A Man of No Country Page 19

  ‘To a strict Mohammedan, yes,’ smiled Grainger. ‘But don’t fear, Infidel. I will pray for you tonight and perhaps Allah will forgive you, peace be upon Him.’

  ‘Afternoon, shipmates,’ said Sedgwick, as he walked up to the mess table. He gave Grainger a friendly punch on the shoulder. ‘Might I join you, Master Eel?’

  ‘By all means, Able,’ said Grainger. Davis pulled out a mess stool.

  ‘John here was just telling me how I am headed for the fiery pit on account of my whale,’ said the older man.

  ‘Is that so?’ said the coxswain. ‘How ill is your workmanship, then?’ He took the piece of wood from Davis and examined it. ‘That does seem a touch harsh. I would say you done a neat job of work, there. You’re going to need a proper sharp knife for the mouth and eyes, but John has one of those that he can lend you, haven’t you, mate?’

  ‘It’s not really made for that,’ said Grainger. ‘But you can borrow it if you wish. What was it you wanted, Able?’

  ‘It was you I was looking for, John. I was after some advice.’

  ‘Very well, what manner of advice?’

  ‘I heard that you told the Grunters as how you was once on a Neapolitan ship before that Russian privateer captured you,’ said the coxswain. ‘Navigator, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right. What of it?’

  ‘So you must know Naples passing well?’

  ‘What is all this about, Able?’ he grumbled. ‘I am just now come off watch and I am bleeding knackered.’

  ‘See, it’s like this,’ began Sedgwick. ‘Each occasion we have been in Naples these last few months my barge crew have had to ferry the captain ashore, and then to wait upon his return, often for hours. Twice he has sent word that he will spend the night with old man Hamilton.’

  ‘Or with that tasty missus of his, more like,’ leered Davis.

  ‘Like enough,’ smiled the coxswain. ‘But there we are, with hours to wait and no notion where we might go.’

  ‘Very vexing, I am sure,’ replied Grainger.

  ‘But then I got to thinking that I should ask you to help us,’ continued Sedgwick. ‘You must be just the man to know where a thirsty crew might go in Naples. For a mug of grog like, as was not too pricey?’

  ‘My ship was often at sea,’ said Grainger. ‘Trading in other ports around the Mediterranean.’

  ‘Come, you must have touched at Naples on some occasions?’

  ‘And of course, my religion forbids me to drink.’

  ‘That’s right, it does,’ said Sedgwick. ‘But surely your crew would have still gone on runs ashore. Where might they have gone?’

  ‘How should I know? I told you, I never went with them.’ He settled clear blue eyes full of warning on his questioner.

  ‘Alright, steady there,’ said the coxswain. ‘I am only after a bit of advice. We did try up by that big castle, you know the one, on the hill. Oh, what’s its name again?’

  ‘I can’t remember it, Able.’

  ‘Really? Well no matter, for it wouldn’t answer. All the taverns were full of soldiers who gave us very short shrift. So what about if we wanted to eat? Where would you say we should go?’

  ‘There is no end of eating places in Naples,’ said Grainger ‘Surely you can just choose one.’

  ‘Aye, but you know the barge crew,’ said Sedgwick. ‘They can’t abide anything too foreign. Where might you go for plain, honest fare?’

  ‘Look, Able, I don’t want to be unhelpful, but I have just come off watch and I really want to rest,’ said Grainger.

  ‘Well shame you couldn’t help any,’ said Sedgwick. ‘I will leave you both, then. Have a good evening.’ He rose from the table and walked away down the deck. Grainger sat back and glared around him. He found Davis’s watery eyes on him.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ he growled.

  ‘If you don’t mind me a saying it, John, you be right hopeless at spinning a yarn,’ said Davis, returning his attention to his carved whale.

  ‘What do you mean?’ demanded Grainger.

  ‘Even an old fool like me can see you ain’t spent no time in Naples,’ he said. ‘And that Able Sedgwick is far from being a fool.’

  *****

  ‘Deck there! Sail ho!’ yelled the lookout the following day. Lieutenant Preston was officer of the watch that morning, and strode out from his place beside the wheel.

