2. Beat to quarters

They had spotted the Indomitable six weeks ago: a  small white fleck on the horizon, growing steadily larger. She had, soon as she smoked the danger, tacked, paid off, tucked tail and fled south, trying to make the most of her exceptional qualities as a swift-running vessel when close-hauled.

Six weeks of relentless pursuit, sometimes losing sight of the Indomitable altogether, sometimes getting so close that Jack could see the Captain’s hat through his glass as he trained it on his quarry from the mainmast top. He knew her Captain: LaSalle, an infernal brute who stole his beautiful Bréguet watch and kept him prisoner once for two weeks in the cable-tiers, feeding him bread and water only. The man was completely devoid of honour. And Jack suspected a real meanness of character as well, to complement the absence of even a hint of genteel behaviour.

He still hadn’t come up with a plan how to capture the Indomitable, but his first concern was to keep up with her. His Lucky wasn’t in the same class at all. Jack was an excellent mariner, capable of wringing every ounce of thrust out of the wind and rigging his ship so that this every ounce was put to the best use, but if the Indomitable hadn’t shown some inexplicably strange, even lubberly sailing, they would have lost sight of her altogether within the first week.

Jack, who knew the Surprise’s capabilities better than anyone, was by now thoroughly convinced that LaSalle was but a very mediocre sailor, with a no doubt plentiful and bloodthirsty, but not very experienced crew. The Indomitable had missed stays three times during their chase, losing valuable distance, and as Jack studied the set of her sails and her general handling, he had come to the conclusion that, if only he could come near enough, he was quite certain he could out-manoeuvre the grog-faced villain and take them to battle.

‘Upon deck, thir,’ the lookout called from the mainmast. ‘Thhe’th going to mith  thtayth again.’ The man in the top was Franthis the Lithp, a big, burly, fearless seaman who had his front teeth knocked out in a boarding skirmish a long time ago.

‘Will she wear, Franthis?’ Jack’s big commanding voice reached the lookout without any trouble.

‘Lookth like ‘un, thir,’ the lookout confirmed.

‘We shall beat to quarterth.’ Jack stated calmly, but with a piratical twinkle in his piercing indigo eyes. His order was relayed, once, twice, with mounting enthusiasm and urgency, and then the ship exploded with activity as the drum roll thundered, more orders flew, stays were hauled and every handkerchief the Lucky could bear was set. The bulkheads disappeared, the galley-fire was doused, gun-crews made ready, slow-match smoked in its tub, powder and shot were run up. Sharpshooters ran into the tops, boarders armed themselves.

Jack addressed his crew. ‘Unship the starboard guns’ back wheels, and train them up as high as possible. Aim for the masts. We must disable her but not, I repeat not damage the hull. Sharpshooters: the quarterdeck first and foremost. Bonden, lay me alongside at pistolshot. Starboard gun-crews: you will only have one chance, and no recoil, so no reload. We will come in as close as we can, hit her with our starboard broadside, pay off, come around behind her and rake her stern from the larboard battery. Again, aim as high as you can. No hulling her between wind and water.’

‘For Lucky Jack!’ shouted Awkward Davies, a massively built, simple brute, but an excellent sailor. He lifted his gun single-handedly, the other members of his crew removed the back wheels of the gun carriage, and then the frenzy of battle overtook both ships completely.

Jack smiled like a predator, and laid his lot in the hands of the Lady Fortune.

The Lucky executed the planned manoeuvre beautifully. The first broadside holed the Indomitable’s sails and unshipped her mizzen. The muskets crackled and the Indomitable fired chain-shot into the Lucky’s rigging. Both sides took casualties, but the Lucky paid off as planned, raked the Indomitable’s stern high up, and fired another broadside, coming up on her other side until the hulls touched.

