Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead (47 page)

When Hayden's little squadron was due south of the Cape Tiburon, the fetch grew so short that the seas went down to a low, long swell and the ships suddenly surged forward, their motion eased so that the worst landlubber aboard could dance a jig upon the deck without fear of falling.

The two ships raced on, carrying every sail they could safely send aloft. Wickham asked permission to climb to the foremast tops, where his view would not be impeded by sails, and there he watched their chases for half an hour before leaning over and calling down to Hayden on the forecastle.

“Sir, we are gaining on the privateer, but the frigate ranges ahead.”

Hayden turned to Reverte. “Will the frigate reduce sail to protect her consort, or will she abandon her and run?”

Reverte shook his head. “I cannot say what the master will do. This
frigate and the one we chase were built from the same draught. One is as swift as the other.”

“Then it might come down to which has the cleaner bottom,” Hayden replied.

“Or the better seamanship,” Reverte observed.

“This is your ship, Lieutenant,” Hayden said. “Can she be made to sail faster?”

“Perhaps, if I might suggest a few small things? She is like every ship and has her own little likes and dislikes.”

“By all means, do with her as you will.”

For the next hour, it seemed the master of the frigate could not make up his own mind as to what to do, but then he began to crowd on sail and left the other privateer to her fate, a rather cowardly act, all aboard the chasing ships agreed.

Hayden went back and forth between quarterdeck and forecastle, trying not to look as unsettled as he felt. After chasing these ships for so many days it now appeared he might actually overhaul them, which forced him to consider another matter. His bride was aboard one of them . . . and he might be forced into battle with the ship that bore her, endangering her life.

Upon one of his visits to the foredeck he found Reverte standing at the forward barricade.

“I realise I have asked this before, Lieutenant,” Hayden began, taking his place beside the Spaniard, “but you are quite certain no bullion was transferred off the frigate?”

“I am quite certain.”

“And the lady you saw—the woman I believe was Mrs Hayden—she is aboard the same ship?”

“Certainly, she was at the time our ships were taken.” Reverte paused. “Even privateers would put such a woman down into the deepest part of the hold so that she would be in no danger in the event of a battle.”

“I have seen ships explode—more than once—catch fire, and even founder. I have witnessed vessels sinking after collisions, and I have been
aboard a ship wrecked upon the coast with great loss of life. There is no place aboard a ship that is truly safe.”

“There is no place in this life that is truly safe, Captain Hayden. I once saw a man run down by a carriage that had escaped and rolled down a hill. He later died of his injuries. Mrs Hayden will be as safe as is possible. I cannot say, ‘Do not worry'—you are her husband, so that would not be possible—but I am quite certain all of your concern shall be for naught. Mrs Hayden will not be harmed. You might ask yourself how many times you have seen a ship's surgeon wounded in a battle.”

“I have never seen it, unless the ship itself was destroyed.”

“Because he is down in the cockpit, deep in the ship where Mrs Hayden will be.”

Hayden felt himself nod, his anxiety very slightly eased but not erased.

It became apparent that the course set by the privateers would not take them to Guadeloupe but to the north of it. It did not take Hayden long to realise that de Latendresse and his allies were likely steering for one of the neutral islands that lay nearer. At the speed they were presently sailing, St Croix was not four days distant, and that island's port would shelter them from the British more than adequately. Hayden could not let the enemy ships reach that island.

The wind gods seemed to have taken the side of the privateers that day, providing them wind when Hayden's ships were left floundering in near-calms that appeared ever to impede them. Day gave way to darkness and the lookouts were on the alert for any attempts by their chases to slip off in some other direction. Hayden slept as poorly that night as he could remember, and was on deck often, assuring himself that neither frigate nor converted transport had disappeared but remained always before them.

Well before first light, he gave up sleep altogether and found himself on the forecastle when dawn began to brighten in the east, silhouetting the enemy vessels as they dipped their bows into each sea.

Wickham and Reverte came up to the barricade, where Hayden stood
with a night glass tucked beneath his arm. The Spaniard pointed towards their chases.

