Under Enemy Colors (20 page)

“I know it is a great favour I ask, and somewhat irregular, but the young man’s heart is not upon the sea at the moment, and it will allow you to keep your first lieutenant with you, which I’m sure would meet with your approval. Let me assure you, Hart, I am not seeking in any way to claim even the smallest part of the honour you deserve for your bold endeavour. You may be assured of that. And I should be forever in your debt.”

Hayden could see that Hart had no wish to comply, and certainly did not give a damn for any second lieutenant with a newborn child. “Who will make up the prize crew, then?”

“If you wish it,” Bourne offered, “I will make up half the muster from my own men. Will that answer?”

“I
am
short of crew…” Hart mused, then nodded reluctantly.

Bourne patted Hayden on the shoulder. “Then you and Mr Hayden will be left to harry the unsuspecting French. Wait till I inform the Lords of the Admiralty that you sailed into the Goulet so far that I thought you would touch jib-booms with the ships in the anchorage. Not much further and the batteries would have had you in their sights. That took some nerve!”

Hart nodded graciously and rose to his feet. “I suppose we should be about our duties, then.”

Hayden followed Hart and Bourne up to the deck.

“If you can spare Lieutenant Hayden for a brief interval,” Bourne said to Hart as they reached the rail, “there are several of his former shipmates who I’m certain would like to see his handsome face again.”

“Mr Hayden has duties aboard the
Themis
,” Hart said curtly.

The smile on Bourne’s face barely wavered. “Quite right,” he said. Bourne made his good-byes, thanked Hart again, and went nimbly down the ladder and into his cutter.

As soon as Bourne was out of earshot, Hart turned to his first lieutenant but did not meet his eye. “It seems, Mr Hayden, you shall have a reprieve,” he said quietly, “due to the intervention of your friend Bourne. I hope you will endeavour to earn my approval in the future.”

“I have never done anything but, sir,” Hayden answered.

This caused Hart to raise an eyebrow. “Take yourself over to the prize and make a complete inventory of the ship. I don’t want to find we’ve been cheated in any way when we reach the Prize Court.”

Hayden drew himself up. “Sir, Captain Bourne is a man of unimpeachable honour.”

Hart fixed him with a dark look, and Hayden touched his hat.

“A boat, if you please, Mr Archer,” the lieutenant called out.

Hayden swiftly assembled a few men who could both count and write, and bore them over to the French transport.

As the only one perfectly fluent in French, Hayden took on the task of going over the ship’s papers, searching for the manifest and bills of lading. The captain, whose name had been La Fontaine, was a man who had believed in order, and Hayden quickly found what he was looking for. In a drawer he also found a letter, unfinished and dated the day previous.

It read:

A quick search revealed a box of private correspondence. The lieutenant added the unfinished letter to this, found what other personal belongings he could, and carried them up into the sunlight.

“What have we there, Mr Hayden?” Franks asked, a yellowed smile appearing. “A bit of treasure?”

“The personal effects of the ship’s master. I will send them on to his widow.”

The smile disappeared from the bosun’s face. “Very kind of you, Mr Hayden. Very ‘genteel,’ as the French would say. That is what they say, isn’t it, sir?”

“Très gentil.”

“Just as I said…”

A boat came alongside from the
Tenacious
, and with his second lieutenant, Captain Bourne appeared on the transport’s deck.

Hayden gave the young second the appropriate papers, and left him to go over the ship on his own. No officer would take command of a vessel without ascertaining her seaworthiness and the general state of her gear. As he expected, the second lieutenant was exacting, efficient, and amiable.

“That was a most agreeable luncheon,” Bourne ventured once they were alone. He then took Hayden by the sleeve. “Let us repair below a moment, if I will not disrupt your labours.”

“You will not.”

In a moment they were in the master’s cabin, seated at a little table.

“So tell me, Charles, what really transpired in the dark? We heard shouts ordering you to return to the ship…”

“Could you make those out? We weren’t sure ourselves,” Hayden answered.

Bourne smiled. “So you plunged ahead and carried the transport by force majeure?”

“More or less, yes.”

“And where was our intrepid Captain Hart during all this?”

“In his cabin, suffering from migraine. I believe the doctor had given him a soporific. We were away in the boats when the captain came on deck.”

Bourne sat back a little in his chair, his face betraying that he had guessed as much. “He had no notion of what went on?”

“Not until we fired the bow-chaser to bring the transport to.”

Bourne was quiet a moment, his look troubled. He drummed his fingers on the table.

“I owe you a great debt, sir,” Hayden said quietly. “I was to be court-martialled before you appeared this morning.”

Bourne blew out through his lips. “Court-martialled! On what charge? Immoderate bravery?” He shook his head in disgust. “How did you ever land aboard Hart’s ship? I thought you were to be made Master and Commander when you left me.”

