Читать книгу King's Ransom - William Speir - Страница 12

Harry hated France, he hated the French fleet, and he hated that his frigate was anchored less than three miles off the coast of that hated country. France was the enemy, no matter what peace treaties had been signed, and Harry kept his crew and his warship ready in case they had to fight their way past the patrolling French squadrons to return home – to return to England.

Harry looked over the starboard quarterdeck railing toward the village lights in the distance with a sense of loathing. The autumn air was chilly in the English Channel, which separated the French mainland from the island nation of England. The quarter moon was rising late, bathing the deck of Harry’s ship in a pale blue light. The moonlight provided the only light onboard the warship, which was anchored with none of the lanterns lit so the frigate would be harder to see. Harry knew that the moonlight could make the outline of the ship visible, which added to the discomfort he felt at being so close to the French coastline.

Harry turned away from the railing. Glancing down at the weather deck below, he saw the gun crews resting next to their cannons – ready to jump into action should the need arise. “You are to avoid engaging the French unless you find yourself with no other options to protect your ship, your crew, and your mission,” his orders had stated. He thought about this as he walked over to the quartermaster, who stood nearby at his post next to the ship’s wheel. England and France seemed to be constantly at war, and Harry knew that England wasn’t prepared for another war so soon after the last one had ended.

Harry’s ship, the HMS Winchelsea, was a 34-gun 5th Rate frigate of the English Navy. Its squadron was currently on patrol in the English Channel, but the Winchelsea’s orders were to move as close as possible to the coast of Normandy and wait to be met by a mysterious passenger. Harry didn’t know the name of the passenger or the nature of his business, but a recognition signal had been arranged so Harry would know the passenger when he arrived. Each night, the Winchelsea sailed under the cover of darkness to a position near the coastline and waited. By the time the sun rose each morning, the Winchelsea was well away from the French coast, waiting until nightfall so it could approach the coast once again.

For five nights, the Winchelsea had dropped anchor off the French coast, but the mysterious passenger never arrived. Harry knew that they might have to wait another week or two, and he was anxious. He didn’t like being so close to the French coast without the protection of his squadron, which was waiting for him and his passenger off the English coast.

First Lieutenant Braxton Hardcastle, Harry’s second-in-command, came up to the quarterdeck and approached Harry. “Good evening, Captain Hastings,” he said.

“Good evening, Mr. Hardcastle,” Harry replied, glancing at the Lieutenant. Hardcastle was a tall man – much taller than the average Englishman. At six feet four inches, he was the tallest man onboard the Winchelsea. Harry noted the way Hardcastle’s uniform jackets never seemed to fit properly. It was loose around the left arm owing to an injury Hardcastle sustained two years earlier in a skirmish with a French Privateer in the Mediterranean. A cannon ball had grazed his arm, removing skin and muscle. The arm still worked, but there was a permanent indentation between the elbow and the shoulder.

“I have the watch now,” Hardcastle stated. “Why don’t you go below, sir? I’ll alert you if our passenger arrives or if the French get too close.”

Harry nodded and left the quarterdeck for his cabin. He knew he wouldn’t sleep as long as his ship was in French waters, but he decided he’d at least try to relax until it was time to relieve Hardcastle. He closed the door of his cabin slowly and looked around the room. The moonlight reflected off the water and shone through the windows, giving him enough light to see without having to light a candle. He walked over the table in the center of the cabin, picked up the small crystal decanter, and poured himself a drink. He raised his glass in a silent toast to his king and then emptied the glass in one gulp. He felt it warm him immediately as he drank it, but he resisted the urge to pour a second drink. Discipline.

Harry was a handsome man with a rugged look that was typical of someone who had lived most of his life at sea. He had light brown hair with reddish streaks, a strong jawline, and deep blue eyes. Most of the time, he had a very serious and determined expression on his face; but Harry had a great capacity for humor, and when he laughed, his expression gave the appearance of a man without a single care.

