The Sea and the Sand Page 7

  ‘We are on our way to a station in the eastern Mediterranean,’ Toby explained, ‘and but stopped for water and provisions. But remembering that your husband was on his way to take up a position here, I felt I should call.’

  ‘And how glad I am that you did,’ Mrs Crown said. ‘I do hope your ship will remain here for a few days yet. But come in, Mr McGann, come in. Charles will be so pleased to renew your acquaintance. He should not be late today. You are going to remain for a day or two?’

  ‘Well … that depends very much on your husband, I imagine.’

  ‘Then the matter is settled.’ She escorted him into the small parlour, rang a bell, and a maid hurried in with a tea tray. ‘I do hope you can stay for at least a day or two. Felicity would be so sorry to miss you.’

  ‘Your … your daughter isn’t here?’ he asked, his stomach filling with lead.

  ‘Not at this moment, Mr McGann. But she will be here at any moment. Sugar?’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’ He wondered if Mrs Crown’s tea would be anything like that his mother made. But he was impatient to hear about Felicity’s whereabouts.

  ‘She is on her way from England now,’ Mrs Crown explained. ‘The convoy should have been here last Friday, and indeed most of the ships have arrived. But they were scattered by a storm off Portugal, apparently, and some have been delayed. Amongst them the Poseidon, on which she was travelling.’

  ‘The convoy!’ Toby cried. ‘Felicity was on that convoy? Ahem, I meant Miss Crown.’ Mrs Crown sipped tea with the utmost composure. ‘Were you with that convoy, Mr McGann?’

  ‘Not exactly. But we sighted them just before the gale. Good Lord! If you’ll forgive me, Mrs Crown. I had no idea your daughter was in that fleet.’

  ‘Well, as I was saying,’ Mrs Crown continued with determined confidence, ‘she appears to have been delayed. But we are expecting her at any moment. When she does get here, I will send a message to your ship, and you must come up to dinner. Bring your captain with you, and we will have a jolly occasion. I am sure Felicity would like that. She has often spoken of that fight you had with La Vengeance, and our meeting afterwards. I think it made a considerable impression on her. You know, we have lived for so long in the midst of the terrible war, but it is so seldom we women actually experience anything of it, so to speak. Even as spectators.’

  ‘Oh, quite,’ Toby agreed. But he was hardly listening. Felicity had actually been within a few miles of him last week, and he had not known. Not that there would have been anything he could have done about it even if he had known … but it would have made a delightful voyage even more enjoyable. Save that he would have worried for her during the gale. But it had been only a gale, and now she was going to be here in a couple of days, or hours … That last ship entering the harbour during his climb up the hill could have been the Poseidon.

  ‘Well, I am most grateful for your invitation, Mrs Crown, and most happily accept; it will be a great pleasure to meet Miss Crown again. I cannot speak for Captain Barron, of course, but I will certainly relay your invitation to him.’

  ‘Oh, he will wish to dine with my husband, Mr McGann.’ Mrs Crown smiled archly, to suggest that twenty years before she must have been every bit as attractive as her daughter. ‘That is politics.’

  ‘And will your son, Lieutenant Crown, also be here?’ Toby asked, desperately remembering his manners.

  ‘Now that I cannot say, as we receive no advance notice of his arrivals. He is with the fleet, off Cadiz, you see. However, we count ourselves fortunate that he is so near by, and that we are able to see him with some regularity, whenever his ship comes into Gibraltar to victual.’ She raised her head at the sound of drumming hooves. ‘Now whoever can that be?’

  Toby was on his feet, to face the door as it burst in a moment later. He had supposed he might be being recalled to the ship to deal with some crisis, but it was Mr Crown, who stared at him in bewilderment, then looked at his wife. He was hatless, his hair windblown, his face quite pale despite the exertions of the ride up the hill.

  ‘This is Lieutenant McGann, my dear,’ Mrs Crown said. ‘Off the USS Essex. You’ll remember we met last February in the Caribbean.’

  ‘McGann,’ Crown muttered. He did not offer to shake hands, but crossed the room to the table in the far corner, and poured himself a glass of brandy.

