The Mauritius Command (30 page)

His wounds were still being dressed when Webber came back from the Sirius with one of her officers and a message from Pym, a message that had to be shouted above the crash of the Bellone's guns. Pym suggested that Clonfert should come aboard the Sirius. The Iphigenia could not possibly warp off from behind her shoal until daylight and in the meantime the Nereide lay between her and the French ships; she could not fire upon them; Lord Clonfert might certainly come aboard the Sirius.

"Abandon my men?" cried Clonfert in that strange new voice. "I'll see him damned first. Tell him I have struck." And when the officer had gone and the dressing was finished he said to Stephen, "Is it done, Doctor? I am most truly grateful to you," and made as though to rise.

"You will never get up?" asked Stephen.

"Yes," he said. "My legs are sound enough. I am going on deck. I must do this properly, not like a scrub."

He stood up and Stephen said, "Take care of the bandage on your neck. Do not pluck at it, or you may die within the minute."

Shortly afterwards most of the remaining men came below, sent by the Captain: the routine of the ship was gone--there had been no bells this hour and more--and her life was going. Some clustered in the orlop, and from their low, muted talk and from those who came and went their shipmates learnt what was going on: a boat had come from the Iphigenia to ask why the Nereide was no longer firing, and would the Captain come aboard of her--told, had struck, and the Captain would not stir--Captain had sent to Bellone to tell her to stop firing, because why? Because he had struck; but the boat could not reach her nor make her hear. Then there was the cry of fire on deck and several men ran up to put it out: and shortly after the mainmast went by the board.

Lord Clonfert came below again, and sat for a while in the orlop. Although Stephen was still working hard he took a look at him between patients and formed the impression that he was in a state of walking unconsciousness; but after some time Clonfert got up and began moving about among the wounded, calling them by name.

It was long past midnight. The French fire was slackening; the British fire had stopped long since; and now after a few random shots the night fell silent. Men slept where they had chanced to sit or throw themselves down. Stephen took Clonfert by the arm, guided him to the dead purser's cot, well under the water-line, directed him how to rest his head so that he should not endanger his wound, and returned to his patients. There were more than a hundred and fifty of them: twenty-seven had already died below, but he had hopes for about a hundred of the rest: the Dear knew how many had been killed outright on deck and thrown overboard. Seventy or so, he thought. He roused Mr Fenton, who was sleeping with his head on his arms, leaning on the chest that formed their operating-table, and together they looked to their dressings.

They were still busy when the sun rose and the Bellone began to fire at the Nereide again: on and on, in spite of repeated hails. The gunner came below with a gushing splinter-wound in his forearm, and while Stephen applied the tourniquet and tied the artery the gunner told him that the Nereide colours had not in fact been struck: they were flying still, and they could not be hauled down. There was a rumour that they had been nailed to the mast, but the gunner knew nothing of it, and the bosun, who would have had the true word, he was dead. "And not a scrap of rigging to come at them, "he said. "So his lordship's told the carpenter to cut the mizen away. Thank you kindly, sir: that's a right tidy job. I'm much obliged. And, Doctor," he said in a low rumble behind his hand, "if you don't much care for a French prison, there's some of us topping our boom in the cutter, going aboard of Sirius."

Stephen nodded, looked over his worst cases, and made his way through the wreckage to the cabin. Clonfert was not there. He found him on the quarterdeck, sitting on an upturned match-tub and watching the carpenters ply their axes. The mizenmast fell, carrying the colours with it, and the Bellone's fire ceased. "There, I have done it properly," said Clonfert in a barely intelligible murmur, out of the side of his ruined, bandaged face. Stephen looked at his most dangerous wound, found him sensible, though by now at a far remove, and said, "I wish to go to the Sirius, my lord: the remaining boat is fit to leave, and I beg you will give an order to that effect."

"Make it so, Doctor Maturin," said Clonfert. "I wish you may get away. Thank you again. "They shook hands. Stephen took some papers from his cabin, destroyed others, and made his way to the boat. It was no great climb down, for the Nereide had settled on the sea-bed.

