Chapter 3

“Sail ho!”

“Where away?”

“Right astern, sir!”

It was the middle of the morning watch when McKay heard the shouts and being inquisitive type came up on deck. When he got there he instantly focused his telescope on the sail coming over the horizon.

“Can you make it out is it one of ours?” boomed the captain as he snatched his First Lieutenants glass and focused it on the dot of white gradually making towards them.

“I can’t make it out at the moment, sir,” replied the lookout.

McKay thought what he saw was definitely a man’o’war maybe a small frigate, but he would not offer his opinion till he was sure of what he saw. The ship was on the same tack as them. It had all courses set and was gaining on them rapidly.

“Make the private signal!” The captain declared in a stentorian tone.

It was midshipman Catt’s turn to do the signals, he came rushing past with the signal book, which he had borrowed to study, and left below so that he had to run and fetch it. Catt seemed to be forever running from one place to another and regularly transpired to forget things, thought McKay.

The other ship did not reply to their signals instead it tacked and put up full sail fleeing away from them. The Tourniquet immediately spread all sail and followed their quarry.

“All hands, beat to quarters!” barked the captain. “Clear for action!”

Immediately, a drumbeat sounded, and the ship came to life as men dashed about the decks, making preparations.

 Saxon shouted out “Mr Catt, run down to the sick bay and inform the Doctor. Tell him to make ready to receive casualties!”

McKay made his way to his position on the gun deck on the port side; his heart was beating so hard he thought it would leap out. If this was how he was feeling he could but wonder what the men were feeling. Everyone was poised ready to perform their designated task at the first order. The tension on the gun deck was like a heavy cloak wrapped around him. McKay was looking out the gun ports straining to see the enemy. As McKay strained to see the ship he noticed that some of the enemy’s sails were torn, and there were several holes in its side. Obviously this was not the first time today their opponent had been involved in a fight.

 It seemed like years before they were in range. It was in these moments that McKay looked back and wondered why he had chosen to join the Navy. Why when he could have become a lawyer and joined his fathers practice, he had chosen so pigheadedly to prove himself to his family by becoming an officer. McKay looked down at his hands they were shaking he cleared his throat and took a deep breath. Then the order came…

The whole ship was thrown into organised chaos. As broadside after broadside slammed home the noise was terrific. Every time a shot from the enemy hit home there was an explosion of splinters. In McKay memory time seemed to go so quickly everything merged into each other. All he could hear was the sounds of the guns going off, men shouting cries when a shot got through. He just about heard the orders over the din of the guns. The powder boys running back and forward, shot after shot fired. Then after what seemed like forever, their quarry struck their colours. A huge cheer echoed through the ship. McKay realised his hands, face and uniform were black with gunpowder. He surveyed the carnage on the deck. One of the guns had been breeched and there was debris everywhere…

Mr Catt came running towards him, skidding to a halt just in time. “Mr McKay, sir. Captain Savage wishes to speak with you sir.”

 McKay quickly made his way to the captain. Who proceeded to say, “Mr McKay you will be in charge of the prize crew, Mr Catt will accompany you. You may choose who else you want to take.”

“Aye, sir!” replied McKay

“That is all Mr McKay,” replied the captain.

 As McKay stood on the deck of the Pierre Tombale his heart sank. The ship had been broken up quite a bit in the action. The sails were ripped. The main mast had broken in two and the rigging was tangled in everything. There were numerous holes, which needed plugging. McKay sighed it going to be a lot of work.

For the past hour McKay had with his meagre knowledge of French been trying to communicate to the officer and sailors of the Pierre Tombale what he wanted them to do. “Aller aft, pull! Catt, do you know what pull is in French?”

“I think its tirer, sir.”

“Tire-er corde?” said McKay pointing to the rope he wanted them to pull to help lift one of the yards, but they just gave him bemused looks.

“I’ll sort erm out, sir,” said Lake, brandishing a pistol “Some things cross the language barrier.” He herded the men towards the rope, placing it in their hands and demonstrating what he wanted. The Frenchmen begrudgingly obliged.

“We must be on our way as soon as possible. I don’t want to be reprimanded for tardiness,” said McKay to Catt as he watched the men heaving on the rope lifting the yard high.

 ‘And it wont just be the captain’ thought McKay.

