The Torrid Zone (The Fighting Sail Series) (7 page)

“The larboard forechains is weakened, and won't take no pressure. Wants us to reduce sail, so he does – and says to be quick about it, if you plan on seeing your mother again.”

The boy started as he realised what King had actually meant, but Banks' brain was already at work.

“Port the helm – prepare to wear ship. Larboard battery fire as you are served!”

The ship heaved further to starboard, and
Scylla
was thrown round, rough and clumsy until the wind passed over her taffrail. With the foremast effectively out of use on the larboard tack to take the wind to starboard was his only option. It would mean they should have the chance of paying back their tormentor, but such a sudden move was potentially dangerous to his ship, especially as her tophamper had already proved vulnerable.

Scylla
groaned at the apparent mishandling, but her larboard guns fired as she bore round, and soon she had settled on the starboard tack, heading away from the frigate that had shown herself to be so deadly and into the darkness of the storm. King himself approached, just as a fresh deluge of heavy rain began to fall.

“We've taken two direct hits to the fore channel and its mounting, sir.” he said, almost inches away from his captain's ear. “Long as we stay on the starboard tack all should be well, but if we have to take the wind to larboard I doubt the mast will hold for very long.”

“Can anything be done?”

“Carpenter's looking at it now, sir, but I would say it will not be a quick repair. We shall need daylight, and fine weather.”

Banks stared back into the storm that currently hid both French ships. As long as they remained so, there was nothing he need fear; the storm was concealing
Scylla
well enough and he had several hours in which to truly lose them. “Daylight, and fine weather.” The lieutenant’s words seemed to reverberate about his brain: were there Frenchman about when King got his wish,
Scylla
would be easy pickings.

“Very well. There is no other damage?”

“Nothing substantial, sir; I'd say we got off remarkably lightly, though it is a dark night for target practice. Several men have been wounded, including the governor, or so I believe.”

“Sir Terrance?” A sudden gust of wind made Banks snatch at his hat and it was with effort that he avoided swearing out loud. With a superior enemy to windward, and a ship that could not sail east, he now had to worry about an old man who was unable to keep himself out of danger. “How badly?”

“I couldn't rightly say, sir. He had been watching the larboard battery reload – they were attending to him as I was heading here.”

A shout came from forward; the boatswain was rigging a preventer stay from the main chains to the foremast, and Evans, the carpenter, seemed to be tearing away part of the larboard top rail. There was still no sign of the French, but even without their attention, Banks decided he had enough to do to keep himself occupied for a good few hours. The governor could look after himself.

* * *

T
he next morning brought the British mixed fortune. The storm eased as dawn broke, and as the sun drew strength it was clear they had the ocean effectively to themselves. Evans and his team had made an assessment of the repairs needed to the forechains and started work as soon as the weather permitted. By mid-morning they had secured them to the extent that shrouds and stays could start to be fixed and the Welshman was confident that all would be totally set to rights by evening. Aloft, the fore topyard had been fished and correctly set, then, when the wind had backed slightly
Scylla
had been allowed to take it square on her stern, and began to run south once more, and at a truly credible speed.

Other damage, sustained both from the broadside and during the storm, was also in the process of being repaired. Three men were dead, but the six who had been severely wounded were considered stable enough and expected to make a full recovery. The only blight on what would otherwise have been a perfect morning was the governor, who had been pronounced dead some hours before.

To Banks it appeared that, simply to maintain its presence, their current run of bad luck had decided Sir Terrance should be struck by a splinter no larger than a ship's biscuit. Such wounds were common, and often accounted for a large number of casualties. But in the governor's case, one that would normally have hardly caused a minor flesh wound had severed the iliac artery, and the man had bled to death within minutes.

