The Gathering Storm (21 page)

'Yes, by all means, James. There ain't a moment to
lose.' Rennie, rubbing his wrists and moving to the door
of the cell.

'With a proviso.' James held up a finger.

'Eh?'

'We must proceed – in disguise.'

'Disguise? Good God, you are wedded to disguise!'

'Not quite, sir. She is merely a mistress of convenience.
Mr Leigh and I will be sergeant and man, and you will be
our prisoner. So you will not have to go in disguise, only
your two lieutenants.'

'Ahh.' A nod. 'Very good, very good.'

'However, I must ask you, I fear, to ...' Picking up a set
of irons.

'What, put those damned things back on?'

'If our subterfuge is to be convincing, sir, you must. Just
as Lieutenant Leigh and I must shift into these stinking,
sweaty uniforms.' Nudging the prostrate sergeant with his
foot.

'God damn me ... ohh, very well.' And Rennie held out
his hands.

Presently the three officers quit the cell and ventured into
the low-arched, echoing passage, which proved to run in one
direction only, away to the left. James and Lieutenant Leigh,
dressed in the boots and uniforms of the sergeant and guard,
followed the manacled and shackled Captain Rennie. The
sergeant and his companion they left behind, bound and
gagged on the floor of the cell.

At the end of the passage the three officers came to a gate
of iron, plated, strapped and studded across. Lieutenant Leigh
found the appropriate key on the ring, after moments of
anxious fumbling, and unlocked the gate. Cautiously he pulled
it open. Sunlight streamed like molten metal into the passage,
and the three men blinked and shaded their eyes in the glare.
A moment, then the gate was pulled open all the way, and
they stared out. The gate gave on to an empty cobbled courtyard,
a long oblong space surrounded by high stone walls.
The smell of fresh horse dung drifted over the walls, and the
saline smell of the sea. In the open air the booming thud of
waves was more distinct. A brisk wind was coming in from
the west, from the sea, and all three men turned their faces
instinctively in that direction.

'Topsail breeze,' murmured Rennie, sniffing it. 'Fine topsail
breeze.'

Shouts of command now echoed over the opposite wall,
and the solid rhythm of marching feet.

'A drill?' wondered Rennie.

'Perhaps a parade?' James. 'Or simply the changing of the
guard.'

'What o'clock is it, I wonder?' Lieutenant Leigh, shading
his eyes and looking toward the sun.

'About noon, I should say.'

As if in answer there came the thudding boom of a cannon,
and further bawled commands.

'Aye, noon.' Rennie.

For a moment or two the prisoner and his two guards
stood irresolute at the open gate, then the gate on the far
side of the courtyard was thrust open with a rattling clank,
and Rennie and his companions were obliged to act.
Lieutenant Hayter gave a series of hoarse, hectoring
commands in French, and pushed Rennie forward on the
cobbles, Lieutenant Leigh bringing up the rear with his
musket. From the far gate emerged a long line of prisoners,
all manacled, and at once Rennie recognised them as
Expedient
's crew. They looked very dirty and downcast, and
were dazzled by the sunlight, but otherwise unharmed.

'Do not show any sign of recognition,' murmured Rennie
over his shoulder. 'Do not look in their direction.'

The large party approached the centre of the yard as the
small party marched briskly toward them, and the far gate.
There were three guards with the large party, all armed with
muskets. These guards now herded their charges toward the
long wall on the north, where they began to trudge in disconsolate
lines up and down. Several of them clearly recognised
Captain Rennie, and drew him to the attention of others.
But Rennie ignored them, holding himself stiffly erect as he
was marched away over the cobbles by his escort. The three
guards with the other prisoners barely glanced toward them.
Two of them stood against the wall, their muskets leaning
beside them, and lit their pipes. The third turned to the wall,
opened his breeches and urinated.

'Those men will not trouble us, if we are decisive.' Rennie,
over his shoulder. 'Give the order to wheel about, and march
me back toward them.'

'Eh?' James, immediately behind him.

'We will rush them.'

'Christ's blood, sir. They are all armed.'

'Surprise, Mr Hayter. The essence of an action. We will
rush them as soon as we are level with their position.' All
muttered urgently over his shoulder. 'Mr Leigh.'

'Sir?'