 “Mr Catt keep an eye on things will you. I'm going below to see what’s left of the navigational equipment,” said McKay as he walked towards the captain’s cabin.

As he entered the cabin he had to stoop to avoid bashing his head on the lintel. He could feel the wind whistling round the cabin. He looked round. All the glass in the aft window had been smashed. Shards of glass were scattered everywhere. McKay saw that the shot had come through the window. There was a table in the midst of the room that was split in twain with splinters all over the deck. He was surprised to see a canon ball, which probably caused all this destruction laying in grace amidst the litter on the captain’s desk. He walked across the room the glass crunching beneath his feet; he slowly lent over and picked up the map and compass on the floor, gently brushing off the debris. McKay opened the lid of the case that carried the compass. He hoped that it had not been damaged in the battle. He peered at it expecting to see it broken into it components, smashed but he found that it was in perfect working order, unscathed. He placed the map and compass on the top of the locker smoothing the map out gently. McKay had to make himself want to do what he must; he hated navigation and the maths of it all, but he knew that if he didn’t focus all his attentions on the task he would make a mistake; a potentially drastic mistake that could endanger the life of the crew, the safety of the ship and induce the wrath of his grandfather.

McKay had just finished marking out their course when there was a knock at the door, “Enter!”

 In walked Lake, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as if he was expecting someone to jump out and attack him at any moment.

“What is it Lake?”

“Everything’s fixed that can be and we’re ready when you are, sir.”

“Are the prisoners safely stowed below?”

“Yes, sir ‘aven’t forgotten them, sir,” replied Lake confidently.

“I will be out in a minute, you are dismissed.”

The seaman walked out shutting the door carefully on his way out.

As McKay stood on the quarterdeck of the Pierre Tombale he surveyed his domain, and smiled. The crew had done an excellent job, under the circumstances of getting the prize ship into some type of shape. McKay had high hopes that with good winds helping them they would reach Portsmouth in next to no time. 

Soon though McKay’s hopes of a swift, uneventful trip were dashed in to shards like a precious vase as knocked to the ground by a careless owner.

“Sail ho!” cried a voice from high above.

“Where away?”

“Two points on the starboard bow, sir!”

McKay placed the glass to his eye and looked towards the approaching vessel. He could see the ship’s sails coming over the horizon looking like white doves flying over the ocean.

“Can you make her out? Is she friendly?”

After a moments pause, McKay heard the words he dreaded the most.

“She’s flying French colours, sir.”

McKay immediately gave orders for every sail to be set. With only a prize crew and with prisoners to take care of they would be terribly undermanned. There would be no way they could take on another ship in a fight and win. They had sailed but a short distance when the wind dropped dramatically, the sails sagged not a breath of wind could be felt. They were left floating vulnerably, while all the time the enemy vessel edged nearer. McKay could sense the apprehension of the crew as the ship drifted helplessly. It seemed that fate was not on their side today. McKay in his frustration let out a stream of expletives at anyone who cared to be near enough to hear and in his heart he chastised himself for lack of forethought.

McKay’s imagination began to work overtime. Every possibility churned over in his mind, and all the time the enemy vessel was coming closer. Then, unexpectedly, as if someone had just lit a candle in a dark room McKay had a flash of inspiration. There was a chance of escape; McKay had to restrain himself from shouting in jubilation. This was a French ship and so was their pursuer. So it was more than likely that they had no knowledge that the Pierre Tombale was now in British hands. McKay turned to the midshipman and said in a rather urgent tone he called to Mr Catt. “It is time for us to do a little acting.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Look Catt!  That is a French ship and this is a French ship.  He would not know that we have captured our little ship. We cannot fight him as an enemy, so we shall let him think us as friends. Run up the French flag while I search the captain's cabin for French officer uniforms for us to put on. Oh, try to make our crew look more, French.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“And Catt, it is oui mon Capitaine.  Do you know any French at all?”

 “Je parle un peu mon Capitaine, but I will see if any of the crew does. By the way sir this acting lark does it involve wearing makeup and poncing around in tights?”

“No, Mr Catt this is a simple ruse not a Shakespeare play.”

“Aye err, Oui mon Capitaine.”