At 32, Harry was one of the younger post captains in the Blue Squadron. Like most officers in the English Navy, Harry descended from the English aristocracy. The class system prevalent in England was perpetuated in England’s military: the aristocratic classes commanded and the peasant classes served. However, unlike the English Army, which often sold commissions to men who could afford them, naval officers had to earn their commissions based on merit.

Harry had gone to sea at an early age and had moved up the ranks quickly. His father and grandfather had been Navy officers who had served with distinction, and Harry had inherited their skills. But he had also inherited his Irish mother’s unpredictable manners, making him a dangerous adversary on the seas.

The French had grown accustomed to English tactics in naval warfare, which had become somewhat predictable over the years, but a number of French ships never saw home again because they underestimated the kind of adversary they faced in Harry Hastings. He employed the conventional and unconventional with equal success, leaving the French captains confused and dismayed as their ships sank beneath them.

Harry had been the first lieutenant of the Chester, a 50-gun 4th Rate ship, off the coast of Portugal when a cannonball from a French 90-gun ship cut his captain in half while standing right next to him. Harry immediately took command and, rather than making a run for it, turned to attack a ship out of the Chester’s class and with twice the Chester’s guns. Before the captain of the French ship knew what was happening, the Chester had shot away his ship’s bowsprit, foremast, rudder, and mizzenmast. Harry ordered the Chester to approach the French ship at odd angles, which prevented the French from firing an effective broadside. After exchanging fire for almost an hour, the Chester’s guns hit the French powder stores, and the French ship exploded, killing everyone onboard. Harry brought the Chester back to Portsmouth with only minor damage and immediately gained the notice of his superiors. He received his promotion to captain soon after and was given the Winchelsea as part of Admiral Leicester’s squadron.

He sat down in a nearby chair and leaned back, propping one leg on the seat of another chair. He saw his logbook on the table. He picked up a quill, dipped it into the ink well, and quickly jotted down the latest entry.

11 October 1699 – dropped anchor off the coast of Normandy. No sign of our passenger. No contact with the French Fleet.

Harry held the quill and re-read the entry. The logbook was filled with entries regarding the French since he had taken command of the Winchelsea. Harry had seen his share of action against the French Navy over the years, but this was the first time he had been sent into French waters with orders not to attack. Harry put down the quill and closed the logbook, deep in thought. He looked out the windows of his cabin at the moonlight reflecting off the water.

Where is our passenger?

John Sinclair crept quietly through the dark and deserted halls of the palace, making sure that none of the guards or servants heard him. Even though he was dressed as a servant, the guards knew that no one was authorized to be in that part of the palace so late in the evening. The sudden sound of a guard approaching sent him diving under one of the small couches that lined the corridor. He held his breath as he heard the guard pass his hiding place without stopping. When the guard turned down the hallway leading to the kitchens, Sinclair continued creeping toward the far end of the corridor.

He paused when he reached the hallway where the guard had turned. The guard was nowhere to be seen, but Sinclair didn’t relax. He moved quickly past the hallway, focusing on his mission and the need to avoid being captured. He knew the fate of English spies in France, and he didn’t want to end up hanging on the end of a French rope.

Ever since James II had been deposed as King of England in 1689 by his son-in-law, King William III, English spies had been keeping a close watch on their former sovereign. James II and his eleven-year old son, James Francis Edward Stuart, were living royally in a palace outside Paris as the guests of King Louis XIV of France, and William III wanted to know if his father-in-law were planning anything with the French that might impact the current peace across Europe.

Several English spies had been captured and hung, and others had successfully made their escape but had obtained no information that would help the king know what James II was planning. Sinclair was an accomplished spy, and he was determined to return to England alive and with the information he had been sent to obtain.

Sinclair knew, as did the other spies sent to Paris, that James II would never be content to live out the rest of his life in exile. No one had any doubt that James II was planning a massive military expedition to regain his throne, but so far no one had managed to secure any proof of this.

