Cut and Run: The Fourth Book in the Fighting Sail Series (22 page)

* * *

      
The conditions below grew worse as the storm continued. Each deck was thoroughly soaked, with water seeping in through every conceivable crack; even the solid oak frames seemed to ooze the stuff. The ship vibrated with a constant clatter from the chain pumps, a monotonous noise that irritated beyond measure and mingled oddly with the distinctly agricultural sound and smell of frightened animals.
Pevensey Castle
's erratic motion had caused accidents amongst passengers and crew alike, and much of the better furniture, the fine pieces ordered by wealthy travellers to indulge and impress, now lay in splinters.
 

      
Kate had commandeered the lower steerage mess, where most of the women now assembled. It was not a pretty place; several were severely seasick, and a couple seemed close to madness, although the rest did what they could to retain some degree of dignity. The old social status had started to dissolve from the start, and former ranks and positions now mattered very little. One of the passengers, Mrs Crabtree, the wife of a tea trader, seemed particularly adept at comforting the nervous. In this, she was aided by a robust, tireless
bonhomie
as well as small sips from a bottle of brandy. And Susan, one of Mrs Drayton's maids, had earlier avoided the plunge into hysteria by starting to sing. She was doing so now, with a loud and infectious voice that attracted many others. The small stuffy room heaved and rolled while a chorus of mixed voices ripped through a varied selection of popular songs in a tuneless and often repetitive bellow.
 

      
Kate soon abandoned all attempts at making tea, but passed out cups of water or milk as required, and a card school was in progress towards the stern. The only man amongst them had been accepted by mutual consent. Jack, a teenage cadet, had shunned the masculine society of the great cabin and now joined three women, two servants and the wife of a brigadier who were watching with rapt attention as Elizabeth attempted to teach them the intricacies of crochet, the recent craze that was just starting to spread throughout Europe.

      
The officers who were not on duty took what rest they could in the roundhouse cuddy. Now cleared of the great table, the room was laid out like a dormitory with hammocks hung permanently from the deckhead, quite the best way of sleeping during a storm.
 

      
Below, the great cabin had no such luxury, but most of the male passengers gathered there. The majority of the tiny sectioned-off cubicles were equipped with domestic beds. Though secured firmly enough to the deck, it was impossible to lie on them, as the furniture seemed intent on flinging any that tried against the opposite bulkhead. The hard straw mattresses also absorbed moisture as readily as dried-out sponges and were already starting to smell abominably. Instead, the men assembled in the dining lobby, some attempting to sit on the fixed lockers, while most gave up the fight and squatted or lay in groups on the deck. Here there was no singing, although the constant murmur of conversation reassured all, and for others consolation lay in a different direction. Card games were played for impossibly high stakes, and the thick canvas sheeting that covered the deck ran wet with a mixture of sea and bilge water which was oddly coloured with spilled port wine and spirits.
 

      
Some of the married couples stayed together. Squashed in their screened-off cabins, they sat hand-in-hand, or in even closer intimacy, while their wooden world rocked itself seemingly to destruction about them. For many it was their first experience of travel at sea, and for most, a true storm. Any dreams of prosperity or contentment that might have brought them to this place were being hurriedly reassessed.

      
In the forecastle, the senior hands were faring best of all. Though cold, tired, wet and, for the most part, thoroughly sick of working on deck, they were managing life as near normal as was possible. Johnston and Khan were even eating a scratch meal. The galley fire had long been extinguished, but cheese and biscuit were still available and this early into the voyage, both were of a reasonable quality. Johnston was tucking heartily into his, cutting chunks of cheese with his clasp knife. Khan was eating more sedately, dipping the hard dusty biscuit into a small measure of oil, which he found more acceptable than the heavily salted butter.

      
“Don't eat much do you?” Johnston asked, as he topped his half-filled mouth up to capacity.

      
“It is sufficient for the son of Adam to have just a few mouthfuls to give him the strength he needs.”

      
“Few mouthfuls won't carry you far in a storm like this.” Johnston leaned forward and prodded the boatswain's lithe frame. “You need some meat on you—an' some inside, that's if you're going to live through this little lot.”

      
Khan's expression was quite serene while he watched his friend stuff the last of the biscuit into his mouth and crunch noisily. “If I fill my stomach at all,” he said softly, “It is one-third for food, one-third for drink and one-third for air.”

      
Johnston considered this for a moment, his mouth still half full and slightly open. “Drink I can understand,” he said eventually. “Though I knows you don't take no strong stuff. But air?” he shook his head dismissively, took a pull from his tankard and swallowed noisily. “A fellow your size, he don't need no air.”

* * *

      
It continued for a further two days and three nights. Throughout that time conditions grew steadily worse and the working men more tired, until many were close to choosing an early death as a suitable alternative to living. Then, when dawn was due to break on the third morning, Paterson was amazed to note a proper lightening in the sky. The wind that had been howling through the lines for so long as to make the sound almost unnoticeable finally began to relent, and was replaced by a strange, uncertain calm.

      
Langlois and King, who came on deck at the beginning of the forenoon watch, looked about as if in wonder. The waves still rolled the hull, and there was rain off to leeward, but in the distance a faint horizon could be made out, and far off to the east, there was even a patch of clear sky.

      
“With luck we might be able to take a noon sight,” Langlois said, approaching Paterson.

      
The third mate nodded and pulled his wet scarf from his watchcoat. “Aye, though I'd give a fair sum to know how far we've drifted.”

      
King looked up at the weathervane. The wind was blowing more fitfully now, and all knew it might change in the next few hours.