“It did seem that such an appointment was in the offing when I left the
Tenacious
, but it did not come to pass. I was ashore without prospects when the First Secretary honoured me with the offer of this position.”

“Stephens?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, let us not be disingenuous; it is a bad situation, Mr Hayden. Hart has a particular character within the Service. Even so, he has his supporters among the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty. But you will not prosper under his command. I will send my report, and not be coy in revealing your part in the business, but even so, Hart will receive the credit.” Bourne sat, lost in thought a moment, then looked up at his former lieutenant. “Don’t get yourself killed trying to gain the attention of the Admiralty by daring. It is likely that they will never hear of it from Hart, unless, like last night, there are other witnesses.”

“I was not trying to get myself killed. I merely saw the chance of taking an enemy vessel, judged the risks to be acceptable, and did my duty. I knew the waters. The ebb was bound to carry us out to safety, even if the offshore breeze did not fill in. What else was I to do?”

“Exactly, Charles, and I did not mean to imply that you exhibited less than proper caution. You weighed everything to a nicety and acted without hesitation—as I would have expected. Many another would have dithered until the chance was lost. But you’ve shown Hart to be less than stout-hearted before his crew, not that they did not realize it, but even so…Hart will feel the sting of it.”

“There is not a thing I might do that would please Captain Hart. The second lieutenant does nothing but capitulate to him in every little thing and Hart despises him as much as the next man. I shall face a court-martial before I will become another Landry.”

“And that is completely understandable. But men such as…” Bourne hesitated, and then leaned over the table and spoke quietly but earnestly. “Men who secretly know of their own shyness—they hate officers such as you, Charles. Your very existence is nothing less than a constant threat to reveal the horrid truth about them. That is their greatest fear of all—that the world will learn the truth.”

Hayden lowered his voice as well. “But as you have said, everyone in the Service knows of the man’s character.”

Bourne held up both his hands. “Indeed, that is true. But our good captain fantasies that this is not so, that the world has been deceived. He would like nothing better than to be thought the most valiant man in the Royal Navy, but he will never even attempt the deeds that would gain him such a reputation.”

“Did you not always tell us, ‘Do not seek acclaim; deserve it’?”

Bourne smiled. “So I did, and you have taken it to
heart
, I see.”

Hayden laughed. “Poor man. His name lends itself too easily to such wit.”

“I am only saying, Charles, that you should be wary of this man. He will do you damage, if he can—at least destroy your reputation.”

“I have no reputation. I was fortunate to be offered even a situation such as this.”

“Apparently you do have a reputation. Philip Stephens did not choose you because you were a blunderer. He chose you because he knew you were a man of great ability, but without any interest to speak of.”

“At least the latter is true, unfortunately.”

Bourne rose to his feet, looked down at his former lieutenant, a great deal of concern creasing his noble face. “It is only my intention, Charles, as a friend, to caution you. If Hart cannot break your will, and I don’t believe for a moment that he can, then he will attempt to ruin you. Do not underestimate him. His kind have a vast genius for vindictiveness. A vast genius.”

T
he French transport was soon small on the horizon in a moderate sou’west wind; beyond the reach of French privateers, Hayden hoped, many of whom lurked nearby in the hole-in-the-wall harbour of Conquet. Hart had sent along his official report of the action, as had Captain Bourne. A letter to Hayden’s particular friend, Thomas Banks, Esq., had also been included in the home-going mail, detailing the lieutenant’s singular view of the events.

Writing the initial missives to the First Secretary had made Hayden feel like a traitor—loyalty to his captain had always been reflexive with him—but after witnessing Hart’s dereliction of duty, not to mention the way he treated his first lieutenant and the rest of his crew, Hayden felt more like a conspirator than an informer. The man inspired loyalty in no one—except Landry, apparently.

Hayden was not sure what Philip Stephens would do with his letters, but if they would in any way undermine Hart within the Admiralty, Hayden had decided he would not trouble his conscience over it. Fear that his letters would not be kept secret did trouble him, however; informers were despised in the service. If Stephens was not very masterful in his attempts to discredit Hart, and discreet about the source of his information, Hayden would face a future of ostracization; remaining in the service would become impossible. Indeed, he would almost certainly have no choice but to quit the country altogether. The idea of being disdained by his fellow officers distressed him terribly—especially late at night—but he had made his devil’s bargain with Stephens and only hoped it would never come to light.

Despite all this, he wondered what Hart had written about the action. He did not need to speculate about what Captain Bourne had communicated to the Lords Commissioners; discreetly, his old champion had sent a copy of his letter to Hayden while still aboard the transport. It had been an utterly fair account and did not make use of any information gained in private conversation with Hayden, but only things he could have known from his position out at sea, and from what he had been told aboard the
Themis
. Even so, Hayden did come off as the hero of the action, and though Hart was praised for his nerve in going into the Goulet after the transports, Bourne had also noted that First Lieutenant Charles Hayden had intimate knowledge of the harbour and its surrounding waters. He let the Lords Commissioners draw their own conclusions from that. Tactfully, Hart’s order for the boats to return to the ship before they had reached the transport was overlooked. Only Philip Stephens had that information.

