Tide of War (15 page)

Silence. The clock again. More like a heartbeat now. Then, just as Nathan was about to prompt him, he resumed: “The light was fading and there was a mist. In the morning I sent out in the other boats and we searched the shore, but there was no sign of the captain, or of the cutter. We searched further along the coast in both directions, but could not take the frigate too close inshore for fear of running aground. We had to send the boats in. Two days we searched and then, well, it is in the logs.” He touched the documents with the flat of his hands as if he were preparing to slide them down the table. “I came to the conclusion that they must have doubled back in the darkness, slipped past on the far side of Ship Island, and headed east.”

“Why east?”

“Because I figured that if they were to seek sanctuary they must make for one of the French islands—Saint-Domingue being the nearest—or head further north towards the Carolinas. But in either case, they would head for the Florida Straits. It appeared I was right, for when we entered the Straits we encountered a Spanish vessel that
had been attacked by a cutter off the coast of Cuba.”

“So that is why you put into the Havana?”

“Yes, sir. And that I was anxious to send word to the admiral of what had transpired.”

“These men—the mutineers …”

“I have a list of their names here, sir.” His hand went to the flap of his pocket and withdrew a folded paper. Gabriel brought it down the table to Nathan.

“At present, I am less interested in who they are,” Nathan declared as he reached for the list, “than in why they took it upon themselves to mutiny and seize the captain.”

“They are all Irishmen, sir, every one.”

Nathan looked at him sharply. “And is that a reason?” He had no accurate figures but he would have reckoned more than a third of the Fleet to be Irishmen, including several admirals.

Pym flushed. “I have reason to believe, sir, that they are members of the Society of United Irishmen.”

Nathan knew of the United Irishmen. He may even have met some of them at one of his mother's soirees. He was imperfectly acquainted with their political aims but his understanding was that they wished for a greater voice in their own affairs, like many of his mother's friends: a circumstance that had aroused the resentment of His Majesty's Government who had accused them of terrorism—or at least having an association with the terrorists in Paris—and acted accordingly. Many were in jail. But he had not heard of them enrolling in the Navy in very large numbers.

“So, this was in the nature of a political protest—is that what you are saying?”

Pym looked stunned by the notion. “As to that, sir, I have no idea. Only that I believe them to be members of a criminal conspiracy, allied to the Revolutionists in France and dedicated to the overthrow of the British constitution.”

“That might be taken as political,” conceded Imlay, dryly.

“The question that concerns me,” continued Nathan with a frown
in Imlay's direction, “is how they came to be aboard one of His Majesty's frigates.”

“ Well, as to that,” Pym was looking uncomfortable again, “I believe it had been represented to them that it was either the Navy or a prison hulk on the Medway.”

Nathan raised his eyes to the ceiling in silent supplication to the gods of Reason, who were frequently absent, he had observed, in the higher echelons of command.

“We had very little choice in the matter,” Pym conceded, “being but recently commissioned and sent, in haste, to the West Indies.”

“But you had no intuition of violence?”

“There were … mutterings. Against which Captain Kerr felt compelled to take action on several occasions. But there was no reason to suspect a … a conspiracy to mutiny.”

Mutterings.
Nathan glanced down at the list of names and his eyes widened in surprise.

“One of these men is an officer,” he exclaimed.

“A warrant officer,” Pym corrected him.

“Declan Keane. Master's mate.”

“Yes. He was to have navigated the cutter.”

“But—he was involved in the mutiny?”

“Yes, sir. Indeed I very much suspect that he was the ringleader—or at least one of them. The main culprit, I believe from his behaviour to be a man called O'Neill—James O'Neill, one of the gun captains. He it was who held the pistol to the captain's head.”

So it was carefully planned. And involved a warrant officer with a good knowledge of navigation, presumably. Sufficient to take them anywhere in the Caribbean—or the Americas.

“And you had no inkling of any conspiracy?”

“I am sorry, sir, if you feel there has been any dereliction of duty on the part of the captain or officers …”

“I did not say that, sir, nor do I think it. We are simply trying to discover how this unfortunate business occurred.”

Pym's expression was a mixture of truculence and pure misery.

“ Well, sir, I do not see how it could have been avoided. And once it had occurred, what else were we to do?” His voice was become plaintive. “What other action might have been taken? They had a gun to the captain's head. He ordered me to comply with their wishes.”

“And after?”

Pym looked confused. “After? Well—I … I did all that, that could be done in the circumstances and then I—I did not know at that stage that—nor at any point these last few months—that he was dead.”

Nathan sighed. “I would not presume to criticise the conduct of anyone at this stage but it has been over two months since your last visit to the Havana and not a word as to your whereabouts.”

“Which is accounted for in my log, sir. However,” he forestalled Nathan's interruption, “if I must explain myself before these gentlemen”—a definite note of criticism there—”having heard report of the cutter in the Old Bahama Channel and in the belief that my captain was still in the power of the mutineers, I ventured to take the
Unicorn
in pursuit, only to encounter a violent hurricane within days of leaving the Havana.”

“We feared you were lost,” Nathan confessed, in the hope of putting him more at ease.

“This was very near the case. We were then upon the eastern edge of the Channel and were like to have been smashed upon the rocks. However, we succeeded in taking the ship into deeper water and managed to ride out the storm.” He tapped one of the documents with a stubby forefinger. “It is all in the log.” And then, catching Nathan's eye and with a note of defiance, “Three days with all hands at the pumps, near dead upon their feet, eighteen inches of water in the well and the rigging a shambles.” The starch went out of his shoulders. “But as the storm subsided we had the ill luck to run upon an uncharted reef just north of Ragged Island.”