It was a disaster of course: they had yet to raise St. Helena but, with the main reason why
Scylla
was not now safely in a Portsmouth dockyard dead, the mission had already failed. Banks might not be personally responsible for the death, but he had still allowed it to happen, and the mere fact that Hatcher died aboard his ship would not look good in the report. Robert Brooke, the previous governor of St Helena, had retired some time ago: as it was Sir Terrance would have found a good deal of catching up to do on his arrival and goodness knew how long it would take before a fresh man was appointed. There was a strong argument for
Scylla
turning back now, make for England without further delay, bringing the news, and Hatcher's body, with her. But the ship was also charged with despatches and these were obviously valuable enough not to be chanced to the Company's own packet service. Some were for onward transfer to India, and Banks could not begin to estimate their worth. Additionally there was the consignment of specie that he had privately undertaken to deliver. But the final point in favour of continuing was the enemy squadron that lay between him and Portsmouth. With every mile that
Scylla
made southwards the chances of meeting them again decreased, but to turn back would be an entirely different proposition. Three ships, properly handled, were far harder to evade than one, and a meeting with any would be liable to bring the entire French force down about their ears. For all his outward confidence Banks knew his ship was not in a fit state for such an action and, with no other Royal Navy vessel for many miles, rescue was unlikely.

No, Banks decided, he would not turn back – however large or small the other considerations as such a move was contrary to all his instincts. He would arrive in St Helena, explain the situation, and deliver the gold and despatches. With luck he may be able to off-load Lady Hatcher as well, although he supposed that might be too much to hope for. But with nothing else to keep him there, and
Scylla
's need of the dockyard now even greater, he could be confident of setting sail for England again without undue delay. The shipping season was not due to start for a month or more, so there would be no convoy to escort; he could take on wood and water, and be homeward bound within a week. The thought cheered him, as much as anything could that morning. Then another came to replace it; one he had been carefully setting to the back of his mind since first hearing the news of Sir Terrance's death.

For reasons that he was in no way proud of, Banks had stayed on deck all night, keeping distant and, claiming the responsibilities of a captain, immersing himself in his work. But he could not go on ignoring the problem forever, and he guessed that such cowardly tactics were only making it harder for Sarah, who had no such sanctuary. The bell rang for the change of watch, and he decided that now would be as good a time as any to leave the deck, and discover for himself just how Lady Hatcher was reacting to the news of her husband's death.

* * *

I
n fact she was taking it remarkably well. Perched on a stern locker in the great cabin with Sarah next to her and a rummer full of gin in one hand, she was alternately sobbing and laughing, whilst expertly blocking any attempts at consolation with a soliloquy that seemed destined to last the rest of the voyage.

“It wasn't the greatest marriage but then, how many are? I'm sure you have had bad periods with the captain.”

Sarah opened her mouth to reply, but the woman was firmly in train.

“All men are like hounds,” Lady Hatcher said firmly, then paused, as if the statement had surprised her as much as it had the captain's wife. “I mean, there might be minor differences.” She waved her glass in explanation. “Spots not exactly in the same place, and some may be fatter. Terrance was quite fat,” she whispered as an aside. “But a dog is a dog and, when all is said and done, they all behave the same.” Her analogy had clearly sapped a good deal of energy and Sarah thought Lady Hatcher would be quiet for a moment, but the tirade was relentless.

“And even with Terrance, and his funny little ways, – he was no different, not really. But then peers of the realm are only flesh and blood, except I don't need to tell you that, my dear – I am sure that you are only too well aware.” She laughed for a moment then stopped abruptly and drank deep from her glass, only apparently surfacing to draw breath.

“And there were younger and more handsome men available – well available to one in a position such as mine,” she went on to explain, while treating Sarah to a condescending look. “Some may even have proved more pleasing company but few, few had such position, or potential.”

Sarah supposed that the governorship of St Helena was indeed important, and was about to say so when the flow was released once more.

“You see St Helena is a pivotal place, and in such a primary position,” Lady Hatcher assured her seriously, before looking down and acknowledging the need to dab at the front of her gown with the handkerchief that actually belonged to Sarah. “Our Eastern trade depends on it. Scrimp on the supervision and all shall surely suffer.” Once more the handkerchief was needed. “Yet the trade that passes through it is worth millions. Millions!” She paused yet again and a far away look appeared in her eye – the thought had clearly affected the woman greatly. Then she blew her nose.

