Tide of War (39 page)

“It is nonetheless an interesting phenomenon,” Brother Ignatius observed, and resorting to the Latin in which both he and McLeish had been versed for their respective reasons, he added: “The curse of a witch has been known to have a surprisingly potent effect upon the simple, superstitious mind. I have known otherwise healthy creatures to wither away in the course of a few days and frequently expire.”

“This is possibly true,” agreed McLeish, “but I fear it is entirely beyond my powers to propose a remedy, other than a strong emetic. Do not feel constrained, however, if you wish to bestow a blessing. I do not believe he has any significant aversion to the Church of Rome. Indeed I would have thought his religious propensity to be quite low.”

“ I am perfectly conscious,” Nathan informed them both, coldly, “despite my considerable discomfort, and though I was the despair of my tutors, I had the good fortune to receive a classical education—at least in the Latin—so if you wish to continue your discourse without regard to your patient's finer feelings, might I suggest you do so in Greek, or Hebrew or Aramaic or whatever scholarly language you have had the leisure to pursue.”

This speech, though not lengthy, caused him some considerable effort but it was worth it to see the expressions on their faces and the protestations of regret, doubtless sincere on the monk's part.

“My dear sir, I meant no offence,” he assured Nathan. “Indeed I am inclined to take your complaint a good deal more seriously than those who aspire to what they call ‘an enlightened approach.'” He slid his eyes disparagingly towards McLeish. “And although medicine may apply itself to superficial physical injury with some success, it appears to me to be entirely at a loss when it comes to the more complex afflictions of mankind.”

“Aye well, when the Church of Rome discovers a cure for yellow fever or bubonic plague or those other afflictions that baffle us poor physicians, pray inform me of it,” retorted McLeish, and then, addressing himself to Nathan: “In the meantime I would prescribe a bolus that I will instruct my assistant to make up for you. And a few hours sleep would not come amiss, for you have lost a great deal of blood which, I have been told, can render the mind as feeble as the body.”

“As to that, I am of the opinion that a frank confession of sin and a sincere act of contrition frequently soothes the mind as effectively as it relieves the spirit,” remarked Brother Ignatius, complacently folding his hands within the copious sleeves of his habit.

“Thank you, sir, but if I am to die I would prefer to die in the faith
of my fathers,” Nathan assured him, and then turning to the doctor and addressing him in Latin, out of consideration for his other patients: “And as to your boluses you may stick them up your anus, where they will do just as much good, for I am perfectly aware of the palliatives offered to the ‘simple, superstitious mind.' But I thank you for stitching me up and now, if you have no objection, I will go about my duties.”

And with some effort and all the dignity he could muster he stood up and hobbled back to the quarterdeck.

The
Unicorn
was heading sou'-sou'-west under a full press of sail and Tully had the watch. He looked at Nathan in concern.

“A chair for the captain,” he instructed Lamb who was at the con. Then, lowering his voice for Nathan's private ear: “If you will permit me, sir, you look as if you could use a few hours' sleep.”

“So the doctor tells me. However, I would sleep better for knowing our present position and what speed we are making.”

Tully told him. They were at the edge of the Sea of Sirens and making a little over six knots with the wind in the northeast. “And if you feel up to it, sir, one of the mutineers—Keane—has asked if he may speak with you.”

“Where is he?”

“Put in irons, sir, at your command.”

Nathan sank into the chair Lamb had brought him. He could not contemplate a trip below decks, unless it was to collapse in his cabin.

“Bring him up on deck,” he said.

Keane, when he appeared, looked as bad as Nathan felt. He was a young man of about Nathan's age with features that would have been accounted personable had they not been so drawn and pale.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” he began, “and I do not wish to distract you from your duties, but I wished to make a plea on behalf of the boy.”

“The boy?”

“Dermot Quinn, sir, that was taken with me on the brig.”

“Oh, the boy. Yes. What of him?”

