Sails on the Horizon: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars (38 page)

Jervis gave Charles a curious look and rose abruptly from his seat. “I’ll see you out,” he said unexpectedly.

“Oh, that’s not necessary, sir,” Charles said. “I can see myself out.”

“I’ll see you out,” Jervis repeated in a tone that encouraged no argument, taking Charles’s arm and steering him toward the door. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said over his shoulder.

In the hallway outside, Jervis stopped and said, “What do you know about Admiral Grimsley and his dealings in Plymouth?”

Charles devoutly wished he had never brought the subject up. He knew Jervis and Grimsley had been bitter enemies for years. He also knew that he had solicited the theft of some incriminating documents of Grimsley’s and sent them anonymously to the Admiralty. He did not know the outcome of their investigations, but he guessed that the penalty for stealing Admiralty documents would be severe. Charles felt he was treading in deep waters. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir,” he said.

Jervis looked at him sharply. “I mean, did you forward any papers to the Admiralty regarding a shipment of twelve-pounder cannons? Cannons, I might add, that were once intended for the
Louisa.
”

Charles felt distinctly uncomfortable under the admiral’s gaze. “Me, sir? What’s become of Admiral Grimsley, anyway?”

“He finally retired under something of a cloud, thank God,” Jervis said, his deep eyes studying Charles’s face. After a moment he added, “All right, I’ll accept your claim of innocence for now. But I’d like to shake the hand of the man who sent those papers.”

“It might depend on how they were come by,” Charles said, meeting Jervis’s eyes.

“Not on my watch it doesn’t,” the admiral answered, a look of understanding showing on his face. “You mentioned some personal business,” he went on, quickly changing the subject. “May I ask what it is?”

“I’m to be married, sir.”

The fleet admiral was silent for a moment, then put his hand on Charles’s shoulder. “So that’s why you want leave,” he said gruffly. “I don’t approve of my junior officers marrying. It distracts their attention from the service. But I suppose I am obligated to wish you and your intended well. You must introduce her to me when the opportunity arises.”

“Thank you, sir,” Charles said, “I’ll be sure to,” thinking that a meeting between Penny and Jervis was something that should be avoided at any cost.

“I also want to congratulate you on your business with the Spanish frigate, and…ah…any other services you may have performed on behalf of the navy, strictly legal or otherwise.”

“Thank you, sir,” Charles said. With a firm handshake, Jervis sent him on his way and returned to Dorchester’s office, closing the door behind him.

Charles hurried as fast as his one good leg and crutch would carry him back to his gig by the quayside. “To the
Louisa,
” he said to the coxswain after he had been manhandled down into the craft, “and pull hard. There’s no time to lose.”

As soon as he was back onboard he called for Bevan and Winchester. “Daniel, I want you to hire a lugger or brig, anything large enough to transport a hundred and thirty men around the Lizard to Chester.” Turning to Winchester, he said, “We need water and provisions for the same number for a week or more. Buy it in the port and arrange that it be loaded this afternoon, this evening at the latest.”

The two lieutenants stared at him without comprehension. “May I ask why?” Bevan said.

“We’re going to sail home,” Charles said nonchalantly, “and apart from the ship’s standing officers I’m taking the crew with me. We leave after dark.”

THE TWO-HUNDRED-TON
barque
Maryanne
rounded Point of Ayr in the Irish Sea and entered the broad estuary of the River Dee five days later, having experienced largely favorable winds and moderate weather. With the brown mountains of Wales to starboard and the flat woodlands of Cheshire’s Wirral Peninsula port-side, the
Maryanne
proceeded as far upriver as was navigable in the early-morning mist. Chester had been an important seaport during the time Rome ruled Britain. The Dee estuary had silted up badly during the Middle Ages, however, and the
Maryanne
tied up dockside at the small port of Connah’s Quay a few miles west of the city.

Charles sent Bevan and Black, the purser, each with a small party of sailors, into the town. He and Winchester supervised the transfer of the remainder of the
Louisa
’s crew and their hammocks, duffel bags, and sea chests, including the wounded, to shore. Bevan was to hire whatever horse-and-wagon teams were available; Black was to arrange the purchase of beef, pork, vegetables, cheese, beer, and so on to feed them for a month. They could buy more later. By midmorning a train of four heavy wagons pulled by teams of horses was assembled in a small square just inside the Watergate in Chester’s walls. Two were loaded with the wounded (attended by Lincoln, the surgeon); the remainder were filled with casks, boxes, and bags of foodstuffs and the sailors’ gear.

