The Flag of Freedom (23 page)

T
he
Swallow
slipped out of Gibraltar a little before dawn on a murky morning in early April, with every scrap of sail she could carry to make the most of a grudging offshore breeze. She was a fine sailor with a decent crew. She had shown the
Unicorn
a clean pair of heels in the
tramontana
while sailing down to Naples, and the
Unicorn
was no slouch. Nathan could only hope she would see off the Spanish gunboats in the same brisk fashion if they poked their noses out of Algeciras, for the American flag would not save her after the length of time she had spent under the guns of Gibraltar; it would be taken as a
ruse de guerre
, and a poor one at that.

He stood at the quarterdeck rail, feet squarely planted, hands clasped behind him, mouth turned down and his hat pulled low over his frowning brow, the very image of
the perfect hang 'em and flog 'em martinet. There was always a chance it might convince them: they were a new crew, they did not know him yet, nor he them.

He was not in the best of moods. They had made a hash of raising the anchor, and it was only Tully's fierce and persistent reproaches that had prevented them from running upon the guard ship at the end of the mole. He thanked God they were not flying the blue ensign and under the Admiral's orders, or he'd have been for the high jump himself. He had caught a jeering verse of ‘Yankee Doodle' as they passed the guard ship, and someone on the forecastle had thrown them a biscuit. Which was a little unfair, for there could not have been more than a dozen Americans aboard the ship, for all their Stars and Stripes. The rest were Russian, Portuguese, Genoese and diverse subjects of King George – a term which, as anyone in the Navy knew, covered a multitude of sins.

The original ship's complement – the men who had sailed down from Portugal with Tully – had been increased in quantity, if not in quality, by a trawl of the Governor's prison and the bars along the Gibraltar waterfront; and the Admiral had sent them a draft of ‘volunteers' from the fleet – which seemed to consist of every troublemaker and awkward cuss the fleet wished to be rid of. This had brought their number up to a little below 100, but they were of very mixed ability. Perhaps above half of them could be classed as seamen, in that they could hand, reef and steer. The rest were the usual flotsam swept out to sea on a tide of misfortune and misdemeanour. Nothing unusual about that – the King's Navy could scarcely have mustered a squadron without them – but on a King's ship
their propensity for mischief was for the most part subdued by the Articles of War, the rope, the lash and a contingent of Marines. The
Swallow
, lacking any of these conveniences, was afflicted with a general spirit of rebellion.

Nathan had never known such an assemblage of sea lawyers, each with an egotistical notion of his own importance and eager to argue his own case, often in an impenetrable tongue. The rest, either through lack of vocabulary or wit, had perfected their own form of protest which Nathan and Tully characterised as ‘dumb insolence'. This was the most difficult to check, for with men who had only the smallest grasp of English, it was hard to know if they genuinely did not understand an order or were wilfully resolved to defy it. Both officers were inclined to suspect the latter, but as yet they had come up with no coherent plan to deal with it. It was not easy to impose their authority on such a mixed bunch, each with his own complicated loyalties.

The Americans were Imlay's men. They had previously formed the crew of the
Pride of New Orleans
, an armed brig taken off Ushant by one of the King's cruisers on suspicion of running the British blockade. Imlay had told Nathan the story with frank enjoyment, for he was an old blockade-runner himself. Her papers – and a cursory inspection – had showed her to be carrying a cargo of rice, but on further enquiry this was found to contain a quantity of saltpetre, more familiar to the makers of gunpowder than of puddings. With ship and cargo rightly condemned as contraband, her crew had been kicking their heels in Plymouth when Imlay had snapped them up at the start of his voyage to Gibraltar. He could probably be taken at his
word for once, for they were indeed prime seamen. The problem was, they had a great disinclination to take orders from anyone wearing the King's uniform. A good boatswain could probably have knocked them into shape, with the support of his mates and a few lengths of rope's end. Lacking such a creature, Nathan did the next best thing and appointed the biggest and toughest of them as boatswain and permitted him to pick his own mates. He was aware that this could lead to the worst kind of tyranny on the lower deck, but it was the best he could do in the circumstances.

