The Following Wind Read online

  T H E F O L L O W I N G W I N D

  an HMS Expedient story

  by PETER SMALLEY

  C Peter Smalley 2016

  It is 1795. England is at war with France.

  Lieutenant James Hayter RN returns from long foreign service to find that he has inherited his father’s estate and fortune, and is now Sir James Hayter, landed gentleman. He is promoted to post captain and given his own frigate.

  His friend Captain William Rennie RN, with whom he has sailed on many previous commissions, is at first left on the beach, then recalled to his old ship, HM frigate Expedient. He and Captain Hayter, in their separate ships, embark on a long voyage to the Far East, only to discover when they open their sealed orders at sea that they are being sent instead to Naples. There they are to find and bring to England a mysterious Swedish engineer, whose latest invention could transform warfare at sea.

  Misfortune dogs their mission from the outset, even before they set sail. Then they are attacked and suffer near catastrophe in the Bay of Biscay, and James loses his ship. Rennie rescues him, and they limp home to England in ignominious defeat. Where they face court martial and disgrace unless they are prepared to try again, together, in Expedient .

  ‘The Following Wind’ is the eighth book in the gripping HMS Expedient series of

  sailing adventures.

  For Clytie, as always.

  ‘The lifting wind doth follow

  Each wave and make a hollow

  In the running, rolling sea

  Do not ye know, my love

  I brave the wilds of weather

  On the ocean

  Only, always, now and ever

  Just for thee?’

  Philip Osborne

  1795

  PROLOGUE

  On a quiet stretch of the south Devon coast the sea was tinged with the blood of the sinking sun. From the southeast, the great sweep of water between England and France, there appeared the sail of a ship. Slowly and silently the ship stood in toward the shore and hove to, and a boat emerged.

  The boat crept across the quiet sea, and dusk crept over the rocky shore and the low line of the cliff. A last bird flew along the cliff against the sky, and the boat glided in and beached with a soft crunch on the sand. The man rowing the boat unshipped his oars and stepped over the gunwale into the shallows. He glanced round a moment, then dragged the boat up the beach and concealed it behind a rock.

  The whole of the shoreline and the cliff was tranquil and still, except for the subtle restlessness of the sea washing on the sand, and the faintest whisper of wind.

  From the boat the man brought a small heavy chest, which he heaved up on his shoulder. He was dressed all in black, with a black hat. He steadied himself and strode away along the beach, the chest balanced on his shoulder, and merged into the gathering darkness.

  Presently his silhouette showed at the top of the cliff, against the last of the light.

  Then, like the solitary bird and the day itself he was gone.

  CHAPTER ONE

  James woke to birdsong. Blackbirds, and blue-tits, and the gentle chacking of jackdaws. He lay still a moment, then yawned and lifted himself on an elbow.

  Sunlight lay bright on the oaken floor beneath the window, through the gap in the curtains. The smell of grass wafted in, and wildflowers, drifting and mingling with the sharper odours of tilled earth and fresh dung. The smells of rural life throwing off the drab cloak of winter.

  He heard a dog barking, and clattering hooves in the stable yard, and the distant crowing of a cock. He had known mornings like this since childhood, and they had ever been warm and welcoming and glad. And yet he did not feel glad, today.

  There was something odd about this particular morning, something was not quite right.

  He turned to look at Catherine beside him. She lay with her hair spread on the pillow, her face turned upward and serene. She was still fast asleep, and so could sense nothing. He pushed back the covers, stretched, and sat perched on the edge of the bed.

  The truth came to him.

  This bed, in which he and Catherine had spent the night, the post hangings, the sheets and covers. This room, with its curtain folds, and sunlight spilling on the floor. The next room, and the next, and those in the far wing. Melton House itself, and the land on which it stood. The barking dog, the horse in the cobbled yard, and the crowing cock. All of these things all, good God were his.