“But such responsibility is never dependant on the skills of one man,” Sarah said, grabbing the opportunity. “And I am certain another will be found to fill Sir Terrance’s place – professionally that is. You must not worry: the country shall not suffer.”

“I couldn't give a fig for the country,” Lady Hatcher told her briskly in a voice that might just as easily have come from a Privy Garden fen. “Or some pox ridden island in the midst of nowhere, come to that.”

“No, of course not,” Sarah agreed, hurriedly.

“And as for the work, any damned fool could do it, that's why they have aides, isn't it?” Another gulp of her drink and some of the woman's composure was restored. “But what of the position? The influence? The opportunity?”

Sarah supposed she did not know, and was starting to doubt the actual cause of Lady Hatcher's grief when she heard sounds of her husband's approach through the double coach doors. She looked up, and flashed a warning but it was too late: Banks had already entered.

The woman focused on him slowly and a strange tension seemed to take her over. Banks tried to appear agreeable, but the look was not reflected on the face of the governor's widow.

“Yes, Captain?” she asked coldly. “May I be of service to you?”

He inclined his head slightly. “I wish only to express my condolences, m'lady,” he said. “I was most sorry to hear of...”

“Sorry be damned! Sir Terrance was killed whilst under your protection and I will not listen to any such hypocrisy.” She drew breath. “This ship had no business in engaging the French. Had you given more attention to the safety of your charges my husband would be alive now, and I will make sure the relevant authorities are aware of the fact. Now if there is nothing else I can assist you with, I would prefer a little privacy at this difficult time. Good day to you, sir.”

––––––––

“T
o be absolutely precise, sir, we shall enter the southern hemisphere at approximately four o’clock tomorrow morning.” Fraiser paused and his expression relaxed slightly. “But I don't expect the exact time is of great importance.”

“Indeed not, master,” Banks agreed.

The storm, along with the last sighting of the French, was almost two weeks before, and
Scylla
, her crew, and more importantly, the remainder of her passengers, were now settled somewhat. Damage to the ship had also been attended to, as far as was possible without dockyard facilities. The fished fore topmast yard had been replaced with a main yard that Evans, the carpenter, had trimmed to fit. Banks had reconciled what some might regard as the wasting of a larger spar quite easily; the fore topsail was heavily used, and however tightly any reinforcement could be bound, or 'fished', some degree of movement was inevitable. Using the larger yard gave much needed strength in a vital place and, as
Scylla
was fortunate in carrying two such spars, a further was still available should the need arise.

After the hardships of the storm, the crew were also back to their normal routine, with all but the idlers getting one full watch off out of every two along with the occasional make and mend holidays to break up the monotony. Their food had also improved: the galley fire now burned hot and long enough to provide for more than the chosen few. Once more they were enjoying two pounds of preserved beef or a pound of pork four times a week together with biscuit, cheese, oatmeal, dried fruit and peas, all washed down with half a pint of spirit daily. It was the diet they knew and infinitely superior to any the majority might expect on shore. The brief action – firing their guns in anger for the first time in over a year and, ironically, receiving enemy shot in return – had also left a positive impression. They had been reminded that, rather than being mere sailors, they were proper man-of-war's seamen: prime stuff and the pride of England. Most of
Scylla
's people had seen action before, either in her, or other ships, but now everyone was considered proven and could even be considered seasoned: baptised by the smoke and fire of true action, and undoubtedly eager to repeat the process at the earliest opportunity.

The governor's personal entourage had also come to terms with their master's death, as well as the fact that the best some could look forward to was an immediate return trip to England. Most were philosophical enough to take such an outcome well, with only a few showing more than a degree of bitterness or disappointment. But any resentment was dwarfed by that exhibited by Lady Hatcher.