Under Enemy Colors (35 page)

Hayden felt distress lay her cold hand upon him. “Well, the boy is like not to speak up on his own behalf. I should not take the word of Bill Stuckey, who might have committed the murder himself and only blamed it on Giles.”

Hawthorne did not look convinced by this. “Hard to imagine why he’d bother. Stuckey’s going to hang if the Navy ever lay hands on him, anyway.”

“True enough; still, the man is a liar and a coward. The good news is, if they have elected a landsman like Stuckey as captain the ship will not be well sailed.”

Wickham came hurrying along the deck. “Mr Hayden…Captain Hart is asking for you, sir.”

Hayden glanced over at the marine lieutenant, who raised an eyebrow. “If you will excuse me, Mr Hawthorne…”

Hawthorne gave a little bow of the head.

The sick-berth had been made up on the forward gun-deck beneath the forecastle, though it would have to be moved when the ship cleared for action—a regrettable nuisance. The stench of the place struck Hayden as he descended the forward companionway: the pungent odour of alcohol and physic mixed with the meat-rotting reek of septic wounds. The cots hung in neat rows, so close the surgeons and their mates could barely make their way among them. Overhead, a grated hatch let twenty little squares of light play over the slowly swaying cots, skittering from one side to the other as the ship rolled. Lamps brought a little more light to the darker recesses, from which came inhuman moans and occasional cries of agony.

Hayden spotted Landry forward and made his way along the row of cots, trying to smile at the men and look full of hope, hiding the horror he felt, pressing down his own desire to flee the place out into the pure sunlight and clean air.

Hayden found Griffiths standing by the cot of Captain Hart, separated from the rest of the sick by a makeshift bulkhead of sailcloth. The surgeon applied a glistening film of some liquid, perhaps oil of olives, over the captain’s flayed back. Hart grunted and moaned at brief intervals, muttering curses and prayers that could hardly be distinguished one from the other. A pale-faced Landry moved aside to let him pass.

Griffiths finished his application and, looking up, nodded. “Captain Hayden,” he said.

Hart shifted so that he could bring Hayden into the corner of his vision, his usually florid face now utterly crimson. “What is this I hear, Hayden, that you intend to chase the
Themis
?”

“That is correct, Captain Hart. I hope to overhaul her before she can reach the harbour of Brest.”

“You will do nothing of the sort!” Hart stormed. “Do you want to see us all killed? We few were lucky to get away with our lives. You will proceed to Plymouth with all speed.”

“With all respect,” Hayden said evenly, “it is my intention to chase down the mutineers and, if it is at all possible, either sink or take their ship.”

“Damn your impudence, sir!” Hart thundered. “I am your superior officer. You will take my orders or I will have you removed from your post.”

“You put me under the command of Captain Bourne, sir, who granted me command of this vessel. You are my guest, and in no state to take command or even the deck, were it your place to do—”

“Damn your eyes, sir! Mr Landry, you will assume command of this ship and proceed to Plymouth, forthwith.”

Landry squared up his narrow shoulders and cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, Captain Hart, but I believe Mr Hayden is in the right—we are guests aboard his ship. Castaways rescued and under his protection. To attempt to seize control, were it possible, would be mutiny…sir.”

“Blast you to hell, Landry!” the captain said, shifting about so that he fixed his clouded eye upon his second lieutenant. “I will see you court-martialled with Mr Hayden, broken of rank, and drummed out of the service!”

“Perhaps you will, sir,” Landry said mildly, “but even that will hardly be more harm than has been done by my past years of service. I will do my duty and support Mr Hayden’s attempt to retake the
Themis
.” The little lieutenant made a stilted bow and disappeared behind the sailcloth wall, where his shadow could be seen walking stiffly away.

“Landry!”
Hart called, but there was no answer.

The captain let out a moan of pain, and then, shifting about so that his squinty eye fixed upon Hayden, he whispered, “You cannot even imagine the harm I shall do you, Hayden. When we return to England—”

But Hayden interrupted. “Threatening the captain of a ship, sir; I might caution you that it contravenes the Articles of War. Good day to you.”

