Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead (43 page)

Hawthorne gave an almost imperceptible nod, which, for some reason, forced Hayden to hide a smile. There was something oddly amusing about a
marine
who was known to become ill in small boats sanctioning his plans.

“Shall we return the anchor cable to the cable tier, sir?” Ransome enquired.

“No, let us wet it down most thoroughly and leave it ready. The wind might die at any moment, as it has several times this day.”

“We will lose the use of two forward guns,” Ransome stated.

“I comprehend that, Mr Ransome, but even so, our broadside will be greater.”

Ransome nodded. Hayden could almost see him ticking off a list of objections, a process of which his captain approved. He wanted his officers to think every action through most thoroughly and consider all eventualities—especially those that might see events turn against them.

“We will slip up on her larboard side,” Wickham asked, “and have the weather gage?”

“For whatever small advantage it might provide us in these circumstances—yes.”

“Will they attempt to come alongside and board us, Captain?” Gould wondered.

“They might, especially so if we do not have much room to larboard, given the restrictions of the channel. Yet I think we can keep distance between us for long enough that we can pour in sufficient broadsides either to disable their ship or force them to sheer off. We shall put them in a difficult position, for if they wear we will rake them.”

“Will no other ships come to their aid?” Reverte asked, contemplating the chart with a rather distant look, as though he could see the battle taking place upon it.

“We will find that out. I do not think they will risk bringing the frigate bearing the silver into the action, but certainly, the privateer next in line might come to her comrade's aid. We have men enough to fight both batteries and handle sail as well. It will be very dark, and that will hide most evolutions until they are well underway.”

The idea of fighting two ships sobered the gathered officers somewhat. Broadside to broadside, the privateers were no match for the Spanish frigate, but if one ship could get astern of them and direct a raking fire onto their decks . . . well, even twelve-pounders could cause a great deal of damage, not to mention many casualties, in such a situation.

Questions were asked, answers provided, and when everyone was certain of their plan and the sailing masters had agreed upon their exact location, the officers hastened out to ready the ship.

Hawthorne lingered behind, and Hayden fixed his friend with a questioning look.

“You approve this course of action, Mr Hawthorne?”

“I should approve it more had we our own ship and British crew, but otherwise it seems a typically audacious Charles Hayden–like action.”

“You make me sound like Sir William, whose Jones-like endeavours are notorious.”

“There is a world of difference between you and Captain Jones. He is brave—almost absurdly so—as are you, Captain, but you are inside the
mind of the enemy, or so it always appears to me. You have somehow penetrated their thoughts, or perhaps their way of thinking, and are able to predict what they are most likely to do.”

Hayden tried not to laugh. “Mr Hawthorne, the truth is I have no more knowledge of the enemy than you—or anyone else aboard, for that matter. I simply put myself in his place and ask what I would do in any given situation. I then weigh what I believe to be their own motivations in that same situation and then make my best guess as to what they are most likely to do. Not magic.”

“And what would you do in their situation, given you were being chased by a Spanish frigate under the command of a British captain desperate to regain his bride?”

“I would lure that captain into a trap.”

“And will they not do the same?”

“Perhaps, but their common sense is overridden by greed. I do not think they will risk the frigate unless she is brought to and they have no choice. The privateers wish to preserve their prize at all costs.”

“But the other three ships—though I do understand they boast only twelve-pounders—could they not overpower us should all three of them attack us at once?”

“If they are properly managed, yes.”

“And why will they not do that?”

“I think it is possible that they will.” Hayden looked back at the chart laid upon the table. The Old Channel of Bahama would grow substantially wider over the next few days. “They will not attempt to attack us where we might simply avoid battle—our frigate is faster than the converted transports.” He ran his finger along the north shore of Cuba until he came to its very end. “If I were a privateer desiring to preserve my treasure at all costs, I should find the narrowest point and use my other three ships to set up a blockade, forcing us to battle.” Hayden tapped the chart. “Here. The Windward Channel is only twelve leagues in breadth at its narrowest. If the two frigates are more or less equal in speed, the
other ships would need to hinder us for only half a day and we would likely never catch the other frigate.” The one that bears my bride, Hayden thought.

“Can three ships blockade a pass so wide?”

Hayden considered a moment. “Three frigates could manage it under most circumstances. They could not resist a strong squadron, perhaps, but they could space themselves so that no ship would pass through by day. These three privateers, nine miles distant one from the other . . . We might pass through under cover of darkness.”

“That sounds like a great risk, then,” Hawthorne said.

Hayden almost smiled, partly for being so obtuse. Hawthorne had inveigled him into reconsidering all his thoughts on this matter—aloud—so that the marine lieutenant and he might examine them together.

“Do you know, I believe the safest course for the privateers is to remain as they are in tight squadron where they might all support one another. We are only one ship, after all. The frigate and her three escorts are far more powerful than we. As long as they have shot and powder they can hold us at bay.”

“What will they do, Captain, if we attack the aft-most ship this night?” It was almost a prompt.

“The other ships will come immediately to her aid.”

“I wonder if there is profit in that.” Hawthorne rubbed his chin as he gazed at the chart.

“Only to put them on their guard.” Hayden paced to the transom windows and stood a moment looking out. A glorious sunset spread across the western sky.

“If they keep to their formation, then, Captain, and do not allow us to pick off any stragglers, is there any way at all that we might hope to take this frigate bearing both the Spanish treasure and your own?”

“Short of terrible misfortune or divine intervention? None.”

“I do not much like that answer,” Hawthorne informed him.

“I like it a good deal less than you, Mr Hawthorne. When I served as
Captain Bourne's first lieutenant, he often said, ‘Always assume your enemy is as intelligent as you.' We cannot assume they will do anything foolish.”

