The Devil's Own Luck, page 6
The ship having been in commission at the outbreak of war, the crew were volunteer sailors. Likewise, the hands that had been taken on at Spithead had come from the first rush of those eager for employment at the outbreak of war. The ship had a near full complement. Young or old, they tended to be proper seamen. By the time that Outhwaite had laid the last stitch in Harry’s wound, the whole lower deck, through the good offices of those who had served aboard the Barfleur at the time, were apprised of the bad blood that existed between the two men.
The officers were not far behind. Sailors, like any other profession, talked about their occupation extensively. They talked of battles, of near-battles, of success or failure at any number of things, mostly promotion. It took no great feat of memory for them to dust off the details of that well-known quarrel in which Harry Ludlow had put a bullet in Oliver Carter just after the Battle of the Saintes. Nor was it difficult to remember the furore that their duel had caused.
It was expressly forbidden by Royal Command for naval officers to duel. Flouting this rule was considered particularly serious when a junior officer challenged his senior to fight. It took no great sense to see the advisability of this attitude. In a service where almost everyone was concerned with advancing their careers, no one wanted ships to be commanded by men whose only qualification was their ability to shoot straight.
It was also common knowledge that, at the court martial following their duel, Lieutenant Harry Ludlow, given the possibility of saving his career with an apology to Carter through the court, had declined to do so. Indeed, he had defied them by going so far as to state that he was sorry he had missed. This left them with no alternative but to dismiss him from the service. Carter, technically in the right, since he had been challenged by a junior officer, was nevertheless reprimanded. More hurtful, he had been passed over in the general promotions that followed the defeat of De Grasse. He’d had to wait another five years for his step to post rank.
It was a scandalous affair, made more interesting by the fact that the accused was the son of an admiral. People’s curiosity was further aroused by the fact that he had not, at any time, sought the intercession of those powerful friends of his father, who, exerting pressure on his behalf, would ensure his reinstatement in the service. Getting one’s commission back, after dismissal, was fairly common, given influence and money, both of which Harry’s father had in abundance. Why, even one of the Bounty mutineers was now serving as an officer in the Navy, and he had been condemned to hang. Putting a bullet in a superior officer was small beer by comparison.
As Harry emerged on to the quarterdeck, the officers, having given the most perfunctory nod, looked the other way. He walked over to the windward side and drew deeply from the fresh westerly breeze that was pushing the Magnanime along at a steady eight knots. Somewhere to leeward lay the coast of France. The watch on deck, less constrained by good manners than the officers, were staring at him openly, curious to get a good look at the man who was fully expected to cleave their captain in two at the first opportunity. Typical of the lower deck, the recounting of the argument between Harry and Carter had grown until it had become a Titanic struggle. Harry was now known to have a terrible and uncontrollable temper, given to such fits of rage that ten burly marines would be insufficient to restrain him. That he had emerged from the great cabin with not a speck of Carter’s blood on his clothes had come as a great disappointment. There being no hue and cry, they had to assume that he had not chucked the bastard out of the stern windows either. Those with their rum ration on him doing Carter in made the excuse of his wound, obvious by the thick bandage round his head. Those who had taken their bets, seeing this tyro in the flesh, were content to wait to collect their reward.
James came on deck at that point, carrying a sketch pad, followed by a ship’s servant with a canvas chair. Given his brother’s dress and bearing, Harry would not have been surprised to see another servant in his wake, liveried and bearing a silver tray with a bottle and a crystal glass. He walked over to where Harry stood, his hair flying in the breeze.
“I can’t set up here, Harry, it’s too windy.”
“You can’t set up here at all, James. This is where the captain takes his leisure. As soon as Carter comes on deck, everyone vacates the windward side so that he can walk undisturbed.”
“Where can I go?” The man with the chair stood silently, waiting for a signal.
“Almost anywhere, James. But courtesy demands that you ask the officer of the watch.”
