The Gathering Storm (24 page)

'What manner of ship? A merchantman?' James, through
his speaking trumpet.

'She has the lines of a frigate, sir!'

James focused his glass astern and found masts and sails.
To himself: 'A frigate?' To the middy on duty: 'You there,
go below to the captain's cabin, and say—'

'I am here, Mr Hayter.' Captain Rennie came on deck,
seating his hat firm on his head, and carrying his long
Dollond. 'I heard the report. Jump up and have a look,
will ye?'

'Aye, sir.' James slung a glass on his back, jumped into the
mizzen shrouds and went aloft. He was used to such requests
from his captain, who had a lifelong aversion to heights and
seldom ventured above his quarterdeck. Rennie strode to the
tafferel and lifted his glass. Presently James bellowed from
the mizzen crosstrees:

'French frigate! Cracking on!'

'Thankee, Mr Hayter! Return to the deck, if y'please!'

James stepped off the crosstrees and plunged to the deck
by a backstay, careless of the smears of tar on his makeshift
working clothes.

'That second damned frigate was not crippled after all,
James.' Rennie, leaving the tafferel.

'But why in God's name does her captain pursue us? We
are beyond French waters, now.'

'Vengeance?'

'You think so, sir?'

'Perhaps we killed a brother officer in our last attack.
Perhaps he simply hates the English.'

James glanced astern. 'Well, whatever his reasons, he is
there. If he wishes to destroy us we must run or fight –
even though we are not at war.'

'Not at war? If those blackguards really do wish to kill their
own king, James, as you believe – and Dr Wing thinks the
same thing – then how long before they will like to kill ours?
It is only a matter of time.'

James looked at Rennie, and thought of why they had
come to France, of why they were pursued now.

'I believe that may likely be so, yes.' Quietly.

'We cannot outrun him, James, in our present state of
repair. We will have to fight.'

'With another grenade-bomb, sir?'

'Nay, we cannot expect that ruse to work again. He will
not come close enough for a bomb to be effective. Even if
he did, we have only one further bomb, and no more
grenades. If that should miss, or explode short ...'

'Surely we must try?'

'Nay, the Frenchman will attempt to injure us at long
range with his bow chasers. We'll run west as long as we
can, then when he believes he has us at his mercy, we will
go about and run straight at him. He must either continue
to run straight at us, or tack away to bring his great guns to
bear. We haven't guncrew enough to fight our own long
guns, but if we can close the distance between us to carronade
range – then we may have a chance to prevail.'

'Very good, sir.'

*

Expedient
ran west, deeper and deeper into the Atlantic, but
she was limping and slow. A glass, and the French frigate
nearer by half a league. Another glass, and now Rennie
sniffed the air, and felt a cold puff of wind against his cheek,
from a new direction. Was the sky just a little darker? Within
moments:

'De-e-e-e-ck! Stormclouds far to the south-we-e-e-st! Very
dark and heavy!'

James jumped again into the shrouds, and confirmed the
report. Rennie reached a decision almost at once. He paced
aft, turned, then loud enough for all on deck to hear:

'Mr Hayter, we will sail into the storm.'

'Sail into it, sir?'

'Aye, that is our best chance to elude the fellow, and then
run north to England. If we don't absolutely have to fight,
damned short-handed as we are, then by God we will not.'

'Sir ... if you please ...' James moved close to Rennie,
and lowered his voice. 'Our standing rigging ain't sound, nor
our upper masts. And that persistent leak is only patched.
Even in heavy weather, bruised and battered as we are, it
would be a close-run thing. But in a fierce storm—'

'We face a storm either way, Mr Hayter. A storm of
wind, or a storm of metal. I prefer the wind. We will steer
sou'-west.'

*

Expedient
met the first squall head on. The onslaught was
fierce, blustering and capricious, and very dangerous to a
ship in
Expedient
's condition. Her only hope of survival in
the hours before her was to keep her head to the wind. If
she faltered, even in these first huffing, puffing blasts, if she
so much as lost her footing a moment and fell to her knees,
she was lost. The wind rose briefly to a shrieking whistle.

'Four men at the wheel, Mr Loftus! Two on the weather
spokes, two on the lee!' Rennie had to cup a hand to his
mouth and bellow in the master's ear to make himself heard.