For weeks, Sinclair had seen James II and several high-ranking members of the French court meeting in the palace, but he could never get close enough to the meeting room to overhear the conversations taking place. James II’s private secretary had been taking detailed notes of the meetings, but Sinclair had not been able to break into the cabinet where they were kept at night. This was the last night for Sinclair to find those notes before he had to leave the palace and return to England.

I will not leave France empty-handed.

As he approached the end of the corridor where the private secretary’s office was located, Sinclair saw light coming from underneath the door and knew that someone was still inside the office. James’ secretary must still be working. Looking around, Sinclair noticed a darkened alcove across the corridor and decided to hide there until the office was empty again.

For two hours, Sinclair hid in the alcove and waited. Guards passed the alcove three times, but no one ever saw him crouched down in the shadows. Finally, Sinclair heard the door open. Peering from his hiding place, he saw James II’s private secretary step into the corridor holding a small lamp. The secretary locked the office door and disappeared down the hallway leading to the kitchen.

Sinclair waited for several minutes, listening for any movement nearby. Satisfied that no one was approaching, he crossed the corridor to the office door. Taking out a couple of metal tools from his waistcoat pocket, he picked the lock and was soon inside the dimly lit office.

He picked up the candelabra on the edge of the secretary’s desk and walked over to the fireplace. He took a stick from a small leather tube on the hearth, lit it with the embers still smoldering at the back of the fireplace, and used it to light the candles. Then he looked around the room.

There, sitting on the desk in front of him, were the secretary’s notes.

Sinclair couldn’t believe his luck. The secretary always kept his papers locked in the cabinet against the far wall at night. Looking toward the cabinet, Sinclair noticed that the secretary had left it unlocked and open as well.

Sinclair immediately sat down and began going through the notes. He could tell by how neatly the papers were written that they must be the final draft for James to review. He read every page quickly. Then he looked through the secretary’s cabinet for any other papers that would contain information vital to England’s interests.

The information the spy found proved beyond any doubt that James planned to invade England with his French allies and regain his throne. But the plans went far beyond that. Sinclair found additional documents outlining plans for France and England to seize Spain’s colonial holdings once James was king again. The treasure from Spain’s colonies in the Americas would be used to fund a series of military campaigns that would result in France controlling most of Europe, Africa, and the Americas. England would be an ally of France, but Sinclair could tell that England would be ruled by France in the end.

Sinclair carefully folded the notes and other documents, placing them in a watertight leather pouch under his shirt that was secured by a belt around his chest. He was so busy with the papers that he didn’t notice the sound of anyone approaching the office until he heard the door being unlocked. Before he could move, the door opened and the secretary entered the office.

“What are you doing here?” the secretary demanded when he saw Sinclair behind his desk.

Sinclair didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the candelabra and hurled it at the secretary, hitting the man in the head. The secretary fell against the wall as Sinclair jumped over the desk. He pushed the secretary out of the way and ran out of the office into the corridor. He turned down the hallway that led to the kitchens, hoping that he could escape from the palace before the secretary could raise the alarm.

He made it as far as the kitchen when he heard the sound of guards shouting. Glancing out a nearby window, he saw guards carrying torches spreading out around the palace grounds. He knew that there was no way he could escape yet.

He quickly made his way down the stairs to the cellars beneath the kitchens. He had discovered a niche behind two wine casks several weeks earlier and decided to use that as his hiding place while he planned his escape.

As he tried to make himself comfortable in the niche, he felt angry and foolish that he had successfully spied on James II for so many weeks without being noticed, only to be discovered on the day he was due to leave for England.

He knew that the guards must be making a thorough search of the palace grounds and buildings, and he wondered how long it would take them to reach the cellar. Hours passed before he heard someone coming down the stairs. Sinclair peered out of the niche and saw that there was only a single guard there. When the guard began searching near the casks, Sinclair climbed out of the niche and leapt off one of the casks onto the back of the guard. The guard fell hard against the stone floor of the cellar and didn’t move.