“Only to say, sir, that he had nothing to do with the mutiny but
only came into the cutter out of loyalty to his fellow countrymen.”

“And what of his loyalty to King George?”

“Oh, sir, he is a young boy, barely thirteen years old, and a native of Dublin.”

“Old enough to choose better company and is not Dublin a province of the kingdom?”

“It is, sir, and I doubt the boy would contest it for he is the son of a gentleman and a lawyer.”

“Is he indeed, then what is he doing among a parcel of—” But he held his tongue for the fellow was in no position to answer his abuse.

“The fact is, sir, he was staying with his mother's sister's family on the south coast of England when his uncle was taken by the press and the boy would not be separated from him and so the officer said they should take him along as well.”

“And where is his uncle now?”

“He was knocked on the head, sir, in the fight with the slaver.”

“I see, so he was in on the mutiny?”

“He was, sir, and that may have been the reason the boy came with us.”

“I see. Well, I am sure the court martial will take this into consideration.”

Keane looked him directly in the eye. “My God, sir, you know what they will do to him and he was as opposed as any of us to the way O'Neill served out the captain.”

“I am sorry, Keane, but it is the best I can do.”

He felt another savage pain in his chest and gasped.

Tully came to his side as they led Keane below. “Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you, sir?”

They were distracted by a shout from the lookout in the foretop. A sail, coming up fast on their larboard beam. But she was smaller than a frigate and as she approached they saw that she was a merchant vessel—a snow brig flying the Union flag. She must have seen the
Unicorn's
colours but she altered course and ran to the south. It took them an hour to catch her and oblige her to heave to under their
guns. Her captain came over in his gig and reported to Nathan on the quarterdeck. Mr. Barnaby Leach, of the snow
Priscilla
out of Bristol, bound for Panama with a cargo of dry goods. He had thought they were French, he said, flying false colours.

“You were not heading for Panama when we sighted you,” Nathan pointed out.

“That is because we were running from a French frigate,” Leach told Nathan, “that we sighted in the Windward Passage.”

They had been sailing through the Passage, he said, when they were overtaken by the packet
Greyhound,
come from England with despatches for the acting Governor in Port Royal. They had sailed in company for a while, exchanging news, but then they had sighted a strange sail bearing down on them from the east and so they had scattered, the packet running for Port Royal and the
Priscilla
to the west.

“But she went straight after the
Greyhound,
” said Leach, “and at such a lick I'll swear she will have o'ertook her.”

“And you say she was a frigate?”

“I do. And a French national ship. To tell truth I thought you was her, somehow got ahead of us—for she had the same red band on her side. That is why we ran from you, even though we saw the ensign.”

“And when was this?” Nathan felt a fierce exhilaration; if only he was not in such pain.

“About three hours since.”

Nathan thanked him and sent him on his way. He instructed Baker to set a course for the southwest.

“You think she is the
Virginie?”
enquired Pym unnecessarily.

“Whoever she is, we must see if we can come up with her,” Nathan informed him briskly.

There was little chance of catching her up, given the start she had, but if she
was
the
Virginie
there was a fair chance she had been heading for Boca del Serpiente, even if she had permitted herself to be distracted for a while by the packet. He was considering whether he had the energy to consult the charts in his cabin when Gabriel approached bearing a tumbler upon a tray.

“Doctor says this is your bolus, sir, and you are to drink it at once, if you please.”

“Be damned to the doctor's bolus,” said Nathan. He peered into the glass and made a face. “Does Mr. McLeish think that if he makes something sufficiently disgusting, the more gullible among us will be convinced of its efficacy?”

“That would indeed be a futile exercise,” said McLeish dryly as he emerged from the companionway, “given your immunity to the power of suggestion. But you will find it no more disagreeable than a cup of whey. If you will be so obliging as to take your medicine like a good fellow.”

Muttering to himself, Nathan drank. McLeish was right. It was not at all unpleasant, though he was conscious of a pressure in his innards.