  ‘Charles?’ Mrs Crown demanded, revealing some asperity at his lack of manners. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

  Charles Crown sat down, sighed, the glass dangling between his knees. ‘Felicity,’ he muttered.

  ‘Felicity?’ Mrs Crown’s voice rose an octave.

  ‘Felicity?’ Toby had been considering taking his leave, as the crisis was so clearly a domestic one, but now he started forward. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Lost,’ Crown moaned.

  ‘Lost?’ Toby shouted.

  ‘Lost?’ Mrs Crown shrieked. She ran to her husband’s side, and shook his shoulder so hard he spilled his drink. ‘What do you mean, lost?’

  ‘Her ship could not have foundered,’ Toby protested. ‘Not in a mere gale. It was hardly more than that.’

  ‘She is lost,’ Crown said again. He sighed, drank the last of his brandy, drew the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Every ship in the convoy is safe to port, save one. The Poseidon.’

  ‘And that leads you to suppose she must be lost, sir?’ Toby asked, relief flooding his system. ‘It is early days yet, surely. Possibly she was dismasted, or suffered some structural damage. She’ll be along as soon as her crew have made good their rigging.’

  Crown uttered another sigh. ‘The Medway Star made port not an hour ago,’ he said. ‘She was dismasted.’

  ‘I saw her come in, sir,’ Toby agreed.

  ‘And she had news of the Poseidon?’ Mrs Crown begged.

  ‘Aye,’ her husband said. ‘She had news. She reports seeing an English ship hove to on the morning after the gale, some miles to her southeast, making repairs to a broken foremast. Then she reports seeing another ship come over the horizon, and go alongside the first. An hour later, the first vessel was in flames, and the other ship was sailing to the south-east again. The crew of the Medway Star clearly identified her lines as that of no English or French design.’

  Mrs Crown stared at her husband with her mouth open. ‘Pirates?’ she whispered.

  ‘Undoubtedly. Out of one of the Barbary ports. She was seen to carry a lateen mainsail. That means she was certainly from the Mediterranean.’

  ‘But … you cannot be certain the burned ship was the Poseidon, sir,’ Toby protested.

  ‘What other ship can it have been?’ Crown demanded. ‘Every ship in the convoy, and every one of the escorts, are here in Gibraltar, saving only the Poseidon. There is no other merchant vessel known to have been in these waters at all. She is gone, sir, gone. And all those who sailed in her.’ His shoulders hunched as he stared at the floor. ‘Our daughter is at the bottom of the sea, butchered by the Moors. Or …’ he raised his head to stare in horror at his wife.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ she gasped. ‘Not taken as a slave? Oh, my God!’

  Toby caught her as she collapsed in a faint. He placed her on the settee as gently as he could, then ran to the door.

  *

  ‘Mr McGann,’ said Captain Barron, leaning back in his chair and smiling across his desk at the young lieutenant. ‘I am pleased that you have returned so promptly. You have heard the news, eh?’

  ‘My God, yes, sir,’ Toby gasped. ‘And we are putting to sea? Why, sir, I am most grateful.’

  Barron scratched his head. ‘I had supposed you would be disappointed, Mr McGann. However, as you have observed, we are putting to sea. We must be out of here by nightfall. I intend to be off Tripoli by the end of the week.’

  ‘Tripoli, sir?’ Toby frowned at him.

  ‘Of course.’ Barron frowned back. ‘Are we talking about the same things, lieutenant?’

  ‘Apparently not, sir. Sir …’

  ‘You mean you ar
e not aware that we are at war?’

  ‘At war, sir? With whom?’

  ‘Why, the Dey of Tripoli, of course. The news was brought to me not fifteen minutes after your departure this afternoon, by our consul. I found it hard to credit myself, Mr McGann, but the Dey of Tripoli has declared war upon the United States of America. Can you credit such effrontery? Well, sir, I can tell you, we are going to teach that fellow a lesson he won’t forget in a hurry. Now, lieutenant, I trust you had a successful reunion with Mr Crown?’

  Toby had paused outside the door of the captain’s cabin to regain his breath and straighten his uniform, but he could tell from the way Barron was looking at him that he must appear far from normal. Now he had to try to get his thoughts under control. He had supposed, as he had returned to the dockside and seen the sea-going preparations, that in some miraculous fashion the American squadron was preparing to sail against Algiers. But Tripoli, several hundred miles to the east …

  ‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘The most terrible thing has happened.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Barron sat up straight. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, sir, you are aware that only one ship of that convoy we sighted has failed so far to arrive?’