Sinclair waited to see if anyone heard the sound of his attack, but no one came down the stairs to check on the guard. Sinclair quickly exchanged clothes with the unconscious guard and crept upstairs.

Looking out a window, he saw several guards exiting the stables. Knowing that they had just been searched, he strode out of the main palace building toward the stables like a guard on his normal patrol route. After looking around to see if anyone had noticed him, he ducked into the stables and hid in the loft just as the sun appeared over the palace walls. He stayed there buried under piles of straw for two days and didn’t venture back out until the sun had set the next evening.

Sinclair knew that he’d never be able to escape through the main gate, but there were other ways out of the palace grounds. Halfway along one of the palace walls, there was a drainage pipe that was large enough for a man to get through. Normally, there would have been metal grates on both ends of the pipe, but these had been removed by English agents several months earlier so spies could come and go more easily. He knew that he needed to head straight for that pipe when he was ready to make his escape.

It was several hours after sunset before he felt that it was safe to leave the stables. He thought the guards would have stopped searching the grounds, but he saw patrols moving on the grounds as he approached the palace walls. When he heard someone behind him, he started running.

“You, there. Stop!” the sergeant of the guard shouted as Sinclair ran toward the shadows of the palace walls.

Sinclair didn’t stop. He heard the musket fire from the guards behind him, but the musket balls missed their mark and hit the masonry wall above his head. Once he reached the safety of the shadows, he quickly crept toward the small drainage pipe he had used to enter the palace grounds three months earlier. He checked to make sure that no guards were near him before he dove headfirst into the pipe and crawled away from the palace grounds.

Once outside the palace walls, he looked around again to see if the guards had reached the gates. There were no lights coming from the direction of the gates, and no sounds of pursuit were coming through the pipe. Satisfied that he was safe for the moment, he turned and ran toward the inn where he knew a fast horse waited.

The sergeant of the guard turned at the sound of voices behind him. A slightly pudgy and richly dressed nobleman, along with several of his retainers, approached the sergeant from the palace.

“My Lord,” the sergeant began, “you shouldn’t be out here. The man may be armed and waiting for a chance to kill you!”

“Nonsense, sergeant,” the exiled James II of England stated. “The man was a spy, not an assassin. Do you have him in custody yet?”

“No, my Lord. We tried to follow him, but he disappeared over there,” he replied, pointing toward the shadows where the figure had run. “I sent a detachment of men to search outside the walls and in the village in case he escaped from the grounds, but so far we haven’t found him.”

“Contact the garrison and have every available man search the countryside,” James II said. “And send riders to the coast and notify the Navy. If he’s supposed to meet a ship in the Channel, he must be intercepted before he can board her.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the sergeant said, snapping quickly to attention. “At once!”

As the sergeant gave orders to his men, James II turned and walked back to the warmth of the palace. Paris was a bit warmer in October than London was, and the palace that had been provided for his use was comfortable and made his exile more bearable. He was fortunate that he had a friend in the King of France.

As he entered the palace’s grand salon, his son strode into the salon like one of the peacocks that strutted in the palace gardens and showed off its plumage. The young prince attempted to hide his usual pompous air as he approached his father, but years of pampering and privilege couldn’t be disguised easily.

In spite of the Prince’s age, his father had already been preparing him to take his rightful place as the future King of England by allowing him to sit quietly and listen in on the strategy meetings with their French allies. The young prince knew the value of the information that the spy had obtained, and he was worried.

“Did they capture the man, Father?”

“Not yet. I told them to search the countryside and to alert the Navy in case he heads for the coast.”

“What about the papers?” his son asked.

James II shook his head. “They’re still missing. They’d better not reach England or your brother-in-law will know what we’ve been planning,” James II said, referring to William III who now occupied the throne.

“Don’t call him that, Father,” his son said angrily, pouting at the thought of another man sitting on his father’s throne.

“Well I’d rather call him that than call him by the title he stole from me.”

“He’ll get his comeuppance soon enough. You’ll regain your title and exile him back to Holland before long.”