“Then what is the point of attacking the trailing ship?”

“To see how they will respond—though I am not much in doubt of what the other ships will do. But we will see. Let us discover how great their understanding might be.”

Hawthorne nodded. “It seems like a very long shot, Captain.”

“Indeed. But I can think of no other course at this time.”

Hawthorne nodded. “I will muster my marines and musket men.”

Left alone in the captain's cabin, Hayden stood at the open window and watched the sunset as it progressed through all its glorious stages until there was but small gilding upon a few low, distant clouds. Hayden was standing there yet when the tropical night slipped silently in from the east. Stars began to appear, and then there was darkness, the heavens lit by the uncounted stars.

Hayden turned away to return to the deck, and even as he did so, there was a change in the motion of the ship. Mounting the ladder, he emerged onto deck to find the ship rolling in the low swell, her sails and gear slatting about.

Wickham was the officer of the watch, and he approached his captain the moment he appeared.

“We have lost our wind, sir,” he offered, rather unnecessarily.

“For how long, I wonder?” Hayden looked up at the pennants and around at the horizon. “Can you make out our chases, Mr Wickham? Do they have wind?”

Hayden's night glass was retrieved and carried to the deck. Wickham and Hayden both went forward, where the midshipman focused the long glass on the privateers' ships.

“I believe they are becalmed as well, Captain,” he declared after a moment, and handed the glass to Hayden.

It took a moment for Hayden's eye to adjust, but he thought he could make out the sails slatting back and forth as the ships rolled.

“What is our depth?”

“Twelve fathoms on sand, Captain,” Wickham answered promptly, impressing Hayden again with his efficiency. “We appear to be over a shoaling bank.”

Hayden glanced up at the sky. “If we do not have wind within the quarter-hour we will have the sails off her and anchor, Mr Wickham.” It was almost a law of the sea that once the sails were properly furled and the hands down from the yards, the wind would fill in again. He had seen it a thousand times, he was certain.

The quarter of the hour passed swiftly and the hands were called to anchor, then sent aloft to take in sail. The ship lay rolling in the swell, uncomfortable but not terribly so. Hayden paced the deck. His plan to attack the aft-most ship was now impossible. They would be very much on the watch for boarding parties and would no doubt have rigged boarding nets. It was even possible that the privateers would attack him, by drifting down the current as they had before. His men were on the lookout for it.

As matters stood, the privateers were too distant to be fired upon. Hayden found his mind drifting back to the conversation with Hawthorne. If the four remaining privateer ships could not in some way be separated, they were, cumulatively, too great a force for his single frigate. For the life of him, however, Hayden could think of no way to separate them. The privateers were sensible of their situation; they would stay together at all costs.

These were the kind of circumstances that army officers did not comprehend—that one could be so near to the enemy and unable to mount an attack. One could not simply march forward. Batteries could not be established anywhere to attack these fortresses. Sappers could not dig their tunnels and undermine the enemy's walls. No, all that could be accomplished was to watch and wait. Even a seasoned sailor like Hayden found it frustrating.

“I wonder . . .” Hayden whispered, a thought so absurd coming into his mind that immediately he rejected it. But then it returned in a slightly
altered form. Objections rose up, and were, by more alteration, dealt with. It was risky to the point of foolishness—the kind of thing of which Sir William Jones would heartily approve. But, even so, the idea would not go away.

Hayden sent for Hawthorne, who arrived at the stern of the ship a moment later.

“An idea so appallingly dangerous and improbable has taken hold of my mind, Mr Hawthorne, that I am in need of your aid to banish it.”

“I am most anxious to hear it.”

“The privateers are, for the time being, beyond the reach of our guns . . .”

“That is true. I can see it myself.”

“Indeed. I do not believe there is any way we can separate these four ships, and together, they are too great a force for our single frigate.”

“I am awaiting the ‘appallingly dangerous' part.”

“Have you ever been witness to sappers tunnelling under a wall, causing a massive explosion and collapsing a section of a fortress wall?”

“I have had that particular pleasure. Are we going to tunnel under the seabed? Because I would agree that such a plan was somewhat improbable.”

“Very nearly. I propose taking the boats and towing a large explosive charge to the stern of the frigate, where we will set it off and damage her rudder beyond repair—at least beyond repair at sea.”

“Ah, that is the improbable and appallingly dangerous part.”

“I did warn you.”

Hawthorne contemplated this idea a long moment. “How would we lay a charge against the ship? In a boat, I expect?”

“I propose lashing barrels together.”

“And have you ever seen, or even heard of, this being done before?”

“Never.”

“Well, for that reason alone I am predisposed to approve it. You would carry these barrels in a boat, lash them to the rudder in some way, light a long match, and row like the devil pursued you to get clear?”

“I should think we shall have to tow our barrels, but otherwise, that is very nearly what I am thinking.”

“If they see or hear us—and they will certainly be on the lookout—they will kill every man in the boat—”

“Did I mention that it might be appallingly dangerous?”

“It slipped my mind for a moment.” Hawthorne made an odd face and tilted his head slowly side to side, as though physically weighing the arguments for and against. “We have slipped up on ships on many occasions to cut them out. In some ways, this is no different. It must be said, however, that in many of those cases the enemy did not expect us—as they will now. I suppose it is no more dangerous than a cutting-out expedition into a crowded French port to take a little brig of little value. It is a war, and risking lives cannot be avoided . . . but I wonder if there is any reasonable chance of success. That, for me, is the question that must be answered, even though I am well aware that fortune ever plays too large a part in such endeavours.”

“It will be dependent upon our ability to get our charge near without being seen. Shall we propose this to Ransome and Wickham and have their opinions?”

“You are being rather parliamentary,” Hawthorne observed.