“Since I expect you to join me, perhaps you would be good enough to ask him.”
No fool, James, thought Harry. They had to talk. James would be curious about his interview with Carter, as well as what action he intended to take. But there were precious few places on the ship where they could guarantee not to be overheard. Voices, even whispers, could carry through the canvas screens which separated most of the accommodation. To be seen seeking somewhere to be alone below decks would only excite comment and encourage the more resourceful to eavesdrop. Here on the deck, with James sketching Harry, they could keep those wishing to overhear at a distance, and failing that, stop talking if they came too near.
Harry walked over to the officer of the watch. The man was grey haired and old compared to him. He turned, raising his hat as he did so. His thinning hair, and the thick whiskers that reached down his cheeks, flapped in the breeze. His face had a blank, noncommittal expression.
“Forgive me, sir,” said Harry. “I have yet to be introduced to the officers.”
“Craddock, Mr Ludlow. Second lieutenant, at your service.” Very formal and stiff, neither friendly nor unfriendly. He made no attempt to introduce the midshipman standing by him.
“My brother wishes to try his hand at a few sketches, Mr Craddock. He has not been on this ship since he was a nipper. My father had her once, back in ‘75, and the prospect of executing some drawings excites him. I would request that you direct us to a part of the deck that will occasion you the least inconvenience.”
“Why, anywhere you choose, Mr Ludlow,” said Craddock eagerly, his expression, like the look in his pale blue eyes, softening visibly. Now his round weather-beaten face took on a smile, the grey eyebrows were mobile instead of firmly set. He seemed relieved. He’d probably expected his first encounter with Harry to be the one in which he was required to explain the events of yesterday. He pointed his hat to where James still stood with the servant, patiently waiting. “Though I would be obliged if you could vacate the windward side of the quarterdeck.”
“I wouldn’t dream of occupying that space. I have just explained to my brother the unsuitability of such a notion. Son of an admiral he might be, Mr Craddock, but he is also, I’m afraid, an incorrigible lubber.”
Harry smiled, as much at his own forced bluff and hearty manner, as at the sustained look of relief on Craddock’s face.
“Could you also oblige me with our position?” asked Harry.
“Most readily, sir.” Craddock clapped his hat back over the thinning grey hair and pointed towards the binnacle. “But you would be just as well to cast your eye over the slate.”
Harry turned and looked at the slate hanging by the binnacle. It gave the ship’s position as of noon the day before, with the changes of course listed and the speed of the ship as they had been recorded. They were making a steady eight knots from the spot where they had sunk his ship. If this wind held, not impossible at the time of year, they would easily raise the Rock of Gibraltar within four to five days.
“Most obliged, Mr Craddock.” Harry turned, and collecting James he made his way to the leeward side, still on the quarterdeck, just aft of the gangway. The wardroom servant followed, setting out James’s chair before returning to his duties. Harry stood by the mainmast shrouds, looking over the waist of the ship to the hands working on the forecastle. James sat facing the bowsprit. No one could approach them without being seen.
“I’m glad to see you in one piece, Harry. I half suspected that you might try to kill each other.”
“I feel I shall kill him, James. The first chance I get. He knew that I commanded the Medusa though he denies it. He had prepared the most interesting dispatch. He’s so proud of it that he even offered to let me read it.” James raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I declined his invitation.”
“Unwise?”
“Not really, since he took great pains to inform me of its contents. It states that he took what action he felt proper to avoid the possibility of a trap.”
“A trap!” Heads turned towards them and James dropped his voice. “Will he be believed?”
“Few will believe him. Especially when I am finished disseminating the truth.”
“So we will gain redress.” The pad was on James’s lap. He flicked at it casually with his charcoal.
“Not as things stand. At least not from the Navy. They might not believe him, but they will support him. Has he not taken a fine prize at no cost to himself or the Exchequer? To repudiate him would mean compensating us for the Medusa.”
“So?” James was now sketching away.