“I hope you’re right, but this spy changes things. If he has copies of our plans, it might force King Louis to withdraw his support for us in order to avoid war.”

“But I thought war was the plan.”

“It is, but on our terms, not on your brother-in-law’s. If William moves too quickly, King Louis will withdraw his support for our invasion plan in order to protect his own ambitions in Europe and the New World. Remember, Louis has his sights set on Spain and its colonies. He knows that William will oppose a unified French-Spanish crown, and he knows that he’ll have to fight England sooner or later. If he thinks William is ready for him, he won’t risk the ships and troops that he needs to secure Spain and her colonies in order to help us invade England.”

“We need to capture that spy.”

“Yes we do, son. On that, all our plans depend.”

Sinclair raced along the French roads leading to the Normandy coast, grateful that the moon provided enough light for both horse and rider to see the roads clearly. Several times during the night, he slowed down to listen for sounds of pursuit. On more than one occasion, he had to pull off the road and hide from the soldiers of the garrison who had joined in the chase.

Shortly before dawn, his horse went lame, so he abandoned the horse and made his way on foot. He had walked along a wooded path for a few hours when he heard horses approaching from behind him.

He hid behind a nearby tree and soon saw a team of horses pulling a wagon filled with wine barrels. As the wagon passed by the tree, he ran out and climbed into the wagon, hiding between two of the barrels.

The ride was bumpy, and he hit his head a number of times against the barrels, but he managed to travel unseen for several leagues. Sinclair felt the wagon make a sharp turn, and he peered over the barrels to see what was happening. He saw the wagon turning onto a road that wouldn’t lead to the coast, so he quickly jumped out and scurried off the road so no one would see him. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was, so he made his way back to the crossroads to see if there were any road markers.

After several minutes of searching, he found the marker. He was right to have abandoned the wagon when he did, as it would have carried him directly to one of the larger garrisons in the area. He looked around to make sure that he was alone and then started walking toward the coast.

Just after sundown a week later, he approached a village. During his attempt to escape from France, he had taken back roads and footpaths to avoid the soldiers, but several times he had to hide from patrols that would suddenly appear. He wasn’t surprised that the French considered the information he carried important enough to send so many soldiers after him, and he also knew that he had a long way to go before reaching the coast.

He crept along the streets, making sure there were no soldiers nearby. In the center of the village was a large tavern surrounded by horses. Evidently, one of the garrison squads pursuing him had stopped there for the evening. There was one guard with the horses, many of which were tethered to a rope line because the hitching posts were filled. Sinclair observed that the guard was more interested in what was going on inside the tavern than he was with the welfare of the horses.

He tiptoed quietly toward the guard, hoping none of the horses would make a sound that would give his presence away. When he reached a point just behind the guard, he reached forward and put his hand over the guard’s mouth while pulling the guard over and onto the ground. The guard struggled, but Sinclair punched the guard behind the ears until he stopped moving.

Sinclair looked around to see if anyone had heard the struggle, but there was no indication that the soldiers inside the tavern knew what had happened. He untethered one of the horses from the rope line and led it away from the tavern.

He had just mounted the horse to ride for the coast when two soldiers came out of the tavern to answer the call of nature. It took them a moment to realize someone was stealing one of their horses, but as Sinclair kicked the horse to make it gallop away, the soldiers shouted to their companions and ran for their own mounts. Sinclair heard soldiers following him, and he hoped that the darkness would help him get away.

He knew he could reach the coast in just a couple of days if he could escape from the soldiers. However, after almost twenty minutes of being chased at full gallop, he knew that his horse was tiring and wouldn’t be able to maintain its lead on the soldiers following him much longer.

As he thought about what to do, he noticed that several of the tree branches were lower than usual for such a well-traveled road. In the dim light from the sliver of the moon above, he saw a large branch in front of him. Without hesitation, he pulled up his legs, stood up in the saddle, and jumped. He caught the branch, swung up, and then moved quickly to the tree trunk to get out of sight. The horse, terrified at suddenly being riderless, ran even faster and soon disappeared in the darkness.