  During James’s absence at sea on foreign service the year past, his father Sir Charles Hayter had died not of severe debility or disease, in great pain, but quietly and peacefully in his bed, of old age. James’s eldest brother Charles, a prosperous lawyer, had died in London of the typhus, widowed and childless.

  And his elder brother Nicholas too had died, travelling in Italy, of an indeterminate ailment, and had there been buried. He had never married. Thus James, a third son, had unexpectedly and unknowingly inherited his father’s title while still at sea, and had come home very recent to find his mother Lady Hayter a dowager, already removed from Melton House into the dower house on the estate, leaving Catherine in full possession.

  This morning, and for all the remaining mornings of his life, James was no longer simply Lieutenant J.R. Hayter RN, sea officer. He was Sir James Rondo Hayter, landed gentleman gentleman of means. And Catherine was Lady Hayter at his side.

  ‘I never wished it.’ To himself, in quiet wonder, tinged with regret. ‘I never even thought of it, not for one moment.’ A breath. ‘Yet it is all quite true, and I cannot lie here abed. I must go on deck. I must take up the reins and assume command.’

  And with that muddled metaphor he rose, strode to the window, and flung the curtains wide.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Their Lordships the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty were aware of Lieutenant Hayter’s changed circumstances, and felt themselves justified, indeed dutiful, in moving the lieutenant up. He was a sea officer of long experience, his fine record of service marred only by the calamitous outcome of his most recent commission in HM frigate Expedient 36. An outcome that could not their Lordships severally and together concluded be laid at his door.

  The blame lay with Expedient’s commander, Captain William Rennie RN. It was Rennie’s doing that the commission to bring home to England from far away a vast sum in French gold had utterly and wholly failed, the gold lost, and most of the squadron sent to assist lost in turn. Nay, young Hayter was not to blame. Captain Rennie a reckless, headstrong, obstreperous fellow, a man of no distinction nor connection, that should never have been entrusted with so weighty an undertaking he was to blame entire.

  Therefore their Lordships concluded Lieutenant Sir James Hayter, a gentleman, a man of property, must be made post and given his own ship. And Captain Rennie must be left on the beach, where he could do no more mischief.

  If these conclusions were in part true, they were also in part grossly unjust. Lieutenant Hayter was now a man of property, the possessor of a large house, broad acres, and a title; his record of service was long and brave; he deserved his own ship on merit. But Captain Rennie was not by any reasonable standards of culpability to blame for the loss of the gold. He had done his utmost, against impossible odds, to bring it home. He had saved his ship, and his people, and behaved honourably and courageously throughout the commission. And yet, because the gold had been lost he was blamed all the same, and damned, and spurned. If the sea was a cruel mistress, their Lordships were cruel masters.

  Of course, they did not think so. They would not have recognized or acknowledged such an opinion. They were men who believed themselves scrupulous in every distinction just and even handed in the service of the King. And so, Lieutenant Hayter was made post captain and given his own ship, the Flora
class frigate HMS Ventura 36. And Captain Rennie was passed over coldly and ruthlessly passed over and left to moulder at his home in Norfolk.

  Where James now Captain Hayter after an interval went to see him.

  ‘She is being refitted at Portsmouth,’ said James. They were in the library of Rennie’s small, comfortable house near Fakenham. ‘I have left my first, Lieutenant Hallett, in full charge. He is a competent young fellow, I think,

  with service in the Mediterranean though in course we have never served

  together. I have no followers to bring into the ship, in truth, because I am new on the post captains’ list.’

  Captain Rennie sniffed, and made a face that was not quite a smile. Briskly:

  ‘Well well, James. Made post, hey? Given your own ship? That is happy.’

  He did not look happy, and James saw it.

  ‘Yes, sir, it is. Only ’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘Well, I think that you should have got a new commission, yourself.’

  ‘Nay, nay, their Lordships ’ He left the sentence unfinished, then: ‘Listen now, James. Hm-hm. You you cannot go on calling me ‘sir.’ It ain’t right. Not when you y’self are now ‘Sir James’, hey? And have been made post. Hm?’