  ‘Where away?’ he called, from a clear area of deck where he could see the man at the masthead.

  ‘Three points of the starboard bow, sir,’ said the seaman, pointing with his arm. ‘Some manner of sailing brig.’

  ‘Mr Butler, can you give the captain my compliments, and tell him that another merchantman is in sight off the starboard bow.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ replied the youth, and he dashed for the companion ladder.

  ‘Kindly close with this ship of yours if you please, Mr Preston,’ said Clay as he came up on deck, his jaws still working on his last mouthful of breakfast.

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ replied Preston. He gave the new course to the helmsmen and then joined his captain over by the quarterdeck rail.

  ‘What do you make of her, sir?’ he asked. Clay continued to stare at the distant ship through his telescope as he replied.

  ‘A large looking vessel, ship rigged,’ he reported. ‘She seems to have altered her course as if she means to try and avoid us, which is a promising sign. I can’t make out her colours yet.’

  ‘I dare say she will prove to be yet another neutral ship, sir,’ sighed the lieutenant. ‘Doubtless with no knowledge of the enemy, just like all of the others.’

  ‘That may be so, Mr Preston,’ said Clay. ‘You have younger eyes. Take my spy glass and tell me what you make of the chase’s colours. I can see a red fly, but little else.’

  ‘Red white and blue for sure, sir,’ reported the lieutenant. ‘Dutch or French I should say.’

  ‘Both of whom are enemies,’ said Clay. ‘This is much more promising, and she is on an eastbound course. I have a good feeling about this ship, Mr Preston. Can you kindly set all plain sail to the royals. Let us run them down and see what we have caught.’

  As sail after sail blossomed from the masts of the Titan, the frigate began to thrust ahead. The press of canvas grew until the deck was pitched at an angle that made it difficult to stand, and white water foamed along the leeside rail. After an hour of pursuit they were almost up with the big French brig, which surged along a few hundred yards off their bow.

  ‘Fire a shot to leeward from the bow chaser, if you please, Mr Preston,’ ordered Clay. ‘Let her know we are in earnest, and can you have a boarding party told off ready to take possession of her.’

  The bang of the gun was menace enough for the ship they chased to heave to, with all her sails flapping. The Titan surged up into the wind next to her, and under the threat of her long row of gun ports, the French tricolour made its hesitant way down to the deck, to cheers from the crew of the frigate.

  ‘She is a curious looking craft,’ said Taylor, who had come up on deck to join his captain. ‘Very broad in the beam for her length, and is that some manner of canvas awning spread out over her main deck? That must make sail handling awkward.’ Clay examined the ship as she lay under their lee. He could see a large oblong of canvas that ran all the way from the forecastle to the poop deck, suspended like the roof of a tent above the ship, but for the life of him couldn’t think why it was there.

  ‘I have heard of awnings to provide some shelter from the sun, but never to cover a whole ship. What do you suppose it is for?’ he asked.

  ‘I cannot begin to imagine, sir,’ said Taylor.

  ‘Mr Blake,’ called Clay to the leader of the landing party. ‘Send back her master with his papers, and try and find out what she is carrying.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ replied the lieutenant.

  ‘At last we have netted ourselves a Frenchman,’ said Clay, rubbing his hands. ‘When the ship’s captain should come aboard, I would be o
bliged if you would take him below to my day cabin, Mr Taylor. Ply him with ardent spirits and question him thoroughly. See if he has any knowledge of General Napoleon’s fleet.’

  Clay watched as Blake took command of the captured brig. The boarding party swarmed up the ship’s side with the lieutenant in the lead, and he then seemed to stop in surprise as he reached the deck After a pause, and what sounded like laughter, the French crew were herded below decks, while a large man in a pale blue coat was sent down into the launch. Clay could see the sailors of the prize crew busy taking in all the profusion of sail that flapped on the brig’s yards, where it had been left by the crew when they surrendered. Preston came over to join him.

  ‘Did you hear that, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘The laughter of the launch crew?’ asked Clay.

  ‘Just after that, sir. It seems strange to say it so far out to sea, but I could have sworn that I heard the neigh of a horse.’

