Cut and Run: The Fourth Book in the Fighting Sail Series (40 page)

      
“Robert and Kate are returning to England with us?” Nichols asked, surprised.

      
“Apparently.” Elizabeth began to rearrange the blanket that was slipping from his shoulders. “Mr Drayton agrees; it seems that word has been received from home that has forced them to change their plans.”

      
“I'm sorry to hear of it,” Nichols said, “but will be glad of their company.”

      
“By all accounts,
Pevensey Castle
is due to stay at Gibraltar a fair while,” Langlois told him. “There should be plenty of time to appoint a replacement surgeon's mate and make up for the other missing officers.”
 

      
“It will mean Robert can attend your wound,” Elizabeth informed him. “And I shall have another woman to talk to.”

      
“And someone else to order me about,” Nichols agreed.

      
The couple began to bicker playfully, each so totally absorbed with the other that nothing else mattered. But Langlois was not listening, his eyes were now fixed on the far distance. “Still, it is a pity,” he said softly, and almost to himself. “She will be missed.”

* * *

      
King was equally surprised. He noticed
Pevensey Castle
's cutter approaching as he came up on the quarterdeck and quickly identified Manning and Kate in the stern, along with Nichols, who was laid out on a stretcher, with Elizabeth close by. The replacement crew were expected at any time, and he had been assembling all the ship's papers he could find, while the rest of the men were preparing to rejoin
Pevensey Castle
. The cutter soon skipped across the short stretch of water, passed under the stern and bumped against their starboard side. King strode down the deck as a rather tousled Kate hauled herself up and through the entry port.

      
“'Tis a pleasure to see you, though I were just about to leave myself,” King said, as Manning followed his wife aboard the ship. “What brings you both here?”

      
“A passage back to England,” the surgeon's mate replied dolefully. “I have spoken with Drayton, and he was good enough to let us go.”

      
“England?” King looked aghast. “But what of India, the Far East? What of your plans to travel together?”

      
“Naught has changed, Tom,” Kate said. She seemed to have acquired a smudge from the boat, and was brushing her dress down as she spoke. “We simply felt that
Pevensey Castle
has not been a good ship for us. Robert was for finding another berth at Gibraltar, but I have received news of my father. He has not been well, as you know, but it seems things have deteriorated greatly since our departure.” She looked away suddenly. “I would see him once more, if it be possible.”

      
King regarded her cautiously. Kate was a strong woman and unlikely to be swayed from what she wanted to do, even by the impending death of someone so close. He wondered for a moment if there was another reason for her wish to be home.

      
“I shall also be able to attend Mr Nichols,” Manning added. “To that end I'd be grateful for a couple of hands and the use of a whip to see him aboard.”

      
“Do you think he will need so much persuasion?” King grinned, then turned to Crowley after everyone had pointedly ignored his joke. “Send a party to the mizzen whip, if you please; Mr Nichols’s stretcher will need to be swayed in.”

      
They watched while a line was sent down to the boat.

      
“I am sorry to hear of your news,” King continued, “and will miss you both.”

      
“Be certain you shall be missed also. Let us hope we might sail again together some time,” Manning said. “Now will you show us the ship, while you still have command?”

      
“I'd deem it a pleasure; there is ample officer accommodation below 'though I should stake a claim before the Navy comes aboard. Otherwise you might be beaten to the best berth by the captain of the heads. I say,” he stopped, as a thought apparently occurred. “would it be terribly wrong if the both of you shared the same quarters?”

* * *

      
Within the hour two barges could be seen making for them from the east quay.

      
“I sees the Andrew is on time,” Nichols commented. He was seated in a freshly rigged hammock chair, looking bright and alert. His face appeared pale from the afternoon's exertions, however, and Elizabeth was hoping to persuade him below before long.

      
“Aye, so I'll be leaving you shortly.” King passed a letter to Kate. “Could you post this for me in England?”

      
“Juliana?” she asked.

      
“Indeed, though it will take a tortuous journey to find her.”

      
“Will you pass on regards to all in
Pevensey Castle
?” Nichols said. “It wasn't possible to speak with everyone, even if there are some I would rather not meet with again.”

      
King grinned and collected his watchcoat as the first barge was hailed. “So we'll meet in England,” he said, shaking hands with Manning. “That's if you haven't found another berth by then.” Nichols reached up and shook his hand, and Elizabeth kissed him shyly on the cheek.

      
“I wish you a good recovery and hope you will both be happy.” The couple blushed in matching shades, then he was embracing Kate, before collecting the last of his luggage.

      
A young Royal Navy midshipman had climbed aboard and was now standing tentatively by the entry port.

      
“Douglas Barrow; midshipman,” he said, uncertainly as he regarded King's uniform.

      
“Are you to command, Mr Barrow?” King asked.

      
“No, though I am due to sit my board on return to England.”

      
“Then I wish you luck. Your lieutenant is still to join, then?”

      
Barrow shook his head. “I was advised I should find him aboard,” he said, his frank blue-grey eyes searching King's own. “A Lieutenant Thomas King; I have a note for him from the admiral.”

      
King expelled a breath and smiled ruefully. “Then you had better hand it over,” he said.