Although Pym received him kindly aboard the stranded Sirius, his conduct did not raise Stephen's opinion of him as a commander or as a man of sense. The Iphigenia, having at last warped herself free of the long shoal that had stood between her and the Minerve, sent to ask permission to stand in, to attack the immobilized French ships, boarding them with extra hands from Sirius and Magicienne, and not only taking them but rescuing the Nereide too. No, said Pym, who needed her help to heave his own ship off, she must go on warping towards the Sirius. Twice he sent back this categorical reply, each time as a direct order. With the Iphigenia warping out, the French fire concentrated on the Magicienne, hard and fast on her reef, badly holed, with nine foot of water in her hold and only a few guns that could be brought to bear. The French shot poured in upon her, and sometimes upon the other ships, and upon the frantically busy, exhausted hands in the remaining boats all that long, appalling, bloody day. It was impossible to get her off; it was impossible that she should swim if she were got off. Her men were ordered into the Iphigenia, and after sunset she was set on fire, blowing up in doleful splendour about midnight.

The next day the French had a new battery ready on shore, closer to, and the battery and the ships began to fire on the Iphigenia and the Sirius as they strove to heave Pym's frigate off her reef. At last, after incessant labour all in vain, and after some ugly scenes with the captain of the Iphigenia, who was utterly convinced (and Stephen, together with many better-qualified observers, agreed with him) that his plan would have meant a total victory and who could barely bring himself to speak civilly to the man who had forbidden it, Pym realized that the Sirius could not be saved. Her ship's company were taken into the Iphigenia and the Sirius too was set on fire, Pym thereby relinquishing his command, twenty-four hours too late; and the now solitary Iphigenia returned to her warping.

She was obliged to warp--to carry out an anchor on the end of a cable, drop it, and wind herself up to it by the capstan--because never in the daylight did the wind cease blowing dead on shore. She could make no progress whatsoever in any other way, for when the land-breeze got up before dawn she dared not attempt the dark and unseen channel, and it always died with the rising of the sun. So hour after hour her boats, carrying the ponderous great anchors, dragged out the sodden nine-inch hawsers; and if the anchors held, if the ground was not foul, she then crept a very little way, rarely more than fifty yards, because of the turns. But often the ground was foul, and sometimes the anchors came home or were broken or were lost altogether; and all this exhausting labour had to be carried out in the blazing sun by a dispirited crew. Meanwhile the French ships in Port South-East had been heaved off, and a French brig was sighted beyond the Ile de la Passe, probably the forerunner of Hamelin's squadron from Port- Louis.

However, there was nothing for it, and the Iphigenia warped on and on towards the fort, fifty yards by fifty yards with long pauses for the recovery of fouled anchors, the whole length of that vast lagoon. It was two full days before she reached a point about three quarters of a mile from the island, and here she anchored for the night. The next day, when the Bellone and Minerve had profited by the land-breeze to advance fair into the lagoon whose channels they knew so well, and had there anchored, she set to again; and by eight o'clock, when she was within a thousand feet of the fort, of the open sea and the infinite delight of sailing free, she saw three ships join the French brig outside the reef: the Venus, Manche and Astrie. They were exchanging signals with the Bellone and Minerve ; and the wind, still right in the Iphigenia's teeth, was bearing them fast towards the Ile de la Passe, where they would lie to, just out of range.

The Iphigenia at once sent the soldiers and many of the seamen to the fort and cleared for action. She had little ammunition, however: even before the end of the Port South-East battle she had had to send to the Sirius for more, and since then she had fired away so much that half an hour's engagement would see her locker bare. The clearing was therefore largely symbolic, and it was carried out, as her captain told Stephen privately, to let the French see that he would not surrender unconditionally, that he still had teeth, an that if he could not get decent terms he would use them.

"That being so," said Stephen, "I must ask you for a sailing-boat before the Venus and her consorts close the entrance to the channel."

"For Reunion, you mean? Yes, certainly. You shall have the launch and my own coxswain, an old whaling hand, and young Craddock to navigate her: though I should not carry the news that you must take, no, not for a thousand pound." He gave orders for the preparation of the launch--stores, instruments, charts, water--and returning he said, You would oblige me extremely, Dr Maturin, by carrying a letter for my wife: I doubt I shall see her again this war."

The launch pulled along the wicked channel in the darkness, touching twice for all their care; pulled out well beyond the reef, set her lugsail and bore away south-west. She carried ten days" provisions, but although she had many of the Iphigenia's hungry young gentlemen and ship's boys aboard--their captain could not see them spend those years in a prison--the stores were almost intact when, after a perfect voyage, Stephen made his laborious way up the Boadicea's side as she lay at single anchor in the road of St Paul's, close by the Windham and the Bombay transport.