  ‘From the captured ship?’

  ‘Yes, sir. There it is again, only that was more of a whinny.’ Clay turned his head a little and heard the sound too.

  ‘I believe you’re right, Mr Preston,’ he said. ‘Do you suppose we have captured some manner of travelling fair?’

  ‘Perhaps, sir,’ smiled the lieutenant. ‘We shall soon find out, for here comes the launch with Mr Blake and the ship’s master.’

  ‘She is called the Fleur de Provence, sir,’ reported Blake. ‘French, of course, three weeks out from Toulon, with a cargo of cavalry remounts. I have never seen the like. The hold could be mistaken for a barn, all full of hay, straw, sacks of oats and prodigious amounts of water. Above that the main deck has been divided into row after row of wooden stalls, hence that canvas awning to keep them shaded. You can’t tell from here, being upwind, but the whole ship stinks of horses. There are piles of dung and straw everywhere.’

  ‘Cavalry remounts,’ said Clay. ‘Now that is progress, gentlemen. There surely can be only one possible destination for such a particular cargo?’

  ‘The French army for sure, sir,’ said Preston. Clay looked across at the brig once more.

  ‘That ship is part of their expedition, you mark my words,’ he said. ‘Perhaps they have got separated from the rest of the fleet, or have been sent later to join them. Whichever it is, we can be certain of one thing. Wherever she is bound is where we shall find our enemy, gentlemen, you may wager your commissions on it. I had best go and join Mr Taylor below and see what he has gleaned from interviewing the French captain.’

  *****

  Clay entered his day cabin to find the master of the French brig seated in shirt sleeves at the table with a glass of service rum at his elbow, and an open bottle close at hand. He was a large man with an ample belly and a florid face, and he seemed to fill the little cabin like a bear in a closet. He dwarfed the figure of Lieutenant Taylor, who sat opposite him at the table with a second glass of rum. The British officer was clearly struggling, judging by the way he was running a hand through his grey hair.

  ‘I am simply asking you where your ship was bound, captain,’ he urged. ‘Surely you can tell me that?’

  ‘I give you all the papers of my ship, sir,’ replied the Frenchman. He spread his arms wide. ‘What more you want I say?’

  ‘But they only tell me your port of origin. Where is it that you were going, captain?’

  ‘Why is such a thing so important?’ asked the French master. He drank deeply from his glass and then reached across the table to give Taylor a friendly punch on the arm. ‘I not going there anymore, eh!’ He chuckled to himself, and the first lieutenant looked around in despair. Clay approached the table and held out his hand with a smile of welcome.

  ‘Alexander Clay, captain of this ship,’ he said. ‘I am pleased to make your acqua—’

  ‘You see!’ exclaimed the Frenchman. He rounded on Taylor and jabbed a finger towards Clay. ‘Why you ask me all these stupid questions, when he already knows it.’ The two British officers exchanged glances.

  ‘Sorry, captain, I am not sure I follow you,’ said the lieutenant. ‘What is it that Captain Clay already knows?’ The French captain sat back with a surprised look and glanced from one officer to the other. He seemed about to say something more, but then shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I sorry,’ he muttered. ‘My English very bad. I make mistake. I say no more now.’ He pushed away the rum, folded his arms and sat back from the table.

  ‘No, captain,’ persisted Taylor. ‘What was it that you believe was just said?’

  ‘No more,’ the Frenchman said with decision. He stared past the men towards the far bulkhead. ‘I say no more.’ After a short silence Taylor called over his shoulder towards the door.

  ‘Corporal Edwards!’ The door swung open and a marine marched into the room and came to attention.

  ‘Sir!’ he bellowed.

  ‘Can you escort this gentleman away, if you please.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Edwards. ‘Come on, you. Alley, alley!’

  When they were alone, Clay sat down opposite his first lieutenant in the place where the Frenchman had been and stroked one of his sideburns.

  ‘What on earth did you make of that, George?’ he asked.

  ‘I have absolutely no notion, sir,’ said Taylor. ‘Before you arrived he had been as tight as a clam. Even a second glass of grog was not answering. Then you came in and he made that extraordinary outburst. What was it you said to him?’

