Under Enemy Colors (27 page)

A succession of reports came from the English ship just then, for she had turned to larboard and fired a broadside. Several shots found the chase, and sails came crashing down upon the deck. Of an instant, the
chasse marée
was in flight, her stern lifting high to the following sea. It was the turn of the English to cheer then, and the men in the little fishing boat joined them. The brig drew up a few moments later, and Hayden and Wickham shipped oars and brought their boat alongside as the brig backed sails.

Hayden sent the midshipman up the side first, then Hawthorne. He looked back once at the fleeing privateer and gave his head a shake. Pushing their little boat clear with a foot, Hayden climbed up the side of the heaving ship and scrambled over the rail.

“I see they’ve finally given you a ship, Hayden,” someone said, and the lieutenant looked up to find the concerned face of his friend Robert Hertle hovering nearby. The two clasped hands.

“I am even happier than usual to see you, Robert,” Hayden said warmly.

“I have no doubt that you are.” Robert glanced at the other newcomers. “And who are your French friends?”

“Nary a Frenchman among us. Lieutenant of Marines Colin Hawthorne and Midshipman Lord Arthur Wickham.”

Robert shook them by the hand. “You have a story to tell, I can see. Come down to my cabin and we shall get you into some dry clothes, then eat and drink to your escape. I have my own tale to tell.”

T
he gale had broken and the brig lifted to the low swell, a breeze filling her sails and the sun angling in through the stern windows. The men from the
Themis
sat in their crumpled French dress, now dry, trying to exhibit some self-control as they devoured the food on the table before them. Captain Robert Hertle merely picked at his meal—a show of politeness.

“’Tis the greatest wonder we are sitting here,” Hayden concluded, and lifted his glass of claret. “To Lady Luck.”

“Lady Luck,” the others echoed.

“I shall drink to the aforementioned Lady, and gladly,” said Hertle, “but your exploit took a great deal of pluck and enterprise. I should not want to climb down that cliff in the dark.”

“There was starlight,” Wickham said, attempting to sound casual.

“Well, that makes it a walk in the park, doesn’t it?” Hertle said, smiling. But then his face grew serious. “Now it is my turn for a story, though not so full of daring as your own.” He fell silent a moment, troubled and thoughtful. “As we travelled north, bearing dispatches from Gibraltar, we met this morning a frigate. Immediately, we made the private signal, to which she in turn responded, convincing us that she was one of ours. We spoke the ship at about eight in the forenoon. Realizing that this was none other than your own
Themis
, Charles, I enquired of Captain Hart as to your well-being. To my great distress, I was told that you and another man had been put ashore to assess the strength of the French fleet in the harbour of Brest, but you had not made your appointed rendezvous with the ship’s boat and were assumed captured. I asked if they had not gone back the next night at the same time and was told that they had sent a boat for you but one night only. There was some other small exchange, and then she proceeded south.”

“There was no boat,” Hawthorne broke in indignantly, “at least not at the appointed hour.”

“He must have sent a boat,” Hertle objected softly. “There were officers aboard, young gentlemen.”

“It might have been sent to a different place,” Wickham said, looking up from his food, something he had barely done this last hour.

“A misunderstanding…” Hertle said. “You’re suggesting it was a misunderstanding?”

Wickham looked wary. “Perhaps, sir.”

Hertle turned to Hayden. “What did Hart say you, Charles?”

“That we would be met one hour after midnight, at the north end of the beach below Crozon.”

A crease formed between Captain Hertle’s eyebrows. “To me he said ‘south,’ not ‘north.’ In fact he made a point of saying this twice, which I thought odd at the time.”

“We were put ashore at the beach’s most northern end,” Hayden said, “and were to return to that spot.” He had been wondering about this very thing for some hours. What had become of the cutter that was to have met them?

Hawthorne glanced at him darkly, raising an eyebrow.

Hertle shook his head, as though unwilling to consider the possibilities, and continued his story. “After parting with the
Themis
, I ordered my ship on, determined to send a cutter ashore this night. And what strange sight should meet us as we closed on the coast south of Brest? A little lugger sailing away from the coast into the final gasps of a gale, and with what appeared to be a privateer in hot pursuit.” Hertle smiled. “I have heard it said that French privateers will go after anything that floats, but this prize seemed a bit inconsequential even for them. As we have no liking of privateers, we thought we might look into this matter. And here you are—not captives of the French after all, and there are three of you, not two, as Captain Hart had stated.”

