‘Then take as many of your men from the guns as you think fit ? we can manage short-handed for a short burst. Let them be in the boats and out of sight when we are alongside the Frenchman, ready to pull round the moment I give the signal.’
Word with the gunner: appropriate guns to be drawn and reloaded with chain-shot or bar for the first round, to destroy the enemy’s boarding-netting. With the bosun: grapnels to make the Frenchman fast; prime hands in the tops to run out and lash his yardarms. With the master, on the course to steer, luffing up the second they were past the island that made the near corner of the bay. With Pullings, about leadsmen in the channels, so that they might keep as close inshore as possible, about the replacement of the Marines, a dozen other points. He was deeply pleased by the amount of intelligent anticipation he found: most of the things he called for were already on their way, most of the measures already in hand. He savoured this for a moment, watching the mole come nearer - its towers were a thousand yards away and the Frenchmen something farther - and waiting for the din of the top-chains being put to the yards to stop. There were many other things he would have liked to order, but with the Frenchmen landing their guns at this rate he must engage at once; and in any case the essential had been done. The yards were chained: the clashing stopped. ‘Worcesters,’ said Jack in as strong a croak as he could manage, ‘I am going to lay the ship alongside that French seventy-four. We do not fire a shot until I give the word: she must fire first. That’s the law. Then when I give the word we thump in four brisk broadsides and board her in the smoke. Those that have not boarded before will not go far wrong if they knock the nearest Frenchman on the head. But remember this: any man that fires before I give the word gets five hundred lashes.’
As an inspiriting harangue this did not perhaps rank very high, but Captain Aubrey was no orator and he had rarely done much better: in any case it seemed to satisfy the Worcester’s people and he left the deck to a murmured sound of approval: ‘Four rounds brisk, then board.’
He stepped below to the half-deck, where Killick was waiting with his second-best uniform coat and his fighting sword, a heavy cavalry sabre. Many seamen clubbed their pigtails in time of action, but Killick rolled his up into a tight ball: this, combined with a pursed look of disapproval, gave him more the air of an ill-looking shrew than ever. He hated seeing good clothes put at risk and as he helped Jack on with the coat he muttered something about ‘taking care of them epaulettes - cost the bleeding eyes out of your head.’ For his own part he had changed the duck trousers and blue jacket that he wore as Captain’s steward for a very squalid old shirt and petticoat breeches, which heightened the resemblance. Buckling on Jack’s sword he said ‘There is a fresh supply of wipes in both the pockets: which you could do with one now.”
‘Thankee, Killick,’ said Jack, blowing his nose. He had forgotten his cold until that moment, and he forgot it again when he returned to the quarterdeck. The enemy were now less than half a mile away, partly concealed by the island and the outward curve of the mole. The Worcester, under topsails, was making five knots; the launch and the cutters, full of Marines, were towing easily along on the larboard side, out of sight of the French; the Dryad and the Polyphemus lay exactly in their stations. No sound but the leadsman: ‘By the deep eleven. By the deep eleven. By the mark ten.’ In about three minutes they would pass the mouth of the Goletta, squaring main and mizen yards to reduce speed; and about two minutes after that the dust would begin to fly. It was a fairly hazardous stroke and much would depend on the Frenchmen’s estimate of the Polyphemus. She was a large transport, capable of carrying the best part of a regiment, and if they thought she was full of soldiers they would be less likely to withstand the first decisive shock with full, aggressive confidence. But hazardous or not, it was the only attack he could launch at this short notice: in any event the die was cast and fate must look after the event. At present his chief anxiety was that no zealous excited hand should touch off the first shot and put the Worcester legally in the wrong. He knew the importance of the Barbary States’ benevolent neutrality; he clearly remembered the words in his orders, “Scrupulous respect will be paid to the laws of neutrality”; and he looked keenly along the deck. There was a midshipman to every two guns - he had stripped his quarterdeck - and an officer to every seven; and all the gun-captains were experienced man-of-war’s men. Nothing could be safer.