  ‘I simply introduced myself in a friendly fashion. I hoped that he might feel inclined to be more open if treated civilly.’

  ‘Yet his change in demeanor followed hard on the heels of you saying your name,’ said Taylor. ‘Why would that be?’

  ‘I don’t really see, George,’ said the captain. ‘What can there be about my name? Alexander Clay? Can it mean something in French, perhaps?’

  ‘I am no scholar of the language, but I would not have thought so, sir. Alexander is classical in origin, is it not? While Clay is very English.’ Clay felt a prickle of excitement as an idea began to come to him.

  ‘When I came in, you were pressing him about his destination, were you not?’

  ‘I had been for some time, sir, without any success,’ sighed the lieutenant. ‘You should have heard him a little earlier. All he cared about was how we proposed to care for his damned horses.’

  ‘Then I said my name, and he reacted as though I already knew where his ship was bound.’

  ‘That’s right, sir,’ confirmed Taylor. ‘You said “Alexander Clay, captain of this ship,” followed by some manner of greeting.’

  ‘Alexander Clay, Alexander Clay,’ muttered the captain, then he stopped and exchanged glances with Taylor. ‘Alexandria! In Egypt! That is what he thought I said! His English was a little deficient. He naturally will have known where he was headed, and probably had the location in his mind when I spoke.’

  ‘That must be it, sir!’ exclaimed the lieutenant. ‘That would explain his peculiar reaction. Then when he realised his error, he attempted to draw back. But is Alexandria a suitable destination?’

  ‘Let us ask our expert,’ said Clay, turning towards the cabin door. ‘Pass the word for Mr Armstrong there!’ They heard the sentry repeat the order and the echo disappeared into the ship. A few minutes later there was a knock, and the American came in.

  ‘You called for me, sir?’

  ‘I did indeed, Mr Armstrong,’ said Clay. ‘Come and join us. Now, are you acquainted with the port of Alexandria?’

  ‘Why yes, sir,’ replied the master. ‘I have traded there a handful of times.’

  ‘And would it be a probable destination for the French fleet?’ asked Taylor.

  ‘Very likely, sir,’ he replied. ‘There are plenty of sheltered beaches to land their army there abouts. Once taken, the port could shelter their transport ships, although the entrance would be difficult for large warships. If the French have that huge three-decker, the L’Orient with them, Aboukir bay, close to one of the
mouths of the Nile River, would make more sense as an anchorage. It is close by, sheltered, with good holding ground.’

  ‘Gentlemen, that must be the answer,’ said Clay as he rose to his feet. ‘The enemy is bound for Egypt. We must find Sir Horatio and tell him.’

  Chapter 12

  Searching

  For two days after the capture of the Fleur de Provence, the Titan rushed eastwards in pursuit of the rest of the fleet. Then, just when she had most need for haste, the north westerly that had pushed her across the sea from Malta died on her. It grew weaker and weaker, her sails drooped till they hung limp from the yards and the sea flattened into a mirror of deep polished blue. A fierce sun beat down on the frigate as she turned round in gradual circles on the spot, her rudder unable to make any purchase on the motionless water. Clay looked at the dome of sky above them and noted a few wispy clouds away to the east.

  ‘Do those little clouds portend any return of the wind, Mr Armstrong?’ he asked.

  ‘They do, sir,’ said the American. ‘But I fear that it will not be the wind that we desire. They are the outriders of an easterly for certain. It will often blow at this time of year, and vexingly comes from the very direction in which we wish to sail. We shall have the wind in our faces for several days, perhaps all the way up the Mediterranean.’

  ‘The Titan is a weatherly enough ship, sir,’ said Preston, from his captain’s other side. ‘It will not be the first time we have had to beat our way, tack after tack, against the wind.’

  ‘And at least our modest progress will be superior to the admiral’s great lumbering ships of the line,’ said the captain. ‘We should be able to overhaul them in time. When do you suppose this easterly wind of yours will blow?’ Armstrong looked up at the cloud, and then at the rest of the sky.