“That is another story,” Hayden said, glancing at the midshipman, who concentrated all his energies on his victuals.

“Well, by whatever strange paths you have come, you are now guests of mine and I shall carry you back to England with me.”

The guests having eaten and drunk their fill, servants cleared away. Hawthorne stood, hunching beneath the low deckhead. “Come along, Mr Wickham. I’m sure Mr Hayden and Captain Hertle would like to speak in private.”

The two excused themselves, though not without profuse thanks to Robert Hertle for their delivery, and for the recent, much needed, meal. Once the cabin was empty, the two friends regarded each other a moment.

“It would seem that good Captain Hart made very little effort to recover his first lieutenant and lieutenant of marines,” Hertle observed. “Only enough to satisfy any enquiries that might be made by the Admiralty.”

“Neither Hawthorne nor myself have enough interest at the Admiralty to warrant any enquiries at all.”

Robert sat back in his chair and stretched his legs out before him. “But one could not say the same of young Lord Arthur Wickham, whose father is a man of influence.”

“Hart didn’t know Wickham had come ashore with us. The boy stowed away in the cutter, and only revealed himself when it was too late for me to send him back. His mates in the midshipmen’s mess were to conceal his absence, if it became necessary.”

“I should like to see Hart’s face when he discovers that he abandoned the son of the Earl of Westmoor ashore without so much as a backward glance, let alone a concerted effort to learn what had become of him.” Hertle chuckled. “And now that I’ve recovered you, his lack of action shall look doubly derelict. I almost feel sorry for the man. Mrs Hart might have some influence among the Lords of the Admiralty, but I should think that an aggrieved Earl of Westmoor will have more. What say you?”

“On deck,”
came a call from above. “Sail, due south. A frigate, by the looks.”

Hertle raised an eyebrow. “I will wager that is Captain Hart, in something of a lather, having discovered that he’s marooned the son of an earl on a French beach.”

The two men went on deck, and after a cursory examination with a glass, agreed that this was the
Themis
, making all possible sail in her effort to get north. Hertle ordered his ship hove-to and the two friends retired below again, and as quietly as he could, Hayden related all that had transpired since he had gone aboard the
Themis
. Hertle heard him out, his face growing darker and more grave by the moment.

“You have been deucedly lucky, Charles,” Hertle said when Hayden had finished. “First Bourne and now myself. You cannot count on a friend coming to your rescue again.”

“I know that only too well.” Hayden gazed out over the now sunlit ocean, gulls and gannets swinging and wheeling in their wake. “I wish Hart had gone off south and you could carry us home.”

“As do I, but it is not within my power.” Hertle sat at the small table, gazing at his friend, lost in thought.

“Will you carry a letter back home for me?” Hayden asked.

“Let me find you ink and paper.”

Pen and ink were produced and a few clean sheets of hot-pressed paper. Hayden applied himself with a will, and before the
Themis
had ranged up and, at a signal from Hertle, hove-to, the lieutenant had completed his letter to “Mr Banks” detailing all that had happened and written in such a way that the First Secretary could hardly help but understand their stranding had been almost certainly intentional. When Hayden turned the letter over to Robert Hertle, his friend had the goodness to ask no questions.

Joining his shipmates on deck, Hayden watched as Hertle’s crew quickly and expertly lowered a boat. Hayden could not help but wish his own crew were so adept. The three climbed down and in a moment were aboard the
Themis
. Hayden turned and raised a hand to his friend Robert as he stepped onto the deck of his own ship again. Robert waved back, and then turned to his duties.

The crew of the
Themis
were gathered about, but there were no huzzas or indeed any words of welcome at all. Only an unnatural and uncomfortable silence. The men all knew what had transpired, and if Hayden needed any proof, this was it.

He led his small party down the gangway to the quarterdeck, where Hart stood, a little distant from his officers. Only Barthe and the surgeon had a smile for the men returned. The others would hardly meet Hayden’s eye.

Hart did not feign pleasure at his lieutenant’s deliverance. “What do you mean, sir!” he began, addressing Hayden in the most belligerent tone, “taking Mr Wickham on a dangerous sortie without so much as asking my leave?”

Wickham stepped forward. “If you please, Captain Hart, Mr Hayden did not know I was ashore. I stowed away on the boat without any being aware of it.”

