The Gathering Storm (33 page)

'Why does he not question the prisoner aboard the ship?
We are wasting time lying here, when we could have weighed
by now and put to sea, out of reach.'

'You do not think I am a prisoner?'

'We are returning you to France, but you are not an enemy,
madame.'

'A prisoner, but not an enemy. You see no contradiction,
monsieur?'

'We are instructed to give you every protection, madame.'

'Pfff. If I tried to run away, you would shoot me down.'

'No, indeed, madame. Even though you have shot one of
us, we would never shoot you.'

She turned away from him, and lifted her face to the
sea breeze. And glanced anxiously at the carriage, where
it stood isolated above the beach, the dead coachman lying
beside it.

In the carriage. M. Félix regarded James with a nearly
detached stare. James's ankles had again been bound together,
and his hands bound behind, and he sat opposite M. Félix
on the upholstered seat. Although he was determined to
show no sign of weakness nor humiliation, he was feeling
very wretched and fearful. He feared the pain of torture. He
feared a lingering, agonising death afterward. He feared for
Juliette, and what might become of her when they took her
back to France. Presently, M. Félix:

'You are going to tell me the name of the man that is
above M. Mappin.'

James was silent, staring at his captor with what he hoped
was clear contempt. He now drew breath to speak, and then
did not.

'Yes. Yes, I see. You do not intend to submit. It is a principle
with some men – warriors, seafarers such as yourself – always
to be heroic. Yes. They are simple-minded boys, these men.'

From his coat he produced a small silk bag, from which
he extracted a finely made pair of sewing scissors.

'What I will do – unless you decide to tell me the name
– is cut away the lids of your eyes.'

James stared at him, and willed his breathing to grow
slower. He could not stop the thudding of his heart.

'You are wondering, I expect, why I do not take you aboard
the ship, and deal with you there?'

He moved suddenly to the seat beside James, who twisted
and writhed away from him.

'Yes, well, I could not perform the task delicate enough,
afloat. The movement of the ship would cause additional
injury.'

A quick, jabbing movement, and one of the blades cut
James's cheek. He winced with pain, gasped, and thrust
himself as far into the corner of the seat as he could. M. Félix
jabbed again, and caught James just above his ear. Drops of
blood.

'Like that, you see. Perhaps causing the loss, not just of the
lids, but of the eyes ...'

James shut his eyes, forcing himself to be steady, drew
breath, and:

'Very well, very well, I will tell you. The name of the man
is Sir Robert Greer.'

'Ah. Sir Robert Greer. Thank you, Lieutenant.' He wiped
the scissors on his kerchief, opened the silk bag, and held
the scissors poised over the little gaping silken mouth. 'But,
you know ... I am nearly certain I heard that Sir Robert
Greer ... had died.'

A bleak smile, and he let the bag fall empty on the seat.
It made no sound. Now he held up the scissors like tiny
crossed swords.

'You are a fool, Lieutenant. Sir Robert Greer would never
have sanctioned the English part in the plan to save King
Louis. He died, and the new man – the man you and
M. Mappin obey – arranged it. You see? I know almost everything
about you English ...'

The smile left his face as if a mask had fallen.

'... except that name.'

Another lunge, and James turned his head desperately away.
From the distance outside:

crack
-ack

The unmistakable, echoing report of a long-barrelled musket.

Shouts on the beach, and the sound of running feet. A
pounding on the carriage door.

'Monsieur Félix! Monsieur Félix! We must get into the
boat, and escape!'

M. Félix opened the door and snapped:

'Who attacks us? How many?'

The leading horseman, panting and pointing:

'They are English revenue men, I think. A dozen or more,
coming from the marsh. All armed.'

'Then we must go.' Decisively, a quick nod. 'Bring him.'
Jerking his head at James, exiting the carriage and running
down the beach toward the boat.

A distant shout now: 'Stop! In the king's n-a-a-a-me!'

The sound of another warning shot, and for a brief moment
James was inspired by the hope that the Excise men would
take M. Félix and his party, and rescue Juliette and himself.