“The frigate was not so far ahead at sunset,” he observed. “And look . . . we are drawing up to the privateer.”

Hayden nodded. Even in the thin light he was certain Reverte was correct; they would overhaul the aft ship before midday.

“I do not think that the frigate has any intention of protecting her consort. She is more than a mile ahead, perhaps a mile and a half.” Hayden turned to Wickham and Reverte. “We will beat to quarters but keep the fire in the galley stove yet. Send the hands down for breakfast a few gun crews at a time. I want a well-fed crew ready to give battle.”

Hayden crossed to the starboard rail, where he found the
Themis
, almost a mile distant on their quarter. Archer was not risking collision by night—he had been witness to that variety of calamity—but now he would almost certainly have to tack to bring his ship up to Hayden's.

Apparently, the privateers came to this same realisation, for at that moment the lookout called down, “
On deck, Captain!
The frigate is making ready to tack, sir.”

Ransome came running along the gangway at that moment, coatless and shaking off sleep.

“Ah, Mr Ransome,” Hayden said to his lieutenant. “Call sail handlers to their stations and coil down. We shall wear ship upon my order.” He turned to his other officers. “Mr Wickham. Lieutenant Reverte. You have the gun-deck.”

The two touched hats and hurried off at the same moment as Hawthorne appeared, bearing a musket.

“What are the French about now?” he asked as he passed Ransome, who was calling orders as he went.

“They were hoping to catch us unawares, Mr Hawthorne,” Hayden informed the marine, “and pass us to either side, allowing each ship to fire at least one broadside. I suspect they would target our rig, and then hope to do something similar to the
Themis
.”

“But the second ship does not appear to be tacking.” Hawthorne pointed.

“No, Mr Hawthorne, but we shall soon see how deeply he comprehends the situation—the master of the privateer, I mean. He should allow the frigate to pass ahead of him, for if they approach us at the same time we will wear and rake the privateer—unless she also wears, of course. If the frigate is allowed to range ahead, then we will not dare wear ship for fear of being raked ourselves.”

The crew, both Spaniards and Englishmen, came streaming onto the deck and began immediately to coil down ropes in preparation to wear ship. Ransome stationed himself on the gangway just forward of the quarterdeck so he could relay Hayden's orders to the hands who would brail up the mizzen, allowing the ship to turn downwind.

The distant frigate came through the wind, sails flailing and beating the air a moment, and then calming as they were set to drawing properly. The second ship was doing as Hayden's command was, sail handlers at their stations, ropes removed from their belaying pins and coiled down on the deck so that they might run freely.

“It would appear that this captain comprehends the situation well enough,” Hawthorne said, clearly disappointed.

“I expected no less,” Hayden replied.

“Shall we wear ship, then, sir?” Gould asked anxiously.

“Mr Gould, are you not assigned a station at this time?” Hayden enquired peevishly.

“Most certainly I am, sir. The forecastle, Captain.”

“Then see to your duties, Mr Gould, and I shall see to mine.”

“Aye, sir. My apologies, sir.”

Although it was Hayden's policy to allow his young gentlemen to ask questions of him, on the principle that this would aid them in acquiring their trade, there were, clearly, some questions that served only to vex him, and these he felt should be discouraged . . . sharply, when necessary.

He turned to find that Archer was tacking the
Themis
in an attempt to get to windward so he might bring his ship into the action. The privateer's frigate was now coming towards them on a slant that would take it to windward of Hayden's ship.

“Mr Ransome,” Hayden called. “Open the larboard gunports, if you please.”

“Larboard gunports, Captain,” Ransome called back, and relayed the order to Reverte and Wickham.

There was a moment of utter silence on the forecastle. The gun crews had released their guns, removed tompions and run them out, and now they waited.

“At the risk of sounding like a green reefer,” Hawthorne said quietly to his captain, “do you plan to stand on or wear ship?”