The Russians were a law unto themselves. They had the look of good seamen and certainly knew what they were about, but they had their own particular way of going about it, and appeared impervious to correction or criticism. Of course, they neither spoke nor understood more than a few words of English, or at least maintained that pretence, and a pretty effective pretence it was. Tully put them to working and messing together under the instruction of their own petty officer who answered directly to Lieutenant Belli.

Then there were the Genoese. They had been with the
Jean-Bart
when she was under French command and had readily agreed to continue serving under the British flag when Nathan took her off Corfu. Somehow Tully had managed to keep them from being poached by other ships during the refit, but they were perfectly happy to change their allegiance yet again and serve the Americans, or anyone else for that matter, provided it did not inconvenience them. They were a competent, if arrogant bunch, very much aware of their own abilities and their superiority
to all other forms of marine life. Tully put them in the tops, under their own captains, where they formed a kind of aerial tribe, swinging 100 feet above the deck, peering down at the lower orders from their lofty perches and calling to each other in their own strident dialect. They had a tendency to wear colourful neckerchiefs. Nathan and Tully privately called them ‘the parrots'.

The Portuguese were also experienced seamen and a few of them even knew enough English to understand what they were being told to do. The problem was that they gave a very strong impression that they thought it was the
wrong
thing to do. Tully could not look at them without a nerve twitching in his cheek. This was unusual in him. He blamed himself for taking them on in the first place when the ship was in Lisbon, but without them he would scarcely have had enough crew to sail her down to Gibraltar. On a British ship-of-war, he would have found a way of dealing with them. As it was, they were an endless source of torment to him. For the time being he had distributed them among the forecastle men and the afterguard. In his smuggling days, he told Nathan nostalgically, he would have picked the biggest of them and beaten him to a pulp – and that would have been an end to it. He was not normally a violent man.

The true-born British subjects were the worst. Those who were not criminally inclined were fit only for Bedlam. Tully distributed the least incompetent among the Portuguese in the hope that their mutual disrespect would distract them from disrespecting their officers. The rest he stuck in the waist where they would do least damage to themselves and the ship. They were, indeed, waisters to a man.

Nathan was better served by the officers. There was Tully, of course, on whom he could rely completely. And Mr Lamb, who had been so eager to serve as a volunteer it had brought a lump to Nathan's throat. Lamb had been with the
Unicorn
when Nathan had taken her over in the Havana in the spring of '95 – a lad of twelve and the youngest of her midshipmen. Now he was fifteen and seemed to have grown a foot taller in the last year. Nathan looked at him sometimes and wondered where the little boy had gone; then Lamb would give a sudden grin and there he was, as if he had been playing hide-and-seek and poked his head out from behind a tree.

They had been accustomed to playing chess together on the
Unicorn
, for Lamb was the only one of the young gentlemen who had the patience for it. Nathan had been irritated at times by his recklessness. There was none of that now. He played a very dogged game indeed, and Nathan was frequently obliged to seek means of distraction.

‘So, Mr Lamb, what do you want to do when you grow up?' he asked him, on one such occasion, when he was in danger of losing a rook.

Lamb looked up at him in frank astonishment. ‘Sir?'

‘When you grow up, Mr Lamb. How do you see yourself, sir? What profession would you assume?'

‘I – Oh, you mean if there is peace, sir, and they do not keep me on.' Mr Lamb frowned at this dreadful prospect.

‘Well, there is that, but I was thinking more of your own inclination. What would you make of yourself, sir, had you any choice in the matter? Does the Law interest you at all, or the Church?'

Mr Lamb's frown grew more pronounced.

‘Well, I – I should like very much to stay in the service, sir, and advance as far as I am able.'

‘And how far would that be, sir?'

Mr Lamb blushed but clearly did not want to be thought lacking in ambition. ‘I should very much like to rise to a position of command, sir, like yourself.'

‘I mean when you
grow up
, Mr Lamb,' insisted Nathan, feigning irritation.

The midshipman was now thoroughly confused. ‘I am sorry, sir, I do not know what you mean.'

‘Well, to be honest, sir, I was thinking of making you up to acting lieutenant for the duration of the voyage, but I was afraid you would take it ill in me, having your heart set on a chaplaincy.'

