On the Lee Shore, page 6
*****
‘Hart, this pie is really quite excellent,’ enthused Clay to his steward as he had his lunch in the great cabin of the Titan. ‘The quality of your fare seems much improved of late.’
‘Why thank you, sir,’ said Hart. ‘I have changed my manner of cooking since I last served your honour. I believe I may have over reached myself in the past, when I was trying to produce them fancy made Frog dishes what Lloyd used to do for Captain Follett. Fact is they never did come out quite right, did they, sir?’
‘No, Hart, they did not,’ said his captain, relief evident on his face. ‘So where do you find your inspiration now?’
‘For that pie there, sir?’ said the steward. ‘Why, I followed the directions that my mother gave me, she being renowned for her made dishes.’
‘Did you, by Jove,’ said Clay. ‘Well, it is a very fine pie. Come in!’ This last comment was directed towards the cabin door.
‘Mr Morton’s compliments, sir,’ said the burly midshipman who came in. ‘The tide will ebb in the next hour, and La Feels... Less Fillets... eh, that reef you wanted to be told about is in sight, dead ahead.’
‘Do you mean Les Fillettes, Mr Butler?’ asked his captain.
‘Yes, sir, that’s the one,’ said the relieved midshipman.
‘You do not have any facility with the French tongue, I collect?’
‘French, sir?’ queried Butler. ‘I can’t say as I do. There has never been much call for it in the gunroom.’
‘I appreciate that these French names can be vexing, but you must oblige me and at least learn the names of the principal reefs. This is a very dangerous coast. It matters little on a calm day such as we have now, but when the weather is less kind I shall need all my officers to be able to report on what they see with precision. Is that clear, Mr Butler?’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ said the teenager, a worried frown appearing between his eyes.
‘Very well, please tell Mr Morton I shall come on deck directly.’
When Clay walked out onto the quarterdeck, the Titan was deep within the Iroise Channel. She slid along under easy sail down the centre of a wide inlet that cut deep into the coastline of Brittany. Danger was wrapped all around the ship. The green fields of France came to an abrupt end in steep cliffs where the land tumbled down into the waters of the channel. He could see rocks littering the coast, while nearer at hand broken lines of reefs were marked by the occasional black-toothed rock proud of the swirling white foam all about them. At regular intervals gun batteries studded the coast, revealing themselves to the frigate with the occasional puff of smoke, followed by a line of water spouts rising up off the calm water as a ranging shot skipped across the sea. None of them endangered the ship, but they served to remind Clay how careful they must be so close to the enemy shore. Ahead the inlet narrowed down into the Goulet, the deep water channel that led through to the Rade de Brest, where the enemy fleet would be at anchor. Right in the middle of the Goulet was a further wash of white water that spat periodically into the air, showing him where another dangerous reef lay.
‘Les Fillettes,’ mused Clay as he gazed at the rocks through his telescope. ‘What a strange name for a reef upon which hundreds of sailors must have perished over the years.’
‘It means the Little Girls, sir,’ said Morton, standing next to his captain.
‘I know what it means, Mr Morton,’ said Clay. ‘I was speculating why rocks with such an evil reputation should have been given such an innocent name.’
‘Your pardon, sir,’ replied the lieutenant. ‘My mistake. I imagined that with your background you might not have had the benefit of a French tutor. Your late father was a village curate, was he not?’
‘No, he was a parson, actually,’ said Clay. ‘Am I to understand that you did have the benefit of such an education?’
‘Oh yes, naturally I did, sir,’ replied Morton. ‘In my family it is considered to be a necessary accomplishment for a gentleman.’ Clay looked at his second lieutenant with a frown as Morton lingered a moment on the word ‘gentleman’.
‘I am delighted to hear it, Mr Morton,’ said Clay. ‘I believe you shall be able to oblige me by helping some of the junior officers.’
‘In what particular, sir?’ asked the lieutenant.
‘I have just now discovered that the navy has been rather less thoughtful than the Morton family when it comes to the education of our young gentlemen. It seems that they are quite unable to say these difficult French names in any intelligible manner. Perhaps you could give them the benefit of your knowledge of the language by holding some lessons for the gunroom?’