Hayden lowered his glass, brushing the prize from his mind, though he did carry a little buoyant feeling for the prize money that would be due upon some future date. Money was not something Hayden had ever possessed in abundance, and a small windfall would not go amiss.

A general throat-clearing came softly from behind.

Hayden turned. “Mr Archer. May I be of some service?”

“The captain sends his compliments and asks that you attend him in his cabin, Mr Hayden.”

Hayden rather doubted that Hart had phrased his request in quite those words, but appreciated Archer’s adjustment of the language. “I shall go down immediately, thank you, Mr Archer.”

Archer smiled. “My compliments on the prize, Mr Hayden. It was nobly done, sir.”

“I’m not sure how nobly it was managed, but we did take the damned ship and that was worth something. Is anyone taking up a subscription for the dead men’s families?”

The young lieutenant glanced down, brushing at some detritus on the planks with a polished boot. “Yes, sir. Mr Hawthorne. He asked that everyone contribute one twentieth of their prize money to the widows, but some of the men refused. Others would contribute some share of their money to one man’s family but not to another’s. It is all a bit of a muddle, sir.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. Please tell Mr Hawthorne that he can count on me in the amount of one twentieth. If you will excuse me…”

“Certainly, sir. Thank you.”

Only aboard the
Themis
would such meanness have occurred in the matter of widows and children. The first lieutenant shook his head, feeling his spirits plunge as he descended the stair. The marine at the door announced him and he found Captain Hart toiling at his table, a pair of spectacles perched upon his nose. The captain’s hands were small and fleshy, the knuckles wrinkled little rings joining sections of bloated sausage. Childishly tiny fingernails brought the ends of his stubby fingers to near points—the hands of a gnome or stunted troll. As Hayden watched, Hart gripped his pen awkwardly between thumb and rigid forefinger and stuttered down marks upon the innocent page. He looked up at Hayden over the small lenses.

“I understand you’re half a Frenchman, Mr Hayden.”

“I am an Englishman, sir. It is my mother who is French.”

“You speak the language like a Frenchman, though?”

“I do.”

“Good.” He slid a sheet of paper out of a neat pile and pushed it across the table toward Hayden. “I am not satisfied with your assessment of the French fleet, Lieutenant,” he said. “Without greater confidence, I dare not send such an account to the Admiralty.”

Hayden was taken aback. The numbers were Landry’s, which he almost explained, but then realized that Hart would likely know this already as the assessment had been written in the second lieutenant’s hand.

“There is also the anchorage inside Île Longue, which we have not looked into at all. You can manage a much more thorough survey from the land. I will put you ashore this night and retrieve you on the morrow, one hour after midnight at the northern-most end of the beach below Crozon. Is that clear?”

“It is, sir…but Brittany is hardly a safe place for Englishmen, even for those who can pass for French. If
The Times
is to be believed, the province was near to insurrection as recently as July. The people are said to be hiding priests who have refused to sign the civil constitution of the clergy. Not long before we sailed, I read that it was believed several bishops were being hidden near Brest.”

Hart eyed him, pushing up the centre of his lower lip so that his chin dimpled oddly. “I will hear no excuses, sir. You will be put ashore and I will tolerate no arguments.” For a moment he struggled to find his train of thought, and then went on. “Mr Landry was clever enough to salvage some clothes from the French transport. We’ll put you and Lieutenant Hawthorne ashore once it is dark.”

“Mr Hawthorne doesn’t speak French, sir,” Hayden blurted out.

Hart fixed Hayden with the same glare over the top of his spectacles. “Some French money was found aboard the transport and I retained it for just such an excursion.” He unlocked a small iron box and took out some French monies that he then slid over to Hayden. “Tomorrow morning, one hour after midnight.”

“I understand, sir.”

“That will be all.”

Hayden found Hawthorne and spent the rest of the afternoon drilling him on a few words and phrases in the French language. If luck favoured them they would stay out of sight by day and speak with no one, but if they were unlucky it would be best, even if Hayden did all the talking, if Hawthorne could not appear to be a mute. He gave the marine lieutenant a French name and tried to explain the manners of their enemy. It was not an entirely successful exercise, though he did feel that Hawthorne’s
“Bonjour,”
if mumbled, would almost pass muster.

After some hours of attempted French, Hayden sensed a respite was needed, and poured poor Hawthorne a glass of wine.

“Tell, me,” Hayden said, passing the marine a glass, “what finally transpired with our little mutiny on the gun-deck?”