He dismissed that anxiety: another instantly took its place. The ship was fast approaching the entrance to the Goletta; its two towers were fine on her starboard bow. And now, at this moment, from between them came a swarm of shrimp-boats, rushing out in some kind of a ceremony, to the sound of innumerable conchs. Presumably they expected the Worcester to turn right-handed into the channel, but whether or no they stood on, all sails set, right across her path, and Jack had only just time to back the foretopsail to avoid running down the nearest. His hoarse almost voiceless croak was not adequate to the occasion and he said to little Calamy, his only remaining aide-de-camp midshipman, ‘Jump forward - tell Mr Hollar to hail ‘em to bear up - we are standing on.’
From his station on the forecastle the bosun hailed them with enormous force, in what lingua franca he possessed, helped out by passionate gestures. They seemed to understand him, and turning to starboard they sailed along in a disorderly straggling heap, roughly in the same direction as the Worcester but slanting diagonally across her course, to gain the open sea while she proceeded along the mole.
The Worcester filled her foretopsail and surged on. Now the Goletta was astern with the Frenchmen’s inlet sweeping close, and Jack’s whole being was poised for the order that would carry the ship round the island and bring her grinding alongside the enemy - he and every seaman in the ship were so poised when part of the shrimping fleet suddenly steered inshore. For no conceivable reason they steered inshore and ran slowly past the island and along the mole. The island was at hand; the mainyard almost brushed it; the master said ‘Port your helm’ and here was the inlet with a score of brown lateen-sailed shrimpers and beyond them the French ship of the line, colours flying, all gunports open wide.
There was not the least possibility of grappling her without crushing the shrimpers. ‘Shall I squeeze ‘em, sir?’ asked the master from behind the wheel.
‘No,’ said Jack. ‘Haul your wind.’ In these few seconds an irretrievable space had passed by; the Worcester was already astern of the seventy-four and with this breeze no seamanship on earth could bring her back. ‘Make sail,’ said Jack, and followed by the Dryad and the Polyphemus the ship stood on, braced for the fire of the shore battery and the frigate, now abreast.
It did not come, and gathering speed they passed the second island, out of the French guns’ reach. The extreme tension relaxed.
There had been no wild shot from the Worcester nor from her consorts. But none from the Frenchmen either: it was true that the country craft had partly masked the battery and the frigate as well as the ship of the line, but even so Jack had seen the small-arms men in their tops -he had seen their muskets trained on him, the gleam of the barrels as they followed his movements - yet not a shot had they fired.
Although there could no longer be any element of surprise, and although the Polyphemus’s inoffensive character was now evident, and although the landing-party of Marines had been clearly seen, the three ships tacked once they had made a decent offing. The breeze, which had been so kind, was growing fainter and veering south of east, so that a repetition of their course would be difficult indeed. Not that there could be any exact repetition, reflected Jack as he watched the Frenchmen through his telescope. He saw intense activity over there, in striking contrast to what he remembered as their total immobility during their few moments of near contact. His memory might be mistaken - it often was in moments of extremely vivid life - and there might had been some movement apart from that wicked creep of musket-barrels, the part of close action that he liked the least, when officers were picked off like sitting birds; but at al
l events they were very busy now, warping the seventy-four so close to the island that her bowsprit overhung the rock and it weuld no longer be possible for the Dryad and the Polyphemus to board her over the bows. They were also hurrying still more guns ashore.
Not that the Worcester was idle, with her Marines coming aboard again and her seamen getting a cable out of the aftermost larboard port, so that she could anchor bow and stern and perhaps come to grips again. There was also the straightforward manoeuvring to bring the ship back to somewhere near her point of departure.
‘Sir,’ said Harris, ‘may I suggest landing my men on the landward side of the mole and approaching the battery from behind? It would be strange if the Frenchmen did not let fly, seeing us coming for them at the double with fixed bayonets.’
Jack did not answer for a moment. He stared at the crowds now hurrying along the mole to see the fun and in his mind’s eye he saw the Worcester’s Marines among them, moving in neat platoons. Could such a spectacle conceivably be reconciled with neutrality? He did not know Harris and although the man certainly had courage he also had a deeply stupid face: could he be trusted not to fire first or indeed not to charge anything in sight? Including perhaps the Bey’s troops, if they were to intervene. Then again any unforeseen delay on either side, anything but perfect synchronization, might expose the Marines to the fire of both ships’ remaining larboard guns. It was a spirited suggestion, but without luck, intelligent dash, and exact timing it must lead to endless complications.