  Barron nodded.

  ‘That ship was a brig named the Poseidon, sir,’ Toby said. ‘And on it was the Crown’s daughter, a girl named Felicity.’

  ‘Ah,’ Barron nodded. ‘I can see they will be in an anxious mood. Yes, you chose a bad moment for your visit, Mr McGann. But I hope you were able to reassure them that delays are one of the hazards of seafaring.’

  ‘The ship is lost, sir,’ Toby said, keeping himself from shouting with an effort. ‘She was sighted on the morning after the gale by another straggler, the Medway Star, which has just arrived, being boarded and then burned by Barbary pirates.’

  ‘The devil,’ Barron said. ‘And this Medway Star could not assist her to defend herself?’

  ‘She was herself dismasted in the gale, sir, and counted herself fortunate the pirates were sated with the one victim.’

  Barron nodded. ‘It is a sad world, by God. Well, there it is. I can understand that this Mr Crown will be too distracted to be of any assistance to us now. Still, you will have offered your condolences, and we are sailing on the evening tide anyway.’

  ‘Sir …’ Toby placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward. ‘You don’t understand. Were we to be certain of Miss Crown’s death it would be terrible enough. But there must be a chance that she was taken by the pirates, to be sold as a slave in Algiers.’

  ‘That is their way with female captives, certainly,’ Barron agreed. ‘If they are at all attractive.’

  ‘Then, sir, should we not attempt to rescue her?’

  Barron stared at him, then slowly leaned back in his chair. ‘Rescue her? Do you know this girl, Mr McGann?’ He gazed pointedly at Toby’s hands, and Toby stood to attention again.

  ‘Yes, sir. We have met.’

  ‘Ah, I begin to understand the situation. My dear boy …’ he got up and walked around his desk to squeeze Toby’s shoulder. ‘Then this is indeed a tragedy.’

  ‘But one which can perhaps be remedied, sir, if we act immediately. If we were to assault Algiers …’

  ‘My God, what a suggestion. There is no possibility of that.’

  ‘But, sir, Captain Barron …’

  ‘Even if it were physically possible,’ Barron went on, more firmly, ‘it would be a pointless exercise. A Barbary pirate, you say? Have you any idea which port the corsair actually sailed from? Have you any idea, Mr McGann, how many ports there are which give these rascals shelter? But we can be certain of one thing: that ship was out of a western port, Algiers, or one of its satellites. No Tripoli ship has ever been reported as passing through the Strait of Gibraltar.’

  ‘That is my point, sir. And it is certain that Miss Crown will be offered for sale in the market at Algiers. If we were to bombard the port, and demand her release …’

  ‘Bombard Algiers? Commit an act of war? Mr McGann, we were sent here to deal with Tripoli. Now that the Dey has seen fit to declare war upon us, our duty is even more clearly defined. Tripoli is our enemy, not Algiers. Certainly we were not sent here to take on the whole of North Africa. With two ships? That would be quite out of the question. It is not as if this girl is even an American citizen.’

  ‘Sir …’

  Barron held up his finger. ‘She is a young lady to whom you are attracted, Mr McGann. This I accept, and I wish you to believe that I can sympathise most sincerely with your feelings. But to my knowledge you have not yet married her, or even become betrothed to her. Thus she remains a British responsibility. It is up to the Royal Navy to do something about her situation. But I am afraid they will not. For two very good reasons. One is that not even the British could consider assaulting so strongly a fortified port as Algiers with any hope of success. They would need to invest the city from the land as well, and that would require an army — every British army is engaged in fighting Napoleon.

  ‘The other reason … hear me out, boy,’ he snapped as Toby would have interrupted. ‘What I am about to say is going to make unpleasant hearing for your ears. But in this life one has to face facts. Miss Crown was taken by the pirates several days ago. That ship will have regained its home port by now. Your friend will already have been placed upon the block and sold. This may very well have happened in Algiers, but that does not alter the fact. By now, Mr McGann, she will have been incorporated in the harem of some fat old Turk, who will have her maidenhead and then misuse her body most shamefully.

