Chapter 10
"The captain's coming, sir! He's looking for mutineers. He's turned out the marine guards, sir!"
It took some time for Catherine's mind to digest Wellard's words. She stood and blinked for several moments. His every word has pulled her nerves taunted like yards when the Renown ploughed through high seas. Her heart continued to hammer wildly in her chest, beating like the drums that announced imminent battle. Finally, the words formed coherence in her mind.
Sawyer was coming. Coming to catch them with the Marines.
"He sent Hobbs to cover the midship section," finished Wellard, breathlessly.
"Good God!" muttered Buckland.
Hornblower peered through a crack. The coast was clear.
"Alright," he motioned at Bush, Buckland and Kennedy, "Go for'ard to the lower gundeck then scatter."
It seems to Catherine that Hornblower never realised that he was ordering vastly superior officers. But the said officers reacted wordlessly. It seems none of the usual protocols in the Royal Navy applied not to this exceptional circumstance. The disappeared into the gloom.
"Mr. Wellard, Mr. Porter, come with me," snapped Hornblower. He led them in the opposite direction.
Footsteps sounded above them, stealthy and quite, but steadily moving in their wake. Catherine placed one foot in front of the other. Heel first. Then toes, trying to make as little sound as possible. The hard soled shoes still echoed loud and clear with each step. She winced.
Hornblower raised his arm, signalling them to stop. Slowly he sat, on the deck, a barrel on which he carefully balanced himself. He carefully raised the hatch above them.
Catherine felt cold sweat trickling down her forehead but she dare not wie it away, sure more too to replace it. Hornblower closed the hatch. It made a small clang as the hard wood met wood. She winced again.
"We have to move," he said guardedly.
Catherine heard footsteps above them. Getting louder with each clunk of hard soles. She pushed Wellard and Hornblower behind a stack of barrels. But the one Hornblower used for raise the hatch remained ominously under it. Her heart hammered in her chest.
She dared not breath, sure that the hiss of her ragged breathing would bring their pursuers upon them. Sweat was pouring down her face. Two soft clunks. She knew someone had now emerged from the very hatch Hornblower had raised to spy on them. They had also landed on that very barrel. Two more clunks, this time getting louder, more footsteps. Catherine's breath caught sharp in her throat. They were coming. More steps, then it stopped right on the other side of the barrels they hid behind. As she peered through a small crack, she could see a swinging beam of light and a scarred face, clearly illuminating the holder of the lantern. Hobbs. She shrunk into the shadows.
Hobbs peered around, unable to detect the three figures hidden behind the stack of barrels. Shining the lantern here and there, she searched vainly, cursing. Finally, like eternity to Catherine, she heard footsteps retreating, gradually diminishing into the dimness. She let out a slow shaky breath.
Hornblower, too seemed to be shaken by this encounter, shook his head to clear it. He pointed aft, where the ladder leading to the lower gundeck sat dimly visible under an open hatch. Smartly, he ducked and emerged from behind their hiding place. Catherine followed, as did Wellard. Suddenly, a loud metallic clang, shook her from head to toe.
In the fleeting second she took to glance back, she saw a lantern rolling below its hook. She could hear more footsteps as Hobbs was no doubt notified of their whereabouts, from Wellard's carelessness. Panic stricken, she pushed forwards blindly. The rungs of the ladder loomed before her. She gripped the sides, hauling herself up each rung, slipping in her haste. Finally, she pulled herself onto the deck.
"Should we split up here?" asked Catherine. She scanned the deck, it was still deserted, for now. Hornblower gave a quick nod. She offered, "I'll take Wellard."
Another nod as he melted into the shadows on either side of the deck, beside the cannons.
"Mr. Wellard, over here!" whispered Catherine, motioning for the midshipman to join her.
Bang! Footsteps clunked as a door banged shut hard against it frame. She cursed as Wellard stumbled slightly, trying to squeeze in a crack between a large crate and a cannon. She would not hear Hobbs, but she could hear an almost stampede of hurried footsteps behind. She risked a glance back.
The final door swung into the gundeck with a loud creak. In her brief glimpse, Captain Sawyer pounced through. Catherine hurriedly stumbled back. There was a yard. Blindly, she reached out, catching a beam. Stopping before she crashed into the cannon. Her breathing hard, her heart still thumping wildly. Sawyer with his two pistols as he leapt through the door was branded into the back of her eyelids, as she closed her eyes, praying.
"Stay where you are?"
The captain's bellow reached her. Catherine's eyes snapped open. No!
"It's me Hobbs, sir."
