A New War

by John G. Cragg

  A New War:

  At Home and at Sea

  1803

  by

  John G. Cragg

  Beach Front Publishing House

  A New War: at Home and at Sea – 1803

  Copyright © 2016 by Beach Front Publishing House

  BeachFrontPress@gmail.com

  All rights reserved.

  Dedicated to

  My most encouraging and helpful critic

  Olga Browzin Cragg

  Chapter I

  It is astounding how important news spreads through the countryside without any intervention from newspapers. Almost as soon as old Mr. Charles Gramley of Dipton Hall died, it was known that the estate was heavily in debt, while his heir, James Gramley was known as a profligate. Somehow, the news then spread that each had been borrowing on the same security so that when his father’s debts were added to his own, Mr. James was in no position to occupy and maintain his inheritance.

  Presumably, this meant that Dipton Hall would have to be let. The circumstance was regarded as no great loss by various young ladies in the area for, even on the infrequent occasions when he had been at Dipton Hall, Mr. James had shown no interest in their charms, while even the mothers who were most eager to see their offspring married had looked with little favor on the spendthrift, uncouth and ill-appearing heir to Dipton Hall. Instead, the news inspired lively, though uninformed, speculation about who the new tenant might be and whether the new household would include any unmarried men who would provide suitable targets for the marriage maneuvers of the young ladies and their mothers. Indeed, the next rumor was that the Gramley financial situation was so serious that the estate would have to be sold – and with it the dower house and even the right to appointing clergymen to the livings in Upper Dipton and Dipton. The second of these church positions was currently vacant, filled temporarily by the incumbent of Upper Dipton while Mr. Gramley collected the tithes and rents.

  The news of the sale of Dipton Hall met with mixed reaction.

  “Now we’ll have some jumped up manufacturer pretending to be a gentleman living at Dipton Hall,” complained Mr. Sandforth of Deepling Hill. “Or worse still some shoddy Army contractor.”

  “Well, it would not be a bad thing to get some more active people in the parish, and, anyway, many of the now landed gentry can trace their fortunes back to people in trade or commerce,” countered his daughter, Miss Penelope Sandforth, “and often their sons have been to good schools and are perfect gentlemen.” She had yet to secure as a husband one of the gentlemen of the neighborhood and she was not averse to having a wider hunting range.

  Widening the supply of possible suitors was, indeed, the hope of many of the young ladies of the area, for there seemed to be many more who needed well-to-do husbands than there were well-off men looking for brides. So excitement grew as it was learned that a naval captain had shown serious interest in the estate and had visited with another captain on a hurried visit of inspection. Soon it was learned, through a circuitous route starting with a solicitor’s clerk in Dorchester, that the Captain was named Giles and his companion was called Bush.

  When the rumor reached Mr. George Butler, who took a keen interest in everything naval, he looked the captains up in the Naval List. Unfortunately, either from inaccuracy of the transmission of the news, or because Mr. Butler was rather deaf, the captains he sought had the names Miles and Rush. His search revealed that Captain Rush was a very senior officer, who had been made Post in 1775, so he could not be a young man. There was no Captain Miles; all that Mr. Butler could find was a rather elderly Lieutenant Miles.

  “I suppose,” Mr. Butler told his two nieces, Catherine and Susan, “that the man must have been given command of a cutter or sloop. “Naval custom is that those who are in command of a vessel, even a very humble one, are given the honorary title of captain. I confess that I have never heard of Captain Rush. He must have inherited his money; I do not believe that I would not know of him if he had earned a great amount of prize money.”

  Mr. Butler then had to explain to his nieces that prize money was the money paid to the officers and crews of ships for prizes; then he had to explain that prizes were enemy ships captured by vessels of the Royal Navy. He felt no need to elaborate on the terms further to explain that the same terminology was usually used for the reward for a privateer capturing an enemy vessel.