"Why, Stephen, there you are!" cried Jack, springing from behind a mass of papers as Stephen walked into the cabin. "How happy I am to see you- another couple of hours and I should have been off to Flat Island with Keating and his men--Stephen, what's amiss?"

"I must tell you what's amiss, my dear," said Stephen: but he sat down and paused a while before going on. "The attack on Port South-East has failed. The Nereide is taken; the Sirius and Magicienne are burnt; and by now the Iphigenia and the Ile de la Passe will almost certainly have surrendered."

"Well," said Jack, considering, "Minerve, Bellone, Astree, Venus, Manche; together with Nereide and Iphigenia: that makes seven to one. But we have seen longer odds, I believe."

CHAPTER EIGHT

"All hands unmoor ship," said Jack. The bosun's calls wailed and twittered; the Boadiceas ran to their stations; the fife began its thin piercing tune; "Stamp and go, stamp and go," cried the bosun's mates; and in the midst of the familiar din of proceeding to sea Stephen turned from the rail, where he had been staring under his shading hand at the ship lying within the frigate. "I could almost swear I had see that vessel before," he said.

"Oh, not above a hundred times," said Jack. "She is the Windham. The Windham Indiaman again. This time she was outward-bound, and they took her in the Mozambique channel. Sirius very neatly retook her when she shied away from Port South-East. Did not Pym tell you?"

"Faith, we had little conversation, Captain Pym and I"

"No: I suppose not. But, however, Pullings snapped her up in his little schooner just as she was running under the guns of Riviere Noire: a good, seamanlike officer, Tom Pullings..."

"Up and down, sir," called the bosun.

"Thick and dry," came Jack's answer, as automatic as a response in church; and he continued"... and he brought her in, cracking on regardless. That was the first I knew of the affair. Let fall, there," he cried, directing his voice upwards.

The topsails flashed out, the frigate's head swung to the north-east and steadied: she heeled, steeper and steeper as the courses, topgallants and staysails were sheeted home in smooth succession and the way came on her, the water slipping fast and faster still along her side. She shaved the cruel reef off Saint Denis, altered course two points to eastward, and setting a flying-jib she stretched for the Ile de la Passe, making her ten knots watch after watch, her wake a straight green line of phosphorescence in the dark.

Every minute counted. Stephen's voyage had taken so little time that there was a possibility the fort had not yet surrendered, and that the Iphigenia still lay under its protection, within the reef. Every minute counted, and although sailcloth and spars were so precious they drove her through the sea as though they had a Spanish galleon in chase: with an even greater zeal indeed; so great that they raised the island before the light of day.

When he had two peaks of the Bamboo Mountain in a line and the Pointe du Diable bearing N 17 W Jack reduced sail, carried a night-glass up to the foretop, and took the ship in, ghosting along under topsails on the edge of the land-breeze. His eyes were used to the night, helped as it was by the stars and the sickle-moon: he had made out a good deal of what lay inshore and out to sea, and when the first dawn came up before the sun he was not surprised to see the Manche and Venus--but not the Astree--lying two miles off the reef to leeward, the Iphigenia just inside it, the Bellone, Minerve, Nereide and Ceylon Indiaman far over by Port South-East, and the charred wrecks of the Sirius and Magicienne in the lagoon. But what did give him a shock was the sight of a fifth ship down there, just astern of the shattered Nereide. Leaning his telescope on the rim and focusing with care he discovered what she was: the Ranger from Bombay. She was only a transport, but she would have been a treasure-ship to the remnant of his squadron, for she carried spare yards and topmasts, besides three hundred tons of invaluable stores, and he had been looking for her arrival at St Paul's these many days--the Otter, quite unfit for sea, was heaved down in expectation of what she should bring; the Staunch lacked almost everything; and if the Boadicea carried away a spar, she would have to whistle for it. And here was the Ranger fitting out the enemy. The Bellone, which must have suffered terribly in the long action, already had her topgallantyards across. His face took on a harder look.

No colours were flying yet from either the fort or the Iphigenia: had they surrendered? If not, conceivably his boats might tow the Iphigenia through the channel, covered by the Boadicea and the fort, and with even a battered consort he could set about the Venus and the Manche; for although he was short of stores, he was rich in men and ammunition. And this was no time for timid defensive measures. He came down on deck, gave orders for the ensign, the private signal, and a hoist stating his intention. The Boadicea stood in as the sun came up, signals flying, one eye on the French frigates, the other on the fort and the Iphigenia. Farther and farther in, and still no colours, though the sun was now a hand's-breadth over the horizon. Another few minutes and the Boadicea would be within random shot.