‘What! Surely that cannot be necessary, sir,’ protested the lieutenant, quite aghast at the prospect.
‘Oh it is absolutely necessary,’ said Clay. ‘It will serve to enhance the education of my ship’s officers beyond measure. For some in the French language, and for others it will provide a useful lesson in the perils of looking down on those one holds to be inferior.’ He held the young lieutenant’s gaze for a long moment.
‘Aye aye, sir,’ he said at last, his face flushed and red. The pair of large gun batteries that guarded each side of the mouth of the Goulet both opened up at that moment, their huge forty-two pounder balls throwing up a mass of tall splashes from the sea in front of the Titan, returning both officers’ attention to where the ship was.
‘Close enough, Mr Morton,’ ordered Clay. ‘Bring her into the wind, if you please. Now, Mr Butler, and you too, Mr Russell, I want you to take these spy glasses and go aloft up different masts. You are to count all the shipping you can see. Take your time, now. I want to know how many warships are in the Rade de Brest, what sort they are, and if they have their upper masts and yards set up. Make your observations separately, then consult on deck and agree what you have seen.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ both midshipman replied, and scampered off to climb the fore and main masts.
‘Keep her steady into the wind, damn you eyes,’ yelled Morton at the quartermaster.
‘Aye aye, sir,’ said the man at the wheel, and Morton spun away to pace up and down the quarterdeck.
‘You can go fuck yourself, Beaky,’ the helmsman muttered to his fellow quartermaster. ‘No cause to get arsy just because Pipe as brought you down a peg or two.’
While he waited for the two midshipmen to report back, Clay returned to his survey of the coastline around him. It seemed strange to be so close to the main French fleet and yet to be safe. The Iroise Channel had been crowded with costal craft all headed towards Brest when they had first stood in, but like fish before a shark they had run from the big frigate as she swept forward. He could see the boats on either side of him, some huddled under the guns of the various batteries, others lying safe behind the numerous reefs.
‘There is a fortune in prize money all around us, sir,’ remarked Taylor, as he came to stand beside him. ‘All so close, and yet vexingly out of reach.’
‘Is the channel always this crowded, Mr Taylor?’ asked Clay.
‘It can be when the tide is as it is,’ explained the lieutenant. ‘The Goulet is sufficiently narrow that the sea races through it. If it is running out, as it has begun to do now, all these craft can get backed up, waiting for the next tide to bear them in.’
‘That will not be until tonight,’ mused his captain. ‘I wonder where all of these coasters will go to wait?’
‘Berthaume Bay over there, sir,’ replied Taylor, pointing to the south of them. ‘It has good holding ground to anchor, is well protected from a westerly gale, and is conveniently close to the mouth of the Goulet for when the tide turns. Regrettably the entrance is also covered by several tolerably large French batteries. When I was in the merchant service during the peace, I used it several times.’ Clay turned his telescope that way and examined the bay. It already contained several coasters, with more entering as he looked.
‘Is that a town I can see at the bottom of the bay?’ he asked.
‘Oh aye, that will be Camaret, sir,’ the lieutenant replied. ‘It is more of a village really, but it does have a number of taverns. I have rowed to shore there for a mug of cider a few times while waiting for my tide.’
‘You would need the wind in the south or east to bring any prizes out,’ said Clay to himself. He tapped his closed spy glass in the palm of one hand. His first lieutenant looked at him.
‘You are surely not thinking of cutting out anything from under those batteries, sir,’ he protested.
‘Not today, Mr Taylor,’ said his captain, still deep in thought. ‘No, not today. The wind will not serve.’ He looked up as the two midshipman came along the gangway. ‘Ah, here come our intrepid young spies. Mr Butler, Mr Russell, what have you to tell me?’
‘We counted nineteen ships of the line, sir,’ said Butler. ‘All were two deckers. Five of them have their yards crossed. Then we saw a further ten frigates, four of those have yards in place, and perhaps twenty smaller vessels, brigs, sloops and the like.’