  ‘Well, sir, perhaps you are right. How should we address each other, d’y’think?’

  ‘Hm? Well I don’t know, exact.’

  ‘Perhaps, simply James and William?’

  ‘Aye.’ A nod. ‘James. And William. Aye.’

  ‘Very good William.’

  ‘Very good James. Hhh-hhh-hhh.’ A smile at last. ‘This calls for a glass of something, don’t it, by God?’

  ‘Yes, sir I mean, you are William, in course.’ Laughing at himself.

  ‘Hhh-hhh-hhh, indeed I am. Madeira?’

  ‘Madeira, William, by all means.’

  The two sea officers drank their wine, and were at ease one with the other.

  ‘How is Mrs. Rennie Sylvia?’

  ‘Sylvia is in excellent health, thankee. In truth y’have just missed her. She was away to Norwich not half a glass before you arrived, to buy ribbon. And Catherine? Or should I say, Lady Catherine?’

  ‘Indeed, no. Catherine, always. She is in high spirits. She joins me at Portsmouth

  on my return.’

  ‘At the Marine Hotel?’

  ‘Aye, the Marine.’

  The Marine Hotel was a favourite with both men, and they happily recalled earlier sojourns there, and presently began again to talk of naval things, of ships James’s ship.

  ‘When you have got her ready for the sea .erm, tell me again the name of your ship, James?’

  ‘Ventura.’

  ‘When ye’ve got Ventura ready, what are your duties? Or is it confidential?’ He refilled James’s glass.

  ‘Thankee, William. Nay, it ain’t a secret, not between sea officers. I am to join the blockade at Brest. It is a large relieving squadron under Admiral Sir Howard Duff, in his flag Daring 74.’

  ‘Ah, ah.’ A vigorous nod. ‘Duff, hey?’

  ‘I confess it ain’t a duty I will relish.’

  ‘Eh?’ Frowning.

  ‘Well, you know, it is damned tedious work. Standing off and on in all weathers, your ships growing shabby and the people dull and weary and resentful, with nothing to do but stop the French from leaving harbour. Nay, it cannot be called a handsome duty.’

  Rennie looked at his friend, and put down his glass with a reproving click.

  ‘Lookee here now, James. I tell you frankly, I would give my right arm to be in your place, today.’ Holding up a hand before James could speak. ‘Ye’ve been looked on with favour, and rewarded. Made post, and given your own frigate, joining the squadron of a renowned sea officer, on active duty, in time of war. By God, James, that ain’t a thing to be sniffed at, nor sighed over, nor looked down upon disdainful. You are a most fortunate fellow, indeed.’

  ‘Well, yes, I expect so .looked at in that light.’ Doubtfully.

  ‘Looked at in any light, good heaven. I say again, I would give my right arm to be in your place.’

  And now James saw that he had been insensitive, and said: ‘Yes, in course you are right. Right to rebuke me. I must not be so damned ungrateful.’ A moment, then: ‘William, I am a novice in the world of influence, and cannot pretend otherwise.’

  ‘Eh?’ Bemused.

  ‘However, I think that owning a large stretch of Dorset does give me a certain standing.’

  Rennie stared at him. Was James boasting?

  James saw that look, and awkwardly continued: ‘What I’m trying to say. What I mean to say is. I will write some letters.’

  ‘Letters, James.?’

  ‘Novice that I am, I will see what I can do .in your behalf.’

  Now Rennie understood. Firmly, closing his eyes, raising a hand, and shaking his head: ‘Nay, nay, nay. You are very good, James. Thankee, indeed but nay.’

  ‘You do not wish for a new commission?’

  ‘We both know it ain’t a feasible thing, James. I was fortunate not to face a court martial after the last. Fortunate not to be cashiered. I cannot hope for favour, and I will not like you to sail into troubled water on my account.’

  ‘Troubled water?’

