Dead Reckoning (30 page)

“She will shift in the first gale and go down in deeper water.”

“I agree,” said Flacourt, “and I have told the men to land everything of value. They are unwilling to do that and some of them think that the ship can be saved.”

“Rubbish,” replied Delancey, “she is a total loss. May I ask, monsieur, whether you speak or understand English?”

“No, Captain, I do not.”

“Well, then, I propose to address the corvette's crew in English, a language I speak fairly well. How many of them are there?”

“Eighty-nine, I believe.”

“Any officers?”

“Only the surgeon. The boatswain has taken command.”

“I see.”

They were met at the entry port by the carpenter, Mr Calvert, who sent to inform the boatswain when told that a French officer had come aboard. The boatswain turned out to be an old grey-haired seaman called Hodges with a worried expression, possibly the worse for drink. At Flacourt's suggestion, translated by Delancey, he ordered the crew on deck. From the quarterdeck Delancey made his speech:

“Mr Hodges has given me permission to tell you what your position is. Your captain and officers are presumably dead and all you who are left are likely to face a charge of mutiny; a charge for which the penalty is death. Your ship is badly damaged and will sink during the next gale; which is to be expected during the next few days. Once ashore on the Seychelles, having escaped drowning, you must not expect to be welcomed by the inhabitants, who do not have enough food for you. They may leave you to starve or they may hand you over to the next visiting British man-of-war. As I see your present situation, those who do not drown will starve and those who do not starve will hang. Any questions?”

“Who are you, sir?” asked the carpenter.

“I command the frigate
Minerve,
flying the French tricolour and now at anchor off Mahé.”

“You speak English, sir, like a native.”

“Thank you, Mr Calvert. I have been in England as a prisoner-of-war on parole.”

“Cannot you remove us, sir, as prisoners-of-war?”

“Where could you go? The British have captured Bourbon and Mauritius. They will be here, no doubt, in a matter of weeks. I cannot supply my frigate for a voyage to France with nearly a hundred extra hands. What you ask is impossible.”

“What then, sir, are we to do?” It was the old boatswain who asked the question, looking the picture of misery.

“What are you to do, you ask? How are you to save your lives? There is a way. There is only one way. You can put yourselves under my command and do exactly what I tell you. You must obey me, you understand, without question. But please realize, at the outset, that your lives mean nothing to me. I don't care whether you die or how. I leave the choice to you. You can either accept my orders or stay here and rot. Please yourselves! Mr Hodges, I give the men ten minutes in which to decide. Mr Calvert, I want you to show me where the ship is holed.”

Ten minutes later Mr Hodges, speaking for the remainder, put himself and them under Delancey's orders.

“Very well, then,” said Delancey, “I want the surgeon to report to me.” A middle-aged man with a squint came forward and introduced himself.

“I am David Robertson, surgeon of this ship.”

“Good. Now, I must know exactly when and how the mutiny took place. Can you tell me the whole story? Or do I need another witness?”

“I think, sir, you should hear what Ned Potter has to say. He was Captain Railton's steward.”

“Right. Will you take Potter to the captain's cabin? Now, Mr Hodges, I want all hands employed on emptying the ship. The sailmaker is to take all sails ashore and rig tents for the crew and for storage. The armourer is to take all weapons ashore and
store them under cover with a sentry to guard them. Move everything ashore, Mr Hodges! Make the men work as they have never worked before!”

In the captain's cabin Delancey found Robertson and Potter waiting for him. He sat at the table and told them both to sit down facing him.

“Now, Mr Robertson, I want to know what happened. You needn't tell me why—I know something about Captain Railton. You were on passage from Bombay to Mauritius. Where were you when the mutiny took place?”

“Opposite the Maldives, sir, and about to pass through the One-and-a-half-degree Channel.”

“What was the immediate cause of the mutiny?”

“Railton had sworn to flog the last man down from aloft. In his hurry to get down, a topman missed his footing, fell to the deck, and was killed. The captain ordered the men to throw the body overboard.”

“Without proper burial?”

“Yes, sir. The men mutinied that night.”

“And Railton was killed? Who else?”

“No one else but the officers were placed under arrest in their cabins. I was the exception, having to look after the sick. Hodges took command, with Calvert as first lieutenant.”

“And then?”