While Catt went to carry out orders McKay quickly went back to the captain’s cabin to find the clothes of the late captain. He noticed the captain’s sea chest sitting in the corner. It was made of solid wood and had a heavy metal padlock fitted. When McKay saw the simple lock he chuckled and said to himself ‘child’s play’. He pulled out of his pocket a small leather pouch containing several lock picks; he looked for the right type then proceeded to work on the padlock it only took a couple of seconds and McKay felt a sense of knowing satisfaction when the padlock clicked open.

McKay pulled the padlock off and undid the metal latch. He then lifted up the heavy lid and inside laid all the former captains belongings. Lying on the top though was the uniform neatly folded and careful positioned as to prevent it from getting damaged. McKay lifted up the uniform and tried it against himself. The jacket was a little on the large size but under the circumstances it would have to do. He quickly dressed in the captain’s clothes. The jacket swamped him and McKay was forced to roll up the sleeves of the jacket, if the French ship got too close he would have difficulty explaining his appearance.

When he walked out on deck standing there was Mr Catt with a pile of uniforms at his feet and a grin on his face. McKay walked over to the smug midshipman and said, “Tell the hands to put those on. You to Mr Catt.”

“Now Sir?”

“Yes Mr Catt, now and don’t forget, speak only in French until we are out of the frog’s earshot. Do you understand me?”

 “Oui Capitaine!” replied the midshipman hurriedly rushing off to hand out the uniforms.

Finally the preparations had been completed and McKay let out a momentary sigh of relief. Suddenly from nowhere a stiff breeze struck them but it was too little to late. As the enemy ship was had been eating up the sea room and the Pierre Tombale was almost in range of their guns.

The enemy vessel hailed them; “Comment t’appelle tu?” asked the voice from le Cor Siffler enquiring as to who was speaking. McKay decided that they couldn’t ignore the hail, as it would rouse the enemy’s suspicions. For the other ship was cleared for action and any mistake could send them to the bottom of the cold heartless sea, left with no trace of their existence.

“Je m’appelle Capitaine,” McKay paused trying to remember the name of the ships former captain, “Capitaine Petér de la Pierre Tombale,” he replied in the best French accent he could muster.

The voice from the opposing ship demanded that they allow them to come aboard.

McKay froze if they came aboard they would surely discover his ruse. He had to think of something to deter them, and quickly.

“Non. Le marine mal. Ils prendre le fléau.”

At the moment McKay mentioned the plague there was a distinct change in tone. The voice from le Cor Siffler quickly said his goodbyes. The ship spread full sail as tried to get away from the supposedly plague carrying Pierre Tombale as quickly as possible.

Yet it seemed that things were not to go as planned, when one of the prize crew who went by the name of Arkwright decided that at that moment it was appropriate to shout out a statement about what the ‘frogs’ could do with their ships; Which unfortunately someone must of heard. Almost immediately the Cor Siffler sent a warning shot over the Pierre Tombale’s bows, the shot sending up a huge plume of water. McKay would have fought back had he had a full crew but it was not to be. With the Pierre Tombale being out manned and out gunned he had no choice but to surrender. A task McKay loathed, for he felt like a traitor giving in to the enemy. His heart told him to fight but his head told him to surrender a battle where his head lost.

Chapter 2

 The cell that McKay had been put in shortly after he had arrived at the prison was rather small. It was one a half meters wide by two meters long. There was a wooden bed attached to one of the longer walls and at the back of the cell opposite the large oak door with its large metal lock was a small-bared window set high up. McKay sat down on the hard bed in his cramp, damp, dark cell staring at the opposite wall as if in a trance and through his mind ran every mistake. Over and over again he replayed the situation. How he should have dealt with it. What he could have done to change his current predicament.

After he had surrendered McKay had been taken to this prison. And now he would probably spend what was left of this miserable war within these four walls. Maybe he would never see England and his family again. McKay was suddenly pulled back into his dismal reality by the sound of clinking keys. He heard two voices murmuring outside, then the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door swung open and in walked a young woman clutching a tureen of soup and a basket of bread. Her long blond hair was falling over her face but she could not brush it back because her hands were full. McKay could see fear in her eyes as the door slammed shut behind her. He immediately felt sympathy for this young woman.

“Food? Au pain et le potage?” she enquired.

“Yes. Err, oui merci,” replied McKay

“I understand English. There’s no need for your pained attempts, Monsieur.” She replied in English but he accent showed through. “A new face I see?”