‘A capital suggestion, Captain Harris,’ he said, ‘but this time I mean to shoot beyond her, dropping a stern-anchor to swing alongside with the breeze. There will be no room in the ship for the boarding.’
‘Haul off all,’ cried Pullings, and the mole with its Frenchmen vanished behind the foresail as the Worcester began her second run. More slowly now, as close-hauled as she could be, with the old quartermasters at the wheel staring up at the weather leeches of the sails, always on the edge of shivering. Jack blew his nose at some length and walked across to the starboard side. The Goletta mouth again, and as the ship passed the farther tower a man in a splendid turban made gestures towards him with a horsetail banner. What the gestures meant he could not tell, nor could he put his mind to it, for here was the outward curve, the island, the corner they must turn to fall upon the enemy. And here was a party of Frenchmen dragging a heavy carronade to command the line of approach: a moment later and they could have raked him with a hail of grape.
‘Steady, fore and aft,’ he said. Then ‘Stand by, the axes: stand by.’
‘Hard over,’ murmured the master in the silence.
‘Hard over it is, sir,’ said the helmsman and the Worcester came round into the Frenchmen’s bay.
She hung there, her backed maintopsail exactly balancing the others’ thrust, poised for the first gun and for the order that would carry her forward to cut away her anchors and so swing against the enemy’s side there in his sheltered nook.
The first gun never came, nor yet the order. This same impression of stillness and silence: the French ship’s side was higher than the Worcester’s and even by standing on a gun Jack could not see over the hammocks to her quarterdeck, which gave the strangest feeling of impersonality. All her ports were open, all her guns run out: her barricaded waist was lined with soldiers, their hats and muskets showing: thin wafts of smoke drifted from the lower ports, otherwise there was no movement at all, except in the tops, where the same musket-barrels pointed at him, gently varying their angle with the heave of the sea. After a few seconds it was clear to Jack that the French commander’s orders about firing first were as rigid and as strictly obeyed as his own.
The minutes dropped by. With great skill the master kept the Worcester in equilibrium until an odd gust drove her a trifle out and she began forging very slowly ahead. The men stationed by the hanging anchors raised their axes, waiting for the word: but Jack shook his head. ‘Fill the mainyard,’ he said in his hoarse voice. The Worcester surged forward, moving across the face of the battery, now much stronger, but as quiet and unmoving as the seventy-four, and past the equally silent frigate. Here at least he could look down into her and on her quarterdeck he saw her captain, a short, capable, grave-looking man standing there with his hands behind his back, looking up. Their eyes met, and at the same moment each moved his hat to the other.
Jack was perfectly convinced that the Frenchman in command was determined not to fire the first shot, but since there might be some fool among the thousand men moored against the mole he led his ships up and down again. Fools there may well have been, but none in charge of a gun or even a musket, and the French were not to be provoked.
‘May we not try just once more, sir, giving them a cheer as we go down?’ asked Pullings in his ear.
‘No, Tom: it will not do,’ said he. ‘If we stay here andther half hour, with the breeze veering like this, we shall never get out of this God-damned bay - windbound for weeks, mewed up with these miserable brutes.’ Turning from Pullings’ bitter distress, he raised his voice, addressing the master: ‘Mr Gill, pray lay her for Cape Mero, and then let us shape a course for Barka.’
He took a few turns up and down the quarterdeck in order not to evade the disappointed looks of the crews housing their guns, the sullen, disappointed atmosphere, the flat sense of anticlimax. The ship was profoundly dissatisfied with him: he was profoundly dissatisfied with himself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘And so, sir,’ said Jack, ‘I left them there and shaped a course for Barka, having first sent Dryad to inform you of their presence.’
‘I see,’ said Admiral Thornton, leaning back in his chair, putting on his spectacles, and inspecting him with a cold objectivity. ‘Then before we return to the subject of Medina, give me a brief account of what happened at Barka,’ he added after a disagreeable pause.