Hart was taken aback for a moment. “Mr Wickham, your loyalty is misplaced. You cannot intervene. Mr Hayden must accept responsibility for your presence—”

“I do accept it,” Hayden interrupted.

Hart was surprised, but a little gleam of triumph glittered in his eye. The corner of his mouth raised just perceptibly. “Then you admit you knew of his presence…”

“I was not aware, but it was my responsibility all the same. If Lord Westmoor wishes to hold anyone accountable, then it will be me. Mr Barthe may write it in the log and I will sign it.”

Hart looked, for a moment, confused, as though Hayden must be playing him some trick. The first lieutenant tried not to smile. Wickham, he was sure, would tell his father the true story of their adventure—and Hayden would receive no admonishment from that quarter.

“You might also write in the log,” Hayden continued, “that we were at the arranged rendezvous point at the proper time, but no boat appeared.”

“What? Damn your eyes, sir!” Hart blustered. “What do you mean by that? Damn your impudence! Are you accusing me of…of—”

“I’m making no accusations, sir,” Hayden said evenly, “only stating a fact. The boat did not arrive as it should—though I know not why.”

“It was sent to the south end of the beach below Crozon, as we arranged!” Hart thundered. “And no one can deny it. Childers will tell you the same himself.”

“It was to have fetched us from the beach’s northern end, sir. That was our arrangement.”

“You are mistaken!” Hart said. “Very much mistaken. Is that not true, Landry? Did you not hear me tell Mr Hayden to meet the boat on the beach’s southern extreme?”

“That is true,” Landry said, meeting no one’s eye. “I heard it most clearly, sir.”

“You were not even present,” Hayden said with disdain.

“No, sir, but by happenstance I arrived at the captain’s door as he spoke his instructions. Realizing he had you with him, I went away, intending to have my word with the captain when he had concluded with you.”

Hawthorne snorted, almost pawing at a plank with his foot, head shaking in disbelief.

“Have you something to say, Mr Hawthorne?” Hart demanded.

“Yes, sir. Mr Landry was on deck seeing to some small damage done to one of the boats in the taking of the prize. He did not leave the deck until Mr Hayden emerged from speaking with you. I was present myself, as were others, and can attest to this.”

Hart’s face turned crimson. Hayden thought he might strike the marine with his balled-up fist. “Are you calling Mr Landry a liar, sir? Clearly you misapprehend what occurred.”

“I am not mistaken, sir. Mr Franks and one of his mates were with Mr Landry at the time. You might ask them.”

“It is not necessary for me to ask them,” Hart bellowed. “I know what I said, sir! Mr Hayden misheard me, and almost brought his shipmates to ruin as a result. Now get about your duties. I shall have you question me no more!” Hart spun around and retreated below, muttering to himself.

Landry started to back away.

“Running off, Landry?” Hawthorne asked quietly. “Just when I think you can sink no lower, you surprise even me with your cravenness.”

Having nothing to say for himself, and being too cowardly to challenge Hawthorne, the second lieutenant slunk off. Hayden and his companions slipped below to wash and change into uniform.

Barthe came in almost immediately, shaking his head, his lips pressed into a tight line, manner stiff. “It is an outrage,” he hissed, “the way the man treats you, Mr Hayden. Strands you on the beach and then, when you have the audacity not to be captured and executed as spies, he assails your dignity and all but accuses you of insubordination.” Barthe threw himself down in a chair and raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“Mr Barthe,” Hayden entreated the master, “I might remind you to be more circumspect.”

“This is very good advice, I’m sure,” the master said, “and I should heed it, were I not offended beyond all—”

Wickham burst in at that moment without even a knock on the door. His face was pale and though he opened his mouth to speak, no words came.

“Lord Arthur,” Hayden said, concerned. “What has happened, sir?”

Wickham worked his jaw soundlessly for a moment and then managed, “He flogged Aldrich while we were ashore, sir.”

“Aldrich…! Whatever for?”

“For having possessed Mr Paine’s pamphlets,” Barthe interjected, “and for preaching unrest among the crew.”

Hayden sat down hard in a chair. “But what proof had he of that? I have the pamphlets in my trunk.”

“Hart had no proof at all,” Barthe said, “but he questioned Aldrich and the man admitted to having possessed the pamphlets.”