‘Well done to you both,’ said Clay. ‘Mr Taylor, have these gentlemen’s observations entered into the log, if you please, and then let us make our way back out to sea. When we have sight of the Indefatigable please signal a full report on the French fleet to the commodore.’
*****
When the watch was changed at eight bells the following day, the ship exploded into a mass of activity. The men below came boiling up the ladder ways from the lower deck under the urgings of their petty officers in a torrent of humanity. Henry Warwick, the new officer of the watch, strode out of the wardroom, buttoning up his master’s blue coat and adjusting his hat as he came. The junior officers that were to assist him ran up from the gunroom, and throughout the ship men dispersed to their stations. The forecastle men ran to the bow, the waisters to the main deck, the lookouts clambered up to the lofty royal yard, the afterguard congregated on the quarterdeck, and the quartermasters took their place at the wheel. Then the flow of men reversed as those who had been relieved by the new arrivals went below for food and some rest.
In all the confusion, nobody noticed Sedgwick down on the lower deck as he took Thomas Rodgers by the arm and drew him into the relative privacy of the space between the captain’s pantry and the boatswain’s locker.
‘Afternoon, Able,’ said Rodgers. ‘Good to be coming off watch for a bit of a breather, like.’
‘Afternoon, Tom,’ replied Sedgwick. ‘You’re right there, shipmate. Mind you, being in the barge crew does mean we have a lot less grind than most. You must enjoy the privileges you get from crewing for the captain? I know I do.’
‘Yeah, course I does,’ said the oarsman. ‘There ain’t no problem is there, Able, mate?’
‘I am not sure,’ said the coxswain. ‘Can you think of anything that might be a problem?’
‘No, can’t say as I can,’ replied Rodgers, his eyes shifting away from the remorseless gaze of his questioner.
‘Because I think that if you was to try a bit harder, something might occur to you, Tom.’ Sedgwick stroked his chin for a moment. ‘See, the captain’s barge is my boat, and I say who is in the crew or not, and I like my crew to be loyal. Loyal to me, as well as to the captain. Are you loyal, Tom?’
‘Sure I am, Able,’ said Rodgers. ‘You can count on me, mate.’
‘Now, that is very good to hear. So you won’t have a problem telling me what it was that you were slipped when we was alongside the old Indy?’
‘W... w... what you talking about?’ stuttered Rodgers.
‘Oh dear, that is a shame,’ said the coxswain. ‘So all that talk just now about how I could count on you was so much gammon. Pity, mate. I will need you to give me your hat back and all that green ribbon needs to be taken out of your shirt. Middle of the dog watch will be fine for you to return it. And I will let Mr Taylor know you need to be reallocated to other duties. Not to worry, I have plenty of men who will jump to take your place in the boat.’ He turned away to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
‘Hang on there, Able, mate,’ said Rodgers. ‘There is no need to do anything hasty like.’ He pulled him back behind the bulkhead and then peered around the corner to check they were not being overheard. ‘Look, if I let’s you know, you must keep it quiet,’ he hissed. ‘He would bloody kill me if he knew I was telling you.’
‘I have never grassed on a shipmate yet, Tom,’ said Sedgwick. ‘I just need to know what is going on in my boat. What was it that was passed down to you? Some baccy? A bit of booze was it?’
‘Nothing like that, Able, I promise,’ said Rodgers. ‘It was only a letter. I collect them for Sexton.’
‘A letter for Sexton?’ mussed Sedgwick. ‘That is very interesting. And what did this letter say?’
‘Well how should I know?’ protested the bargeman. ‘I can’t bleeding read.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you can,’ said the coxswain. ‘Alright. If I let you keep your seat in the boat, here is what is going to happen. You still take the letters just like now, but you pass them to me first, before they get delivered to Sexton.’
‘You’ve got to promise me that no word of this will get to him,’ said Rodgers. ‘You don’t know him like what I do. He’s as mean a bastard as they come.’
‘Then stop helping him,’ said Sedgwick. ‘But alright, I’ll see you get them back before he realizes anything’s up. So are we good Tom?’ The bargeman let out a sigh.