“We would require some evidence that he was motivated by personal spite rather than professional caution. Only the ship’s officers would be in a position to confirm that.”
“And if we could get them to say so?”
“Then the case is entirely altered.”
“I almost venture to say that such a thing makes things straightforward. Your face, however, tells me that would not be true.”
“How have you found the officers behaving towards you?”
“That depends on which one. We had the most appalling dinner in the wardroom last night, and it wasn’t just the food, though Heaven knows that was bad enough. Bentley, who is the first lieutenant, was drunk. Worse than that, he was damned unpleasant to everyone. Quite ignored me, mind you, for which I was extremely grateful. I was relieved to hear we’d raise the Rock in four days.”
“What about the other officers?”
“Polite. Sympathetic in a way. Except the marine. He seems cast from the Bentley mould. Drunk as a lord. Captain’s nephew, I’m told.”
“The rest. Friendly?”
“No. Not friendly.” James looked at Harry’s face, as his brother stared intently over the side. “Should they be friendly? After all, we are strangers. And didn’t you advise me yourself of the innate dislike naval officers have for privateers?”
“That’s true, and being ex-Navy myself, I cannot find it in my heart to blame them. They suffer all sorts of constraints in their profession, while we have none. It gives them no pleasure to see us taking prizes, and money, from under their noses. Their only hope of wealth is in prize-taking, unless they reach flag rank. To the average officer, a poor man usually, what we do is robbery. Stealing the bread, or should it be the prospect of cake, from their mouths.”
“It seems superfluous then, to even think they’d be friendly.”
“I speak of extreme cases. Not all officers are so single minded about chasing prizes. Besides, nothing brings out the best in a sailor more than another’s misfortune. The sea is such an unforgiving element, so full of surprises, that each man knows he is a whisker away from such a fate himself. It is almost a superstition, as though they were warding off the evil eye with a show of kindness.”
“The gods are not mocked by a mere show.”
“I used the wrong word.” Harry turned and smiled. “Observe that none of the officers seek out our company. No one enquires after our welfare.”
“Perhaps they fear to displease their captain.” James held up his thumb, measuring some object.
“I think they fear more that I may say something about their captain. About his recent behaviour.”
“And theirs, Harry.”
“I can’t blame the officers for Carter’s actions.” He turned to gaze out over the gentle swell of the sea.
“True. But if you have observed correctly, then by their reticence they are condoning what he has done.”
“They have a difficult choice to make.”
“It seems a simple choice to me.”
“Choices are always simple when you’re not the one who has to make them.” From habit, Harry was scanning the horizon.
“You seem to be going out of your way to defend them, Harry.” James raised his voice as he continued. “Carter has used this ship and everyone aboard it to settle a personal vendetta. If what he did was not criminal, then it ought to be. So the choice is very simple. Stark in fact. Anyone condoning a crime, is himself engaging in a criminal act.”
“Then it is a pity that what he did was not truly a crime,” said Harry quietly.
“You seem very sure of this, which I ascribe to your cloistered nautical upbringing. I, for one, am not so sure. I shall certainly consult an attorney, even if you don’t.”
Harry laughed, glad that he was facing away from the quarterdeck. James was quite incensed. He had raised his voice enough for it to be heard on the quarterdeck, causing all there to turn and look out to windward.
“Well, brother. If they were not friendly before, they certainly won’t be now. Why you are practically threatening to have them slung into the Marshalsea.”
“In irons,” said James with a quiet smile. “At least overhearing that part of our conversation will give some of them food for thought.”
“Which is why you made sure that they did.”
“I would not want anyone to assume that we merely intend to let the matter rest. And how can you laugh at a time like this?”
“In truth, James, I can think of nothing better to do. Consult your attorney by all means, only make sure he is one who practises in the Admiralty courts, otherwise you may get some fool to take your case and spend a great deal of our money before realizing that he is wasting his time.”