  The information that Mr. Butler had discovered did not sound encouraging to the young ladies, for Catherine at age 21 had been in high hopes of finding that the captains would make suitable mates, and Susan, aged 19, was at least as keen as her sister to land a well-to-do catch. Their opinion might well have been altered had they paid enough attention to realize that Mr. Butler had the names wrong. However, they took this news as gospel and, with some embellishments, spread the word among all the young ladies of the neighborhood that the new residents of Dipton Hall were a great deal less interesting than they had hoped they would be.

  So the news that the captains were staying at the Dipton Arms, though of considerable interest to all, was greeted with only rather limited enthusiasm by many.

  “Why are they staying at the inn,” asked Susan Butler when the subject arose at tea. “Why aren’t they at Dipton Hall?”

  “Because, you ninny, Mr. Gramley sold most of the furniture, don’t you remember? And he let most of the staff go before he sold the estate,” answered her sister with a superior air.

  “Well, that won’t be made easier now that Captain Giles has sacked the butler and the housekeeper,” said their mother, glad to have some news that her daughters hadn’t yet heard.

  “Where did you hear that?” asked Mr. William Butler, her husband and father to the two young ladies.

  “Ellie had it from George who heard it from Roger, the gamekeeper at Dipton Hall, when he was in the Dipton Arms. Ellie says that they were sacked because Captain Giles was going over the household accounts and found they had both been stealing. And that half the cellar had disappeared before it was sold at the auction.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” said Mr. Butler, “I never did like the look of that man. Though old Gramley never served very good wine anyway, and I heard that the cellar fetched next to nothing.”

  “Well, without the senior staff, the new residents will have a hard time choosing staff and furnishing the place. Perhaps we should offer to help. Papa you must pay them a call at the Dipton Arms and invite them to visit us.” Susan saw no reason to abandon all hope when there was no other prospect on the horizon.

  “Oh, they’ll get some London arranger to furnish the place, no doubt,” said Mr. Butler.

  “Getting good help is more of a problem, especially when they don’t know the neighborhood. Mr. Butler, you really should go,” said Mrs. Butler, who also saw the advantage in getting ahead of the competition.

  “Not till they are settled,” said Mr. Butler firmly. “We could be of no help in decorating and I am not going to make recommendations on staff. If my suggestions don’t work out, we would just be blamed for their hiring them.”

  There the matter rested for the Butlers. Similar conversations were held in other houses around the neighborhood, with similar results. The new inhabitants were to be ignored until they had properly taken occupancy of Dipton Hall – when it would be each eligible young lady for herself – and in the meantime, they would pump their servants for news through the web of information that circulated among those who kept the gentry’s economy running.

  Daphne Moorhouse was one young lady who had not shown much interest in the news of the new arrivals. This indifference was not because she was not fully cognizant of the rumors and speculation surrounding them. It was rather that she was a good listener who herself did little to add to rumor or to speculate
on events. And she did not exhibit the keen interest in the suitability for marriage of the various young men about whom so much of the speculation by other young ladies centered. Indeed, it was widely supposed that, having not simpered properly when she first came out – instead rather frightening off several possible suitors by her directness and willingness to hold firm on a large number of subjects many of which were not widely considered suitable for young ladies – she was undoubtedly condemned to spinsterhood. Indeed, this might be expected in any case since as the youngest daughter, her proper calling would be to care for her father in his old age and not abandon him for another man. The likelihood of this outcome was accentuated by her eccentricity in not adhering to minor social customs if they appeared to have no merit in particular circumstances.

  Daphne was indeed the youngest of Mr. Moorhouse’s offspring. Her brother, and Mr. Moorhouse’s presumed heir, was well established as a barrister in London, and her two sisters were married with several children each. Her mother had died when she was fourteen, and as she grew up she indeed had steadily taken over more and more of the duties of running the Dipton Manor house, and taking the myriad decisions involved in managing the estate. She was devoted to her nieces and nephews who delighted in her willingness to indulge in play and to romp with them in quite undignified ways. All in all, the role of the valued, independent spinster, pillar of the community, and beloved aunt was one that she seemed to be assuming most willingly even though she was now only twenty-one.

