Any Approaching Enemy: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars (18 page)

Two days of favorable westerly winds across an unvarying empty sea saw them to the tip of Crete, with Cape Kiros jutting out fine on the port bow. A scattered flock of local fishing boats dotted the water under the cape. Charles thought to stop and ask for news of the French, but decided against it, since he already knew they had passed a week before, and the fishermen would have little knowledge of where they had gone. He decided to continue along the southern coast of the island in hopes of discovering some ship from farther east that might have more recent information.

The sheer cliffs of Crete’s southern coast glided past on the port beam as the day wore on, broken occasionally by small river inlets and tiny fishing villages clinging to the shore with their clusters of whitewashed, flat-roofed houses. Shortly before dusk, the sails of a ship, almost certainly a warship but of an unusual and outdated sail arrangement, was sighted rounding the headland of Cape Lithinon. The strange sail quickly altered her course to intercept them.

“Hoist the colors, Mr. Sykes,” Charles ordered. Talmage had the watch. To him, Charles said, “We will clear for action, if you please, and then beat to quarters.”

She proved to be a very large fifty-gun, single-decked warship flying the red flag of Turkey. Her design was of a type not seen in England for almost a hundred years, with doubled fore- and aftercastles and a lateen rig on her mizzenmast. The Turkish frigate—if she was, strictly speaking, a frigate—stood directly toward
Louisa
’s bow and, from about two cable lengths’ distance, signaled her demand that the English ships heave to by the rather direct expedient of firing a gun. The Turk had her ship’s barge, with twenty men at the oars, in the water before
Louisa
had gotten all of her way off.

“Call Sergeant Cooley to assemble his marines in smart order by the entryport,” Charles said to Talmage. “I wish to greet these gentlemen with full honors.”

Three men climbed the side steps onto
Louisa
’s deck. As the first appeared above the ship’s side, the boatswain blew a shrill call on his whistle, and the marines snapped to present arms. The three were clearly officers, with red and blue jackets piped in yellow, over baggy blue pantaloons. Each had an impressively thick mustache and a heavy, almost semicircular sword at his side.

“You papers,” the youngest of them demanded in passable English, holding out his hand.

Charles removed his commission from the Admiralty from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it over. The officer passed the paper, unopened, to his superior, who unfolded the document, held it in front of him, and perused it at some length. Charles doubted he could read a word, as he held it upside down. After an appropriate time, the paper was refolded and returned with a nod from the superior, indicating his satisfaction.

“What are you business in Turkish national waters?” the younger officer asked.

“We are searching for a large French fleet known to have passed near here one week ago,” Charles said. “I would be most obliged if you could give me some indication of their whereabouts.”

This was translated, and some discussion passed back and forth before the English speaker turned again to Charles. “How large are these French?” he asked.

“I have reports of thirteen sail of the line, a number of smaller warships, and several hundred transports from Toulon and Genoa.”

“And they are directed to where?”

“East of here,” Charles answered curtly. Clearly, this was all new information to his interrogators.

Translation followed, and again there was discussion, a great deal of discussion. Finally, the junior officer turned back. “There is no French in the waters of the Empire of Turkey,” he said with some dignity. “I am sorry.”

“Have you seen any other British warships?” Charles asked.

“There is no English, excepting you, in the waters of the Empire of Turkey,” the officer answered.

“I see,” Charles said. “Thank you for informing me. May I ask from which port you have sailed?”

The Turkish officer looked doubtful but answered, “
Sultan Balikesir
is based in Izmir, your Smyrna, I believe. We have been cruising in the south of what you call the Aegean Sea.”

“And you have seen no French warships?”

“Of course, none.”

“Thank you,” Charles said.

With that, the Turks seemed rather agitated to depart. Bows were made and hats touched. The marines snapped to attention, and the visitors climbed down over the side as quickly as their not wanting to show they were in a hurry would allow.

“You may dismiss your men, Sergeant Cooley,” Charles said. He walked to the quarterdeck, where he told Eliot to resume their course eastward. Looking over the rail, he noticed that the Turkish ship was just hoisting in her barge but had already begun to fall off the wind to go back the way she had come.