“You are very certain that it is a waste of time.”
“It is. Unless we have more than half the ship’s officers in court, willing to swear on oath that Carter knew I was aboard the Medusa, and that one fact directed all his subsequent actions.”
“So you don’t intend to try?” James seemed to be concentrating on drawing, but Harry guessed that was just for show. He turned to face his brother, leaning against the bulwark.
“I’ll most certainly try. But we will be in Gibraltar within the week if this wind remains steady. Not much time to persuade a group of complete strangers to risk their careers. And their verbal disapproval of Carter will not be enough. We need signed affidavits, sworn before a notary on the Rock. After that we must go to England while they sail on into the Mediterranean. And who is to say that they will stay together? They may be killed or dispersed to a number of ships, all going to different destinations. Calculate how long it may be before they are all ashore in England at the same time. It could be years.”
James looked beyond Harry. “I think this young man is waiting to address us.”
Harry turned. The same small midshipman, the one he had snapped at this morning, stood to attention a little way off. His pale face was pinched, but he still had a lively expression. As Harry turned, he whipped off his hat and spoke in his high unbroken voice.
“Captain’s compliments, sir. It is the captain’s intention to give a dinner this afternoon to celebrate the taking of the Verite to which end he has invited the French captain and all of those officers not required to watch the ship.”
“Surely he does not intend to extend an invitation to us?” asked James, jerking forward and dropping his pad. His usual sang-froid had entirely deserted him at the prospect of such a slight.
“The Captain has sent me to extend an invitation with the knowledge that, given Mr Ludlow’s wound, you may not wish to attend.”
The boy was looking up at the sky, his eyes tightly shut, as he waited for the blast of anger that was surely bound to follow his message.
“Damn . . .” cried James, beginning to confirm the lad’s worst fears.
“Please inform the captain,” said Harry, his upheld hand silencing his brother, “that we will be delighted to attend his dinner.”
The boy’s face dropped and he opened his eyes to look in astonishment at Harry.
“You may further say that no wound, short of a mortal one, would keep me from such an event.”
The boy’s mouth worked silently as he sought some response. No words came. Instead he clapped his hat back on his head, turned and fled towards the poop.
“Harry. You are not seriously suggesting that we attend a dinner to celebrate the sinking of our ship?”
“I am.”
“In God’s name why?”
“Because he does not want us to attend. That invitation was meant as an insult, and we were meant to react by an angry refusal. Pity that poor child for having to deliver it. But he has miscalculated. We shall most certainly attend his dinner. And just as certainly, the sight of me happily consuming his food is likely to bring on an apoplexy. At the very least it will entirely spoil the enjoyment of his meal.”
“It is more likely that the food will be ours,” sighed James gloomily. “He stripped our stores out of the Medusa before he sank her.”
CHAPTER FIVE
HARRY AND JAMES, having checked with the quarterdeck that it would not be an imposition, had a look round the ship. To James it was rediscovering something that he had seen as a child, a dim recollection. It had seemed enormous to a child’s eye. Now it seemed small and rather cramped. The smell was that of any ship, made up of salt, tar, wood, and numerous unwashed bodies. They had descended from the quarterdeck to the upper deck, a long clear space full of working parties with its rows of twenty-four-pounder guns bowsed tightly against the top of the gunports. They walked the length of the deck, from the wardroom door to galley stove and larder under the forecastle, then they made their way down to the gundeck.
Harry, paying great attention to the massive thirty-two-pounder guns, was reliving part of his past. The sights, the sounds and the smells were all familiar, yet so very different to a man who had spent the last few years in flush-deck ships. To him it all seemed very spacious. That is, until you counted the number of people aboard. Above, men were working at various tasks, under the direction of petty officers. Here on the gundeck the mess tables were down for the watch off duty. Home to five hundred men, the hammocks were now stowed in the netting along the ship’s side and the deck was clear from one end to the other. How different it would be at night.