“That depends, Mr Hawthorne, on what our enemies do. I will order whichever seems most advantageous, but it will be determined by the arrangement of the enemy's vessels and when each will reach us. Do have a little patience, Mr Hawthorne. I have not gone to sleep.”

“Aye, sir.”

Hayden assured himself of the
Themis
' position and then estimated the speed of the approaching captured frigate. It had the wind more or less on the quarter and was closing with them at what appeared to be great speed, for the combined velocity of the converging vessels was easily eleven or twelve knots, he was certain.

The second privateer began to turn into the wind, but her master seemed to have incorrectly estimated the speed of the other vessels and was making his turn too soon.

“There,” Hayden announced. “Mr Ransome! We will alter our course to pass to leeward of the first privateer.”

Ransome repeated his orders and went immediately to the helmsman.

“Do you see, Mr Hawthorne? We shall attempt to manoeuvre the privateer between ourselves and the captured frigate, which will not be able to turn downwind to rake us, for fear of running afoul of his
consort. If he wishes to come after us, he must tack, which I intend to do myself the moment we have passed the privateer.”

Hayden turned and made his way back along the gangway so that he might be upon the quarterdeck before the ships met. The helm was put up a little and the bow of the ship fell off the wind. Hayden could see the privateer tacking.

“Will she not try to force us up by sailing below us, Captain?” Ransome asked quietly.

“I do not think she can tack so quickly.” Hayden exchanged his night glass for one made for the day and quizzed the nearest ship. “Does it not appear, Mr Ransome, that she is undermanned?”

Hayden passed his glass to the lieutenant, who gazed into it a moment. “Could he have manned both batteries, Captain?”

“Perhaps, but I wonder if much of the crew has not been transferred to the other ships.”

Ransome brightened noticeably. “I do hope you are correct, sir.”

“Let us prepare to fire our larboard battery as we pass, Mr Ransome.”

Ransome moved immediately to the break in the deck so that he might relay his captain's orders to the gun-deck.

Marines and other men with muskets were settling themselves on the tops, preparing to fire on the enemy's deck as she passed. Hayden would not, under different circumstances, have left his lower square sails drawing where they might be set afire accidentally from sparks blown back by the wind, but he had need of all the speed he could manage. Ransome had ordered the hands to wet down the sails with buckets, but the trade would dry them in a moment. It was simply an unavoidable risk.

Despite the number of actions Hayden had been through, he still felt both his heart pounding madly in his chest and a shortness of breath. A sea officer might steel himself to stand upon the quarterdeck in the midst of gunfire, but fear could never be eliminated. It was elemental, he believed, more animal than human.

As the sun broke free of the horizon, the enemy vessels appeared to
grow larger, the light picking out the details of the ships and casting long, stark shadows. The privateer came through the wind just before her sister ship reached her, and just as Hayden's own vessel passed her to leeward. Had she tacked a moment sooner, she could have turned downwind and raked Hayden's ship, but as it was, she was forced to pass him beam-on, and almost dead in the water after tacking. Her gunports, however, were open.

“Mr Ransome, we will fire our larboard battery all at once,” Hayden said, loud enough for the lieutenant to hear. There was silence all along the deck at that moment.

The two ships came up to each other, and their respective guns fired almost at the same instant, a great, jarring explosion of fire and smoke. All about Hayden there was a rending of timbers and shouting. Shards of wood and deadly slivers spun by in the pall of smoke. Hayden picked himself up and began tugging slivers out of his coat, some with bloody ends.

He wondered that he remained whole and could still stand. The smoke blew off quickly, revealing the damage all around and men thrown down on the deck, twisted into unnatural positions and some still as stones.

He tore his eyes from this horrible scene and looked aft to the enemy ship, which was in far greater ruin than his own. Hayden had half expected her to turn downwind in an attempt to rake him from astern, but she did not.

“We shall tack, Mr Ransome.”

Immediately, the lieutenant began calling out orders.

The privateers' captured frigate stood on, and Hayden wondered if she would tack. But then he realised that the
Themis
was tacking, even as he did, and would be on a course to intercept the frigate in but a moment.