Catherine tensed. She and Wellard were only a mere three cannons away from the very hatch they had climbed from. Her mind turned the others, Buckland, Bush and Kennedy. They should be safely on deck by now. How fortunate of them. Hobbs and Sawyer was here, the Marines would be less persistent.
"Where are they, Hobbs?" Sawyer was asking.
There was a brief silence as Hobbs contemplated.
"Around here somewhere."
Catherine's grip tightened once more on the beam. So it is, she though. Clan! She spun around. It echoed loudly and clearly through the gundeck. It shook Catherine to the core. It was the sound of a hatch closing. And it was not lost upon Hobbs and Sawyer.
"Over there."
Catherine heard Sawyer snap several orders.
"Hurry up! Hurry, damn it!" he cried.
She shrunk back. Hobbs hurried past her glancing neither left or right. She relaxed a little, but her grip on the beam did not slacken. In the silence that followed. A door clicked shut.
"I hear you," rang out Sawyer's voice.
Catherine's heart skipped.
"Out! Out!" he cried. "I'll shoot you where you stand!"
Catherine tapped Wellard's shoulder, gesturing for him to move.
"Get out, run, get out!" she ordered. Wellard nodded, gulping, stumbling loud against the wooden deck.
"Stay where you are!"
Catherine took a faltering step forward. Sawyer has turned in her way, but she doubted he saw her. But she stared straight into the barrel of a pistol. It was cocked. The other was pointed to Kennedy.
"They've abandoned me. Universal treachery. Universal desertion. My men where are my true men?"
Sawyer's muttering contained nothing but fear. As Catherine looked at him, instead of anger, she felt sympathy well in her. The same sympathy she had felt for her consumption stricken grandmother.
Slowly, the door swung open. A figure stepped forwards. Catherine's hear leapt into her throat. It was Archie Kennedy. Both of Sawyer's pistols were now directed at his breast. Quietly, she crept along the line of cannons, towards him.
One cannon. Two cannons. Three. Catherin stood, still submerged in shadow on Sawyer's left. She raised her head. Opposite, Hornblower too stood in shadow.
"Sir.." Kennedy's voice quavered as he took a step towards the captain. Sawyer unsteadily stepped back.
Be an opportunist. Be an opportunist. Her own words echoed in her mind. Her eyes fluttered close. Wait for an opportunity to dispose of the captain.
Her eyes snapped open. The captain took another step closer to the precarious drop of the hatch. Instinctively, her eyes darted to the edge of the drop. Another step and he would be too close to the edge. How easy to fake an accident, she thought.
Suddenly, the deck was heaving under her wave after wave washed over the Renown as sheets of rain berated down upon it. The halyards pulled taunt against heavy winds. The thud as the body of the young sailor fell onto the deck, only to be carelessly tossed into the roaring sea under Sawyer's very order.
Be an opportunist. Catherine squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly nauseous. Follow orders... do nothing drastic, Mr. Porter, which I trust you will. Admiral Hood's parting words in Plymouth, flashed before her. Where has it led her?
Catherine opened her eyes, catching Hornblower'se gaze. A cock of the eyebrow. Her gaze flickered to Sawyer. Kennedy took another step forwards. Sawyer took one fatal step he took a longer stride than Catherine expected. Half of the sole of his shoe protruded over the open hatch. His body faltered trying to gain his balance. But there was no opportunity for that.
Catherine and Hornblower both reached out. Kennedy's arms were outstretched. Wellard stared wide-eyed. She felt the smooth woollen fabric of a coat under her fingers. And she shoved. Not a very forceful one, just a gentle shove no more than a tap on the shoulder. But it was enough.
With a dull thud, Sawyer landed heavily on the deck below. Two pistols shots screamed into the air of the ship.
A heaving deck under her feet. Swinging yards protruded from swaying masts. A dull thud. Catherine could feel the dampness of her coat seeping into her bones. Her hair clung to her head wet with rain. A wave washed over the deck drenching all on board. The dead sailor floating eerily on it. The hands of a watch indicated fourteen minutes. She slid onto the deck, legs too numb to walk. Another wave crested over the bow of the Renown.
Catherine found herself shaking. Her hair clung to her scalp, not with cold seawater but with cold sweat. Her clothes stuck to her with sweat. Her hands felt clammy still outstretched. She looked down the open hatch. The captain shook slightly as he lay immobile on the deck.
A thud. Two pistols screaming.
The captain has fallen through the hatch. Catherine quickly withdrew her hands, clasping them tightly behind her back. Quickly, she took a step forwards.
"Mr. Hornblower, Mr. Kennedy, sir," she called.
"Mr. Porter, I believe the captain has had an unfortunate accident," replied Hornblower. She could see the sweat bead at his hairline. In fact, his face glistened with it.