'Aye, sir!'

At first the swell was merely beaten down by the sweeps
of wind, with flurries of spray whipped and scattered over
the rolling sea, the surface itself dimpled and scoured
beneath the swirling spray. Then the swell began to lift and
run before the increasing madness of the wind, to heave
and seethe and ride up in blue-black masses. Horizontal
rain slashed and beat like liquid metal against the ship, and
men on deck had to duck their heads. Lightning stood on
the sky like a great sudden tree of light, and a branch darted
and danced across the trucktops of the masts. An immediate
head-numbing concussion, and repeated thudding
aftershocks.

Rennie had ordered all his guns double-breeched, hatches
battened down, and sail reduced to a bare minimum to keep
the ship's head up.

'If I live through this it will be a miracle,' murmured James.
The tied kerchief was torn off his head by the wind. His
hair thrashed all over his face, and the wind seemed to suck
his thoughts out of him and fling them away over the tafferel.
'If any of us lives, we will be blessed.'

'Mr Ha-a-ayter!'

The master Mr Loftus, clinging to a backstay. Ducking
his head, then lifting it:

'Ca-a-asks loose in the ho-o-old! I ne-e-ed a party to
secu-u-ure them!'

'Very we—'

A huge sea smacked into the bow, buried the bowsprit and
inundated the fo'c's'le. The shock of the impact nearly
knocked James off his feet. He clung to a stay, and felt Bernard
Loftus lifted bodily against him as the sea surged aft over
the hancés and half-buried them together.

The ship did not lose her footing. She rose steady and
sure, shook off the excess water and strode on. But all was
not well within her. Deep in her innards she was disturbed,
and uneasy.

'Mister A-a-bey!' James, in his most carrying quarterdeck.

Richard Abey, swathed in heavy-weather oilskins, lurched
to James's side. 'Sir?'

'I am going belo-o-ow with Mr Loftus! You will take the
co-o-on! Keep her head up!'

'Very good, sir!' Like an otter with water streaming all
over him.

'Come on, Be-e-ernard!'

And the two men fought their way forrard, gathered a
small party of able men, and went below.

In the hold, the belly of the ship, James saw the extent of
the difficulty in the swaying lantern light. There was a great
sloshing lake of water. Whole tiers of casks had come loose
and were jostling, surging and smacking together in that
water. A dead rat floated toward him, and was carried away
as the ship rolled. There was the stink of spoiled meat, and
other things. With each heavy movement of the ship more
casks shivered and squirmed together in the tiers, and it
was clear to James and Mr Loftus both that if the loose casks
were not replaced in the tiers, and the whole of the tiers
secured, the trim of the ship would soon be compromised,
and the ship placed in mortal peril, particularly given the
depth of water in the hold. She was already injured and weakened
without, and if her internal difficulty increased she
would grow sluggish, her head would begin to droop, and
in the full severity of the storm to follow – she would certainly
founder.

'Mr Loftus, we will begin by securing all loose casks, if
y'please. I am going up to report to the captain. I will rejoin
you in a few minutes.' And he went up the ladder. In his
head he told himself: 'That depth of water is the greater
fear. If she is leaking this bad now, what will she be like in
an hour, when the storm is at its height?'

There were relays of men already at the pumps, but even
with all pumps manned and worked continuously at full
capacity the depth of water below was horribly dismaying.
The fury of the wind as he came on deck and went aft was
tempered by his relief at being away from the foul smell of
the hold.

Rennie was snatching an hour of rest in his sleeping cabin,
suffering from a bout of severe headache – an intermittent
condition that was the result of a blow to the head during
one of the earlier engagements with the French. Dr Wing
had advised him to rest a full watch through, and given him
physic, but Rennie was determined not to succumb. He was
awake in his hanging cot when James came to his door. James
made his report in clear, concise, seamanlike language.

Rennie sat up, rubbed his forehead, and: 'Very well,
thankee. Do what y'can to secure the hold, and report to
me again. As to the depth of water, well well, we must keep
the pumps working and hope for the best. Is Mr Adgett there
below?'

'He is engaged on another repair, sir.'