‘Luckies, Luckies,’ cried Jack, ‘boarders, on me, look lively now!’ and he leapt aboard the Indomitable with a primed gun in the one hand and his sword in the other. Overhead, the musket fire kept going, and Jack saw as he shot his gun into an enemy’s face and then threw it savagely at another that the quarterdeck, the quarterdeck he knew so well, was almost empty. He saw LaSalle at the wheel, trying to break free his ship.

Jack hacked and slashed and ducked and ran, and then he was on the quarterdeck, thrusting and parrying in a deadly duel with LaSalle. He dimly noted Pullings coming up behind him and he shouted: ‘Tom, lay him by the lee!’

Tom Pullings never hesitated and hit LaSalle over the head with an iron marlin-spike just as Jack slipped in a puddle of blood and got nicked in the arm by LaSalle’s sword. The French Captain went down like a log.

‘Sir!’ cried Jack, poking him with his hessian boot. ‘Do you yield? Strike your colours? Eh? Frappez votre couleurs?’

‘He’s dead, sir,’ Pullings screamed in his ear. ‘Sir, you are wounded.’

‘It does not signify. Tom, strike the colours. Avast fighting and take the prisoners below.’

Jack ignored the burning pain in his arm, took LaSalle’s sword, ran down the companionway and into his old cabin. And came to a skidding halt: it was unrecognizable. Apart from the damage the Lucky had done to the beautiful sweeping stern windows, it looked more like a Parisian brothel than a great cabin in a ship of the line: red velvet everywhere, cushions, curtains, chandeliers … Jack blinked. Had they even beat to quarters? The bulkhead was still in place. He quickly searched all the hidden compartments that he knew so well, and found LaSalle’s secret papers. His orders, his signal-book… his signal-book! The French code was breached, at least for now!

The next hours passed in a frenzy not unlike that of battle. The Lucky was badly mauled, but not beyond repair. The Indomitable had to fish her mizzen and repair her rudder, which didn’t answer to the wheel any longer, and an amazing amount of minor damage had to be cleared away and fixed. A furious knotting and splicing broke out on both ships.

The prisoners had to be stowed, which Jack did in the Lucky, following Stephen’s quiet advice. The butcher’s bill had to be made up – a respectable four dead and eleven wounded for the Luckies; a much higher dead and wounded toll for the French – and again following Stephen’s subtle suggestions, Jack moved his crew, sick-bay included, into the Indomitable, giving the immediate order to restore her old name and colours.

Jack’s shirt was drenched in blood by now, much of which was his own, and Stephen sat him down on the red velvet cushions that adorned the lockers under the stern windows of his cabin. His Surprise cabin. Jack felt slightly faint, now that the adrenaline rush was waning and the after-battle drudge settled in.

‘What is it, eh, Stephen, that when the action starts, there’s this infernal noise, all this noise, and time does not seem to have the same meaning, if you follow me, and then when it’s over, one finds oneself suddenly so very tired, and there’s always such a mess, such a mess to clear up…’

‘Jack, Tom Pullings can handle the stowing of the prisoners and the repairs and all the Navy-like things that need to be done. Just sit here now for a minute, brother, and let me examine you.’

Jack obligingly removed his coat, vest and shirt, and exposed – apart from an ugly gash in his upper arm – several contusions and smaller lacerations about his body. He did not seem concerned.

‘The arm will need eight stitches, I believe; an admirably clean slash,’ Stephen said, and went to get his medical instruments, ointment for the bruises and a small bottle of laudanum. Jack refused to take any drops, claiming he needed his head clear and working for the next few watches.

‘It is amazing fortuitous, ain’t it,’ he said as Stephen stitched up his arm, ‘that we brought this off so handsomely. I was quite sure we’d perish in the attempt. And for my sake, it wouldn’t have signified, but for the men… how I worried for the men!’

‘I wish you joy of your victory,’ Stephen smiled his reptilian smile, ‘but I must say, dear, I did not doubt the outcome one instant. I had complete faith in Lucky Jack.’