As soon as Beechum assured Charles that his cabin had been restored, he went below. “Do you know where Smyrna is?” he said to Penny, opening his bookcase and removing an atlas. They found it on the western coast of Turkey, about halfway up the Aegean to the Dardanelles. He studied the page, with its small-scale map of the eastern Mediterranean, for some time. The only new information he had was that the French (and hence Nelson) had probably not gone into the Aegean. There were only five hundred more miles until the Mediterranean ended, he reasoned. His admiral had to be somewhere.

Charles arrived on the quarterdeck at dawn the next morning, the early sun lighting the now lower slopes of the Cretan shore. Cape Goúdhoura showed on the bow, the empty sea beyond. Already the air felt dry and unusually warm.

“A good day to you, Mr. Eliot,” he said, approaching the master.

“Aye,” Eliot responded conversationally. “It’ll be a warm one.”

“The wind has shifted to the north,” Charles observed.

“It’s the Meltemi,” Eliot said, lifting his chin as if to smell the air. Seeing Charles’s puzzled expression, he explained, “It’s a local breeze what comes down the sea between Greece and Turkey. Makes for hot days. They’re be no rain for a time, that’s a fact.”

Charles had come to the sailing master for a purpose. “As we clear that headland,” he said, pointing to the cape, “we’ll make to the northeast. I’d like to have a look at the island of Rhodes.”

“Is that where you think the Frenchies have gone?”

“I don’t know where the French have gone,” Charles answered. “If we can be comfortable that it’s not Rhodes, then we’ll try Cyprus, then down along the Levant, and to Egypt.”

“And if we find nothing?”

Charles rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If we haven’t found anything after we’ve looked into Alexandria, then we have to assume that they’ve vanished into the air. We return to Gibraltar; we did our best.” For all his calm, Charles did not wish to return to Admiral Jervis to explain why he’d been sailing fruitlessly the length of the Mediterranean for two full months, searching for Nelson’s squadron, which, for all he knew, had long since returned to port.

The ship’s bell rang eight times for the end of the morning watch and the beginning of the forenoon. Lieutenant Talmage replaced Beechum as officer of the watch. Charles had been watching Talmage closely. He would have to consult Winchester for a more detailed assessment, but from what he had observed, Talmage was carrying out his duties as second in a serious and capable manner, more capably than he had the more difficult responsibilities of first. Charles knew he would have to write a full report on the incident; it had been a violation of the Articles of War. How serious a violation depended on how the act was interpreted. Talmage had, after all, bared his sword against another officer. He had already drafted a description of Talmage’s outburst and the events leading up to it, but he had left incomplete his evaluation of the lieutenant’s subsequent performance and his own recommendations for disciplinary action. He found himself inclined to be forgiving, but he knew that no matter how carefully he worded his statement, it would be a black mark against Talmage’s record, probably black enough to see him discharged from the navy. Talmage himself would be well aware of this by now.

As the morning wore on, the easternmost tip of Crete receded ever farther behind. The island of Kasos rose on the horizon, the first of two they would pass before reaching Rhodes. Already the warmth of the day was such that Charles began to feel uncomfortable in his heavy uniform coat. He focused on
Pylades,
sailing along happily to leeward. Even without his glass, he could see her commander’s familiar stocky form pacing back and forth on her tiny quarterdeck. If he used his telescope, he could make out Bevan’s expression and a soup stain on his waistcoat. In time he saw Molly appear, and the two moved to stand together on the nearside rail, her arm linked in his. It had been four days since Molly went over. Charles wondered how they were getting on.

“Good morning, my love,” Penny said from close behind him. Charles started in surprise.

“A Penny for thy thoughts,” she said, smiling broadly at her joke, one they both too frequently employed.

“I was thinking about you and how as lovely as any rose you are,” he said, which was his firm answer every time she asked. He reached into his coat, came out with a small pocket telescope, and snapped it open. “Look,” he said, handing her the glass and pointing toward the brig.

Penny lifted it to her eye. Molly evidently noticed her, because she raised her free arm and waved. Penny lowered the glass and waved back. Charles thought it was like two neighbors back home, exchanging greetings across a field.