The hope was soon dashed. The horseman dragged him
bodily from the carriage, slung him over his shoulder and
carried him at a staggering run down to the boat.
The boat was dragged into the shallows and shoved off.
All on shore jumped, tumbled and heaved themselves into
it, it wallowed heavily, and was under way, every able man
at an oar. James was able to glimpse the Excise party as they
reached the carriage. Two or three musket balls kicked up
little spurts of spray, but none was near the boat, and as the
echo of the shots drifted away the boat rounded the brig
and was under the lee, and bumping in under the chains on
the swell, where it was secured with a line.

Under his breath James muttered bitterly:

'And now we are certainly lost.'

He slumped in his bindings, his feet dragging in the
sloshing water at the bottom of the boat.

Presently he and Juliette were taken up the side ladder
and into the brig, and they put to sea.

*

'Hard down with your helm, and keep your luff!' bellowed
Captain Rennie in carrying quarterdeck. The helmsman of
the merchant brig
Puffin
scowled at Rennie, and brought
the vessel a point closer on the larboard tack as they ran
down the Channel from Dover. There was a sharp chop
running, kicked up by the southerly wind, and the little ship
heeled steep, spray smashing up and fanning across her bow,
and the rigging a-hum. Her pennant streamed and snapped
from the trucktop of her main, and Rennie glanced aloft,
bracing his feet on the angled deck.

'What is our speed, if y'please?' To the boy running out
the logship at the tafferel.

'Five knots, sir.' Gripping the knotted line at the mark on
the rail.

'Ain't enough! Braces, there! And bowlines! Cheerly, lads,
cheerly! Look lively, in the name of the king!'

'Mr Mappin joined Rennie abaft the wheel, staggering as
he tried to find his balance on the sloped planking. He was
distinctly green in the face.

'So far as I am able to ascertain ...'

'Eh? What? Can't hear a word y'say, Mr Mappin!' Tilting
his head.

'So far as I am able to ascertain, there is only the signal
gun aboard, Captain Rennie!'

'Never mind, never mind. We had no time to be selective
when we came to Dover. I would have wished for a
cise cutter, with ten guns, but there was no such vessel
available. We was obliged to take what we could get, and
we have got
Puffin
, all 140 ton of her. Is there powder,
Mr Mappin?'

'Eh?' Lurching as the bow dipped into the chop, and a
smash of spray swept over the deck.

'Powder! For the signal gun!'

'I could not say. I expect so.'

'"Expect so" will not answer at sea, Mr Mappin. Discover
it, yea or nay, and report to me, if y'please.' Striding under
the brigsail boom and gripping the lee rail as he glanced again
aloft. Sea water swirled at his feet, and spread in an angled
wash across the deck. Mr Mappin saw this swirling water
with queasy eyes, tried to quell the horrible disquiet that was
rising within him, and only just managed to point himself
seaward over the rail before disquiet became a violent cascade.

'God preserve me from lubberly men.' Rennie, but in his
head. Aloud: 'Stand by to tack ship!' Striding to the wheel.
'Stations for stays!'

The brig's small crew at their places, beginning to respect
this hard disciplinarian for his seamanship, and readier now
to do his bidding.

'Ease your helm down – handsomely, now!'

Jib sheets eased, the brigsail boom amidships. Rennie
peered, craning his neck, was satisfied, and:

'Helm's a-lee!' A long moment. 'Off tacks and sheets!'

As sails spilled air and the brig came through the eye of
the wind:

'Maincourse haul!'

And as she came round, foresails aback:

'Let go and haul!'

Yards braced and sails trimmed as she swung on to the
starboard tack and began to run true, heeling into the wind.

'Well done, lads! Handsomely done!' And to Mr Mappin,
still clinging to the rail:

'We'll catch 'em yet, hey, Mr Mappin! What say you?'

But Mr Mappin was unable to express an opinion, or indeed
say anything at all.

'Aye, we'll catch 'em – if they are at sea.' Half to himself,
nodding. By God but it was a pleasure to be back in his
element, in command of a ship at sea, the clean smell of that
sea in his nostrils as she beat to windward, the sun on his
face as he looked aloft and trod the deck. Never mind the
outcome on this day, never mind if it came to blood and
fear. Here, now, he was as wholly alive as it was possible for
him to imagine, and it made his heart sing.

