Cut and Run: The Fourth Book in the Fighting Sail Series (41 page)

      
“What the hell are you two doing here?” King asked, his eyes flashing to Manning.

      
“They stowed away,” the surgeon's mate replied calmly enough. “Or to be totally correct, they have apparently deserted the East India Company in favour of the Navy.”

      
King gave a brief short laugh. “Well, that has to be a first,” he said. “Have you anything to say for yourselves?”

      
There was no response from either man, and King was momentarily at a loss. “Do you intend to serve the King?” he asked.

      
Johnston grinned. “In a manner of speaking, sir.”

      
“Explain.”

      
“We was hoping to return to England with you. The old
Pevensey Castle
was not a 'appy ship; so me and Abdul here thought we might try our luck in 'ome waters.”

      
King shook his head slowly. “Johnston, you're going to have to stop this running. Eventually someone will recognise you, then you'll be for it.” He turned his attention to the Lascar. “Mr Khan, what you have done is not so very bad, but you have a respected position in
Pevensey Castle.
A man might be hanged for such an act in His Majesty's service; are you aware of that?”

      
Khan nodded. “I am very well aware, thank you, sir. Mr Johnston has explained everything, but much I knew already.”

      
“You would do better to stay with the Indiamen,” King persisted. “And I am willing to take you back, if you so wish.”

      
“I am certain that you are right, sir, and your offer is much appreciated. But I have served with them for nine years, and now wish to try for the British Navy.”

      
“That wasn't what we said,” Johnston interrupted, looking sideways at his friend. “Head back home, then a spell inland. I was to take you to the farm I told you about.”

      
Khan nodded graciously. “It is generous of you indeed, and I should like to see an English farm, but I am not a worker of the land. I understand the sea and ships, and know that it is the place for me. I also have learned that it is better to serve good men than bad.” He paused and looked directly at King. “And I wish to follow this officer.”

      
King was mildly embarrassed, although not unaffected by Khan's speech. The man was certainly talking from the heart, and it was quite a compliment. He looked to Manning, who shrugged in reply. There was little either of them could do. King might take them on and allow passage to England. In a hired vessel running an understandably relaxed regime, they would probably go undetected; and if both chose to leave when they entered home waters, he could even deny all knowledge of their existence. They were excellent swimmers, and Johnston was something of an expert at running away, having left at least three ships undetected to King's certain knowledge. But if King was to rejoin the Navy, it seemed clear that Khan intended to follow, and go wherever he went. He knew in his bones that Johnston was not one to be left behind, and it would be just a question of time before the man was recognised and found out. He must, inevitably be caught and was just as likely to meet the noose. If King accepted them on board, it was tantamount to handing Johnston over himself, and after all that they had been through he wondered if he could carry out such an action.

      
“You may have issues with the East India Company,” King prevaricated. “Johnston, you will have drawn two months pay on signing on; some of that time is still owed.”

      
Both men nodded, even though neither seemed exactly concerned.

      
“But this is a hired vessel, Tom,” Manning interrupted. “It might be argued that Johnston is still officially in their employ. When we finally make England, the time will have been all but used, so, as I see it, he will be a free agent once more, and can do pretty much what he pleases.”

      
King looked at him uncertainly.

      
“Were you in any doubt,” Manning continued. “You could always refer the matter to Mr Crowley.”

      
“Crowley?”

      
Yes, he has come across from the Company's employ with little trouble, and I am sure will be in full agreement.”

      
“Very well,” King said, blushing slightly and looking swiftly away. “That will do for now; you may return to the other men.”

      
The two seamen knuckled their foreheads respectfully enough and left the cabin.

      
“Thank you for that,” King said, once they were gone. “My first command, and you have me sheltering runners.”

      
Manning's expression was totally bland. “Not so; you heard me say, they are all still Company men. There is nothing with which you must concern yourself.”

      
“Remind me of that when we see Johnston, or whatever he'll be calling himself by then, making one last passage up to a foremast yardarm.”

      
“Look here, Tom, they are fully grown, and can make their own decisions. I've told you the crew we have; all experienced, but hardly in the first prime of fitness. Two more regular hands are a Godsend, and all seem ready to do what is needed to get this ship back to England. You really should not decline such providence.”

      
Of course, Manning was right, although King still could not ignore a measure of responsibility. “Very well,” he said finally. “We shall do what we can to make the best of them. Mr Barrow, you can assist Mr Manning in drawing up a watch list.”

      
Manning looked surprised. “Hold fast there, I know nothing of such things.”

      
“We must all be ready to do what is needed, Robert,” King told him brightly. “All I want from you is a medical assessment. Mr Barrow will take care of the rest. Divide the healthy men equally between the watches; you might consult with Mr Crowley as well. I have as much confidence in his instinct for human nature as his seamanship.”

      
“Aye, aye, sir.” The midshipman touched his hat.

      
“And see if any are gun crew amongst them,” King added as they were about to go. “I'd like at least half our pieces to be manned, should we have need.”

      
“Do you think that likely, sir?” Barrow's eyes held more than a spark of interest.

      
King snorted. “Mr Barrow, from my experiences in this ship so far, I would exclude nothing.”