Chapter Seventeen

      
The transfer of men took less time than he needed. There was a deal to do, and yet King still found himself pausing to gaze stupidly about with the look of a simpleton upon his face.

      
“There's a seaman that says he is staying with the ship, sir.” Barrow eyed him doubtfully. King broke from his trance to see Crowley standing defiantly on the quarterdeck as the last of
Pevensey Castle
's men were filing into the barge.

      
“Yes, it has been arranged; he is to accompany us,” King lied.

      
Barrow turned to bellow at the new men who were forming up. King examined them briefly. Most were older, some well into their forties, and several walked with an exaggerated gait, clearly suffering from some form of rupture. A few were missing arms, and in one case a lower leg, but all looked like seamen. Judging by the number, he would have sufficient to man the
Espérance.
King considered taking the opportunity to address them, but he was still holding Jervis’s despatches in a tight grip and knew that there was no time to be lost.

      
“We have the wind and the tide, Mr Barrow,” he told the midshipman, “as well as the attention of most of the Mediter-ranean fleet. What say we get it over with, and up anchor?”

      
Barrow grinned readily and touched his hat. An elderly boatswain's mate who King was yet to formally meet was also alert and brought his pipe to his lips. The scream cut through the air, and men began to detach themselves, some to attend the single bower, while others made for the lifts, braces and topsail halyards. The Jacob's ladder was removed, while a group of topmen began to scramble up the shrouds. All was done in an efficient and seaman-like manner, and if some of the evolutions were just a little slower than usual, King was not in the mood to criticise. He glanced about the anchorage. They had a clear run to the open sea, with only
Pevensey Castle
, moored three cables off, to negotiate.

      
“Make sail,” he said, giving the time-honoured order of every commander since the time of Drake, and in the same spirit the men responded.

      
The anchor was to be raised by hand, using a tackle and two blocks clapped to the cable. King had a momentary doubt whether his crew of invalids were up to the task, but they seemed to possess a positive spirit and the thing was done without complaint. Topsails were set just as efficiently, and soon
Espérance
was making stately progress through the water.

      
“Leaving already?” Manning said, as he clambered up the companionway and on to the deck.
 

      
“Carrying despatches,” King replied, the satisfaction obvious in his voice.

      
“Dip ensign!” Barrow at least remembered the courtesy of leaving harbour, and King looked back a little guiltily to where
Victory
was solemnly returning the compliment.

      
“I have to conn the ship, Robert,” King said, and Manning stole away obediently.

      
Pevensey Castle
was passing to starboard now. Looking at her, King felt a pang of regret. There were so many aboard he might never meet again, and some he would certainly miss. Paterson was one. He could see him now as he stood on the quarterdeck watching their departure. King waved, and was pleased to see him lift his hat in reply. But there was no sign of Langlois, or Drayton, or Keats, or even Johnston and Khan. It was a shame he had not been able to say goodbye properly. They were men he would never forget.

      
“Coming up on the larboard buoy, sir.” Once more Barrow was reminding him of his duty. He must concentrate on the job before him.

      
“Prepare to tack.” Turning past the mark would set him on course, but they were still very obvious to the rest of the Mediterranean fleet. There was nothing else for it. He tucked the canvas-covered package into his jacket and collected the brass speaking trumpet from the binnacle. He had been given this command and a chance to re-establish himself in the Navy; now was the time to prove his worth.

* * *

      
“There are precisely twelve fully fit men amongst them,” Manning said. He had joined King in his tiny cabin and was now perched on the upholstered bench below the stern windows. “The rest, well, I'd say we have the basis of a pretty comprehensive medical dictionary.”
 

      
“As bad as that?” King asked.

      
“Actually, it sounds far worse than it is. Most are fit enough, if you ignore the loss of a limb here and there. And others, those with the bursten belly or chronic rheumatism seem to manage well enough, as long as their particular ailment is not affected.”

      
“I see. And the rest?”

      
“Mainly venereal,” Manning answered cheerfully. “A few have been dosed up with goodness knows what and are pretty much burnt out, but the majority were caught early and present well. Oddly enough, most are topmen; it leads one to wonder if there be a connection.”

      
“But it could be worse?” King asked.
 

      
“It could be indeed. There are a few with tumours, though not too advanced. Three are deaf and two have been blinded, but even they are serving well enough, picking oakum and preparing vegetables. Some have ulcers, and three are quite clearly mad—including one who has a predilection for eating candles—but overall I'd say you have the makings of a fair crew. One that will get us to England, at least.”

      
King nodded; it was roughly what he had expected. These must be the medical rejects from the Mediterranean fleet for the last six months or so, the minor and not so minor sick and hurt who were unable to continue in the service. Some might have been offered berths as junior warrant officers—it was rare to find a cook without at least one limb missing—but the rest were being sent back to England to face an uncertain future at the mercy of the country they had served.

      
“And there are two others you should be aware of,” Manning continued. He was smiling slightly and King wondered quite what was in store. “Mr Barrow, if you please?”

      
At Manning's call the frail door opened, and the midshipman ducked through and into the cabin. Behind him were Johnston and Khan.

      
King rose up from his chair in surprise. The two men stood close together in the tiny space; Johnston's head was ducked down to avoid the low deckhead, although Khan stood upright and serene.