‘Did he, Sharpe?’ Dalton asked, surprised.
‘Same build,’ Sharpe said. ‘Not that I ever saw Pohlmann except through a telescope.’ Which was not true, but Sharpe had to cover his tracks.
‘Who,’ Chase interrupted, ‘is Anthony Pohlmann?’
‘He’s a Hanoverian soldier, sir, who led the Mahratta armies at Assaye.’
‘Sharpe,’ Chase said seriously, ‘are you sure?’
‘He looked like him,’ Sharpe replied, reddening, ‘very like.’
‘God save me,’ Chase said in his Devonian accent, then frowned in thought. Lord William approached him again, but Chase distractedly waved his lordship away and Lord William, already insulted by the captain’s disregard, looked even more offended. ‘But the main point,’ Chase went on, ‘is that von Dornberg and his servant, if he is a servant, are now on the Revenant. Hopper!’
‘Sir?’ the bosun called from the main deck.
‘I want all Pucelles back on board fast, but you wait with my barge. Mister Horrocks! Here, please!’ Horrocks was the Pucelle’s fourth lieutenant who would command the small prize crew, just three men, that Chase would leave aboard the Calliope. The men were not needed to sail the ship, for Tufnell and the Calliope’s own seamen could do that, but they were to stay aboard the Indiaman to register Chase’s claim on the vessel which would now sail to Cape Town where the French prisoners would be given into the care of the British garrison and the ship could be revictualled for its journey back to Britain and the waiting lawyers. Chase gave Horrocks his orders, stressing that he was to accede to Lieutenant Tufnell in all matters of sailing the Calliope, but he also instructed Horrocks to select twenty of the Calliope’s best seamen and press them into the Pucelle. ‘I don’t like doing it,’ he told Sharpe, ‘but we’re short-handed. Poor fellows won’t be happy, but who knows? Some may even volunteer.’ He did not sound hopeful. ‘What about you, Sharpe? Will you sail with us?’
‘Me, sir?’
‘As a passenger,’ Chase hurriedly explained. ‘We’re going your way, as it happens, and you’ll reach England far quicker by sailing with me than staying aboard this scow. Of course you want to come. Clouter!’ he called to one of his barge crew in the ship’s waist. ‘You’ll bring Mister Sharpe’s dunnage on deck. Lively now! He’ll show you where it is.’
Sharpe protested. ‘I should stay here, sir,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be in your way.’
‘Don’t have time to discuss it, Sharpe,’ Chase said happily. ‘Of course you’re coming with me.’ The captain at last turned to Lord William Hale who had been growing ever more angry at Chase’s lack of attention. Chase walked away with his lordship as Clouter, the big black man who had fought so hard on the night Sharpe had first met Chase, climbed to the quarterdeck. ‘Where do we go, sir?’ Clouter asked.
‘The dunnage will wait for a while,’ Sharpe answered. He did not want to leave the Calliope, not while Lady Grace was aboard, but first he would have to invent some pressing excuse to refuse Chase’s invitation. He could think of none offhand, but the thought of abandoning Lady Grace was unbearable. If the worst came to the worst, he decided, he would risk offending Chase by simply refusing to change ships.
Chase was now pacing up and down beneath the poop, listening to Lord William who was doing most of the talking. Chase was nodding, but eventually the captain seemed to shrug resignedly, then turned abruptly to rejoin Sharpe. ‘Damn,’ he said bitterly, ‘damn and double damn. You still standing here, Clouter? Go and fetch Mister Sharpe’s dunnage! Nothing too heavy. No pianofortes or four poster beds.’
‘I told him to wait,’ Sharpe said.
Chase frowned. ‘You’re not going to argue with me, are you, Sharpe? I have quite enough troubles. His bloody lordship claims he needs to reach Britain swiftly and I couldn’t deny that we’re on our way into the Atlantic.’
‘The Atlantic?’ Sharpe asked, astonished.
‘Of course! I told you I was going your way. And besides, that’s where the Revenant is gone. I’ll swear on it. I’m even risking my reputation on it. And Lord William tells me he is carrying government despatches, but is he? I don’t know. I think he just wants to be on a larger and safer ship, but I can’t refuse him. I’d like to, but I can’t. Damn his eyes. You’re not listening to this, are you, Clouter? These are words for your superiors and betters. Damn! So now I’m hoisted with bloody Lord William Hale and his bloody wife, their bloody servants and his bloody secretary. Damn!’
‘Clouter,’ Sharpe said energetically, ‘lower-deck steerage, larboard side. Hurry!’ He almost sang as he jumped down the stairs. Grace was going with him!
Sharpe hid his elation as he made his farewells. He was sorry to part from Ebenezer Fairley and from Major Dalton, both of whom pressed invitations on him to visit their homes. Mrs Fairley clasped Sharpe to her considerable bosom and insisted he took a bottle of brandy and another of rum with him. ‘To keep you warm, dear,’ she said, ‘and to stop Ebenezer from guzzling them.’
A longboat from the Pucelle carried the pressed men away from the Calliope. They were mostly the youngest seamen and they went to replace those of Chase’s crew who had succumbed to disease during the Pucelle’s long cruise. They looked morose, for they were exchanging good wages for poor. ‘But we’ll cheer them up,’ Chase said airily. ‘There’s nothing like a dose of victory to cheer a tar.’
Lord William had insisted that his expensive furniture be taken to the Pucelle, but Chase exploded in anger, saying that his lordship could either travel without furniture or not travel at all, and his lordship had icily given way, though he did convince Chase that his collection of official papers must go with him. Those were all brought from his cabin and taken to the Pucelle, then Lord William and his wife left the Calliope without making any farewells. Lady Grace looked utterly distraught as she left. She had been weeping and was now making a huge effort to appear dignified, but she could not help giving Sharpe a despairing glance as she was lowered by a rope and tackle into Chase’s barge. Malachi Braithwaite clambered down the Calliope’s side after her and gave Sharpe a venomously triumphant look as if to suggest that he would now enjoy Lady Grace’s company while Sharpe was marooned on the Calliope. Lady Grace gripped the gunwale of the barge with a white-knuckled hand, then the wind snatched at her hat, lifting its brim, and as she caught the hat she saw Sharpe swing out of the entry port and begin to clamber down the ship’s side and, for a heartbeat, an expression of pure joy showed on her face. Braithwaite, seeing Sharpe come down the ladder, gaped in astonishment and looked as though he wanted to protest, but his mouth just opened and closed like a gaffed fish. ‘Make space, Braithwaite,’ Sharpe said, ‘I’m keeping you company.’
‘Goodbye, Sharpe! Write to me!’ Dalton called.
‘Good luck, lad!’ Fairley boomed.
Chase descended the ladder last and took his place in the sternsheets. ‘All together now!’ Hopper shouted and the oarsmen dug in their red and white blades and the barge slid away from the Calliope.
The stench of the Pucelle reached across the water. It was the smell of a huge crew crammed into a wooden ship, the stink of unwashed bodies, of body waste, of tobacco, tar, salt and rot, but the ship herself loomed high and mighty, a great sheer wall of gunports, crammed with men, powder and shot.
‘Goodbye!’ Dalton called a last time.
And Sharpe joined the hunter, seeking revenge, going home.
‘I hate having women on board,’ Chase said savagely. ‘It’s bad luck, you know that? Women and rabbits, both bring bad luck.’ He touched the polished table in his day cabin to avert the ill