A Ship for The King (34 page)

In the foretop Faulkner had come to his decision quickly. It did not do to dwell on the risk. They might escape death if he brought the other ship to action, but they would not escape entirely unless he risked everything on a single throw of the dice. All, he had thought when ascending the foremast, decided upon the mere possibility of escape. If there looked like a passage through the rocks, then he must take it. Reaching the foretop he stared out over the scene of wild desolation. From this elevation the chaos of rock and sea that extended between the ship and the shore seemed intimidating but, if one took a cooler appraisal, there was deep water between many of the rocks, each of which – when it appeared from the seas breaking over it – was encircled by a garland of white. The white was composed, he knew, of the air left from the endless succession of broken waves and these trailed off to the south-westwards, drawn by the run of the tide. Many of the rocks were covered by the tide, and most which lay insufficiently under water for the
Phoenix
to pass over them were betrayed by the tumbling of waves and the white swirl caused by their submarine presence. Between such disturbances, dark, undisturbed water ran and several almost clear lines, most going in unhelpful directions, had already opened up and then closed again as the
Phoenix
drove past. Two circumstances had heartened Faulkner and kindled the bright flame of real hope in his heart, almost daring him to make his attempt at escape. The first was the tide, which by pressing against their lee bow would allow him to haul the ship a point further off the wind and thus increase their speed, and the other was the proximity with which they had already run past several rocks – such close acquaintance with these dangers meant that there was a good chance that most rose steep and sharp from the seabed. They were, he realized, what was left by the sea's attrition and likely to be the core of greater outcrops, and therefore chimney-like in their structure.

He seized upon these facts like a line thrown to a drowning man; he became convinced of their absolute veracity but he was aware that he must make up his mind upon an instant. The ship must be turned into the first and perhaps the only channel that led through the reefs to the south-east, cutting off the extreme corner of the great wedge of off-lying dangers that made of the west coast of the island a graveyard of ships and men.

He watched carefully, looking down occasionally to see Matthews patiently awaiting his orders. The minutes passed; perhaps there was no channel, perhaps . . . And then he realized something else. Staring ahead he saw how the
Phoenix
could not weather the furthest extension of the reefs. There lay the Hanois Rocks, the final outwork of the island and, even if he gave up any notion of passing inside, he must tack and stand offshore, giving ground to the enemy that would, though he had to tack himself, nevertheless, finally catch them and bring the
Phoenix
to a fatal action. He craned under the foot of the straining main-topsail to see the enemy. She lay upon the
Phoenix
's larboard quarter, still a little distance astern but she had already passed inside one, no two outlying rocks. The realization that he was up against a man of mettle, hardened Faulkner's resolution. He spun round and, as if God given, he could see a gap opening up. There was white water along it, to be sure, but . . .

‘Matthews! Steer two points to larboard! Have the yards trimmed accordingly!'

‘Two points to larboard! Trim the yards!'

Faulkner could feel the
Phoenix
turn as her helm went over. White could hear him at the helm. Thank God for White, for much would depend upon him holding his nerve in the coming hour.

‘Hold on, sir!' someone called, and Faulkner felt the foremast tremble as above and below him the yards swung, the topsail parrel squeaking slightly as it did so. He stared ahead as the ship steadied and tried to judge the sideways set of the tide, but it was too soon. The
Phoenix
's bowsprit was already pointing between white water with wet black rock showing intermittently. It was too late now for second thoughts; every fibre of his being must be stretched to his task. They sped past the first danger and then between a pair of submerged rocks. He thought he could see the tugging swirl of kelp on one, but had no time for such frivolous observations. Some way ahead and slightly to starboard, a large and prominent rock could be seen. It was almost a small islet, its summit permanently above the usual reach of the tide and stained with bird-lime. A number of seabirds could be seen on it and it served as a convenient mark of reference against which he could measure their progress and the set of the tide. After a few minutes he shouted down to Matthews to bring the helm up a touch, and to steer a course half a point to starboard, leaving the calculation of exactly which course to steer to White.

The close proximity of the dangers demonstrated the speed of the
Phoenix
as she rushed headlong in her attempt to reach the open water to the southward. The islet was steadily opening its angle on the bow with increasing rapidity as they drove past and suddenly it was abeam and then astern.

‘Steer one and a half points to starboard!'

‘One and half points to starboard, sir. Aye aye.'

Again the shift of the ship as she felt the swell under her and the tremble in the mast as the yards swung. Thank God, but he had a staunch and attentive crew. His eye caught sight of something ahead of them. It was a dark eddy on the surface of the water. The sea ran slick now, almost undisturbed by the wind-sea, though it rose and fell as the Atlantic swells rolled in. But here, with a foaming mass of white water now out to starboard absorbing the energy of the breaking waves, the sea state seemed subject only to the fierce thrust of the tide.

He had no time – the eddy was right ahead, the water running like oil over it. It was high on the up-tide side and swirled round an unseen obstruction which caused a cavity on the down-tide side. No white water could be seen on the surface, but how much water was over the rock below? He was too late to do anything about it; already the tip of the bowsprit was riding above it from where he watched. No one on deck will have noticed it but Faulkner bowed his head and briefly closed his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest, his expectation of falling in the wreckage of the tumbling foremast causing his hands to grip like vices.

He felt the first tremor then – nothing!

The ship swept on, the tremor caused by the disturbance in the water from the rock far below. He looked up again, the adrenalin of relief coursing through him. His relief was only momentary, however. White water lay in their path and he searched for their passage. For a split second he thought they had run into a dead-end and then he cried out, ‘Starboard a point! No, two points!'

