The Scent of Corruption (The Fighting Sail Series Book 7) (34 page)

King noticed him and walked slowly over with the air of one who had been on his feet a good while, and expected to remain so for some time longer.

“Fancied a breath of fresh air did you, Thomas?” Caulfield asked as the younger man approached.

“Thought I'd leave Carlton in charge of the deck and take a peep at the enemy,” King replied. “There's nothing to be seen from below; the French are so set on our prow that even the for'ard ports don't cover them.”

“Then look your fill,” the first lieutenant told him, adding, “but make it your last.”

King glanced sidelong at him as they moved to the fife rail at the break of the quarterdeck.

“Sun'll be setting in no time,” Caulfield explained. “It'll be pitch black within the hour.”

Prometheus
was now sailing in line abreast with
Canopus
to starboard while
Aries
sat well off their larboard bow. The French were in clear sight but still a good four miles ahead of the battleships.

“And we're still heading west?” King asked. It was a foolish question: the lowering sun was quite obvious and almost in their faces, but he craved conversation almost as much as the first lieutenant.

“Indeed, they seem set on shaking us off, though we shall surely catch them eventually.” Caulfield stated confidently.

“And you don't think they might double back, in the darkness?” his friend whispered.

“Oh, I think it very likely,” the first lieutenant replied. “Doubtless Sir Richard has considered the possibility as well, and shall take measures to see they do not.”

“But what can he do?” King persisted, and Caulfield sighed.

“In truth, very little. Oh, he may set us further apart, and make certain all keep a sound lookout,” he continued vaguely. “Send
Aries
in as close as she can lie, without risk of trying their mettle; other than that, not a great deal. There is no moon at present and we cannot set a line between us,” he tried to force a laugh; the conversation was becoming far too serious and he was mildly disappointed: usually Thomas could be counted on for a measure of banter. “But why do you ask?”

“It was one of the men,” King replied guardedly. “He mentioned the possibility.”

“One of the men?” Caulfield reacted in astonishment. As first lieutenant he rarely spoke with the people on matters of strategy and was almost shocked that King should think of doing so. “You mean a hand?”

“Yes,” King admitted. “Ross.”

Caulfield nodded. Ross, yes, that perhaps made a little more sense. “You have mentioned him before,” he said. “Commended him, as I recall, for his part in retaking the ship. And was it not you who brought the man to us originally?”

“I did, though that were pure chance,” King replied. “But there is something I suppose you should know.” His tone was still restrained; not like the spirited young man Caulfield knew at all, and he waited for him to continue with a feeling of trepidation.

“Ross was an officer.”

“Indeed?” That was probably the last thing Caulfield had expected his friend to say.

“A lieutenant,” King elaborated. “First of the brig,
Wakeful.
He was broken at court martial.”

“I read of it for sure – Antigua, was it not?” Caulfield muttered as the memories came back. “A sad case, and one that painted few in a good light. I thought at the time their premier seemed to have paid the penalty, but didn't expect to find myself shipping with him. And an ordinary hand, you say?” He sighed softly before adding, “how are the people taking it?”

“They do not know. No one does – and they must not,” King said, suddenly guilty. “I gave my word...”

Caulfield looked at him in further surprise. “If you gave your word, Tom, why ever do you speak of it now?” he asked. The two were friends without a doubt, but that did not excuse either of them from the normal constraints of gentlemanly conduct. Why, King was behaving as badly as that fellow Carroll.

“I – I am uncertain,” King admitted and the first lieutenant was forced to concede that he did seem remarkably at a loss. “I suppose it must be all this talk of the French...”

There was silence as both men considered what had been said. As far as Caulfield was concerned, the shock of discovering one of their regular hands to have been a fellow officer was nothing compared to King's apparent disregard of a personal confidence. But then he also knew the young lieutenant well, and trusted him far more than most; if King had broken his word it could only have been done for the greater good. Vague memories of a recent conversation with Carroll hovered at the edges of his mind but he instantly dismissed them. This was a completely different situation: the two did not compare in any way.