“Two days later the officers tried to recapture the ship. In the attempt both lieutenants were killed and both midshipmen. Three seamen were wounded.”

“So Hodges decided to make for the Seychelles?”

“Yes, sir—on my advice.”

“But his navigation was not quite equal to it. Now, tell me
this: are any of the men here guilty, in your opinion, of deliberate murder?”

“No, sir. Railton had driven them to a point of desperation but the men who killed him were no worse than the others. It was his life or theirs and what else could they have done? They had no grudge against the officers but they had to defend themselves. The officers were all given proper burial, by the way. The seamen lay great stress on it.”

“Yes, I know. Now, Potter, you have heard what Mr Robertson has told me. What can you add?”

“Well, sir, I was close to Captain Railton, being his steward; his valet as you might say. I watched him go mad, sir, and could tell that he was getting worse. He was quite a pleasant gentleman, I've been told, sir, when he was a lieutenant. Being a captain was too much for him, sir. When young Binney was killed I heard him say “Throw that lubber overboard,” and his messmates had to do it. He was raving mad, was the captain, and didn't rightly know what he was doing or saying.”

“Thank you, Potter. Now, Mr Robertson, I want to ask you this: Would you join me in a plan which will save the lives of your shipmates? It means running a serious risk and making some statements which will not be entirely true, but it is the only way to save lives. What about you, Potter? As steward you are used to holding your tongue. Will you join me in this plan?”

“Yes, sir,” said Potter, and Robertson expressed more decided agreement.

“If we can avert further tragedy, we must do it, sir. I'm with you, come what may. What have we to do?”

“Listen. It is my guess that we are in for a gale of wind within the next few days. During that storm I think that this ship will
lift from where she is and sink in deeper water. I propose to convince myself that she was at sea until then and was wrecked on that day. There will be only two survivors: you, Mr Robertson and you, Potter. You will report to me that the ship has sunk and I shall believe you. During the same gale but on Mahé Island itself an American ship will be wrecked at Beau Vallon and will become a total loss. In that instance the whole crew will come safely ashore and will come to me for help. I shall enter them on board my frigate.”

“What, in a French man-of-war?”

“No, I should have explained before that I am a Captain in the Royal Navy. My frigate flies the French flag but is actually British.”

“But won't the islanders spoil your plan by telling the true story?”

“Not if they want to keep all the contents of the
Falcon.
If all those naval stores, guns and sails and spars, were salvaged from an American ship in the China trade, everything can be kept by Monsieur Flacourt and his friends. If everything came from a British sloop, the Royal Navy will want to claim it. My guess is that they will support our story.”

“God, sir, we shall be grateful to you!” said Robertson.

“Keep your gratitude until later. You'll find that I shall demand a great deal in return. More immediately, explain to the men what I intend. Tell them what their story is to be. Rehearse it with them in the greatest detail. What was that American ship's name, from what port, of what tonnage? What was her captain's name? What was she doing here? They will have to tell me their story and I shall believe it. But it needs to be credible and they must all tell the same story, even to the crew of the
Minerva.
”

“But, surely, sir,” objected Robertson, “they will be recognized
by your men, having met them while in harbour?”

“A few will be recognized. Their story must be that they deserted the
Falcon
and were in the American ship when she was wrecked.”

“You will run a dreadful risk, sir, if the truth should ever become known.”

“I am all too aware of that. My defence must be that I was credulous, too easily deceived. That I made up the story myself will be known only to you and Potter. I have to trust you. My career depends upon your being completely reliable. Listen now, I am going back to my ship. I shall not see you again until after the shipwreck. In the meanwhile you have two urgent tasks. First, strip this ship of everything which is of any value and put all the stuff on shore, as safe as you can make it from the effects of a possible gale. Then use the ship's boats to take the entire crew to some point on the west side of Mahé—Flacourt will show you where—and fix on the exact spot for your shipwreck. Alter the ship's name on each boat and then send one of them to me with news of the disaster. Afterwards and quite separately, you and Potter report to me that the
Falcon
went down with all other hands. Is that clear? Flacourt will know the whole truth, by the way, and the
Falcon
's boats are finally to be given to him.”