Nathan looked for it on the map but needed Portillo to point it out for him: a mere speck to the north of the Old Bahama Channel.

“We were forced to unload the ship of all her stores, water and guns and make camp upon the island for above a week when we managed to float her off upon the next spring tide. But our timbers were sprung—we were leaking like a sieve—and she had lost her rudder. We rigged up one of the sweeps but it was not …” He shrugged. Nathan should know what he was up against, if he was any sort of a captain. “And the wind then blowing from the southwest, I judged it better to head for Nassau on New Providence, rather than try to beat against it.”

It made sense, of a sort, if you could not make for Port Royal or the Havana or even Port-au-Prince, which was now in British hands. Nathan wondered if he would have done any differently. Or better.

“ We worked the pumps night and day and reached Nassau on the last day of August.” Nassau, once the pirate capital of the Caribbean, now not much more than a watering hole. “Whereupon we careened her upon the shore.”

He could have done little else for if there were any dockyard facilities in the port, Nathan had yet to hear of them.

“Over the next few weeks we patched her holes, fashioned a new rudder, mended her rigging—even procured new boats, for the old ones were smashed to pieces and the cutter …” But they knew what had happened to the cutter. “And then we sailed back for the Havana. And she is in as good order, I dare say, as when she left Chatham Dockyard.”

And after all that, to find a new captain waiting for him—the jumped up son of a rear-admiral with friends in high places.

Nathan nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant, I congratulate you upon saving your ship and your crew.” He hesitated a moment but it had to be said. “It is a pity, however, that you did not see fit to send a message to Mr. Portillo here advising him of your situation. It would have saved much anxiety …”

“Oh but I did. I sent it by a British vessel—a slaver—the
Marie-Anne
of Liverpool bound from Nassau to the Havana.” He glared at
Portillo accusingly. “You did not receive it?”

Portillo shook his head. “I know the
Marie-Anne,
” he said, “but she has not put into the Havana for six months or more.”

“ Well, I assure you I sent it.”

“I am assured you did, Lieutenant,” Nathan replied. “Clearly it did not arrive. However, it answers the question. Gentlemen?” He glanced to left and right but the others had nothing to add. The consul was looking down at the table, Imlay gazing into the middle distance as if he had other things on his mind, better things to do with his time. “But now we must decide upon our future course of action.”

No.
He
must decide. And be judged for it—as Pym would be judged in the course of time by their lordships of the Admiralty.

“The
Virginie
is still at large and we have been instructed to find and destroy her.” He glanced down at the chart. “The last sighting was off Panama and I propose to take the
Unicorn
across the Yucatan Channel and down the Spanish Main in the hope of meeting up with her there.” He met Pym's eye and was about to add, “If you have no objection,” but thought better of it. He was the ship's commander, not Pym: it was his decision and his alone. To pretend otherwise would be to add insult to injury. “When, in your opinion, will the
Unicorn
be ready to sail?”

“ Whenever you wish it, sir. We watered and provisioned in Nassau and the ship, as I have said, is in good order.”

“And the crew?” It slipped out almost without his meaning it to and Pym flushed a darker shade of red.

“The crew will do their duty, sir, for all that we are some sixty short of a full complement.”

“Sixty?”

“ Which is, I admit, cause for concern.”

Quite right it was cause for concern. “I believe you said there were but twenty-two involved in the mutiny?”

“I did, sir, but we were short-handed to begin with and have lost a few more in the cause of our misfortunes. Two men overboard in the
storm and three more injured that we had to leave in Nassau. And ten men with the fever.”

“The fever?”

“The yellow fever.”

Dear God, he had been wondering how much worse it could get. Now he knew. Yellow fever was the particular dread of every seaman and soldier that was sent to the Caribbean but it was unusual to contract it while at sea.

“All of which occurred when we were on New Providence.”

“And there have been no other cases since?”

“No, sir. Not so far, by the grace of God.”

Indeed. For nothing else known to man could prevent the malady, or effect a cure.

“Very well.” Nathan levered himself up from his chair at the head of the table. “I suggest you return to the
Unicorn,
Lieutenant, and I will join you there presently—with my own people.”

His people. He had forgot to mention the marines. All thirty of them—thirty-two with Whiteley and his sergeant. But it was too late now. The lieutenant was on his feet and preparing to leave. It would look like an oversight on Nathan's part, which it was. And besides it was a bad way to end the meeting. He thought of a better.

“And let us hope our
Unicorn
does better than the last.”

He meant the last beast—that had become extinct. But he could see that Pym thought he meant the frigate under its last commander and took it amiss.

Nathan was mortified but an apology would only have made it worse. The lieutenant bowed stiffly and left the room with the consul in attendance.

“ If you have no objection,” Nathan addressed Imlay, “I think it would be of benefit if I were to spend some time studying the logs.” He indicated the notebooks that Pym had left. “And do you send to the
Speedwell,
” Nathan instructed the Angel Gabriel, “and ask Mr. Keeble to send the gig for us in about an hour.”

Nathan began with the first lieutenant's log, if only because it was the topmost book when Gabriel brought them to him. The first few pages described the sea trials off the Isle of Wight and were of little interest, though even at this stage the
Unicorn
appeared to be dogged by misfortune.