* * *

      
His Majesty's hired ship
Espérance
was cutting along at an exhilarating pace with an easterly on her beam, and King had seldom been happier. Freed from the dead weight of
Pevensey Castle
and with the prospect of reclaiming his commission, the future suddenly looked far more positive. This change of heart was heightened by his little ship's performance; she was proving true to every promise. They had covered nearly four hundred miles since their departure. At that rate England should be raised in less than a week, and he could hand over the all important despatches with added pride from a fast passage.
 

      
The wind had remained strong throughout. A storm was clearly raging just over the horizon, but apart from giving them a good and steady speed, they were mercifully unaffected. Johnston, now rated as the second boatswain's mate, had taken it upon himself to exercise the men aloft, devising further evolutions on a daily basis for what he referred to as his 'poxed topmen'. But, social illnesses aside, the men were generally well versed in their craft and took Johnston's commands readily enough. By the third day everyone was working smoothly, and as a team; so much so that King wondered if it was actually responsibility that had been lacking in the man's life. Maybe an earlier promotion would have cured him of his pathological need to desert? There were certainly no signs of restlessness or discontent; in fact, he was exhibiting all the qualities of a fine warrant officer.
 

      
Barrow, the midshipman, had also revealed hidden talents, being quickly identified as a gunner at heart and given charge of the ship's main armament. Enough men were raised to man four of the long six pounders, which could now be served in quite a credible manner without the use of topmen, although the final act of heaving the heavy guns up the sloping deck was often a trifle slow, and apparently painful.

      
King was also harbouring plans to organise a small arms drill: three of the sick and injured were marines, one a sergeant. They seemed more than eager to pass on their skills, even though, at the speed she was travelling, it was likely that
Espérance
would be rounding Ushant and on the last leg before they got the chance.

      
Below, in a locked drawer, were the despatches entrusted to him. Though clearly of little actual importance to Jervis, their early delivery should gain him extra kudos when applying for a position again. He would start by petitioning the admiralty in person before writing to anyone who might hold sway, and calling on former captains and senior officers. All the avenues his juvenile reticence and lack of confidence had previously closed to him would be forced open and followed to exhaustion, until he found himself back on the deck of a warship. The spell in
Pevensey Castle
might not have been happy, but he had grown considerably because of it and now felt ready to take on the adult world with a more mature attitude.

      
The sound of a whistle cut through the air, and the men began to secure the guns once more.

      
“Very good, Mr Barrow,” King said. “You have made a sound start. If we draw on topmen we might even be able to offer something approaching a full broadside.”

      
The lad touched his hat, and King noticed that his forehead was running with sweat.

      
“Thank you, sir. It would be good to have a live practice at some time.”

      
“Sadly we are low on supplies, but these men are experienced enough, despite their injuries. I think we can rely on them to make a credible show.”
 

      
It was unfortunate that much of the French store of powder was in cartridges that had been allowed to grow damp. Some of these were now opened and their contents laid out to dry, but so far the sun was having little effect, and King was hesitant about supplementing it with heat from the galley stove. There was roughly seventy pounds of dry powder left in one keg, which he intended to have sewn into fresh cartridges, but that would only provide a total of thirty-five rounds for his main armament. It was possibly enough for the briefest of skirmishes, but none could be wasted on practice.

      
“Pipe up spirits, then send the seven bell men to dinner. The others may follow at the end of the watch.”

      
Barrow touched his hat again and hurried off. As soon as the rum was distributed, King decided he would go below and collect his quadrant. They were coming up to noon: time for the daily sighting. This was normally a hallowed ceremony in larger ships, although King, who was naturally taking all responsibility for navigation, allowed any who professed an interest to join him. Khan had been quick to take up the offer, and Johnston, encouraged by his friend’s interest, accompanied him. There was little of the navigator in the British seaman, however. His hands, made clumsy by years of hard labour, found the intricacies of delicate instruments hard to deal with and the mathematical calculations were quite beyond him. But Khan was of a different mettle, and showed innate ability. His mind followed the complex computation of figures and formulae so rapidly as to be almost intuitive. If Johnston was a potential boatswain, then Khan might have an equally rosy future as a sailing master. It was a satisfying thought and one that increased King's feeling of well-being still further. This was certainly turning into a golden cruise.

      
There was a murmur as Kate appeared on deck, accompanied by one of the blind hands supporting a small cask of spirit easily on one shoulder. She walked sedately towards the scuttlebutt with the man following, his left hand resting lightly on her shoulder. A wail of pipes followed, and the men were just beginning to form up for their noontime grog when a shout from the masthead cut through a dozen conversations.

      
“Sail ho, sail on the starboard bow!”

      
King's mind jumped back to reality. That was almost directly to windward, and the likelihood was it would prove to be a larger ship than his
.

      
“
What do you see there?” All happy thoughts dissolved as he called up to the lookout. A pause, and he had to resist the temptation to peer at the far horizon.

      
“Sizeable, sir. Masts are well spaced an' she's going some.”

      
“Colours?”

      
“No, sir, though the sails are white.”

      
King felt his heart begin to pound. “Heading?”

      
“To the sou'west, I'd say.”