He gave vent to a mighty belch. “Be damned,” he murmured weakly, and was shaken by another.

The quarterdeck maintained a thin veneer of discipline. But the pain had eased a little and now he felt a stirring in his bowels.

“What in God's name is it?” he demanded, gazing into the empty cup.

“Bicarbonate of soda and a distillation of liquorice and senna,” McLeish informed him calmly. “A concoction of my own devising which I have always found efficacious in cases involving the use of sorcery.”

“Dear God, get me to a privy,” Nathan commanded Gabriel as he struggled out of his chair.

“Wind,” he heard McLeish remark complacently to Tully as he limped from the quarterdeck. “I told him it was wind. It can be surprisingly painful if trapped in the wrong place.”

Nathan was comfortably installed on the privy adjoining his cabin when he heard the shout from the lookout:

“Sail ho! Three points off the starboard bow.”

N
ATHAN STARED INTENTLY
at the approaching ship through his Dolland glass. At this distance all he could be sure of was that she was ship-rigged, almost certainly a ship of war, and that she might, just might, have a red stripe along her side.

And she was exactly on course to round Cape Cruz and beat back into the Boca del Serpiente.

He closed the telescope and made his way back down the shrouds, rather more staidly than was his normal practice, to where his impatient subordinates awaited him on the quarterdeck.

“Very well, Mr. Pym, let us fly the signal but in the meantime I think we may beat to quarters.”

The ship came alive to the stirring beat of the marine drum and the fiendish shriek of the boatswain's pipes down the companionways, calling up the watch from below. But Nathan felt a deeper stirring.

“Carry on, Mr. Pym,” he murmured to the bemused lieutenant as he hurried below to find McLeish.

More concerted activity all along the gun deck as they folded the bulkheads up to the deckhead and cast loose the guns, converting them from mere furnishings—convenient hurdles between mess
tables—to deadly weapons of war. Powder boys rushed up from the magazine with their paper cartridges and McGregor's sentries hurried to take up their stations at the companionways to prevent others from leaving theirs. Nathan's own quarters appeared entirely demolished and Gabriel was supervising the removal of the breakables to the orlop deck … Nathan followed them below and found the doctor busy in the cockpit with his assistant and the loblolly boys, laying out the grisly tools of their trade: the scalpels and forceps, the tenon saws, probes, catlins, needles, nippers and turnscrews, the yards of bandage and cloth.

“So you want something to bind you now,” the doctor established after listening to Nathan's apologetic and somewhat oblique request. Out of respect for his captain's dignity, he at least spoke in the language of his profession.

“I do,” Nathan confirmed, in the same tongue. “For while I am much obliged to you for easing the apparent obstruction, I fear you may have loosened more than is advisable at the onset of a battle.”

“Indeed and it would inevitably have an adverse effect on morale were you to unburden yourself upon the quarterdeck,” McLeish conceded unnecessarily. “Well, I can supply the means of redress but I must warn you that while it may render the bowels inactive for a limited period the inevitable release, as it were, when the effect diminishes may confine you to the seat of ease for some considerable time.”

“My dear doctor,” Nathan replied, “if that is the worse unpleasantness I may suffer as a result of the forthcoming engagement, then I may count myself fortunate, indeed, and if it is not disrespectful to the Almighty, I will make use of the enforced period of leisure to offer thanks for my deliverance.”

He returned to the quarterdeck with the small brown bottle that McLeish had delivered to him with the instruction: “Fifteen drops in a cup of water. Not a drop more. And if the engagement should continue for more than an hour or so, you had better repeat the dose if you do not wish to make a spectacle of yourself in sight of the enemy.”

The quarterdeck was restored to its usual calm but considerably reinforced by a contingent of marines and the gun crews at the 6-pounders and the carronades. Nathan glanced swiftly to the southeast. The other frigate was noticeably closer and had not altered her course by a single degree. Twenty minutes and they would cross her bows if they did not collide.

“She has not answered the confidential signal, sir.”