Dead Reckoning (28 page)

“We have met but only for a few minutes and on a formal occasion. We talked, I recall, about food.”

“He is something of a gourmet, I believe.”

“Tell me then—and this is my last question—is there in Port Louis a place where a gourmet would care to dine?”

“There is one, Le Morne Brabant, which serves native dishes. The other places imitate France but with indifferent success.”

“Thank you again for your information and advice.”

The Viscount Neville did not respond too readily to Delancey's invitation, refusing for that day and finally accepting with some reluctance for the following day, the last on which Delancey would be there. Neville was too often a target for toadying brother officers, and preferred no doubt to choose his own company. He softened a little when told about the curried lobster and the Camaron River prawn but raised his eyebrows when he found that there were no other guests.

He was a tall handsome man with a thin nose, prominent blue eyes and an aristocratic manner. For a gourmet he was surprisingly slim. The room where they were to dine was clean but unpretentious and he looked about him with some distaste.

“I sail tomorrow,” Delancey explained, “and this is my last chance of a meal ashore. But I should greatly value your lordship's opinion on the bill of fare. I have made inquiries and have satisfied myself that the meat here is more or less uneatable, except for the venison, which is unfortunately out of season. So we must make the most of what they have, which is fish and fruit. I have ventured to order oysters sprinkled with lime and small clams as an alternative, a crab soup, curried lobster, which
is really crayfish, I think, with pomme d'amour palmiste salad and a sauce rouge made of river prawns and onion. There are no mangoes, papaws, or lychees just now but I am told that we can have Chinese guavas, custard apples, and bananas. The wine is imported, my lord, from France and they have a Chablis here which is said to be quite drinkable. I hope we shall not fare too badly. We shall be having the best, at least, of what the island has to offer.”

The dinner was not what Neville expected but he was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. He was dubious about the clams but gave a qualified approval to the crab soup. It was the crayfish which converted him and he became quite human, talking easily about a visit he had paid to Paris during the short period of peace which followed the Treaty of Amiens.

“Before the Revolution,” he explained, “the best cooks were all employed by the more prosperous nobles. As a result of the Revolution these same cooks were compelled, in effect, to set up in business for themselves. Their establishments provide the best cookery in the world.”

Delancey learnt a great deal about gastronomy before he could lead Neville into talking about Captain Railton. Once he began however, he was eloquent.

“Railton?” he said slowly. “I was his second lieutenant for ninety-eight days. I counted them, you know, and each day seemed to last a year—no, a decade. Then I had interest enough to ensure that I was posted to another ship. Poor Dyer then became second and a midshipman called Pringle was given an acting commission as third. Even now I sometimes have a nightmare, thinking that I am back in the
Falcon.
I wake in a cold sweat, fairly trembling, until I realize where I am. No, I have not forgotten Captain Railton . . .”

“Was he mad, do you think?”

“No; and that is the most extraordinary thing about him. He has his own queer sort of sanity. He is or was the most evil man I ever met.”

“Evil in the sense of being cruel?”

“Cruel he certainly is but evil in him goes beyond cruelty. He is hated by his crew but not merely for using the cat. In that respect his log might well prove him little worse than some captains who are relatively popular.” Neville looked at his wine glass for a minute, trying to crystallize his thoughts.

“Tell me, Delancey, what quality do seamen most appreciate in their captain?”

“Consistency.”

“Just so. They like to know where they are. If it is two dozen for being found drunk, they accept that. What they hate is uncertainty. They could be reconciled to a captain who is always in a bad temper on Monday morning or who hates men with red hair. What they cannot stand is someone who is kindness itself in the morning and a raging tyrant in the afternoon. Railton is a man whose moods are utterly unpredictable. I have heard other officers threaten to flog every man in the larboard watch. Rail-ton is the only captain I have known who could have done it.”

“What was the final straw, the incident which induced you to arrange a transfer?”

“It concerned a midshipman—no, he was not even that, a young gentleman volunteer—called John Vesey. He was aged about fourteen but looked younger, a mere child, son of some provincial attorney. He was not particularly bright but Railton made him something of a favourite. We all rather liked the boy and Dyer helped him with his navigation. Railton used to ask his officers to dine with him occasionally—he was not consistent
even in that—and I was present one day when young Vesey was another guest. There was no other youngster present and Vesey, I could see, was pitifully nervous. The purser did his best to encourage the boy but he was fairly trembling. When it fell to him to pass the decanter, he spilt some of the wine on the table-cloth and more of it on his trousers. He did not drop the decanter, mind you. There was nothing broken, not even a glass. Railton, however, glared at the child as if he had committed treason. “Mr Vesey,” he thundered, “you shall be flogged for that tomorrow!” Under any other captain this would have passed as an idle threat or a rather unpleasant joke. But Railton meant it—as we all knew—and meant it all the more because the boy was generally liked and had been treated kindly even by him. There was silence for a minute or two and then Railton asked me what I thought of the local sea fish—did I like the silver bream better than the “sacre chien,” did I believe that eating the cordonnier could give one a nightmare? I knew all about nightmares and hoped then that I was in the midst of one. After all, Vesey was the captain's guest. However, I replied somehow and conversation was resumed. When Dyer was speaking I stole a glance at the white-faced child at the foot of the table. He looked as if he were about to faint.”

“And was the boy flogged?”

“No, he went over the side during the morning watch. His death was logged as an accident.”