He heard Matthews relay the corrected order. This would be difficult, for the trend of the passage to starboard brought them back, closer to the wind and he could hear the boatswain calling the men to haul the yards sharp up, hard against the catharpings. Almost immediately he felt the windward edges of the topsail above and astern of him begin to flutter. He felt the heel ease and the ship slow. Then he could hear White's anxious, stentorian bellow, ‘She's luffing, sir!'

He said nothing, there was nothing he could do except hope and allow the tide to carry them through. He heard the noises on deck, felt the foremast jerk as the boatswain and the men tried to get another foot on the lee forebrace, while another party hauled mightily on the tack so that the windward bumpkin bent like a longbow. Compared with her earlier dash, the
Phoenix
almost came to a standstill. The frustration and fear from below rose in almost palpable form, but Faulkner held his peace. He felt imbued by an almost religious serenity now, aware that the strong tide was carrying them sufficiently to windward as it drove through the deeper, unimpeded parts of the reefs. If they were taken aback, it would be a different story, but he did not think there was any danger of that, for they had not quite luffed and the sails still fluttered uncertainly, giving them just sufficient steerage way for the
Phoenix
to answer her helm when he called down, ‘Up helm! Steer three points to larboard!' and was answered by a cheer.

Their ordeal had lasted no more than ninety seconds and ten minutes later they broke out into clear water to the southward. Faulkner descended to the deck and stared astern.

‘She's hull-down, sir. Didn't have the nerve,' said White.

Faulkner found himself shaking with relief. ‘That was very well done, Mr White. And well done, Matthews, you too. And you, Bosun, and all you men. Now pipe up spirits if you please . . .'

‘You know, Mr White,' Faulkner said with a grin, ‘going aloft in a cuirass, is a damned silly thing to do.'

Four hours later, they had skirted the south coast of Guernsey and laid a course to the south-east. It was long past noon but the wind held and the ship seemed skittish after her adventure, leaping, like the men's spirits, from one wave to another. Towards the end of the afternoon watch the horizon ahead was barred by the long, flat plateau that was the island of Jersey.

Faulkner levelled his glass, half hoping to catch sight of the squadron and the
Proud Black Eagle
. Lady Fanshawe had been right, it was a damned silly name for a vessel. But then, so was the
Lion's Whelp
, when one came to think of it.
Phoenix
, on the other hand, was a proper name for a ship. Notwithstanding the silliness of her name, he hoped the
Proud Black Eagle
had reached her destination safely.

‘Shall we make it before dark, Captain Faulkner?'

He turned to find a yawning White beside him. The man was near haggard with fatigue.

‘I devoutly hope so, Mr White. Our fortunes and futures depend upon it.'

Author's Note

Many of the characters in this story are based on real people. Apart from the obvious, King Charles I and his heir, Charles, Prince of Wales (afterwards Charles II), and figures such as George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, Sir Thomas Fairfax and others, many of the less well known existed, including the Trinity House Brethren who commanded the expedition to the coast of Morocco in 1637 under their admiral, William Rainsborough. Chief among these, however, is Sir Henry Mainwaring whose life, obscure in detail, but rich in variety and incident, was real enough. It was in the contemplation of Mainwaring's life that the idea of this novel derived, for he was all the things claimed herein, from reformed pirate to reformer of the Royal Navy under James I and Charles I, by way of twice Master of Trinity House and admiral in the Royal Navy and the exiled Royalist forces. In one of those ironies inseparable from Mainwaring's life was the fact that his
Seaman's Dictionary
is thought to have been the chief book of instruction for the Commonwealth navy that was to found British naval sea-power.

Most of the major incidents in the storyline are based on real incidents. I was attracted by the almost forgotten doings of the Royal Navy during the years of its neglect, under James I, and those of its mismanaged reform under Charles I. What we chiefly know is the imposition of Ship Money taxation, forgetting that this built the first proper three-decked line of battleship under the direction of Pett. As to Mainwaring's part, he commanded the
Prince Royal
on her voyage to extricate Charles and Buckingham from the mess of the proposed marriage of the former to a Spanish princess, led many of the improperly financed reforms that enabled the later Commonwealth navy to achieve so much and was party to the grounding of the
St George
off Falmouth for the purpose of annoying the Parliamentary attack on Pendennis under Fairfax. Moreover, her guns did indeed annoy ‘Black Tom' whose habit was to ride a white charger.

And the man who would later become King Charles II had a lively interest in the sea and was, when King himself, a keen promoter of yachting and yacht-racing. It is known that he first learned to steer a vessel during his escape from the Isles of Scilly on his passage to Jersey in the
Proud Black Eagle
. I merely suggest he had done so first a few weeks earlier, when a hired ‘frigate' called the
Phoenix
slipped out of Carrick Roads and conveyed the Prince from Pendennis to the island of St Mary's.

Faulkner is my own invention but there were those few who, raised by philanthropic individuals or private charities, found their feet and made their way in the world in this period of unprecedented change. For many the war itself was the vehicle for the encouragement of their talents and ambition, but who knows how many other men and women throughout England wished to remain occupied about their personal affairs, and avoid commitment during England's savage Civil Wars of the mid-seventeenth century? Not all were fervent Royalists, Parliamentary democrats, or religious zealots. And how many were cheated of this pacific desire, only to be swept up in events beyond their control, their lives broken, their families scattered, their fortunes squandered.

But the story does not finish with the escape of the Prince of Wales to Jersey. That is only the end of the first phase of a longer narrative. The year 1644 saw the King's forces defeated decisively at Naseby by the Parliamentary Army under Fairfax and with Cromwell as his lieutenant-general of horse. Bristol, too, fell to the Parliament while the King fell into his enemies' hands with the loss of Oxford the following year.

Sir Henry Mainwaring's pathetic end – along with Faulkner's fortunes – may yet be told in the sequel.