‘Alright, I’ll do it.’
Chapter 5
Bertheaume Bay
Two days later the Titan sailed back along the Iroise channel and out to sea once more, after another successful reconnaissance of Brest harbour. A breeze from the south was blowing across the calm water, pushing the frigate along and making the gentle waves sparkle in the sunlight. Clay could feel the spring sunshine on the back of his dark blue coat as he stood with his telescope and examined the north shore of the channel. The warmth helped to ease the ache in his wounded shoulder, so that today he could hold his spyglass up to his eye for a little longer than was usual. The coastline that slipped by was thronged once more with costal traffic, huddled in clumps beneath the batteries and waiting for the frigate to pass before they could resume their journey towards Brest. Just opposite he could see a large, heavily laden brig that lay deep on her reflection.
‘She will be snug in Bertheaume Bay tonight, waiting for the tide to turn, you mark my words, sir,’ said the first lieutenant from the rail beside him. ‘If she is carrying an ounce less than two hundred tons of cargo, all of it military stores, my name isn’t George Taylor. A prize court would condemn her in a flash.’ He stared with longing across at the brig, and as if to emphasise how unobtainable she was, the battery protecting her tried a ranging shot. A cloud of dirty smoke appeared, together with a mass of tiny white specs. Clay had just decided that they must be disturbed sea birds flying up from the cliff below the gun battery when the shot landed a comfortable few hundred yards from the ship’s side.
‘Indefatigable in sight, sir,’ reported Warwick, touching his hat in salute. Clay took his eye from his telescope and looked at the ship’s master. He was a small man, middle aged, with brown hair and eyes. He was also very quietly spoken, which meant that Clay had to take a moment to recall what it was that he had said.
‘Thank you, Mr Warwick,’ he replied. ‘Please have the commodore signalled. Titan to flag. One additional enemy ship of the line present over last report.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ replied the master.
‘When the signal has been sent, would you be kind enough to join myself and Mr Taylor on the starboard rail, and can you bring your chart with you.’
‘It seems strange for a sea officer to be so quiet in his discourse,’ remarked Clay to his first lieutenant. ‘After so many years in direct competition with ship board noise and gales of wind I would have expected him to speak with greater volume. My sister and mother always protest at how loud I am for the first few weeks after I am newly returned ashore. Has Mr Warwick always spoken thus?’
‘Always, sir,’ replied Taylor. ‘In the wardroom we have the tiller just above our heads, and when the sea is running I confess I struggle to comprehend one word in six. It is a shame, for he is a most accomplished channel pilot whose opinions on navigation are well worth attending to.’
When Warwick returned to join his captain and first lieutenant, the Titan was level with Point de St Mathieu at the entrance to the channel. Now the coast swung away from them to be replaced by a group of rocky little islands that disappeared in a ragged line towards the north west. In among them Clay could make out one of the other frigates of the Inshore Squadron.
‘That will be the Concord, sir,’ explained Taylor. ‘She guards the northern passage from Brest that runs towards Ushant and the Channel beyond.’
‘Thank you, Mr Taylor,’ said Clay. ‘Now Mr Warwick, can you show me... good gracious, what has happened to your chart?’
‘My apologies, sir,’ said the master. ‘I leant it to Mr Morton this morning, and he stood a little close to Nancy, our wardroom goat. Fortunately she has only consumed the one corner, and it don’t signify excessively, being a portion of the land. I shall repair it directly we are finished here.’
‘Please see that you do,’ said Clay, trying his best to keep a straight face. ‘I had thought that we might profit by this fine weather for you to identify some of the more perilous reefs for me. Where, for example, is the Vieux Moines?’
‘If you direct your gaze towards the headland, do you see a cluster of dome shaped black rocks, sir? They are perhaps two cables out from the land.’
‘Yes, I see them,’ said the captain. ‘What does it mean then, Vieux Moines?’
‘Apparently the name means old monks,’ explained Warwick. ‘I imagine that the rocks are meant to be the tops of their shaved heads and the white water splashing about them is their hair. When the sea is tolerably lively they can indeed look like that.’
