on the conduct of my men.’
‘Have a care what you say,’ cautioned the commodore. ‘That may prove to be exactly what you will be doing.’
*****
‘A seven again!’ exclaimed Faulkner, glaring at the board. He stroked one of his auburn sideburns with the edge of a spare playing counter and stared at the impossible position he seemed to have got himself into.
‘With two dice a seven is quite the most probable result, Charles,’ said Macpherson, with an assurance that came from the certainty of victory. ‘The philosophers calculate the odds as one in six. The trick in Backgammon is to accept such inevitability and factor it into your play.’
‘Hmm,’ grunted the purser. He eventually moved a counter and sat back.
‘There, you see?’ said the marine. ‘I too have a thrown a seven. Which will permit me to do this.’ He moved his counters with practiced ease, and removed another of his opponent's from the board. ‘Ah, Henry,’ he said as the ship’s master came into the wardroom. ‘So do you know where we are bound? You have been closeted away with the captain and Mr Taylor for some time now.’
Warwick began his reply just as the tiller above their head swung across the wardroom ceiling with a groan of rudder lines and a squeal from one of the blocks.
‘Your pardon, Henry,’ said the marine. He cupped a hand to his ear. ‘I missed what you said. Will you not come a little closer, I pray.’
‘I said that we are bound for Ireland,’ he repeated, taking a chair next to the Scotsman, and putting a slim leather bound volume he was carrying on the table. ‘I have just given the captain our course. We are in company with the Indefatigable and the Concord, spread in a line abreast with twelve miles between each ship.’
‘Curious formation,’ said Faulkner. ‘What may its purpose be?’
‘It will serve to maximise the area of sea we can cover as we advance, Charles,’ replied Warwick. ‘We do not know which path the French will have taken. We are to follow the direct path, but they may have stood farther out to sea in order to avoid our cruisers who patrol the mouth of the Channel.’
‘Yet we are certain they are bound for Ireland, I collect?’ said Preston as he looked up from the letter he was writing.
‘The captain is quite resolved that is the case,’ said the master. ‘Where in Ireland is more uncertain. A remote and sheltered bay where they can land their troops and supplies unmolested, you may be sure. Which on the coast of Ireland will mean somewhere in the far west.’
‘In my experience the captain’s instinct is generally to be relied on in such matters,’ smiled Preston. ‘Some action at last! Capturing a few scrubby little coasters in the fog is all very well, but it will be good to cross swords with a ship that is our equal.’
‘You sound like the late Lieutenant Morton,’ said Warwick. ‘He too was rather contemptuous about making war on merchantmen.’
‘Oh, I am content to receive a bit of easy prize money, you may be sure,’ said Preston. ‘Are not all naval officers part pirate when you scratch them a little? But there is so much more honour to be had from besting another warship.’
‘Well then, Edward,’ said the master, ‘I give you joy of your battle. Let us hope the French are just below the horizon, and that we are closing on them fast.’
‘What is that volume there, Henry?’ asked the purser. ‘Is it some sort of sailing directions for the Munster coast?
‘This here?’ he said picking up the slim green book. ‘We are like to be thrown ashore if this is all we have to navigate by.’ He flicked through the large pages so they could see that every one of them was empty. ‘I am going to give this to Mr Blake. He asked me earlier if I had any blank paper he might have, and I remembered this. I had been keeping it with thoughts of writing a journal, but I never did start. I have no notion what he intends to do with the book.’
‘I think I may know,’ said Preston. ‘He may be considering using it to sketch in.’
‘Oh really?’ said Faulkner, taking the book from the master. ‘I had not thought of him as being an artist?’
‘I do not think he has practiced the skill much of late, Charles,’ said Preston. The new purser twisted the book in his hands for a moment.
‘Useful things books, are they not, Tom?’ he said with a smile. He slapped Macpherson on the shoulder and turned back to the master. ‘We almost lost our bold marine last commission. Macpherson here was reading a novel when he was called into action to repel a French attack on a redoubt that Preston was commanding. He deposited the book into his tunic, and thought no more about it till a base Frenchman shot him in the chest. The book stopped the bullet dead, leaving him with no more than a cracked rib and a generous bruise. Damnedest thing I ever saw.’
‘Bless my soul, Tom,’ said Warwick shaking the marine officer by the hand. ‘A bullet stopped by a novel, perhaps the pen may truly be superior to the sword. What a tale! I do hope your prodigious good fortune may have followed you across into the Titan.’
‘Let us hope that it has,’ Macpherson replied. He sat back in his seat for a moment while the others continued to discuss the remarkable incident. What the hell do they really know, he thought to himself. Faulkner’s jolly account was accurate in as far as it went, but it left out so much. He had not mentioned the slow moment of rising horror that had rooted him to the spot as he had watched the soldier train his musket round and select him as his target. Where was the long terror as time froze while he waited for the gun to fire? What about the massive impact of the bullet on his chest when it struck, spinning him around? Or the hard ground as it raced up towards him. He felt a prickle of sweat on his forehead and went to pull out his handkerchief from his coat pocket. His hand was trembling so much that when he drew it out he found it had dropped on to the deck. As he bent down to pick it up he heard Preston cry out.
‘Have a care for the board,’ he shouted. The ship had heeled over and settled at a more pronounced angle. With a despairing lunge Preston just managed to stop the board from slipping to the floor, but the counters had all collected in a black and white drift along one side. ‘Ah, I fear your game may have come to an abrupt close, gentlemen.’
‘Thank God for that,’ said Faulkner. ‘You did have me soundly beaten, Tom.’
‘The captain is certainly cracking on,’ mused the master. ‘I believe he must have added topgallants over topsails for the ship to heel at such an angle. We may catch these Frenchmen yet.’