"A gun to windward, Mr Seymour," said Jack. "And shiver the foretopsail."

In reply the British colours ran up the not so distant flagstaff: yet still the Boadicea hung off. Then after a pause in which hoists jerked up and down without the flags breaking out but with a crafty pretence of the halliard's jamming, the private signal.

"Hands about ship," said Jack, for the island's private signal was ten days out of date.

Not one of the Boadiceas was unprepared for this, and she came about on to the larboard tack as briskly as a smuggling schooner, staying in her own length. The fort's seaward guns sent plumes of white water leaping from the swell two hundred yards short of her; a derisive cheer floated after them, and a little later a line of boats, carrying prisoners, put off the island for the Manche.

The Manche took them aboard and stood after the Venus, which was already beating up under easy sail as though to get to the windward of the Boadicea. As soon as the Manche was up, both French frigates set their topgallants. They could be seen clearing for action, and they came on as though they meant it. Jack gazed at them with the utmost intensity, his eye hard to his glass, examining their captains" handling of their ships, gauging their sailing qualities, watching for ruses designed to mask their speed; and all the while he kept the Boadicea a little ahead, just out of range. By the time the watch had changed he knew he had the legs of them: he also knew that the Venus could outsail the Manche and that if he could induce them to separate... but while his mind was running on to the possible consequences of this separation to a night-engagement--to a boat-landing on the reef behind the fort--the French gave over the chase.

The Boadicea wore and pursued them, setting her royals to bring them within the extreme range of her brass bow-chaser, perched on the forecastle, and firing at the Venus, which wore Hamelin's broad pendant. The Venus and the Manche replied with guns run out of their gunroom ports, so low as to be ineffectual at this distance; and so the three ships ran, neither side doing the other any damage, until a lucky shot from the Boadicea, skipping three times over on the smooth swell, came aboard the Venus. The midshipman high on the foremast jack reported a commotion on the Venus's quarterdeck: immediately afterwards the French ships went about, and once more the Boadicea ran south and west.

All day she ran, trying every kind of ruse and lameduck trick to lure the faster-sailing Venus ahead of the Manche: but nothing would serve. Hamelin had no romantic notions of single combat, and he was determined to fight at an advantage. The two Frenchmen kept within half a mile of one another, doggedly chasing the Boadicea over the whole stretch of sea between Mauritius and La Reunion.

"At least we are tolerably well acquainted with our enemies," said Jack to Seymour and the quarterdeck in general, when the lights of Saint-Denis bore south-west two miles, and all hope was gone.

"Yes, sir," said Seymour. "We could have given them topgallants at any time. Dirty bottoms, no sort of doubt."

"Manche was precious slow, shifting her sheets over the stays," said Trollope. "I remarked it twice."

"Surely, sir, they are not what you would call enterprising?" said Johnson.

"Slowbellies," said an unidentified voice in the darkness.

In the cabin, over a late supper, Jack said to Stephen, "Here is Fellowes" list of our requirements. May I beg you to go to Farquhar, tell him how things lie, and ask him to rouse out all that can possibly be found and have "em down by the waterside at St Paul's in the morning? Make no excuses--I have a thousand things to do--he will understand."

Before Stephen could answer, Spotted Dick walked in and said, "You sent for me, sir?"

"Yes. Mr Richardson, you will take the Pearl aviso with four good hands and run up to Port-Louis, find the Staunch, and bring her down. Mr Peter has her orders ready for you to take."

"So much responsibility for that pimply lad," observed Stephen, through his Welsh rabbit.

"Aye," said Jack, who had brought a prize hermaphrodite into Plymouth from far off Finisterre before his voice had broken. "We must depend on our small fry now, men and ships. If we had had the Otter or even the Staunch with us today, we could have made a dash at that unhandy Manche, you know."

"Could we, indeed?"

"Lord, yes," said Jack. "And I trust we shall tomorrow. I have sent Seymour galloping over to St Paul's to bid Tomkinson leave the Otter where she lies, shift all his people into the Windham, and join me in the roadstead. With this wind getting up, Hamelin will stand off and on tonight, I am very sure."

Hamelin was more off than on in the light of dawn when the Boadicea ran down to St Paul's, and the Venus and the Manche were a mere flash of topsails against the western sky. But they were there, and once he had settled that fact beyond any hint of a doubt, Jack Aubrey turned his glass to the distant shipping in the road.

