A Sea Unto Itself (45 page)

“But, I do. I’m not a flower in a vase, you know. I have my own resources.”

“You do? What do you know?”

“I have entertained two French officers. Separately, you understand. Men are too easy. They feel obligated to talk.”

“I see,” Charles said. “And what did they talk about?”

“There is another place, not Koessir. Transports are at this moment gathering there. They know the British are asleep at Mocha. One said there is a surprise for them.”

“What place?”

Constance fell silent as Hitch entered noisily into the cabin with a tray and a large tin teapot. He placed it on the table and laid out the saucer and sugar and a container of goat’s milk. “What place?” Charles repeated.

She blew across her cup and sipped carefully. “I don’t know, neither man could say. How many such places can there be?”

Suddenly, Charles knew where the place was, he was sure of it. There were only two that would be suitable, and Blankett was anchored in one of them. Everything made sense when one looked at it that way. Constance took a second sip, and a third. She drained the cup. Charles refilled it. “Help yourself,” he said. “What happened on your return to the rendezvous?”

She was silent for a moment, stirring the sugar and milk into her drink. “We were betrayed by someone,” she said softly. “They were already searching for us.”

Charles also knew, or at least could make a very good guess, as to who had provided the information about the rendezvous. Indirectly, it was himself to Teresa, who must have gotten word to Underwood. He remembered Bevan saying something about a horseman galloping north along the coast from Massawa. “Mr. Gladfridus Underwood,” he said. “Men can be loosened up just at the thought of sex, I’ve recently discovered. He received that information from me by way of an intermediary. I’m sorry.”

Constance’s eyes met his. The corners of her mouth tilted upwards. “Thank you,” she said. “That explains everything. I’ll cut his balls off, first just one, and then the other. Then I’ll kill him.” She reached inside the folds of her dress, came out with her dagger and nonchalantly laid it on the table. “Now I need to pee,” she added.

“The quarter gallery,” Charles said, which was his own personal toilet. “You know where it is.” As she rose, a knock sounded at the door. “Come,” he said.

Beechum entered in a state of some excitement. “Lieutenant Bevan’s respects, sir.” He stopped. “I apologize for intruding.”

“It’s all right. Do you remember Mrs. Jones?”

“Oh, yes, sir.” He removed his hat. “I am pleased that you are well, ma’am.”

“Thank you kind sir,” Constance replied, batting her lashes. “No small thanks are due to you.”

Beechum blushed to his toes. “Oh, no. It was . . .”

“And, what of Mr. Bevan’s respects?” Charles asked to regain the lieutenant’s attention.

“Oh, yes. We’re within sight of Koessir, sir. From the masthead, that is. The seventy-four is not in the harbor. She’s nowhere to be seen.”

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*****.

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“There’s three, sir,” Sykes reported, having just returned from the foremast tops. “Two frigates and a brig, from their masts. They’ve altered course to intercept us.”

Charles was relieved that it was not Raisonnable, which had been his first thought since they were only one day south of Koessir. “Have you any guess as to their nationality?” he asked.

“Tate, he’s the lookout, he thinks they’re ours,” Sykes offered. “The brig and one of the frigates he claims he remembers from Mocha.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sykes,” Charles said. “You might have the colors and our recognition number close to hand.” If he was relieved that it was not the French battleship, he was less sanguine about an encounter with any officers sent north to find him by Admiral Blankett.

Within the hour all three vessels were within easy sight from the deck—the northbound squadron braced tight and beating into the wind, Cassandra sailing large with it on her stern quarter. They were indeed two frigates and a brig-sloop, all with the blue ensign run up their mizzens indicating they were under Rear Admiral Blankett’s command. Charles had ordered the union flag run up his own mainmast to assert that he was under Admiralty orders. Just below flew his recognition signal. He recognized the thirty-two-gun Fox and the sloop Hellebore. The second frigate was a new thirty-six-gun eighteen-pounder. Her recognition signal translated to Hotspur, Captain George Bland, with seventeen years seniority. A second string of flags ran up her halyards. Charles could read them.

“Heave to to windward for boarding, it says, sir,” Sykes reported dutifully. “Why do they want to board?”

“Her captain wishes a word with me. If you would hoist the acknowledge. Also, inform Lieutenant Ayres that I would appreciate his presence.”

“Sir,” Ayres said, coming to a halt in front of him a little more smartly than usual.

He knows why we are about to be boarded. The more usual would have been for Charles to have been called to report on board Hotspur. “I am about to be visited by a superior officer,” he said to the marine lieutenant. “I would like all the men you have to be turned out in respect.”

“Aye, aye, sir. I see,” said Ayres, not seeing yet.

“It is possible that I am going to refuse orders, Mr. Ayres. If that occurs, you are under no obligation out of honor to my person or rank. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Ayres said. Charles guessed that it wasn’t quite clear, but he knew it soon would be.

Cassandra turned her beam to the wind and backed her foresail to lie still in the water fifty yards upwind of Hotspur. The larger frigate smartly hove to herself and lowered a cutter over the side. Charles watched from his quarterdeck as the boat’s crew-four marines, a naval lieutenant, and last her captain-climbed down. The boat spread her oars in perfect unison.

Charles decided to greet his visitors on his quarterdeck, just abaft the mainmast, with Ayres’s now twenty-four marines smartly aligned along the lee rail. Winchester and Beechum stood beside him. Bevan went to the entry port to escort the party aft. Hotspur’s marines came onto the deck first. To the shrill of the boatswain’s call, Captain Bland in his full dress uniform coat and hat followed. Charles watched as he and Bevan exchanged greetings. The party started toward him.