'Bayonet the man that is pissing. Aim at his throat. Mr
Hayter, you will seize his musket, and bayonet the guard
next him. The third fellow will surrender at once.'

James sucked in a deep breath, and gave the order in
French to turn about. The little group duly wheeled, and
began marching back across the square. As they drew level
with the three guards standing at the wall, Rennie:

'Now!'

Lieutenant Leigh raised his musket, dashed straight at the
guard turning from the wall and buttoning his breeches, and
ran him through the throat. The guard fell with a desperate
throttled gasp, blood spraying from his neck.

James ran at full stretch straight toward the musket leaning
against the wall, snatched it up as the second guard began
to react, and plunged the bayonet straight into his heart.
The man stared at James appalled, then sight vanished from
his eyes. He coughed once, and slumped, and the steel blade
slipped bloodily free.

The third guard stumbled back along the wall, knocked
over his musket, and:

'
Non
...
non
...'

He slid down the wall in a terrified crouch.

'Tie him.' Rennie. 'And for Christ's sake untie me.' Holding
out his manacled hands.

A ragged cheer from the ship's crew, now crowding round.

'Silence!' Rennie, forcefully but not loudly. 'We must go
very quiet and careful now, lads, if we are to get out of this
with our lives.'

Lieutenant Leigh unfastened the manacles and leg irons,
and Rennie rubbed his wrists.

'Three of you will shift into the uniforms of these guards.
You, there. And you. And you.' Pointing. 'You will then take
up their muskets, and with Mr Hayter and Mr Leigh escort
the rest of us. You there, Whittle.' To another seaman. 'What
lies beyond the far gate, lad?'

'A parade ground, sir. A great square, upon which the
garrison soldiers make their duty to their commanding officer,
in marching ranks. And the cliff and sea is directly beyond
it, sir.'

'How many soldiers?'

'I do not know, sir.'

'At a guess, then.'

'Above an hundred, I should say. Maybe an hundred and
a half.'

'And how many are we?'

'There is seven'y-four of us, sir.'

'So few?' Glancing round. 'What became of all the others?'

'They's all dead or wounded, sir. And the stan' officers is
held in another place, I b'lieve, sir.'

'Dear God ...' Quietly, then turning: 'Where is Mr Abey?'

Richard Abey pushed his way to the front of the group.
His coat had gone and he was filthy dirty, but unhurt.

'I am here, sir.'

'I am right glad to see you, Richard. I am glad to see you
all. Now then, Mr Hayter and Mr Leigh, and the other lads
– jump now, shift into those coats – will escort the party out
of that gate, and across the parade ground in the direction of
the cliff. Should anyone intervene, or question what we are
about, Mr Hayter will answer in French.'

'Very good, sir.' James, stoutly.

'And by the by, ye'd better fix that clear in your head,
before we go out of the gate.'

'Yes, sir. Fix what in my head, exact?'

'What you are going to say if we are stopped. In French.'

'Ah. Yes.' Nodding.

'Well well, what are you going to say, Mr Hayter?'

'Latrine duty, sir.' Confidently.

'Eh? D'y'know where the latrines are, in this fort?'

'No, sir. But there's always latrines to be dug, or dug over,
at a military establishment. I shall say: "Fatigue party of
prisoners, for the new latrines!" I'll warrant it will not be
questioned, sir, not even for a moment.'

'Pray God you are right.' A breath, another glance round,
and: 'Very well, let us proceed.'

'Sir?' Lieutenant Leigh. 'What are we to do when we
reach the cliff, sir?'

'Go down it, Mr Leigh, and find boats.' As if stating the
obvious.

They were not stopped. The noon parade had dispersed
and the parade square was deserted when the party of
prisoners and their escort marched diagonally across it and
arrived at the top of the cliff. Here the wind was stronger,
and whistled over the clifftop in buffeting gusts. Beyond lay
Brest Roads, to the south the Pointe des Espagnols, and the
harbour and dockyard to the east. A forest of masts stood
in the harbour, and it was there that Rennie looked, shading
his eyes. He glanced back at the bulk of the fort, and the
long stable block away on the north of the square. A flag
snapped and rippled against the sun, high on the pole above
the signal gun on its mound of earth. All seemed quiet, and
orderly.