“Same one I have always had.”

“Oh! ‘ow original.”

“How come you can speak English?”

“When you have worked all your life in a prison full of Englishmen you pick up the language.”

“So have you always worked here?”

“Yes. My papa is le prison chef, although if you wish to live any length of time I would not recommend his cooking.”

“Why is it that terrible?”

“Lets just say they only inflict his cooking on the prisoners. I cook for the staff. What is your name Monsieur?”

“My names McKay, Lieutenant Ashley McKay, and what is your name?”

“My name is, Mademoiselle Gabrielle Cheval and I ‘ave the glamorous job of giving the prisoners their meals. What might I ask brings such a handsome young lieutenant to these shores?”

“It’s a long story involving a prize ship, a fluky wind and a clever ploy that didn’t quite work. Did you just call me handsome? No ones ever said that to me before.”

“Well, monsieur McKay you are handsome compared to some of the officers we usually get here.”

McKay remembered that he was not he only one here and so asked, “There were several of us captured, me and my prize crew. Do you know weather they are here as well?”

“What are their names?”

“One of them is called Midshipman Catt he's young, tall, skinny with dark hair.”

“Yes he is here. When I gave him his meal he asked about you, but there are only officers here, no seaman they go to another area.”

She placed the basket on the floor then demanded that he held the bowl out as she poured the soup into it. As McKay watched her go about her task he felt a strange emotion an emotion he couldn’t quite put a label on. An emotion he didn’t know how to show how to express. All he knew was that he wanted her to stay.

“Mademoiselle I-I appreciate your presence. W-will you be a permanent feature of my stay here?”

“Excusez-moi? What are you saying Monsieur?”

“I-I-I was only meant. I just wanted to know whether this would be the last time we meet?” asked McKay stumbling over his words.

Gabrielle called for the guard to open the door as she gathered her things she smiled at McKay and replied coyly. “Maybe? You will 'ave to wait and see.”

As Gabrielle left, the cell the door slamming shut behind her McKay’s heart sank and wave of emotion washed over him. It was like all the feelings of loneliness, regret and despair merged into one inexpressible emotion. McKay decided to take his frustration out on the stonewall of the cell by punching it with his fist. It didn’t help; it only caused him to let out a yelp of pain followed by some choice words. McKay picked up the bowl containing the soup he had been given; it didn’t look very appetising. Ships fare with its weevils looked better than the stinking gloop that slopped around in his bowl. It smelt like bilge water and McKay’s stomach turned at the thought of having to consume the vile concoction. He pushed the bowl away from him repulsed by the so-called soup. McKay could hear his stomach rumble with hunger but even though he was starving he couldn’t bring himself to eat the soup. Even the bread was rock solid and stale, and McKay could see mould starting to grow on it. His stomach let out another loud rumble. McKay didn’t know how long he could hold his fast for, and he would surely perish from malnutrition before he was freed or had a chance of escape…

Evening was creeping in and as McKay gazed out of the small barred window of his cell he could see that everything was starting to take on a translucent quality.  Everything was quiet except for the sound of the local wildlife in the background and the footsteps of the patrolling guard. The temperature was dropping rapidly as the sun went down. McKay pulled his jacket close around him as he huddled on the cold, stiff uncomfortable bed. The threadbare blanket he had been given that laid on the hard bed did not help him in any way and the straw pallet offered no comfort. As he lay down on what here passed as a bed McKay tossed and turned trying to find a tolerably comfortable position. Eventually exhausted from his efforts and hunger he fell asleep.

When he was woken the next morning by the jangling of keys and the loud click, as the door was unlocked. McKay woke feeling cold stiff and tired his body ached all over. As the door opened sunlight streamed in it was so bright McKay who had become accustomed to the dark cell had to shield his eyes.

In walked Gabrielle carrying two oversized baskets containing what appeared to be bread and cheese. When McKay looked up he saw her standing there, lit from behind by the sun her blond hair shone and she had an angelic quality about her.

“ ‘allo Mr McKay, and ‘ow are you this fine morning?”

“Extremely uncomfortable actually.”

“You will ‘ave to get used to it.”

“Is there any chance I could improve my accommodation?”

“What do you think this is the palace of Versailles?”

“The service in this place is damnable I aught to complain to the manager.”