‘Tosh,’ said Jack, looking slightly contrite. ‘You know the extent of my luck, Stephen. No money left after that unlucky investment, my prize agent bankrupt, my credit no longer accepted… I am deeply indebted, I cannot walk the streets of England without the threat of the sponge-house following me around…’ A wild grin stretched his lips for an instant. ‘It reminds one of one’s younger days, does it not?’

‘Not a memory I would care to be reacquainted with,’ Stephen muttered, right before neatly biting off the thread next to the knot. ‘There, as good as new.’

‘Am I? Am I? Oh, I do wonder, would I do things differently, had I but the chance to do them all over again?’ Jack sprang up and took a turn in the cabin, big and broad and bloody still, a battle-scarred berserker in breeches and boots.

Stephen reflected. He knew of Jack’s situation on land. His fortune had dwindled in unwise investments, his wife had – equally unwisely perhaps, but understandable nonetheless – put herself in the care of Viscount DeBurgh, a rich, perfumed, effeminate powder-puff of a man who had a very real dislike of the name Aubrey. From Sophie’s point of view, it would mean a certain amount of material security for her and her children. For the Viscount, it probably meant revenge, for General Aubrey, Jack’s father, was stirring up much trouble for DeBurgh in the House of Commons.

For Jack, it had meant that he finally understood the essence of his happy marriage, his attachment to Sophie. It existed only in his mind.  The Sophie he loved, only existed in his mind. When he sat in his cabin, writing to her, it was easy to conjure up an image of loveliness, of elegance, of devotion to him. When he was past Gibraltar, all men were bachelors in the words of Lord Nelson, and Jack wasn’t the man to contest Lord Nelson’s words. Sophie however was a woman of flesh and blood, who needed funds, a husband she could rely on, and a reasonable amount of kind attention. Jack had failed miserably on all three accounts, with his only excuse that deep down in his heart of hearts, he was very much disappointed in marriage in general. He had, in his almost simple, two-dimensional view of the world, expected more romance, more fun, more companionship. Less obligation.

Stephen could have easily helped his dear friend, at least where the financial situation was concerned. He had more money than he knew himself, and cared little about it. But it would never do: Jack would be mortified and indebted to him in a manner that would without a doubt mean an end to their friendship. And so Stephen had devised a more ingenious way of helping Jack: who was it that had arranged for this commission to be whispered into Admiral Harte’s ear? And suggested Captain Aubrey, to carry out the orders? Who knew what secret cargo, what valuable secret cargo the former Surprise transported, and why it was so important to England to intercept it before it could reach its destination?

And so far, Stephen’s plan had worked beautifully. It had been a difficult action, commendably executed. The ship was taken a prize, and therefore would fetch a pretty penny for Captain and crew. And her secret cargo… would at least double that. With some luck, Jack would gain enough to pay off his creditors, with some to spare, and this particular action would be well noted in the papers. Jack would be a national hero, and the Admiralty Board could not possibly ignore him any longer. Yes, Jack was in for a surprise. Stephen grated out a laugh in his funny, almost scary way when he thought of the extraordinary amount of merriment Jack would have derived from the infinitesimally small pun that that sentence contained, had he been able to read Stephen’s mind.

Jack looked up from his pacing with a frown. ‘I don’t see any reason to laugh, Stephen, and especially not in that mad, barking manner of yours. True, we came off well, and I am extremely grateful for that extra suit of sail and all that cordage that we carried out of the yard, but we are a pitifully small crew to sail both the Lucky and the Surprise, and I do not think this action will clear my debts at all. Not at all.’ Jack sighed, and resumed his pacing, muttering, ‘I might as well have perished in it.’

‘Bear up, Jack,’ said Stephen, ‘and clean up. Wash off all that blood, and drink a quart of porter to compensate for the loss. I dare say you will feel the better for it.’

The surprise would come soon enough.

Chapter Three