A moment later, he heard the soldiers approaching. He listened as they passed by unaware that he was hiding in the tree above them. Once they were gone, he climbed down and walked toward the coast again.

He felt tired and had taken only short naps since his escape from the palace, but he knew he couldn’t stop without risking being caught. He walked all night, and by morning, he was several miles closer to the coast.

The next morning he hid in the back of another wagon for several hours. He saw the soldiers riding by along the road, but no one ever saw him. He spent most of the afternoon walking along footpaths well away from the roads, and by evening, he stood on a bluff overlooking a small fishing village on the English Channel. It wasn’t the village where he had a boat waiting to take him to his rendezvous with an English warship, but he didn’t care. He knew he needed to steal a boat and get away from France as quickly as possible before soldiers found him again.

Small fishing boats filled the wharf, and the spy waited until after midnight before untying one from the dock and sailing it out of the inlet into the Channel. He wasn’t an experienced sailor, but he knew enough to begin making his way toward the rendezvous point.

In the moonlight, he saw the Channel clearly. He thought he saw the lanterns and lights of warships on the water and wondered if they were from a French squadron sent to intercept him. He adjusted the sails to increase speed, hoping that he could reach the English warship before being spotted. He struggled to stay awake, but the fear of capture gave him just enough energy to stay focused on sailing the boat.

“It has been two weeks, captain. How much longer do we wait for him?” Hardcastle asked in the chilly night air as he approached Harry, who was standing next to the rails on the ship’s forecastle.

“Our orders are to wait at least two weeks – three if possible. If he’s not here in the next seven days, he’s either been captured or he’ll have to find another way across the Channel,” Harry replied.

“It’s a long way to swim,” Hardcastle commented, standing next to his captain as the moonlight reflected off the icy waters of the English Channel.

“It is indeed, Mr. Hardcastle. That’s why it’s important for us to be here to meet him when he arrives.”

“And if a French patrol interferes?”

Harry turned to look at his second-in-command. “Then we either run as fast as we can, or we make them wish they hadn’t.”

“Yes, sir.”

Both men peered into the night at the coast of Normandy off their starboard side. The wind changed direction, and Hardcastle pulled his coat tighter around his chest and shivered. Harry didn’t move. He continued to stare into the night and wonder when their mysterious passenger would arrive.

“That’s the third set of lights I’ve seen in the last hour, captain,” Hardcastle said several nights later as he and Harry stood on the quarterdeck.

“Got to be at least a full squadron, don’t you think?” Harry asked.

“Yes, sir. 1st and 2nd Rate ships-of-the-line by the looks of them. Way out of our class, sir. Do you think they’re looking for our overdue passenger?”

“Probably. I want you to increase the deck watch. We’re still running dark so the French won’t see us, but I don’t want one of the French ships bumping into us by accident.”

“Yes, captain.”

Harry continued looking toward the coast of Normandy. Under the cover of darkness, he had moved his ship closer to shore than a warship of another nation would normally dare. He knew that he had to be well away from the coast before morning light or risk triggering an engagement with the French fleet, but he needed to be in the right position to pick up his passenger since this would be the last night the Winchelsea would be waiting off the coast.

Sunrise was fast approaching, and the person Harry had been waiting for had still not arrived. The ship couldn’t wait much longer without attracting the attention of the French ships patrolling the coast of Normandy in earnest over the past week. On several occasions, the Winchelsea had to change course to avoid the French patrol ships. Then under the cover of darkness, the Winchelsea would carefully return to the rendezvous point to wait for its passenger. He flew no flag, but Harry knew the French would have no difficulty recognizing the markings on his ship that identified it as part of the English Navy.

The presence of so many French ships made Harry feel comfortable that his passenger hadn’t been captured, but it wasn’t going to be easy to get him back to England safely if he didn’t appear soon. Harry walked along the weather deck of his ship, staring into the moonlit waters off the coast of France.