'What repair? Oh, d'y'mean the boats' tillers, that was
broke?'

'Yes, sir.'

'But that ain't vital work, James. He must follow your
direction, and aid you in the—'

'He is following my direction, sir. If we founder, the boats
may be our only hope.'

'Well well, we will not founder. That will not happen.
Who has the deck?'

'Richard Abey, sir.'

'Very good.' A nod, and he rubbed his forehead
again. 'The boy has come up to his new rank very well,
has not he?'

'Indeed, sir.'

'Cutton! Colley Cutton! A can of tea!' Swinging his legs
to the deck, and clutching the side of the cot as the ship
rolled. He nearly fell.

'Sir, are you sure you are well enough to—'

'Yes, yes, yes. I am.' Over him. 'Kindly return to the hold,
and report to me again in one glass.'

James found Mr Adgett, who had completed repair of the
boats' tillers, and took him below to the hold.

'We will have to find this second leak, you know, and stop
it. The pumps cannot keep up.'

'I will do my best, sir, as always. But as I say, with all these
casks heavin' about loose, I cannot be certain of success.'

'We will secure the casks. How many men have you in
your crew, now?'

'I am desperate short-handed, sir. There is only my mate
and me.'

'Mr Loftus!'

Bernard Loftus joined them on the platform of the orlop.

'How long before we are secure in the hold?'

'Another glass, at least. We are having great trouble in
getting casks returned to their tiers, because we cannot tell
if the damned ballast is shifting under the ground tier. And if
water casks in the ground tier have been stove in, and the
water has escaped—'

'Yes, I understand – it will make unstable all tiers above.
Christ's blood, what a mess. What depth of water in the
well?'

'Five foot, and rising.'

'It was madness to sail into this storm, sheer bloody
lunacy ...' Lurching and stumbling as the ship pitched and
slewed heavily through another tremendous sea. 'Very well,
do all you are able. I must consult the captain's opinion.'

James returned to the great cabin, and found that Rennie
had gone on deck. James climbed the ladder. The wind
roared along the deck, whipping and snatching and tearing
at everything in its path. The poles of the masts creaked and
sighed in their restraining shrouds and stays. Night was
descending over the sea, and the remaining light showed
only the lifting dark hills of waves, now tall over the ship as
she slid into a trough, now surging at an equal height beside
her as the ship rode up shuddering and groaning, and spray
flew over her bow.

Captain Rennie stood forrard of the wheel, clinging to
one of the lifelines rigged fore and aft along the deck. He
was wearing an oilskin and a battered hat, and in the near
darkness his face had an alarming pallor. His voice was strong.

'What is the matter, Mr Hayter? Why are you here on
deck?' Over the wind.

'Sir, do not you think that we must lighten ship?'

'Eh? Lighten ship, did y'say?' As if this were a suggestion
entirely without merit.

'Sir, there is a second serious leak, and five foot of water
in the well. Unless we lighten ship, it is likely she will founder.
In my own opinion—' Ducking under a heavy smash of spray.
'In my opinion, sir, the—'

'Lighten ship! What d'y'propose?'

'I think we should throw the great guns overboard, sir.'

'What!' Staring furiously at his lieutenant, gripping the
lifeline.

James thought that Rennie's eyes were too bright, and his
face too livid. He had the look of a madman on a hilltop,
intoxicated by height and distance, and the piercing conviction
that he could fly. James opened his mouth to repeat
what he'd said, and Rennie:

'How in the name of Christ d'y'propose to fight the enemy
without
guns
, you fool!'

'Sir, our enemy is not that French frigate. Our enemy is
the storm. Unless we—'

'You have took leave of your senses! Go below, sir, and lie
in your cot!'

'Sir, I cannot abandon my—'

'Did you hear me, you mutinous blackguard!' Shouting
over him. 'You are in the pay of the French, by God! It
is that damned woman, she has turned y'head! You are
weak, sir, weak! And a traitor, in the bargain! Sentry!
Sentry!
'

'Sir, you are not yourself. Let me help you to your quarters.'

'Stand away from me!
Sentry!
'

The ship rode to the height of a wave, quivered and
strained a moment in blasts of wind, and heeled as she began
to surf down into the trough. An ominous grinding and
creaking.