Back on board the
Minerva,
Delancey wondered whether he had made the mistake that would wreck his career. Almost foolproof in theory, his plan depended too much on seamen being able to hold their tongues. From a humanitarian point of view, he was doing his best for the
Falcon
's crew but were his motives humane? He knew that they were not. What he wanted was a fully manned frigate which might gain him an eleventh-hour victory over some frigate which might yet arrive from France. He now had the chance to recruit eighty-nine men. Adding these to
the men he had would give him three hundred and fifty-two, almost a full complement by French standards and something in excess of a 38-gun frigate's establishment. He would have the best-manned frigate on the station, fit to blow any opponent out of the water. Nor were these men from the
Falcon
such bad material. He had looked them over and could see that they were potentially good men and grateful at the moment for their reprieve. Given a few weeks of intensive gun-drill he would have exceptionally strong crew in an exceptionally fine ship. The temptation was too much for him. Accepting the risk, his career would be at stake for weeks and indeed months to come. After that the risk would diminish. There would be gossip along many a waterfront but who took any notice of what poor seamen may say? Once his crew was paid off it would be difficult to substantiate even the most persistent rumour. His decision had been made long since, really before he left Mauritius. Having found the
Falcon
's men he meant to keep them.

The gale, when it came to the Seychelles, was the outer fringe of a hurricane which passed far to the south, missing Mauritius as well. The wind was fitful at first, with occasional gusts which died away to nothing. Seabirds made a plaintive cry, big waves crashed on to the shoreline, and there was a general sense of impending drama. When the wind rose to gale-force it blew at first from the south, veered slowly to the west, and finally to the north-east before dying away. The
Minerva
was never in real danger, being sheltered by the islands and snugged down in advance, but the wind rose to a high scream of violence, drowning the distant noise of thunder. The storm reached its peak at night and Delancey, on the forecastle, watched by the illumination of the lightning flashes to see how the cables were taking the strain. There was no sign of chafing and he turned away, wondering
about the fate of the
Falcon,
the position of which was far more exposed. If the
Minerva
pitched and rolled, her cordage groaning, the
Falcon
could not last for long. He hoped that all the men had gone ashore before the wind began to rise. His guess was that she would lift over the reef and capsize nearer the shore. If the wind blew from another quarter she might drift further out before she sank. In either event there would be nothing left for anyone to see, which was just as well.

By next morning there was no more than a northerly stiff breeze, which died away towards evening. In this more favourable weather Flacourt's boat, rowed by his black slaves, put off from the shore with two passengers. One was Mr Robertson, the other was Ned Potter. Flacourt solemnly presented them as strangers and Delancey had clearly never seen them before. He met them officially, and very publicly, on the frigate's quarterdeck and listened to Mr Robertson's report.

“So the
Falcon
is a total loss and you are the only two survivors. Are you sure of that, Mr Robertson?”

“Yes, sir. She was wrecked in the gale and went down in deep water. I was fortunate in clinging to a cask and Potter here clutched at a hen-coop. We reached Mamelle Island in the dark, searched the shore this morning, and can assure you that there was nobody there. I am sorry to say that all the others must have perished, Captain Railton among them.”

After making a more detailed report, Robertson was signed on as supernumerary assistant surgeon, Potter as assistant captain's steward. On the following day there came news of another disaster resulting from the same gale. Hudelet sent word that an American merchantman called the
Active,
out of Salem, had been wrecked on the west coast of Mahé, all the crew being saved. He asked whether Delancey could offer the men a passage to
Mauritius, for there was no way of maintaining so many men in as poor a colony as the Seychelles. Delancey made no rash promises but he suggested that the castaways should be brought to the landing place the next day. He would talk to them and see what could be done. At the appointed hour Delancey went on shore, this time in uniform and attended by Topley, Sevendale, Ledingham, and Lewis. As he left the ship the French ensign was hauled down and replaced by the British. At much the same time the British replaced the French flag on land. When he stepped ashore he was greeted by Messieurs Hudelet and Flacourt, the former a little reproachful about the original deception. “You need not have distrusted us, Captain. As soon as we heard of the capture of Mauritius we decided to become a British colony. We are on your side and look to you for protection.” Delancey accepted this addition to the Empire, perhaps a little absentmindedly, and went towards the flagstaff at which the castaway mariners were assembled; all, as it happened, in their best clothes. He had obviously seen none of them before.