Almost gently to the helmsman, but not quite:

'Luff and touch her, lad. Keep her up.'

And a great sniffing breath, hands braced behind his back.

Mr Mappin staggered away to the companion hatch, and
went below. As his head disappeared Captain Rennie began
to sober a little. If Mappin could not fight, that left only
himself to do so. These merchant seamen – able enough in
handling a ship along the coast of England – were not
fighting men, and could not be expected to transform themselves
into warriors at a moment's notice, in service of a
cause they could not be expected to understand. Further,
he had no guns. Well, a signal gun that would make a bang
or two – provided powder could be found, and made into
cartridge – but nothing else. Mappin – blast the fellow –
had enjoined him to leave his sword behind at Bedford
Street, and now he had only two pocket pistols, and an old
cutlass he'd found in the captain's quarters.

Puffin
's captain was not aboard. When Rennie had arrived
at Dover and commandeered the brig with his spurious but
impressive-looking warrant, her captain had been absent on
an errand at Deal, and was not expected to return before
the morrow. The mate had gone with him.

'Two pocket pistols and a rusty hanger. Well well – we
must do our best.'

But his mood had fallen from its recent height, and a
frown settled on his forehead. He must busy himself. He
must apply himself to practical things.

'You there, boy.'

'Sir?'

'Who is the best lookout among the people? Find him,
and send him to me.'

*

The French brig – with James and Juliette gagged and bound,
and hidden away behind the breadroom – had been at sea
barely one glass when she was pursued. Members of the
Excise party ashore had signalled by red rocket to an Excise
cutter lying offshore – the
Peregrine
, ten guns, captained by
Commander Warren Hunt – and she had given chase. As
she did, a second brig appeared from up Channel, and fired
a gun.

Commander Hunt at once altered course to intercept the
second brig, believing the two were a pair, seeking to aid
each other. He accordingly fired a warning shot across the
second brig's bow, but as he came within hailing distance
he heard:

'
Peregrine
, there! We are
Puffin
, I am Captain William
Rennie, RN, in command, and I order you to chase, stop
and detain that damned French brig, in the king's name!'

'RN ... RN?' Commander Hunt said to his second officer.
'Unless I have lost my senses that brig cannot possibly be a
commissioned naval ship. It is a ruse.' Through his speaking
trumpet he bellowed:

'Heave to,
Peregrine
! I am going to board you!'

'The French brig will escape! We must stop her! Stop
her!'

And indeed the first brig was now beating away south into
the wind, but Commander Hunt felt there was time enough
to deal with her – when he had dealt with
Puffin
. Raising
his trumpet:

'You will heave to, or be fired upon!'

Rennie had no great guns, and with enormous irritation
was obliged to heave to. He did not wait for Commander
Hunt to come to him, but had
Puffin
's boat hoisted out, and
went to
Peregrine
, bringing with him a slightly unsteady but
compliant Mr Mappin. As soon as Rennie came aboard
Peregrine
he introduced himself and Mappin, showed
Commander Hunt his warrant with the Admiralty seal, and:

'Commander, I will be very much obliged to you if y'will
pursue that French vessel at once, for Christ's sake.'

'I was in pursuit of her, when you fired a gun, Captain
Renn—'

'At once, if you please.' Over him. 'Mr Mappin here has
seen a certain person upon her deck, and recognised him.
He is a man called Félix, a very dangerous fellow. He has a
British prisoner aboard, a sea officer, RN. It is my urgent
duty to rescue that officer, and yours, Commander.'

'Is this true, Mr Mappin?' Commander Hunt, as Rennie
stalked to the rail with a sigh, and peered at the retreating
French brig.

Mr Mappin was still rather nauseous, but ready to aid
Rennie.

'It is true. Captain Rennie drew my attention to a figure
on deck as we came down the Channel, and I took his glass
and observed the man. I was amazed we had come upon
him, but it is the man we seek, without question.'

'We are wasting time!' Rennie, in a fury of exasperation.

'And are you a naval officer, Mr Mappin?' Commander
Hunt.

'Nay, I am not. I am in – another branch of His Majesty's
service.'