‘Oh sir! You do not mean it!'

‘I did mean it, Mr Lamb, but if I have insulted you I will take it back.'

‘Oh no, sir, no, not at … That is, it would be an honour, sir, a great honour.'

‘You mean you accept?' Astonished.

‘Yes, sir. And I promise I will not let you down, sir.'

‘I am sure you will not, sir.' Nathan nodded at the board. ‘Your move, I believe.'

Mr Lamb advanced a pawn meaninglessly, and Nathan, with a secret smile, moved his rook out of harm's way.

He was less successful in his dealings with Kapitanleytnant Belli. Though the Russian could speak very little English, they conversed well enough in French, and for all the peculiarities of his dress and manner, he appeared to be a gentleman. He was an experienced seaman, too, and was worshipped by his men; almost literally, for he was as
a god to them –
Batiushska
they called him, which Imlay translated as ‘Little Father'. The problem was that, like many of his kind, he enjoyed his drink, on and off duty. Vodka normally, but virtually anything alcoholic would do. When he drank, his eyes disappeared into the vastness of his face, which glowed as red as a coachman – which creature he much resembled. Otherwise, it seemed to have no injurious effect. He was no roaring drunk; he did not fall over or carouse or threaten violence; there was no violence in him – if anything, he became more genial – but it would have been unwise to entrust him with the running of the ship, which was a serious disadvantage in an officer.

Nathan was beginning to appreciate why Tully had looked so uncharacteristically careworn on their reunion. The trip down from Lisbon with only one other officer he could rely upon, and that a fifteen-year-old midshipman, must have been taxing in the extreme.

Fortunately, they had taken on another lieutenant at Gibraltar. Mr O'Driscoll was a gentleman from Dublin, in his early thirties, whose last Captain had taken against him, according to the Governor, for the circumstance of his being Irish. This was a not uncommon prejudice in the King's Navy. The loyalty of the Irish – Catholic or Protestant – was held by many officers to be suspect.

‘Which is a great nonsense,' O'Hara had declared emphatically. ‘That attitude would never be tolerated for an instant in the Army. My goodness, where would we be without an Irishman in the ranks?'

Nonetheless, O'Driscoll had been put ashore at Gibraltar, where he had been kicking his heels for several months in hopes of finding another ship with a more
tolerant Commander. Nathan, being half-American and exposed to a similar prejudice, was inclined to be sympathetic. He took him aboard on a trial basis and could find no fault with him during their somewhat limited exercises in Gibraltar Bay. The Dubliner was modest, unassuming, hardworking and efficient, if a little lacking in self-esteem, which was understandable in the circumstances. More importantly, he would enable them to run to three watches, so far as the officers were concerned, giving them the benefit of an eight-hour sleep.

They were pitifully short of warrant officers, but those they did have were as good, or at least as well-qualified, as any Nathan had known on a proper King's ship, with the possible exception of the acting surgeon Mr Kite. Kite had been a loblolly boy on the flagship and had been sent by the Admiral either because he was completely useless or had contrived some other reason to give offence. Fortunately, no one had yet fallen sick. Were they to do so, doubtless Mr Kite would despatch them with at least as much efficiency as most surgeons.

Nathan was more fortunate in his sailing master, Mr Cribb. A laconic young man in his mid-twenties, he was the former mate of the
Pride of New Orleans
and was an excellent navigator, according to Tully, who had tested him out on the voyage down from Lisbon.

The gunner, Mr Wallace, was unusual in that he was not a seaman at all but an employee of the Carron Company. He had been sent down from their foundry in Falkirk to help with the installing of the guns and Imlay had apparently bribed him to remain for the duration of their voyage. His accent was almost as impenetrable as
that of the Russians, but he seemed to know what he was doing so far as the guns were concerned – inasmuch as Nathan could tell without seeing him in action. However, it was impossible for him not to miss Mr Clyde, the gunner of the
Unicorn
, who had died in an engagement with privateers off Leghorn, and George Banjo, the giant African who had been set to succeed him until he struck an officer and was obliged to jump ship. In their absence he gave Mr Wallace the benefit of the doubt; a confidence he was not yet prepared to extend to the guns themselves.