“Well I am afraid ‘e is busy. You will ‘ave to put up with me, and you will find I am much better looking than ‘im,” replied Gabrielle as she gave McKay a chunk of bread and cheese. “May I ask you a question?”

“Depends what you want to ask, mademoiselle.”

“What was the name of the ship you were serving on?”

“It was the HMS Tourniquet. Why do you ask?”

“Just curiosity. What type of ship was it? All these sailors talk about ratings and ‘ow many guns these ships ‘ave, but its all confusing to me.”

“Well maybe I can help you out there.”

“I am sure you could,” said Gabrielle inclining her head to one side and brushing back the hair that tumbled over her face.

“Is there any chance of getting another blanket? It’s freezing in here.”

“I will see what I can do, but I am not promising anything.”

“Where were you ‘eading in your ship?”

“In the Tourniquet? We were heading for the blockade at Breast.”

“Are their many ships like yours planning to join? ‘ow many are there already?”

McKay was beginning to feel uneasy at this line of questioning and was afraid that he would give away some important information; so he decided that he would try to change the subject.

“The bread appears to have more mould on it than the cheese. Am I supposed to digest this? What are you up to? Trying to poison the prisoners?”

“I can assure you the food we eat is not much better. It is ‘ard to get hold of supplies, and the commandant is not wiling to waste good food on prisoners. Although ‘is table always seems to ‘ave a rich spread. ‘e never goes ‘ungry or ‘as to eat this.” She said indicating to the food in the baskets.

“But this mademoiselle is inedible!” proclaimed McKay showing Gabrielle the bowl of ‘soup’ he had been given yesterday, “Do you expect me to fast?”

“There is no need to act the martyr monsieur.” She said taking the bowl from him, “I will see what alternatives I can find. I do not want to be responsible for anyone’s death, especially from malnutrition.”

“Merci, mademoiselle. You are too kind.”

“Not at all lieutenant.”

“What is there to do to pass the time here?”

“This is a prison monsieur. You are not supposed to enjoy the experience. I would not know anyway. My job is to give you food not plan activities for your amusement.” Replied Gabrielle looking slightly annoyed, “Maybe if you ask the guard ‘e may know. It will at least be amusing to ‘ear you try to get the guard to understand you. Your French is rather poor.”

“I try my best.” Protested McKay. Gabrielle made a dismissive gesture.

“Au rivour monsieur McKay.” She gathered up the two baskets then calling for the guard to open the door. After the she had left the room the door shut behind her. McKay walked stiffly over to the door, as he was still aching from sleeping on the cold hard bed, and peered through the small barred slot in the door. In front of the opening he could see the guard standing to attention outside the door and Gabrielle walking off to the right. McKay felt rather lonely standing there in the cell that would be his home for the near future. A cold shiver went down his spine, today maybe sunny but it was still fairly cold. McKay tried to get himself warmed up by pacing back and forward in his cell, hoping that some movement would heat him up a little, but his efforts didn’t help. He lifted up the threadbare blanket and wrapped it round him; maybe it would keep in the little heat he was producing.

As he paced up and down the room McKay tried to think up possible ways to escape this nightmare place. He could pick the lock, but the guard would surely catch him. And if he somehow got passed the guard he would have no way of knowing which direction to head in to get to safety. McKay supposed he could take ‘Gabrielle’ hostage and get out that way but he was too much of a gentleman to involve an innocent young lady in his escape if there was any chance she might be hurt. Maybe he could dig his way out but without proper tools it but would take him the rest of his life and more, to get out. His captors had told McKay that if he gave his parole they would let him take some exercise outside, but McKay refused to concede. He would not give his parole as he was determined to try and escape at the first available opportunity.

 McKay felt so frustrated at his situation that for one fleeting second he felt like ending it all. It was like this desperation was making him think irrationally. At that moment he would have picked the lock and run out. He would have ran away from this place and if they shot him the so be it; he would not care anymore. He would be dead. There would be no more problems, no responsibilities, no living up to other peoples expectations and he wouldn’t have to obey one more stupid order. All these thoughts ran through his mind for that brief moment as if daring him to go through with it and throw his life away in such a futile act, but this moment of foolish madness soon passed and McKay was brought back to the seriousness of his predicament. He would not be leaving any time soon.