The Chester townsfolk, who think of themselves as a fairly sophisticated lot, stared curiously as the wagons set off for the Dee Bridge accompanied by nearly a hundred sailors on foot and a small herd of cattle and swine. Almost immediately there was more animated and suggestive conversation between the sailors and certain young women they encountered along the roadway than Charles liked. He ordered the petty officers to organize the men by divisions, to remind them that they were still under orders, and to encourage a sense of decorum.

Charles rode on the bench of the leading wagon driven by Tom York, an able seaman who was clearly more at home reefing a sail than managing a team of drays. Once over the bridge and into the countryside, the procession began to spread out, slowed by the meandering livestock. He ordered several halts for everyone to regroup and for the small bands of seamen who had run off excitedly in pursuit of escaped sows or errant bullocks to be gathered back up. By noon they were nearing Hatton and the turnoff that led past Gatesheath to Tattenall. It was also time to think about feeding the men. Charles decided that the grounds of the Brown household would be the perfect place to stop and prepare their dinner. After all, Penny might be there.

Charles’s heart quickened as his heavily laden wagon splashed through the same stream he had raced across on Pendle the day he had bought him. As they lumbered around the bend, he stared at the place where he had overturned Penny’s cart and then set her broken arm. Soon the procession turned off the road and began its way up the drive to the Brown home. Too late, Charles hoped it wouldn’t inconvenience them.

Peter saw them first, an army of sailors, wagons, cattle, and pigs strung out along the drive and far down the road. Charles watched as the boy shouted something excitedly to the house and then ran to see who it was descending on his property. Seeing Charles, the boy stopped and waved. “Greetings to thee, Charles Edgemont,” he called out. “What art thou about?”

“Hello, Peter,” Charles said, signaling to York to stop the wagon. “I was hoping to use your land to prepare a meal for my men. Would you tell your father that we’re here…and your sister?”

The boy nodded, spun on his heel, and ran toward the mill. Charles’s heart seemed to stop when he saw Penny come from the house and with a wave start toward them. She had pulled a long cloak over her dress and the January wind pulled at the edges of her bonnet. She looked altogether lovely. “Let’s go,” he said to York. “Stop when we reach the woman.”

The sailor managed to start the horses forward, only to stop a few paces later, when Penny caught up to them. Charles moved to jump down from the wagon seat. York put a hand on his arm and restrained him. “Mind y’er ankle, sur,” he said. Charles sat nervously and waited.

“Hello, Penny,” he said from his perch atop the wagon.

“Oh, Charles,” Penny said, seeing his sling. “What hath happened to thy arm?”

“It’s nothing,” he said reassuringly. “Nothing’s broken. Look, I can move it.” He flapped his damaged arm like a chicken’s wing.

Penny looked at him suspiciously. “Why dost thou not descend?”

Charles thought of three different excuses all at the same time, none of them satisfactory. “I can’t,” he said finally. “I’ve broken my ankle.”

“I’ll get ye down, sur,” York offered. “Just a minute.” The seaman jumped from the wagon and whistled shrilly for some of his mates.

Penny’s face turned ashen as a half-dozen men lifted Charles bodily from the wagon and set him gently on the ground. York proudly handed Charles his crutch. “This isn’t as bad as it looks,” Charles said hurriedly as he hobbled toward her. “I wasn’t shot in the leg. I tripped over a cannon and broke it by accident. It could have happened to anybody.”

“Thou wert shot in thy arm?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Well, as a matter of fact…” Charles began.

“It were a big battle, ma’am,” York interjected enthusiastically, trying to be helpful. “You should have seen it. Lots of people were injured worse. Y’er Captain Edgemont was lucky.”

Penny smiled sweetly at York. “Were any killed?” she asked.

“Oh, my word—ouch!” York cut short when Charles rapped him sharply on the shin with his crutch.

“I’ll talk to you about it later,” Charles said. “I’ll tell you the whole story, I promise.”

She took his good arm and moved close to him. “I am pleased to see thee,” she said. “Tell me the truth. Art thou badly injured?”