  On the morning after the news spread about the visitors at the inn, Daphne Moorhouse was walking at her usual brisk pace from Dipton Manor to St. Mary’s Church, Dipton, to ensure that all was in readiness for the service on the coming Sunday. To her mild surprise and interest, she saw a man – clearly a gentleman – standing at the side of the path first apparently gazing off into the distance and then consulting a sheet of paper in his hand. Since she knew all the gentlemen for miles around, she presumed that he must be one of the captains. Completely ignoring the fact that they had not been introduced, she hailed the man with the cry, “Can I help you, Captain?”

  Richard Giles, startled, spun around. Before him he saw a slim woman, from her clothes clearly a lady and an attractive one at that, looking at him directly from corn-flower blue eyes without a hint of that bashfulness so often assumed when a young lady met a gentleman for the first time, though she curtseyed as he bowed to her.

  “Madam, allow me to introduce myself. I am Richard Giles.” In the Navy, Giles had insisted on not being addressed as ‘Lord Giles’, using instead the title “Captain”, and he would never have dreamed of mentioning the knighthood that had been awarded to him just before he came down to Dipton. “And in answer to your question, I was just reflecting on how much it appears that this land has been allowed to deteriorate.”

  “Oh, dear,” Daphne thought to herself. “Have I done it again? I suppose I should have waited for a proper introduction. However, I’ll just have to make the best of it. I hope he won’t hold it against me.”

  “I am Daphne Moorhouse,” she announced, “from Dipton Manor. And yes, in recent years Mr. Gramley has not really kept up the drainage or hedges on his land.”

  “So are those fields to the left, which seem to be in better condition, on your land?”

  “Yes – or at least on my father’s. He has kept up – and indeed-- improved the drainage.” Daphne saw no need to mention that in fact the initiatives for the maintenance and improvements all came from her. Indeed, her father had so little interest in farming that she was actually in charge of all these operations, except that usually her father would resist for a time any suggestion that he spend money on improvements and make her justify them clearly.

  “I am about to return to the village. May I accompany you?” Giles asked, holding out his arm for Daphne to take.

  Daphne was more than willing to have company, and they were soon talking animatedly about requirements of the land and how best to farm it. Giles was astonished to meet a young lady who was perfectly willing to express strong opinions, even ones at odds with his own. Daphne was equally surprised to find a naval captain who seemed to be well informed about farming problems, even if some of his ideas were a bit muddled. But before the conversation could become heated, they reached the inn which was his destination. As they were about to part, Daphne impulsively ignored all proper behavior.

  “Captain,” she smiled, “I have enjoyed this walk. I don’t know if you and Captain Bush have an engagement tomorrow. But if you don’t, I – and, of course, my father – would be delighted if you could come to dinner after church.”

  Giles looked startled at the invitation, but wasted no time in accepting.

  Daphne proceeded towards the church, thinking wryly, though without regret, about her impulsive invitation. She knew that Mrs. Hancock, the family cook, would have any needed provisions and that she could easily square any objections that her father would certainly make, for he always shunned the unexpected.

  Daphne’s invitation produced greater consternation in the Inn Yard. Giles turned in to find Bush and Carstairs, his coxswain, in conversation with the innkeeper.

  “Captain … ugh … Richard,” Bush hailed him, still not used to addressing Giles as an equal rather than as his commanding officer, “The axel on our carriage was cracked on that last bump we hit getting here. Carstairs tells me that it can’t be fixed for a couple of days, and the innkeeper has no carriage for hire – and knows of none in the immediate area. So we shan’t be going anywhere for a day or two and we will have to postpone our visit to the farms.”