“Sir,” Captain Bland said. “You are Captain Edgemont of His Majesty’s Frigate Cassandra?”

“At your service, sir,” said Charles with a small bow. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” He knew.

Bland, a short, lean man, wore an unhappy expression. “I have orders for your arrest, sir, from Admiral Blankett.” He took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and held it out.

Charles did not take it. “On what charge?”

“On the charge of willful disobedience to orders, as stipulated under Article Eleven of the Articles of War, as passed by Parliament in the year 1757. I am to take you into custody on board my own ship for transport to Mocha as soon as our other business is complete.”

“Captain Bland, I am not under Admiral Blankett’s orders. Until I return to Mocha, I sail at the direction of the Admiralty. Therefore, I cannot have broken any lawful orders.”

Bland frowned. “I have been forewarned of this argument and it does not hold. Your obligations to the Admiralty have been satisfied. It does not answer in any event; my own orders still apply. A court martial will decide the right of it. I must ask for the surrender of your sword and person, sir.”

Charles looked at Bland and his four marines, then at Lieutenant Ayres with his own redcoats behind him, and finally at Bevan who met his eyes. “My apologies to the admiral and to yourself, sir,” he said slowly. “Circumstances are such that I cannot comply. May I acquaint you with the latest intelligence regarding French operations?”

“No, you may not,” Bland blustered. “If you refuse to come willingly, I am prepared to use force.” He turned to his marines.

Bevan nodded to Ayres. “Present arms!” the lieutenant of the marines shouted loudly. Charles was also surprised to see Winchester and Beechum move forward, their hands on their sword hilts. Bevan leaned casually against the base of the mainmast, his hand also resting on his weapon.

“This is beyond an Article Eleven,” Bland sputtered, his lips quivering with fury. “You’ll hang for this.”

“Sir,” Charles said. “I am doing what I must for the good of the country and the conduct of the war. May I please tell you what information I possess? It will surely influence your own actions.”

“No. I will not listen to any excuses until you submit as ordered.” Bland steamed with anger, his face red.

“Aside from arresting me, may I ask the reason for your squadron’s presence so far from Mocha?” It didn’t take two frigates and a brig-sloop to collect a single captain.

Bland produced a strained smile. “I am sure our purpose will answer your so-called intelligence. We are to destroy the port of Koessir, and all the shipping there. That will settle any possibility of French transport to India once and for all. Cassandra is to follow and participate in the action.” He paused. “I will offer you a compromise. You may remain in command for the time being, sail with me to Koessir, then return to Mocha. Admiral Blankett will deal with you himself as he sees fit.”

Charles thought he saw Underwood’s influence behind this rather pointless exercise. It might mean that time was running short. “I cannot accept your offer. There will be a French expedition to India, but not from Koessir. A flotilla is now assembling at the port of Massawa, farther south. In addition, the seventy-four-gun French ship of the line Raisonnable will lead. That is where you are needed, and urgently so. I will happily accompany you there.”

“Blankett said you had some fixation about an imaginary seventy-four. As for this Massawa, I’ve never even heard of it.” The captain drew himself up as best he could. “No,” he said strongly. “Orders are orders. I, sir, will obey mine. I demand that you do the same.”

“I won’t,” Charles said. “Daniel, we will resume our course southward with all speed, if you please. Captain Bland and his company are to remain as our guests until we are past the squadron. If Hotspur’s cutter cannot keep up, you may come alongside Hellebore to put them off.” He turned back to Bland. “May I offer you some refreshment, sir? I hope not to detain you long.” It occurred to him that Mocha and the exit to the sea would now be guarded by only one, or at most two, relatively small warships.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Does anyone care for a wager?” said Charles. Cassandra ran down the deep-water channel between the Dahlak Archipelago and the serrated highlands of Abyssinia, mottled in grays and greens in the early morning light.

“On what?” Bevan offered. “Are you asking whether Blankett hangs you by the neck from the nearest yardarm or whether he builds a gallows to do the job on shore?”

Charles did not see the humor in this. “No. About what we'll find at Massawa. In particular, is Raisonnable there?”

“She probably is,” Bevan said. “I can’t think where else she’d be. What do we do then?”

Charles had thought about this; he had no good answer. He should inform the admiral, and recommend he take his squadron to Bombay where a British ship of the line or two could be enlisted for support. But in all probability, Blankett would not believe him. Charles would be arrested on the spot and held in confinement until Captain Bland and the others returned from Koessir to form a court martial. By then it would be too late; and even if all of Blankett’s frigates could be assembled, Cassandra could hardly play a role in any battle. He had been informed that she had exhausted better than four parts in five of her supplies of powder and shot. “I don’t know," he said.

“We’ll have to decide soon, Charlie,” Bevan said.

Charles recognized the bluff point of land in the far distance that marked the entrance to Massawa harbor. The lookout at his post in the foremast should have something to say before long. As if on cue, he saw the man lean out over the edge of the tops to shout down. Aviemore, waiting at the foot of the mast to relay messages, started aft at a run. Charles’ heart quickened.

“There’s masts in yon harbor, sir,” the boy burbled. “A mess of them.”

“Is there any sign of a ship of the line, Mr. Aviemore?” Charles said.

“Not as yet. I inquired particular about it.”

Charles thought this an improvement on the more usual, “Don’t know; just a moment, I’ll ask.” “Thank you,” he said. “Please keep me informed.”