      
“Captain been up?” The question was asked with every new watch, and Paterson grinned as he replied. “No, nor Willis or Seagrove, though I fancy one will show their faces during your trick.”

      
In fact, it was less than an hour later when all three made their appearances. The fine weather had come, with even a measure of sunshine. All wore uniform jackets without watchcoat or oilskins, and Rogers’s eye, though still bloodshot, was proudly uncovered. Langlois, at his position by the binnacle, saluted smartly and was ignored by all as the three glanced up at the sails and sniffed the air.

      
“Bring her back to the wind, if you please, Mr Langlois,” Rogers said, acknowledging him at last. “Steer south and keep the lookouts doubled.”

      
Langlois gave the command, the boatswain's call sounded, and soon the ship was actually making forward progress. The course made sense. However far they may have strayed from the convoy, a southerly heading would bring them closer to their eventual objective, and there was a strong chance of meeting with the other ships.
 

      
“Shake out those reefs and set stays and jib,” the captain ordered. The topmen raced aloft, and
Pevensey Castle
began to heel slightly as the fresh canvas caught the wind. Soon they were ploughing ahead, with her rounded bow stubbing the heavy waves. It was good to know they were actually moving with a purpose again. Even the spray that was now being thrown back over the forecastle, the reverse of that experienced for the last few days, made a refreshing change. Langlois found his expression relaxing for the first time as the captain studied the traverse board and read the deck log.

      
“Not quite sure what’s making you so happy, Mr Langlois,” Rogers growled suspiciously. “I should have thought that missing a signal and losing us the convoy would be preying on your mind somewhat.”

      
The fifth mate noticed how Willis’s attention suddenly seemed to drift. “I have nothing to concern myself with, sir,” he said quietly.

      
“Nothing?” Rogers seemed surprised. “A court of enquiry does not disturb you? Nor the prospect of forgoing your rank? Really, you astonish me.”

      
“I am a fifth mate, sir.” Langlois spoke slowly. “There is little to be lost in such a position. And the circumstances leading up to the missing of the convoy do not unsettle me in any measure. A court of enquiry would certainly put matters straight, and I will gladly attend any such investigation, should you wish to summon one.”

      
Rogers snorted and went to turn away. “We shall see,” he said, calling the other two officers with a casual backwards wave of his thumb. “But do not make yourself too secure, Mr Langlois. The events of the last few days will not look well in my report, and if there is a penalty to be paid for what has occurred, I shall be certain to see it is you who pays it.”

Chapter Ten

      
“There we have it, gentlemen; I'm afraid that, due to the incompetence of my junior officers, we have temporarily lost the convoy.” Rogers’s glance took in the entire assembly. There were few expressions of surprise or concern; most were well aware of the situation, although he clearly had the attention of every man in the cuddy as he finished speaking.

      
For a moment there was silence, then Drayton spoke. “So, captain; what do you propose?”

      
Rogers guessed there would be trouble from that quarter. He gave a confident smile. “Obviously we are doing all we can to regain an escort, and our present position, being some distance from the nearest land, should mean we will be safe from any unwanted enemy attention.”
Unwanted enemy attention
, he liked that phrase. It was the kind a true fighting captain used—one who would not be greatly disturbed if an enemy did choose to bother him. “If there are any further questions, Mr Willis or myself will gladly answer them.” He repeated his reassuring look and was pleased to note that several smiled in return. Relieved, he made as if to stand when a crusty old officer from one of the Company's military divisions cleared his throat.

      
“May I ask, sir, exactly when do you expect to regain contact with our escorts?”

      
It was a damned fool question, and Rogers was about to tell him so when Willis, sitting at the foot of the table, interrupted.

      
“That is not easy to predict, colonel.” As usual, the first mate's voice held just the right measure of plum, and all eyes turned to him as he continued. “The storm lasted for three full days after the convoy was missed. Naturally we have a good idea where they can be found, but an accurate estimation of our meeting cannot be made.”

      
“Well, how the devil did you come to lose them in the first place?” Rogers was pleased that the officer's question was directed at Willis. He glanced quickly at Drayton, who appeared to be watching the proceedings with no more than the expected interest.
 

      
The senior mate spread his hands wide. “A sad mixture of inexperience and foolishness,” he said. “I was not on deck at the time; the officer of the watch was concerned that the storm might worsen, and ordered a rather drastic reduction in sail without gaining permission. That might have been bad enough, but it appears that a signal for a change of course was also missed.”

      
“Appears?” the old boy was apparently astonished. “Why were there no senior men on deck?”

      
“Sadly we cannot be on watch at every hour, sir.” Willis said stiffly.

      
“In my experience that is very much the case.” The colonel looked about at the others for support and received murmurs of agreement. “Indeed for any of the superior officers to be on deck at all is an uncommon enough occasion; during the recent storm it I'd wager it was rare indeed.”

      
Drayton stirred in his seat, clearly intending to speak, and Rogers’s heart fell. The man was starting to be a nuisance, poking his over-long nose into matters that did not concern him. It was bad enough when he interfered over that damned Hanshaw business, threatening to send in a report to the Company, as if those numbskulls in Leadenhall Street cared a fig what happened between a captain and his passenger. Rogers felt his bad eye begin to throb as Drayton gained the floor.

      
“If I may interject here, gentlemen, I think you are being a trifle harsh on the captain.” Rogers considered him with suspicion while he continued. “It is not an uncommon matter for a ship to lose a convoy, especially considering the storm we have just endured. Indeed, I would be surprised if more than a few ships are still in contact with any of the escorts. What Mr Rogers proposes is standard procedure; the likelihood is strong that we will meet with other vessels, and be able to continue in company to our next stop, when the full convoy will re-form.”