  ‘You have got Ventura, James, and your duty. You a servant of His Majesty, a commissioned sea officer that must make his ship ready for the sea, and join his squadron. In little there ain’t a minute y’may lose least of all waging war with their Lordships in a lost cause.’

  ‘You are telling me to go away and mind my own business.’

  ‘Nay, nay nothing of the kind.’ He rose and turned away to the window a moment. Turning back: ‘Look here, James, I am most exceeding glad y’came to see me, and your offer of assistance as my friend is greatly valued more than I can say. But what y’propose will not answer.’

  ‘Surely we cannot know that until I make the attempt.’

  ‘You have your own career to consider, and you must not put it in jeopardy so soon after being made post.’

  ‘I do not see how a letter or two--’

  ‘Nay. Nay.’ Again, very firmly. ‘I ask that you desist in these endeavours now and forever. Will y’give me your word on it?’

  ‘If that is what you wish then in course I give it.’ Reluctantly.

  James drank his wine, the two men bade each other fond farewell, and James went away but did not keep his word. When he returned to Portsmouth, he wrote the letters.

  CHAPTER THREE

  James wrote to two men he thought could help. One was a family connection, a member of parliament with considerable influence. The other was Admiral Sir David Hollister, a serving sea officer of great distinction and renown, who knew Captain Rennie, and liked him, and had had dealings with him in the past.

  While Ventura was undergoing small repair and refit at Portsmouth dock yard a month had been allowed for this work James’s letters had their effect.

  In turn other letters were written, discreet words were spoken in high places, and their Lordships, quietly prompted and urged, grudgingly and reluctantly with little expectation of its acceptance made Captain Rennie an offer. They offered him command of a guardship, HMS Taciturn 74, at the Nore.

  Guardships were little better than prison hulks. Their function was to provide token inspection by boat of ships in Ordinary, and to take in and keep pressed men until they could be sent on into other ships as crew. They were permanently moored, unfailingly shabby and ill found, with stinking bilges and rotting timbers. They lay at the lowest ebb and end of naval service. Self-respecting sea officers shunned duty in them, and accepted it only with extreme distaste, as a last resort, if absolutely nothing else was available to them.

  When the sealed letter came from the Admiralty, Captain Rennie was at first highly indignant, and determined to refuse. To his wife Sylvia he said, throwing down the letter on the breakfast table:

  ‘It is a damned insult, by God.’

  ‘Is that an Admiral
ty seal, my dear?’ Gently.

  ‘What? Yes. Yes, it is. They are thrusting my face down in the bilges and rubbing it in filth to make their point. To humiliate me.’

  ‘Their Lordships?’ Again gently. ‘What do they say?’

  ‘What do they say? They have offered me foul pestilence, the villains. The black-guards. The damned overbearing scoundrels.’

  ‘D’y’mean. they have offered you a commission, after all?’ Sylvia took up the letter and read it. Her husband threw down his napkin and strode to the window, where he stared unseeing at the fields and trees beyond his garden wall.

  Presently Sylvia looked up from the letter, and: ‘But surely, my darling, this is not an insult at all.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It is the offer of a commission, when you had despaired of--’

  ‘Why d’y’suppose they have wrote that damned letter?’ Rennie turned violently from the window, strode back to the table and snatched the letter from his wife’s hand. ‘Hey?’

  ‘To make amends?’

  ‘Amends! By God, if this is their notion of making amends, Christ save any sea officer they wish to chastise!’

  ‘William, please do not shout so. It gives me the headache.’

  Rennie was instantly ashamed. He let the letter fall, sat down and took his wife’s hand in both of his. ‘My darling, I am a wretch. How dare I rage at you, when you wish only what is best for me? Will you forgive me?’

  ‘You are forgiven.’ Smiling at him.

  ‘You know, in course, what a guardship is? What such a duty means?’

  ‘I am a naval wife, William.’

  ‘Then you know that it means, in effect, command of a prison hulk. A ship scarcely aswim, one breath of wind from the breaker’s yard.’

  ‘It is a commission, dear.’ Again gently.