"What in Hell's name is the Windham thinking off he cried. "She has not even crossed her yards. Mr Collins: Windham proceed to sea immediately, with a gun; and give her another gun every minute until she weighs. God rot the... " He clapped his mouth shut, and clenching his hands behind his back he paced up and down. "His face is darker than I have ever seen it," observed Stephen, looking at him from the taffrail. "Up until now, he has borne these reverses with a singular magnanimity, greater by far than I had looked for. Not a word about Clonfert's disastrous folly; nothing but sympathy for his wounds, and a hope that the French hospital may set him up. No reflection upon Pym's dogged stupidity. Yet there is no greatness of mind without its limits: is this breakingpoint?"

"Shot the next gun," said Jack, stopping short in his stride, with a furious glare at the far-off Hamelin.

"Sir," said Trollope timidly, "a transport is rounding the point. The Emma, I believe. Yes, sir, the Emma."

The Emma she was, and quite apart from her signal it was evident that she wished to speak the Boadicea as she hovered there, backing and filling in a black fury of impatience; for the slab-sided transport had already spread a great press of sail.

"Captain come aboard pendant, Mr Collins," said Jack.

The Emma's stern-boat splashed down, pulled across, hooked on, and Pullings came up the side. "Mr Pullings," said Jack, "what is this caper?"

"I beg pardon, sir," said Pullings, pale with- emotion. "I have Windham's guns aboard: Captain Tomkinson declined the command."

"Come below and explain yourself," said Jack. "Mr Seymour, carry on: course nor'-nor'-west."

In the cabin it appeared, from Pullings" nervous, involved, embarrassed statement that Tomkinson, having looked into the Indiaman's condition, had refused to take her to sea until she should be made seaworthy, and had returned to the immobilize Otter. Pullings, a witness of this, had come to an agreement with the Emma's captain, sick ashore; had moved his men and a score of volunteers into her, she being in a better state than the Indiaman, and by inhuman labour all through the night had shifted the Windham's guns and his own carronades across, helped by Colonel Keating, who had also given him gunners and small-arms men.

"This Tomkinson," cried Stephen, who could speak openly before Pullings, "must he not be hanged, or flogged, or at least dismissed the service, the infamous whore?"

"No," said Jack. "He is a poor creature, God help him, but he is within his rights. A captain can refuse a command, on those grounds. Tom," he said, shaking Pullings" hand, "you are a right sea-officer; I am obliged to you. If you can get eight knots out of your Emma, we shall have a touch of those Frenchmen out there, before long."

The two ships bore away in company, steering a course that would give them the weather-gage in a couple of hours, well north of the island, where the wind came more easterly. But in far less time than that it became apparent to all hands that the Emma could not keep up. Six or at the most seven knots was her utmost limit, even with the wind abaft the beam--studdingsails aloft and alow, and even kites, strange sails without a name, all set and drawing- and once they had hauled their wind three points, even six was beyond her power, driven though she was with all the resources of seamanship and an able, willing crew. The Boadicea had to take in her topgallants to keep the Emma in sight at all; while on the other hand, Hamelin, the necessary complement of a quarrel, kept steadily ahead, with never a sign of reducing sail, still less of heaving-to to wait for them.

Yet for all that, Hamelin had now run so far to the westward that he would have to go up to Port-Louis rather than Port South-East, which was something gained, since it would allow Jack to look into the Ile de la Passe again: and the Emma was there to perform a most important task that should have fallen to the Otter.

"Back the foretopsail, Mr Johnson, if you please," said Jack, just before the hands were piped to dinner; and when the Emma had come labouring up he hailed Pullings, directing him to make for Rodriguez, acquaint the military with the situation, and then to cruise between that island and 57" East to warn any King's or Company's ships he saw, at the same time taking all appropriate measures. "And Mr Pullings," he added, in his strong voice, "I shall not object to your taking one of their frigates, or even two: that will still leave plenty for me."

The joke was limp enough, in all conscience; but the tone in which it was said, or rather roared, caused Pullings" distressed, tired face to spread in an answering grin.

The Boadicea looked at the Ile de la Passe, which greeted her with a roar of heavy guns: she looked beyond it, over the billowing smoke, into Port South East, and there she saw the Bellone, new-rigged and ready for sea. The Minerve now had jury topmasts and the Nereide something in the way of a main and a mizen, while caulkers and carpenters were busy about them both: the Iphigenia had already sailed. There was nothing to be done, and the Boadicea turned about for La Reunion.