  ‘I am sorry, Mr McGann, but there it is. These fellows are not Christians, and they have no concept of the proper way to treat a lady. Believe me, boy, that girl is as dead already as if they had cut off her head. We must, indeed, pray that she did perish when the Poseidon was taken. Certain it is that even if, by some miracle, she could be regained, there would be nothing any Christian man would ever be able to do with her again. I doubt even a convent would have her.’

  Toby stared at him, unable to believe his ears. ‘Sir, may I have your permission to call for volunteers and raise a personal force?’

  Barron frowned at him. ‘A volunteer force? With what in mind?’

  ‘To undertake a cutting out operation against Algiers.’

  ‘Are you mad, sir? Do you suppose you would have the slightest chance of success; of even locating her whereabouts? Oh, I understand how you feel. Quite apart from the girl herself, you are the son of Fighting Harry McGann, who was a legend in his own lifetime. Well, sir, that may well have been so. But those days of individual derring-do are finished, Mr McGann. Individual feats of glory may have been acceptable during our struggle for independence, when the Navy was an unorganised body of individual ships. But as I have said, those days are finished, thank God. We have been given our orders, and those orders we will carry out. Our task is to bring the Dey of Tripoli to heel. We will undertake nothing else, unless commanded to do so by Congress.’ His tone softened. ‘I am sorry, Mr McGann. More sorry than I can convey in words. But as I say, you must face facts. You are excused duty for the rest of the afternoon. I suggest you go ashore and have a drink. Alcohol is a good healer, in the short term, and you will be excused any reprimand for returning the worse for it. You have my word on that. Just be sure you are on board by dusk, or I will have you posted as a deserter.’

  Toby hesitated, then saluted and left the cabin. He went on deck, stared past the breakwaters at the African mountains. He had never felt so damned in his life. And he did not even have the pleasure of hating his captain; Barron had just given him the option of deserting, if he felt he had to. And was that not what Fighting Harry McGann would have done, if faced with the alternative of deserting the woman he loved? Of course, he did not love Felicity Crown. How could he love someone he had met only once? It was the thought of her in the hands of the Moors …

  But he also knew that even if he had met her a hundred times, he was not going to des
ert his ship. It would have been nice to feel that was because his devotion to the Service was greater than anything else in his life. It would even have been nice to suppose that he was far more level-headed than his father; because he knew that every word Barron had spoken was absolutely true. He had lived all his life under the aegis of his father’s name and fame, but had been cursed by it as well: no man could ever hope to equal the deeds of Fighting Harry McGann.

  But worse, he knew the captain had been right about Felicity as well. He could not now rescue the girl he had met on board the Lancer, because that girl no longer existed. After what must have happened to her, could he possibly ever look at her again without a shudder? He didn’t know. Nor was there the slightest chance of his ever being given the chance to find out.

  So he would do his duty as an American officer, and try to pretend to himself that he was not actually a coward. And pray that one day he might have an Algerian corsair in the sights of one of the Essex’s guns. One day.

  *

  The door of the little cabin opened, and Felicity blinked at the lantern. She could not immediately make out the man carrying it, but she knew who it was. The pirate captain, as the man who had examined her obviously was, had visited her several times during the days since the capture of the Poseidon, and although he had never touched her or offered her the slightest insult or injury, had only ever looked at her, her reaction to the sight of him was always the same; she drew up her knees and pressed herself against the bulkhead. There were no bunks in this dark pit, no furniture at all, so there was nothing behind which she could hide her nakedness.

  How long had she lain here? How long was it since that unforgettably terrible morning? She thought perhaps three days, because she had been fed six times, good food, yoghurt and honey and sweetmeats and some kind of lamb stew. At first she had determined not to eat. Her mind had been filled with the horrible sights and sounds which had followed the capture of the Poseidon; of the screams of the young boy being castrated; of the Flemmings being raped; the splashes of the bodies being thrown over the side — Peggy and her mother amongst them? She had to suppose so, as she had not seen them since. She was the only prisoner, so far as she knew, therefore she was the only survivor. Out of all the sixty-odd souls with whom she had left Plymouth.