  “Well, are there any horses for hire? We could easily ride for our visits. And I have just accepted an invitation to dine tomorrow. We will need some means of getting there since your leg is not up to walking that far yet.”

  “We do have several horses for hire, sir,” interjected the inn-keeper. “Fine steeds!”

  “And how do you expect me to ride with only one leg and one arm,” grumped Bush. “I just don’t think riding a horse is the solution to our problem.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll have to learn to ride despite your injuries if you are going to live in the country. And there is no time to start like now, with Carstairs and me here to help you. Think of all the peg-legs you’ve seen on ships, and that is much harder than riding a horse.”

  Bush was ashamed to admit that he had never ridden a horse even when he had had two legs and two hands, and that the prospect rather terrified him. Instead, he said, with rather bad grace, that since they had decided to go by horse, he had better start by practicing getting on and off the beast. To his dismay, Carstairs promptly headed into the stable and quickly emerged with a large, black horse.

  “This, Captain Bush, seems to be the most docile of the mounts here. Let’s get you aboard.”

  Carstairs boosted Bush into the saddle. Unfortunately, the horse took exception to this; only Carstairs’ quick lunge to grab the head harness stopped Bush being ignominiously bucked right off. Even so, he had trouble grabbing the pommel with his one hand and was only just able to hang on.

  When he had the horse under control again, Carstairs said, “See, sir. That wasn’t so bad. We’ll walk around a little to get him used to you. Just hold the reins in your hand, tight enough so that you can pull on one or the other or both.”

  They proceeded slowly around the inn yard two times. Bush was just getting to feel a bit more confident that he wasn’t about to fall off when Carstairs stopped.

  “Now you had better try getting off, sir. Just swing your leg over his back – no, the good leg, he is used to people mounting him on the port side.”

  Bush complied. Just as his right foot touched the ground, the end of his wooden leg slipped through the stirrup, in such a way that he could not extract it. The horse, alarmed by this development, started shifting around despite Carstairs hanging on to his head harness, leaving Bush hopping around on his good leg while clinging to the saddle to prevent his fall
ing over. Only Giles’s coming to the rescue and getting the wooden leg out of the stirrup prevented a rather nasty accident.

  “I told you this wouldn’t work,” said Bush decisively.

  “Nonsense. What you need is a groove in the bottom of your leg. Carstairs, can you cut it?”

  “Aye, aye sir. Just let me have the leg, Captain Bush.”

  So, still grumbling about the futility of the exercise, Bush passed the leg to Carstairs. When it was altered, up on the horse Bush had to go again, for he still was unwilling to confess that he had no wish ever to ride or that he had never before been on a horse.

  Another couple of trips around the inn yard, and mounting and dismounting without further incident, did give Bush a measure of confidence.

  “I think that now you are ready to try riding by yourself,” announced Giles. “Let go of the horse, Carstairs.”

  “But how do I steer?” asked Bush.

  For the first time Carstairs realized that Bush had no experience riding a horse. “Pull on the starboard line to make him go to starboard and on the port one to go to port. Pull on both to get him to stop. And, Captain, until you are more used to the horse, I had better come along to help. If you get your own horse, he can be trained so that you mount from starboard, but mounting from port is the usual way, and that’s what most horses expect.”

  This rudimentary instruction was sufficient so that next day Captains Giles and Bush were announced as visitors at Dipton Manor. After introductions, Daphne asked, “Did you walk? I didn’t hear a carriage.”

  “Why no. We rode,” replied Bush nonchalantly.

  “How very brave of you!” Daphne, as usual, spoke without regard to customary proprieties. “I can’t imagine how you do it with your injury. Is it recent? And how did you get it?”

  “Oh. I was wounded in our last engagement with the French, four months ago,” For the first time Bush felt proud and was glad that someone recognized openly his problem rather than nervously skirting around it. “But I’ve only had the peg-leg for three weeks and am still getting used to it. Captain Giles’ cox’un came with us to help me on and off the horse.”