Kennedy's eyes fixated upon her face. She took a hasty gulp. She brushed her hand across her forehead. It came away with a sheen of sweat. Now clasping her hands behind her back, she took the pretence of surveying the captain lying below the hathc. But instead she looked onto the backs of several startled Marines, their scarlet coats gleamed oddly in the light.
She focused on Sawyer. He was still clutching the two pistols. Though the shot has been exhausted several moments before, Catherine was still uncomfortable with the idea of pistols or indeed any weapons on him or even within reach. And she was not the only one thinking along those lines.
"Mr. Wellard, please take the two guns from the captain and take it to Mr. Buckland on the quarterdeck."
Mr. Buckland? Catherine's discomfort grew. Hornblower's orders of taking the guns to Buckland was an obvious sign of the change of command. He was the first lieutenant but ... Catherine shifted uncomfortably.
Footsteps sounded behind her. Through the door hurried Buckland, followed by a perturbed Bush.
"I heard pistols shots...so I…." Buckland abruptly stopped catching sight of the figures of the lieutenants standing immobile and grave before him on the sides of the hatch. Hesitantly, he took a step towards the edge, scrutinizing the scene below.
"It would seem, sir," Kennedy paused, "that the captain fell."
Catherine barely heard him. In the very scene Buckland was familiarizing with, she saw an image that made her blood run cold. The Marines had stepped aside, so that Sawyer's face was now not obscured. His eyelids had half shut, leaving only the whites to be seen. However, had his eyes been open, he would have been staring into the muzzle of the very pistol he had clutched and pointed at Kennedy's breast. This time held in a pale freckled had of Wellard. The only member below the hatch surrounding Sawyer with a navy blue frock coat.
"Mr. Wellard, give the pistols to Mr Buckland," ordered Catherine, the shrill in her voice slightly clearer than she expected, she added, "Please."
Wellard stood as if transfixed. His arm lowered a little, wavering.
"Mr. Wellard," repeated Hornblower, firmly.
Finally, with a slowness which caused physical pain on Catherine's behalf, Wellard lowered the pistol. She watched every degree and every inch of the arm being lowered. He bounded up the ladder, neither hindered by the steepness nor by the pistols nor did he glance back at Sawyer.
Buckland received the guns wordlessly. His eyes darted from the sweat coated face of Hornblower to the edge of the hatch and back again.
"Mr. Porter, summon Dr. Clive, Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Bush, have a tackle rigged."
Catherine tapped her hat. As she made her way from that hatch, she heard the voice of Sergeant Whiting of the Marines.
"Sir, before the captain fell, sir, he was talking about mutineers. 'We've gotta catch the mutineers' he says."
Hornblower's voice rang out, "Did he mention the identity of these...mutineers, sergeant?"
"No, sir, Mr. Hobbs was with him, might've confined in him, sir."
Catherine reached the last rung. The voices died behind her. She bit her lips, but feeling relieved somewhat.
"The captain fell from a hatch, Mr. Porter?" Clive asked sharply.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Bush and Kennedy are having a tackle rigged for him."
Clive took a step forwards towards her. The stench of tobacco and wine reeked. She stood her ground. He peered into her face.
"Have you heard that the captain believed there was mutiny brewing?"
"The captain's wellbeing should first be insured before an investigation can be launched," she answered evenly.
Clive did not answer. Slowly, he donned his coat. She led him through the labyrinth of the Renown down the lower gundeck. Sawyer still lay unmoving. Hobbs was already there. He gave her a hard look.
In a solemn procession, Sawyer was carried with the utmost care by Hobbs men into his cabin. Clive had them lay him onto the large oak desk.
"Will he survive?" asked Buckland quietly. Sawyer's forehead was smeared with blood, somewhat matting his hair with it. But it was only a smear, a very slight one compared to the amount Catherine has seen before from previous injuries. But she was not completely ignorant of the ways of injuries, knowing quite well that blood was not the only factor in showing the severity of one.
"I believe so," was Clive's terse reply.
"Will he recover?"
Clive shot a sharp glance at Buckland before answering, "It depends what you mean by recover. He is severely concussed."
"I believe what Mr. Buckland means when he would recover sufficiently to resume command," offered Hornblower.
"Impossible to say. The skull is intact, there are no cracks.." the doctor murmured to himself.
"Mr. Buckland, I guess I'll be on continuous watch then."
"Yes, yes we'll be following the captain's orders until further notice." Buckland gave Bush an exasperated glance. He turned to her. She could see every line of his face wrinkled with worry. She frowned, slightly. "What else can I do?"