“Never fear, I shall say nothing,” Caulfield told him eventually. “If Ross were concerned about the enemy we can only assume he has our welfare very much in mind. But such a man may have caused any amount of mischief amongst the people. Were you prompted to tell me at all, I would have preferred it to have been earlier.”

“It was not my secret,” King explained, and received a brief nod of understanding in reply.

“But be assured, we had already considered the chance the French may double back,” Caulfield continued. “That, or make a move to the north-east: either is a possibility. I cannot say it will not happen, or that, if it does, we will necessarily be aware. But in any event, we do not need the advice of a broken officer, sound though his intentions may have been.”

“He wasn't attempting to advise,” King said hurriedly. “And does not know I am even speaking with you. In truth, there never was a more loyal hand; I doubt that I would stay so in his position.”

“No indeed, I see that,” Caulfield allowed. “And a first officer, you say? It shows we can never foretell what may occur.”

“And probably better so,” King agreed.

––––––––

T
he French made their move just after two bells in the middle watch although
Prometheus
' bell had not actually been struck since dusk. The night was at its darkest, those officially below were behaving like true seamen and taking the opportunity to drift into a deep and dreamless sleep, when all became suddenly awake. The fact that they had spotted the enemy's change of course was in no way down to Ross and his predictions; the manoeuvre was actually signalled by
Aries
, who had already dodged the wrath of two further broadsides in her effort to keep in touch with the French squadron. When she was finally certain of the new heading, the frigate sent up a rocket that shone painfully bright, before being engulfed by the absolute black of night.

“Summon the watch below,” Banks growled. The cry was immediately taken up, and the deck became alive with men turning up from their various sleeping places. “Master: a course for Cádiz, if you please.”

“All hands – all hands wear ship!” Cartwright called out in oddly restrained tones.

“Steer nor'-east by east,” Brehaut told the quartermaster then, to his captain: “That will bring us to windward of the port, sir.”

“Very good,” Banks agreed. It was a wise move and Brehaut had done well to consider it. Arriving with the port on their lee gave them an advantage should no British forces be on station. And it also kept them the right side of the French during any pursuit. “Make to
Canopus
and
Aries
to follow
.
”

The deck was briefly lit by the glow of four blue lights; the night signal for a starboard turn.
Canopus
might be the larger ship and John Conn's command of her no doubt indicated his position as one of Nelson's favourites. But Banks was senior on the captains' list, and would take charge of any action that might ensue.

Those on the quarterdeck could hear the rumble of feet on the hollow deck as the afterguard rose up to their duty, but few faces could be made out in the poor light. Then, with the squeal of blocks and a good few groans from her hull,
Prometheus
began to be eased through the wind.

The manoeuvre was completed with the minimum of fuss and soon the ship settled on her new heading, although the night remained so dark that little could be seen in any direction: even the masthead lookout was invisible to those on deck.

“Well, we can only hope to be following, and trust
Canopus
and
Aries
are doing likewise,” Banks said to the officers who had instinctively clustered about the dim glow of the binnacle lamp. “But send all to quarters; if we run across a Frenchman there will be small enough warning.”

Caulfield hissed to a midshipman, who made off into the gloom to pass on the order. “I think most will be awake by now,” he said, after the lad had departed. “Indeed, they will be eager for a fight.”

Banks supposed he was right. Even after so great a delay, the men would be more than ready to see their guns put to use, although he was also aware that the ship could not remain at action stations indefinitely. Once summoned to their pieces, even the strongest nerves would be stretched. Exhaustion would soon set in, and every man's fighting ability was bound to deteriorate. And if, as he suspected, the French were intending to avoid action and simply make a run for Spain, their current game of blind man's bluff could last a good few hours yet.

But it was not to be. Within minutes, those on the quarterdeck were alerted by the sound of one of the masthead lookouts slipping down the main topgallant backstay, and all waited in expectant silence as the man made his way to the command group on the quarterdeck.