“Is that where thy thoughts are?” she asked.

“I wonder how they are together,” Charles said. “If anything has changed. They look happy enough.”

“I am uncomfortable not being able to speak with her,” she said. “Can we have Molly back, if just for a visit?”

“How about we invite them both to supper?”

“I would like that. Canst thou make such a signal?”

“Indirectly,” Charles said. He turned to Sykes. “Signal
Pass within
hail,
if you please.”

Pylades
trimmed her sails and put down her helm. The brig fell marginally off the wind, the gap between the ships slowly narrowing. At about five fathoms, Charles shouted almost conversationally, “Captain and Mrs. Edgemont would be most welcome of both your company to supper this evening.”

“Just a moment,” Bevan answered. “I’ll have to consult my social secretary.” Charles saw Molly beam and nod vigorously. “You are in luck,” Bevan came back. “We’ve had a recent cancellation. About seven, then?”

“How art thou, Molly?” Penny called.

“Ain’t I fine,” she answered. “I can’t wait to talk with you.”

At noon, with Kasos looming ever larger off the port bow, Charles and Penny went down to their dinner, Charles gratefully pulling off his jacket.

“I need to bathe,” Penny said unexpectedly. “I have not been able to do so these past two weeks.”

“You bathe every day,” he said. “I’ve seen you.”

“No,” she said rather strongly, “I wash with a sponge from a bucket of cold seawater.”

“I could have the cook heat the water,” he offered helpfully.

“Then I would wash from a bucket of warm seawater. I cannot clean my hair at all in salted water. I wish to have a proper bath in a tub of hot fresh water. I long for such a thing.”

“I see,” Charles said, slicing another piece of meat and putting it into his mouth before he had to expand on this line of discussion.

“I must also wash my clothing. I have nothing newly cleaned since Naples.”

This was easier. “I’ll have the cook boil them for you.”

“In fresh water,” she added firmly.

This presented a problem.
Louisa
was capable of carrying a three-month supply of fresh water in casks in her hold. Every drop had to be rigorously rationed and accounted for, and there was absolutely none for baths or laundry tubs. How could he explain to his seamen that they were limited to a gallon a day, on pain of punishment, while his wife consumed unending quantities for her personal hygiene?

“I’ll have to consider this,” he said, having no immediate notion of a solution.

“Please, wilt thou consider it quickly.”

At the appointed hour in the evening, with Kasos declining sternward and the island of Korpathos rising,
Louisa
hove to while
Pylades
sent her boat across. Bevan climbed the side while Molly was swung aboard.
Pylades
’s cutter returned, and both ships resumed their course. Penny immediately latched onto her companion, and the two women started below, their heads close together.

As soon as they were alone, Charles looked meaningfully at Bevan. “Yes?” he said.

Bevan removed his hat and wiped a handkerchief across the sweat on his forehead. Even in the relative cool of the evening, the heat remained oppressive. “We’ve had a pleasant enough time,” he said, as if having a hard time finding a place to start. “I’ve never known a woman with so much to say.”

“Yes, yes,” Charles said impatiently. “What do you talk about?”

“Oh, everything: the weather, England, Wales, ships, babies, sheep. Her father was a shepherd, did you know that?”

Charles searched his memory. “Yes, I knew that,” he said. “Babies? What does she say about babies?” They were getting closer to his central interest.

“She wants them; I want them.” Bevan hesitated. “Charlie, I’m happy when I’m with her. More happy than I thought I had any right to be. I don’t care about her background.”

“And this means?” Charles prompted, trying to edge the conversation along.

“I never in my life thought I’d say this, but I want to wed her. I’ve asked.”

Charles grinned his biggest grin. “She won’t come across otherwise, is that it?”

“She won’t budge, Charlie. She’s as obstinate as a wall on the topic. But it’s what I want also. I’m set on this.”

Charles slapped his friend on the back. “I’ve always said no good comes from having women on board.”

“You’ve never said any such thing,” Bevan answered.

“Not yet, maybe,” Charles admitted. A practical concern occurred to him. “How are you going to get it done?” The nearest proper church official he could think of was Nelson’s chaplain on board
Vanguard,
wherever she was.