‘Well sir, I am afraid that Barka was not altogether satisfactory either. When we arrived Esmin Pasha was being besieged by his son Muley and he asked us for guns as well as the presents. These I felt obliged to refuse until I could obtain your consent, but after consultation with Mr Consul Hamilton I sent my carpenter, gunner, and a dozen hands ashore to remount the cannon he possessed: most of their carriages were so decayed that they could not be attempted to be fired. But, however, his defences had hardly been put in a tolerable posture before a squadron came in from Constantinople bringing a new Pasha and an order for Esmin’s recall. He did not see fit to obey it, and left by night with most of the presents and the guns to join his son, with the intention of besieging the new Pasha once the squadron had sailed. In the mean time the new man sent to say that it was customary to congratulate every newly-installed ruler of Barka with music, fireworks and gifts. The music and the fireworks I could manage,’ said Jack with a nervous artificial smile. The nervous artificial smile met with no response whatsoever from the Admiral or his secretary, between whom it was divided: the expression of the first showed no change; the second looked down at his papers. Admiral Harte had no share in the smirk: nevertheless he saw fit to give a disapproving sniff.
It was a curious sight, the massive Jack Aubrey, a powerful fellow in the prime of life, long accustomed to authority, sitting there with an anxious, deferential expression, poised on the edge of his chair before a small, sick, bloated, old man he could have crushed with one hand. The service had enormous faults: its dockyards were corrupt and often incompetent, the recruitment of the lower deck was a national disgrace and that of the officers an utterly haphazard affair, while their promotion and employment often depended on influence and favouritism: yet still the Navy managed to throw up admirals who could make men like Jack Aubrey tremble. St Vincent, Keith, Duncan; and Admiral Thornton was one of their kind, or even more so. Now, after another pause, he said, ‘You have seen Captain Babbington since your return to the fleet?’
‘Yes, sir.’ He had indeed - William Babbington pulling out in a double-banked cutter the moment the Worcester was in sight, pu
lling out over a sea so rough it was a wonder a boat could swim.
‘Then you are no doubt aware that I have it in contemplation to call you both to a court-martial for disobedience of orders.’
‘So Babbington gave me to understand, sir; and I told him at once that although I was extremely concerned at having displeased you, I flattered myself I could show that I had carried out my orders as I understood them to the best of my ability. And may I add, sir, that Captain Babbington acted under my direction at all times: if there was any fault in that direction, the responsibility is entirely mine.’
‘Did you direct him to return from Medina without delivering the consul’s dispatches?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes, I did. I particularly impressed upon him the necessity for respecting Medina’s neutrality, and this he could not have done had he entered into conflict with the French. I wholly approved his return: had he entered the Goletta he must have been captured.”
‘You wholly approved his defeating a carefully planned stratagem? Are you not aware, sir, that the Dryad or at least some similar vessel was intended to be captured? And that within five minutes of receiving news of her capture and of the Frenchmen’s violation of neutrality I should have detached a squadron to depose the Bey and put in a friend of ours, at the same time clearing every French ship out of all the ports in his country? Had you no notion of this?’
‘None whatsoever, sir, upon my honour.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Harte. ‘I made it perfectly plain.’ ‘No, sir, you did not,’ said Jack. ‘You spoke in a general way about this being an important service requiring particular discretion, which puzzled me, since the carrying of presents and consular dispatches did not strike me as a task calling for exceptional abilities. You also dwelt upon the necessity of respecting the Barbary States’ neutrality. When I referred to my written orders I found nothing whatsoever, not the slightest hint that they were to be understood in a special sense - that I was to send a ship under my command into a trap and oblige her to be captured, perhaps with heavy loss. And I do not wonder at it, sir,’ said Jack, his choler rising at the idea of Babbington hauling down his colours at last under overwhelming fire, ‘I do not wonder that you did not give me a plain direct order to send my friend in under such circumstances. On the other hand, my written orders did insist upon the respect due to neutrality, as did your verbal instructions; it was natural therefore to conclude that that was where the need for discretion lay. And I may say, sir,’ he said looking Admiral Thornton in the eye, ‘that I respected that neutrality to the very limit of human endurance.’