“Liner to leeward,” he announced excitedly, and Caulfield remembered him as being pressed from the homebound transport before they left Tor Bay. “Just off our larboard bow,” Butler added excitedly. “But they've made sail, and we're losing 'er.”

“Are you certain?” the first lieutenant questioned.

“Both me an' Jameson saw 'er, sir,” the lookout confirmed.

“Very well, return to your post,” Caulfield told him, before turning back to the group where Brehaut was in deep conversation with the captain.
Prometheus
was riding with the wind on her beam under staysails, topsails and forecourse, but the breeze was proving fickle in both strength and direction. To constantly set and strike canvas would only cause confusion, yet the night would remain dark for several more hours, and if they did nothing the French might steal a lead that could see them safely to Cádiz. It was not a decision the first lieutenant would wish to make.

“Set t'gallants,” Banks voice rolled out strong in the hushed atmosphere, and there was a flurry of movement. Caulfield watched Brehaut mark out the order on the traverse board as the topmen began scaling the starboard shrouds. The extra sails would make
Prometheus
more visible, and could even endanger her masts, if there were any repetition of the gusts experienced during the first watch. But the captain was evidently content to risk that in return for the increase in speed more canvas would bring. It was a brave move, and one that might see them separated from
Canopus,
a ship that had already proven herself to be a slow sailer.

Banks looked to Caulfield. “Reckon we're in for a bit of a chase, Michael,” he told him, as if the previous hours had not existed.

“Do you think they will make safety, sir?” the first lieutenant asked. It was probably not the most professional of questions, but the captain's sudden bouts of loquaciousness always caught him off guard.

“No, I think we shall see action afore then,” Banks replied, and Caulfield could see the gleam of his smile in the green binnacle light. “At least, I hope so.”

* * *

“E
nemy is expected to larboard,” King repeated for the fifth time as he strode down the length of the lower gun deck. With ports closed but battle lanterns alight and open, what was usually one of the darker areas in the ship was unusually well lit, and the men who stolidly moved across from their positions at the starboard guns could see each other remarkably well.

“Do we have a range, sir?” Flint asked as the lieutenant passed.

“Range, Flint?” King snorted. “We can't even be sure they're there – it's as black as Newgate's knocker outside. But be ready, all of you,” he continued in a louder voice. “We're liable to run them down with little notice.”

The men, though tired, revived at his words, and began checking their particular pieces of equipment. Then an excited squeal took everyone's attention, and one of the younger volunteers could be seen scampering down the companionway and over to Carlton, who was second in command of the main battery.

“Captain orders the guns run out to larboard,” he panted.

“Is the enemy sighted?” King shouted across the crowded space.

“I don't believe so, sir,” the lad replied doubtfully.

“Very well,” King glanced back along the deck. “We'll have all lanterns closed, then open ports and run out your pieces,” he said, and the order was quickly passed down the line. The various pin-points of light were quickly shuttered until only the faintest of cracks could be seen, but a glow came from the two companionways that led down to the orlop, directly beneath them.

It was where Manning had his medical team waiting in readiness. And there would be at least four lanthorns burning over the operating area. To larboard, the heavy ports were being heaved up amid a cloud of oakum dust, allowing a cold breeze to banish the close, moist atmosphere all had become accustomed to. And, as the solid black muzzles of the battleship's main armament were run out to stare at the empty night, King wondered if the orlop lights might be visible to an enemy. He supposed he could send a message to Manning, or maybe even nip down himself; he had not seen his old friend for ages and Carlton was quite capable of looking after the deck for thirty seconds. He could simply check all was in order, and possibly ask the surgeon to mask a couple of lamps.

And Judy would be there: she had responded well to the second chance Banks granted. This was ostensibly for the tireless work put in with the wounded, although King suspected her action in all but fatally poisoning that blackguard Carroll might have been an unmentioned factor in the captain's decision. But, whatever the reason, she was back to her previous duties and it was always good to see a pretty face.