“You have painted for me a lifelike portrait of Captain Railton and I am most grateful.”

“I could tell you a great deal more about him, but you have probably heard enough. Why are you specially interested?”

“I am wondering whether the crew of the
Falcon
have
mutinied. One of her officers, the surgeon, is an old shipmate of mine.”

“Robertson? He is a good man. But as for mutiny, I have myself no doubt at all. The
Falcon
's crew were bound to mutiny and I could not myself understand why they had not mutinied already. I should incline to assume that Railton is dead. If he is not in hell I refuse to believe that such a place exists.”

T
HE
MINERVA
was three days out from Port Louis and Delancey had every reason to feel satisfied with his new command. He had tested her in all normal situations and knew now that she was the finest ship in which he had ever served. In the Royal Navy the 38-gun class of frigates enjoyed a special prestige. They were too big for convoy work, too valuable to be sent on casual errands, too powerful to waste on routine patrols. They might, on the other hand, serve with the fleet or take part in a raid, assist in a bombardment or even fly an Admiral's flag. Bertie, for example, used the
Africaine
as flagship even after the
Illustrious
had joined his squadron.

Delancey had never expected to command a frigate of this class, thinking that they were the preserve of the well-born and well-connected, of men with an “Hon.” before their name. But the
Minerva
was an exceptional frigate in her class, mounting 44 guns all told, twenty-eight 18-pounders, fourteen 32-pounder carronades on the quarter-deck, and two 9-pounders on the forecastle. Under the French flag she had been manned by a crew of 360, but she had now no more than 263, barely half of them British. She was much larger than other ships in her class, having more generous space for every purpose. The captain's quarters were spacious, the wardroom impressive, and there was more room for each mess-table and hammock. She was both well designed and well built, dry as a bone and
extremely easy to handle. Delancey had come to realize just how fortunate he was.

Delancey had his lieutenants to dine with him and made this the occasion to explain his mission. Over their wine he began by commenting upon the
Minerva:

“I think you will agree, gentlemen, that we have an exceptional frigate in perfect order.”

“Yes, sir,” said Northmore, “but what I can't understand is why the French ships are so much better than ours. And whenever we do build a good ship it is copied from one of theirs.”

“They owe a great deal, I fancy, to their Academie de Marine and to Duhamel du Monceau who founded their school of ship design. While they applied scientific theory, we left the work to builders who do what was done last time. The French are more intellectual then we are and their dockyards—unlike their fleet—were not wrecked by the Revolution. They are better at thinking, we are merely better at fighting.”

“So the ideal ship is what we have, sir,” said Northmore, “a French frigate with a British crew.”

“Half a crew,” replied Delancey, “and only half of it British.”

“And no more men to be had this side of the Cape.” added Topley.

“So we should be at a disadvantage, gentlemen, if we were to encounter a French frigate of the same class and recently out of her home port. We should do well if we fought her to a standstill. To take her would be virtually impossible.”

“But is such an engagement likely, sir?” asked Stock. “The French squadron in the Indian Ocean has ceased to exist.”

“Exactly, Mr Stock. So that any opponent we meet must have come directly from France, clean, well supplied, and fully manned.”

“But how can such a ship be maintained without a base?” asked Topley.

“She can't,” said Delancey. “But Napoleon could send her out before he realizes that his base has been lost. I mention this, gentlemen, as a possible situation. Our gun-drill needs to be more than good. It must be rapid and accurate beyond example . . . It is now my duty to acquaint you with our mission. The
Falcon is
overdue and possibly lost. She was last seen in the vicinity of the Seychelles. My orders are to locate her, if possible, and bring her back to Port Louis.”

There was a short silence, broken at length by Sevendale:

“I hope, sir, that I am not speaking out of turn. Do we not have reason to suspect that her crew may have mutinied?”

“There may well have been a mutiny. We must, however, say nothing of this to anyone.”

“But the men all know about it!” Stock protested. “It was quayside gossip at Port Louis.”

“The men do
not
know about it, Mr Stock, because there is little as yet to know. They may share our suspicions but we should not encourage their gossip.”

“Two of them served once under Captain Railton,” said Topley.

“I know that,” replied Delancey sharply, “Davies and Hewitt . . . but our concern is not with rumours but with facts. Of the facts we must grasp the first is that the Seychelle Islands number between eighty and ninety, spread over an area about sixty miles square. There is only one charted anchorage and that lies between St Anne and Mahé. There is only the one settlement and it is on Mahé, with a white population of about two hundred, mostly deported convicts, and twice as many slaves. Some local trader is resident or magistrate and the place now flies the British flag. The Europeans are French though, and have no special
loyalty to King George III. A ship in distress, putting into the Seychelles, would normally drop anchor off Mahé. If her crew preferred, for any reason, to avoid notice, they might take their vessel to one of the other islands and we should be left to ask which.”

“And what about supplies, sir?” asked Sevendale.

“The islands provide little beside coconuts, I believe, and sea fish.”

“So that a ship which resorted to one of the smaller islands like Praslin or Silhoutte might be driven to visit Mahé in the end?”

“Possibly, but we might by then have gone.”

“So we may have to search the whole group?” asked Topley.

“We may indeed. I suspect, however, that wherever the sloop may be, there will be people in Mahé who know where she is. Our orders are to find the
Falcon
and bring her to Port Louis. If there has been a mutiny, it is also our task to bring the mutineers to justice.”