He finally decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He was about to give orders for the ship to get underway when one of the lookouts on the quarterdeck called softly for Harry. Harry ran over to the lookout.

“I think that’s him, captain,” the sailor whispered excitedly, pointing to the single-sail boat approaching the starboard side of the ship.

Harry peered through his telescope and saw only one passenger onboard the boat. Turning to Hardcastle, Harry said, “Prepare to get underway as soon as we have our passenger aboard. We don’t have much time.”

“Yes, captain.”

The small boat approached the Winchelsea slowly. Harry felt impatient; it would be another twenty minutes before they were underway, and that meant they would still be in French waters when the sun rose.

As Harry continued watching the slow progress of the small boat, he saw a large spray of water shoot up just in front of the boat. Then he heard the familiar boom of cannon fire. Turning, he saw the lights of a French warship approaching their position.

“Do you think they’ve seen us yet?” Hardcastle asked.

“In this light, I don’t doubt it,” Harry replied. “Pass the word quietly for the larboard battery to run out and prepare to fire on my order. Don’t use the drums; I don’t want the French to know what we’re about to do.”

“Yes, sir!” Hardcastle said as he ran to obey the orders.

Harry watched the gun crews of the larboard battery unlash the cannon carriages and begin moving the cannons away from the gunwales. Powder and cannon shot were rammed down the barrels, and then the cannon crews ran the guns out by hauling on the ropes attached to each cannon carriage and pulling the cannons forward until the muzzles were protruding through the gun ports below the larboard gunwales.

The small boat had almost reached the Winchelsea, and Harry called out a challenge to its passenger, which was the pre-arranged recognition signal. Sinclair responded to the challenge, confirming his identity. “Hurry up!” Harry shouted. “We have to get underway now or we’ll never make it back to England!”

“Toss me a line,” Sinclair shouted back.

Harry turned to one of his midshipmen and ordered the man to throw one of the ropes coiled on a nearby belaying pin to the small boat. The midshipman obeyed, and a moment later, Sinclair caught the rope and dove over the side of his boat into the water with the rope firmly clutched in his hands.

“Help that man get onboard,” Harry ordered. Turning to his sailing master, Harry said, “Make your course north – best possible speed.” Gesturing to one of the Marines standing nearby, he said, “Go tell Mr. Hardcastle to have the larboard battery open fire as soon as we begin moving forward. Aim for her rigging and sails!”

“Yes, sir,” the Marine responded as he left the quarterdeck.

Harry heard the French ship fire again and looked over the railing in time to see the small boat shatter as the cannon shot hit the boat dead center. That was close. He looked up to see if the sails were set.

He felt the ship begin moving. Looking over the larboard railing, he watched as the French ship continued to approach his position. He heard Hardcastle give the order to “Fire,” and then the roar of the cannons sounded.

The French captain, apparently unaware that he was approaching a ship ready to defend herself, turned his ship quickly to fire a broadside at the Winchelsea. Harry ordered the larboard battery to reload, and he turned to the sailing master to see if the ship could maneuver more quickly.

“I’ll see what I can do, captain,” the sailing master responded.

The larboard battery had run out again when Harry saw Sinclair being pulled up over the railing. “Get that man a blanket and take him below,” Harry ordered before returning his attention to the French ship getting ready to fire on his position.

Looking up, Harry saw clouds moving in and covering the moon. He saw the light from the French ship’s lanterns, but since the lanterns on his own ship were dark, the French would have to aim their guns based on where the Winchelsea had been when it first opened fire. He ordered the larboard battery to fire again and then ordered the quartermaster to turn northeast.

As the ship turned, the French ship opened fire. Harry and everyone else on the quarterdeck dropped quickly to avoid being hit by the debris from the French cannon shot. The wind increased speed, and Harry decided to run rather than fire at the French ship again. He stood up and ordered the larboard battery secured. He then shouted to his sailing master to add as much sail as possible to outrun the French.