Hayden could hear Hart cursing and crying out in pain as the acting captain made his way back among the wounded, all of whom had heard every word that had been said. There would be no lack of witnesses to his refusal to obey Hart’s orders…but Hayden had taken all the orders from that man he could stomach, and refusing to take more was like throwing a carcass off his back.

As he mounted the steps he heard himself mutter
“Fucking Englishman!”
and was rather taken aback.

Landry stood waiting for him as he emerged onto the deck, diffuse sunlight throwing faint shadows onto the worn planks. The second lieutenant touched his hat.

“I am not certain, Landry, the Admiralty will agree that Bourne’s commission overrides Hart’s authority. You would be safer not to throw in your lot with me.”

“Mr Hayden, after what has happened, I have no doubt that this will be my last voyage aboard a ship of His Majesty’s Navy. As a last act, I would dearly like to retake the
Themis
, a ship lost due to incompetence of command, in which I played no small part. I have done nothing to earn your confidence, Mr Hayden, but if you will allow it I will endeavour to change that.” The little man looked so earnest, so needing of his approval that Hayden felt some part of his dislike for the lieutenant melt away.

“Come, Mr Landry,” Hayden said. “We have much to do.”

On the quarterdeck Hayden called all his officers together: Barthe, Landry, Archer, and Franks, as well as the midshipmen.

“Where is Mr Wickham?” Hayden asked.

“He’s only just found out about Williams, sir,” Madison answered.

“Ah…a terrible loss,” Hayden said softly, a strange tightness across his chest.

“I’ll fetch him,” Hobson offered, disappearing down the companionway.

In a moment a sober and red-eyed Wickham arrived on the deck, attempting mightily to regain his acting-officer dignity. “Captain,” he said, touching his hat, “now that you have two commissioned lieutenants aboard I must give up my position as acting first lieutenant.”

“I’m afraid you must, Mr Wickham,” Hayden agreed with real regret. “I will make you acting third lieutenant. Mr Landry and Mr Archer will be first and second officers. Mr Barthe, sailing master. Franks, bosun. Have we watches set?”

“Aye, sir.” Wickham withdrew a folded sheet of paper from his jacket and tactfully gave it to Landry to pass on.

Hayden glanced over the list, largely to be sure the small number of men were distributed as intelligently as possible. “Well done, Wickham. How fare the castaways?” he asked of the men in general.

“They are being fed now, sir, and look all the better for it,” Landry answered up smartly.

“Mr Archer, gather a crew and move the sick-bay down to the orlop-deck. I know there is little room, but it will have to be done all the same. I would move them into my cabin, but it is no place for wounded men and doctors in an action. Mind you attend to Dr Griffiths’ instructions, and take great care with the wounded. Once that is done we will clear for action. We haven’t enough men to sail the ship and man the guns, so the gun crews shall go a man shy and we will keep the most able seamen on deck to handle sail. I should think it would be best to put Bourne’s crew on deck as they work together well.”

Landry reached out an open hand, nodding to the watch and station bill Wickham had made up. “I will organize the crew, if you like, Mr Hayden.”

“If you please, Mr Landry. I have another task for Mr Wickham.” Hayden turned to the young acting-lieutenant. “Back to the masthead for you, I fear; the curse of having the sharpest eyes on the ship. I’d rather we spotted the
Themis
before they us.”

“I won’t allow that, sir,” Wickham said, touching his hat and hurrying off.

The wind, which had blown with great consistency, but faintly, all through the forenoon, now began to sigh, then hold its breath, only to sigh again. The ship would steady as her sails filled, then lose her wind and all her gear would slat terribly on the low swell. Even at this stammering pace they soon sailed into the bright, frosty mist that clung low to the ocean. Lookouts were posted in various places about the ship, even a man out on the end of the jib-boom. The fog, which fairly glowed a snowy, crystalline white, thinned to wisps at times, then gathered its powers and pressed close again.