Hawthorne closed his eyes and massaged his temples, as though their language studies had left a residue of pain in his overworked mind. He reached inside his jacket, which hung over the back of a chair, and removed a folded sheet of paper. “I have been trying to give you this.”

Hayden unfolded it, and found two columns of names written within. He glanced up at the marine. “It signifies what, Mr Hawthorne?”

“It seemed to me at the time that the gun crews had divided into two camps. No. That is not precisely true. Most of the men at the guns remained aloof from what was happening, but these two groups of men were at odds, though I know not why. It was nearly dark and the whole matter caught me off guard, I am ashamed to admit, so I was not thinking clearly nor were my powers of observation engaged as they should have been…but even so, I feel this list cannot be far wrong.”

Hayden examined the list of men again.

“But were they mutinous or just two factions who did not care for each other? I have seen crews where one group of men had greater hatred for some other than they ever had for the French.”

“I cannot rightly say, Mr Hayden. They were at odds, and I think if you had not deployed my marines so quickly we would have had blood spilt, I truly do—even with an action looming.”

“And you heard nothing said? No words shouted in anger, which would give us any indication of the nature of this dispute?”

“Oh, there was a great deal of name-calling and damning each other to hell and the like, but it was the general sort of cursing such as you might hear at any time among provoked seamen.”

“And Hart flogged some men this morning?”

“Yes, a rather random collection after he had spoken to myself and a number of midshipmen and the master-at-arms. I’m quite certain that if any ringleaders were punished it was utterly by providence.”

Hayden sat back, ran his fingers into his hair, and eyed the marine. “You say the majority of the men were not involved. That is a good sign, at least.”

Hawthorne ground his teeth together. “I did say that, and it is more or less true, but…it seemed to me that the men who watched were weighing things up…I can’t rightly explain, but they looked like gents at a cockfight, trying to decide where they would lay their money.”

“I had that same feeling at Plymouth, when it appeared the hands might refuse to sail; some were merely waiting to see which direction events might take.” Hayden applied himself to his wine. “The men don’t understand the risk they run, Hawthorne. ‘Mutinous assembly,’ ‘concealment of mutinous designs’—even ‘mutinous language’—can all be punished by death.”

“What of cowardice in the face of the enemy?” Hawthorne countered. “How should that be punished?”

“Our positions do not give us the luxury of seeking justice in all things, Mr Hawthorne, as you well know. It is our sworn duty to prosecute a war against the enemies of England, and a ship of war cannot be governed by elected assembly, no matter how much we might wish it could.”

Hawthorne sat back and regarded him. “So, men might hang who are in the right, and officers might be promoted who have shied from the enemy at every turn?”

Hayden wondered what perverse twist of fate had landed him in this position—defending a man like Hart. “If you want to live in a just world, Mr Hawthorne, you will have to remove to America, where I’m told all is now perfection.”

Hawthorne smiled. “You sound like Aldrich, our foremast philosopher.”

“Yes, and Aldrich should learn to be more circumspect or he shall pay a heavy price, I fear.”

The smile disappeared from the marine’s face. “I have told him the same thing, but Aldrich believes that if one speaks the truth any man capable of reason will eventually have to agree…bloody fool.”

A little before sunset, Hart ordered the ship to fall in with the coast. The helm was put over, yards shifted, and sails trimmed with a certain alacrity. Men had been flogged that day for insubordination, but Hayden did not think that was what inspired the crew’s unusually efficient work. They had taken a prize, and not only was every man aboard materially richer, but their spirits had been enlivened as well. Granted, the prize was only a transport, but they had taken her under circumstances that any sea-going man would have to admit required bottom—many had heard Bourne himself say it. They no longer would be the butt of jests in any anchorage where British ships might gather, and such would raise the spirits of any man.

The wind fell away until it was nothing but whispers of its former glory, and the little frigate barely disturbed the waters as it passed, lifting only a little on the breathing sea. When it became clear that they would not close the coast that night, Hart ordered a cutter over the side.

“You will have to pull for shore,” he said. “Carry the French our compliments, Mr Hayden.” It was the only attempt at a jest Hayden had yet heard pass the man’s lips.

“But we are several miles distant,” Hayden objected. “The boat will never make the beach and return to the ship before dawn. The French will suspect you’ve put men ashore.”

“They will never guess it,” Hart said. “You can pass for a Frenchman, in any case. Get on with it. Don’t waste the night left you.”

Hayden and the marine lieutenant went over the side and down into the cutter.

“Away boat,” the coxswain said quietly, and the men bent to their sweeps.

Hayden glanced over at Hawthorne, just visible in the stern-sheets.

“How do I look?” Hawthorne inquired, clearly uncomfortable in his French rig.

“Like an Englishman decked over with a Frenchman’s clothing.”