“No, I’m not, really,” Charles said. “I have a minor wound to my wrist that will soon heal, and I broke a bone in my ankle when I tripped and fell.” When she turned her face up to look into his he said, “That’s the truth.” Then he kissed her.

“We will talk of this later,” she said, blushing, conscious of the men standing around and watching them. She asked, “Is this thy navy?”

“My crew, yes,” he said. Then on an inspiration he added, “I brought them to attend our wedding.”

“Didst thou really?” she said in amazement.

“Well, partly,” he answered.

Soon they were joined by her mother and father, Bevan and Winchester, and a growing circle of curious sailors.

“I was hoping that we might use your land to prepare dinner for my men,” Charles said to George Brown. “We’re on our way from Chester to Tattenall. We’ve brought our own food.”

George Brown nodded, “That would be fine. Thou art welcome to any firewood thou needs and water from the well.”

“We would gladly feed thee all,” Elizabeth Brown said, looking in wonder around her, “but I think we haven’t enough food.”

“Thank you,” Charles said, “we can prepare our own meal. I’ll send some people over later in the week to replace any firewood or whatever else we use.” Just then, one of the larger wagons, attempting to turn at the end of the drive, drove against the corner of a fence in front of the house and knocked it flat. In a torrent of blasphemy one of the younger midshipmen yelled at the seaman driving the wagon, who in turn swore loudly at his team of horses.

“And we’ll repair any damage,” Charles said. Turning to Bevan, he added, “Get them organized, will you? One cooking fire for each division. Let them prepare whatever they want. And get them to watch their language.”

“What about the wounded?” Bevan asked.

“Wounded? What wounded?” Penny exclaimed.

Charles turned to Penny and said seriously, “We have twenty-seven wounded men in those wagons over there. They are being looked after by the ship’s surgeon. Some of them are in very serious condition and some have lost limbs. I didn’t have the heart to leave them in Portsmouth. I thought they would have a better chance of recovery at Tattenall. We’ll feed them along with the others.”

“I want to see them,” Penny said.

“It’s not very pretty,” Charles continued confidently. “Certainly not a place for a woman.” Due to the intimacy involved, very few women ever attended to sick or injured men. Those who did were generally considered to be little better than harlots.

Penny looked at him sharply. “Dost thou imagine life for women is always pretty things?”

“Well, no,” Charles said. “But—”

Penny called to her mother.

Very soon thereafter Charles reluctantly followed Penny, and George and Elizabeth Brown, to the wagons with the wounded. He found Lincoln inside the second, bending over one of his patients and changing a dressing over the stump of the man’s arm. Without a word Elizabeth Brown hoisted her skirts and climbed up into the wagon, followed closely by her daughter.

The surgeon looked startled at the appearance of the two women. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Elizabeth Brown knelt next to a groaning man with a large bandage around his chest. “Which are the most serious?” she asked Lincoln over her shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be here, ma’am,” Lincoln insisted. “These are sick men.”

“I can see that,” Penny’s mother said brusquely. “Which are the sickest?”

Lincoln looked to Charles in frustration. “Sir,” he protested.

“Answer her questions,” Charles said. “I think she means to help.”

The surgeon turned back to the older woman with a shrug. “There are six in this wagon and three in the other,” he said respectfully. “They’re the worst.”

Elizabeth Brown turned to Charles. “Wouldst thou please have thy men carry those nine into the house? Penny will show them where.” To her husband she said: “Send Peter to fetch Joseph Willard immediately. After he calls on the doctor, he is to go to the Worrall and Clayton farms. Have them bring their wagons and bedding. Surely each of us can care for three of these poor creatures.”

Peter soon galloped off on horseback, and while Lincoln was supervising the transfer, Charles spoke to Penny’s father. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought Quakers didn’t abide fighting men.”

The older man looked at Charles seriously. “It’s the fighting we don’t abide. These men are each one God’s creatures and deserve our care. It wouldn’t matter if they were English or French.”

“At least I can pay for the doctor’s visits and any expenses to you in keeping them.”

“I thank thee,” George Brown said. “Joseph Willard will charge nothing for his services in this case, nor will the Worralls or Claytons for food and board. We do this for love of God, not profit.”