Hayden paced about the deck, observing the efforts of the crew, speaking now and then with Mr Barthe about the set of the sails, for the inconstant wind forced them to tend sheets with frustrating regularity if they were to keep the ship moving.

“Mr Hayden, sir…” Wickham called from aloft, interrupting his circling of the deck.

Hayden turned his attention upward, and found the acting third lieutenant perched upon the topmast trestle-trees, glass in hand, gazing down at the deck.

“I can see the tops of several masts, sir. Three or four large ships of war, I would guess.”

“Are they showing colours?”

“Not so I can see, sir, but they appear to be seventy-fours. One, perhaps, larger. They pass south, and seem unaware of us.” Wickham peered off into the mists again, then leaned over and called down, “Gone, sir.”

“You might want to rid yourself of your British jacket, Mr Wickham,” Hayden called up, and then to Archer nearby, “We might all do the same, in the event that we must pass for Frenchmen.” He looked around the deck. “Monsieur Sanson? Where is my servant?”

“Ici, mon capitaine
.”

“Can you find us coats and hats from the French officers?” Hayden enquired in French.

“I believe so, monsieur.” The Frenchman inclined his head in a precise motion.

“We will keep them ready to hand in case we need them. Find yourself an officer’s uniform as well. I might need another who can speak French.”

Hayden continued his rounds, finding the men adapting easily to the new ship. He spoke with several members of the
Themis
’ crew, almost all of whom appeared deeply distressed by what had happened. Hayden had never been forced to kill a member of his own crew, so he could only imagine what a whirl of confusion must be going on inside them. And now they were hunting the
Themis
and would engage her people again, if Hayden had his way.

As he detached from a small knot of men, Hayden found Barthe gazing at him thoughtfully, a purple cheek, shiny and swollen, contrasting with his brick-coloured hair.

“You look very pensive, Mr Barthe, as do most of the castaways, I note.”

“To be ill-used by your own crew mates. To see your friends murdered at the hands of these very same men…It is enough to send a sound mind spinning into melancholy, that is certain.”

Hayden felt himself nodding. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right. And now I wonder…will the men who came away with you in the boats fight their fellows, do you think? Have they the heart for it?”

“No one’s heart will be in it, but I think we will fight all the same. You will see. They are stout fellows, though Hart did everything he could to unman them.”

The ship passed into fog, and was then becalmed within its unearthly grasp. A fanciful world of wafting mist and invisible, oscillating sea.

“It could be a level of Hades, could it not?” Hawthorne observed as he and Hayden drank coffee on the quarterdeck. “A hell where seamen are stranded—cast away—until the end of the world. Look, we appear to be afloat in roiling mist.”

“As infernos go it is rather dank,” Hayden answered, surprised by the marine lieutenant’s seriousness. “But we are not the men in hell. Not this day. It is Bill Stuckey and his confederates who must feel the nearness of the flame. I have no sympathy for Hart, who brought this calamity upon himself, but the poor sods who suffered under him are almost certain to find justice, and a terrible sentence it will be.”

“Perhaps we should pray not to overhaul them…” Hawthorne ventured, watching Hayden’s reaction.

The lieutenant shook his head. “No, despite all the sympathy I feel for every man who endured beneath Hart’s boot, we cannot win a war without ships, even ships under the command of tyrants.”

“What of shy tyrants?” Hawthorne said quickly. “Men too cowardly to meet the enemy?”

“Hart should have been removed from his command—you will get no argument from me on that point—but it was the place of the Admiralty to do it. Not the crew.”

“Unfortunately the Admiralty were not fulfilling their trust, but supporting their man instead.”

“Mr Hawthorne, I agree it is a moral morass, but we will only compound it by taking matters into our own hands. It is our duty to take the
Themis
if we can do it by any means short of our complete destruction. That is what I will attempt and I will draw my pistol against any man who will not follow those orders.”