As the sky grew lighter, Harry saw that another French ship had joined in the pursuit. Being a smaller ship, the Winchelsea had more speed, but there were several other French ships patrolling off the coast that Harry had to slip past. He saw their sails in the distance and knew that he’d soon have an entire squadron trying to intercept him.

He turned to see Sinclair coming up on deck wearing dry clothes and clean-shaven. “Welcome aboard the HMS Winchelsea,” Harry said. “I’m Captain Hastings.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the passenger replied. “My name is John Sinclair. I’m sorry to be the cause of all this bother.”

“Not at all, Mr. Sinclair. My orders are to get you to England no matter what, so we’ll deal with the bother, as you put it.”

“I’m grateful, Captain. The information I have is urgent.”

“You’re a spy, then?” Harry asked, curious about his passenger.

“Among other things, captain,” Sinclair replied. “I’ve been in Paris keeping an eye on James and his son. It looks like they’re up to no good. I managed to steal the final version of their invasion plans but got discovered and had to make an undignified escape. I’ve been on the run for the last couple of weeks.”

Looking at the man, Harry said, “You look exhausted. You should rest.”

“I can’t rest until we’re clear of all this,” he said, gesturing to the French ships in pursuit.

“Well then at least take yourself below decks in case they start firing on us again. I don’t want to have gone to all this trouble just to have a French cannonball end your career before you can report back to London.”

“Yes, Captain,” Sinclair said, smiling.

Over the next several hours, Harry changed course a number of times to take advantage of the wind and increase his distance from the pursuing French ships. Even though he was no longer in French waters, the French ships continued their pursuit to keep Harry’s passenger from reaching England.

Shortly after noon, Harry saw two additional French ships approaching from starboard and larboard, trying to cut him off and trap him. He watched their courses carefully, judged the direction of the wind, and decided on a strategy. He ordered the quartermaster to steer toward the starboard ship and make it look like he planned to engage it. He then ordered Hardcastle to load both the larboard and starboard batteries with chain shot, but to run out only the larboard battery.

Harry knew the French ship would see the larboard battery run out and assume Harry planned to attack from that direction. Harry watched as the starboard ship changed course to put it in the best position to fire on Harry’s ship. The ship approaching from larboard adjusted its course slightly to put it in position to attack Harry from the rear.

Just before the larboard battery should have opened fire, Harry ordered the ship to turn hard to larboard and sail directly between the two French ships in front of him. The sailing master had the rigging adjusted to tack the ship to larboard as Harry directed. The gun crews ran out the starboard battery, and when the Winchelsea reached the perfect firing position, Harry ordered both batteries to open fire. Acrid smoke covered the quarterdeck for a moment, but it soon dissipated.

As he sailed past the two French ships, he watched as their foremasts cracked and fell into the water. Harry’s cannons had split the masts just below the lowest yardarm, forcing both ships to break off the pursuit.

As Harry looked behind him, the French ships pursuing him had to change course to keep from running into the two ships he had just damaged, allowing him to increase his distance from them.

The lookout on top of the mainmast shouted that he spotted sails off the larboard bow, and when Harry looked through his telescope, he saw that they bore the pennants of his squadron. The French ships saw the other English ships approaching and broke off the pursuit.

“Mr. Hardcastle, raise the squadron pennant and the colors, if you please,” Harry ordered his second-in-command.

“Yes, Captain!” Hardcastle replied before turning and ordering the English flag raised.

Harry’s squadron escorted the Winchelsea to Portsmouth. When Sinclair disembarked, he shook Harry’s hand. “That was excellent sailing, Captain Hastings. I appreciate all you did for me, and I hope I wasn’t too much of an inconvenience. The information I obtained may well help determine whether William remains as our king, or James returns to the throne.”

“What happens after you deliver your information?” Harry asked.

“I change my appearance and head back to France,” Sinclair replied. “Someone has to keep an eye on Louis and James so our king knows what his enemies are doing.”

As Sinclair left the ship, Harry wondered what it must be like to pretend to be someone else for a mission vital to England’s interests.