'They are at their dinner,' murmured Rennie to himself.
'That is why we are unmolested.' He ignored the pang of
hunger that rose from his belly at the thought of food,
and looked instead to the immediate task. And saw to his
surprise and relief that there was a path cut into the cliff,
leading down to the shore. There were iron stanchions
and hand-ropes.

'Escort your prisoners down, Mr Hayter.'

They proceeded down the cliff to a rocky, shingled stretch
of shoreline. Beyond the headland to the west was the open
sea. To the east Brest Roads and the harbour. But there were
no boats anywhere to be seen, and the whole of the shoreline
away to the east was rocky, treacherous and difficult.
Cliffs jutted, and outcrops of rock against which the sea
dashed itself.

Rennie detached himself from the party and stood looking
east a few moments, then walked along the shore to where
waves heaved in and thudded themselves into spray against
jutting rocks on the west. He stared out to sea, at the scudding
whitecaps there. Presently Lieutenant Hayter joined him.

'Yes, James?' Over the booming of the sea, and the whistle
of the wind.

'The people wish to know what we are to do, sir.'

'What have their wishes to do with anything, hey? It ain't
for them to press me. Nor you, Mr Hayter.'

'Very good, sir.' Formally correct, his back straight.

Rennie squared his shoulders, sniffed, and: 'We will walk
to the east along the shore. Under escort, in course, just as
before. A party of prisoners.'

'Along the shore, sir?' Glancing there.

'Yes. Yes. Along the shore, Mr Hayter.'

'Forgive me, sir, but it is very rocky indeed beyond this
section. Waves pound the whole of that part of the coast.'

'As I can see with my own eyes, that are perfectly good.
We will proceed east, Mr Hayter, without the loss of a
moment. We must discover boats if we are to penetrate the
harbour and reclaim our ship.'

'Shall I give the order, sir?'

A long glance at his lieutenant, then Rennie: 'Nay, I will
talk to them a moment, James, and urge them to their duty.
We are all tired and hungry, and we cannot afford to lose
heart. Must not, under any circumstance. I mean to prevail
in this, and they must understand me, and follow me willing
and in good cheer.'

*

When they had gone less than a quarter of a mile along the
broken shore to the east, Rennie and his party were obliged
to pause. There was no path beyond the next cliff, which
plunged straight down into the sea. Lieutenant Hayter
consulted his captain, the two men standing away from the
main group, many of whom now lay down, tired and hungry
as they were.

'Surely we must go back, sir ... ?' James, keeping his voice
low.

'Retreat? Don't be a damned fool. D'y'think they will take
kindly at the fort to what we have done there, hey? It can
only be a matter of time before those dead guards are discovered,
and the alarm raised. We must proceed, and find
and commandeer boats.'

'Aye, boats. But where, sir?'

'Boats abound on these shores, I am in no doubt.'

'I do not think they are quite so plentiful ashore as you
suppose, sir ...' He broke off, staring past Rennie. '... However,
they are numerous enough at sea.'

Rennie turned to look, and saw a large, three-masted
chasse-marée running east into the harbour, not more than
two cables off. She was transom-sterned, rigged with lugsails,
and a headsail on her flat-steeved bowsprit. They could see
men on her deck. She was almost as large as a naval cutter.

Rennie nodded. 'She is just the vessel for us, by God. Hail
her, Mr Hayter, if y'please.'

'Yes, sir. Erm, what should I ... ?'

'Say that we are a party from the fort, stranded by the
tide and the pounding sea, and so forth, and ask them to
take us off. When we are aboard, we will overpower them.'

'Very good, sir. Only I will not tell them that.' James
cupped his hands at his mouth, and in bawling French:

'Ahoy, the chasse-marée! We are from the fort, and we
are trapped by the tide! Please aid us, and take us off!'

The chasse-marée lost way. An indistinct hailing shout, in
answer. James repeated his plea, and to his great relief saw that
the vessel was altering course, and standing in toward the shore.
But she did not sail all the way in, and James was entirely
understanding of her master's reason. The shore was very rocky
and dangerous, there was a stiff breeze and a heavy chop, and
to attempt to bring the chasse marée any closer in would risk
her safety.

'I fear he cannot take us off, sir.' Aside, to Rennie.