The Friendly Sea (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 1)

by Andrew Wareham

  “The mixture as before, sir? Arm the savages, butcher innocent farmers and their families, carry fire and sword through pastoral lands in the name of freedom?”

  “You sound bitter, Mr Harris! It is only politicians at play, setting their names to glory in the history books – what are a few thousand dead compared with a demagogue’s immortality?”

  “I’ll inform Mr Stewart, sir. Any neutral stopped to be examined rigorously and all deserters and renegades to be taken without fail.”

  “Exactly so, Mr Harris! If the Americans wish to play, then we shall accommodate them. They wish to bully the weak, well, we invented that game!”

  Frederick glanced at the convoy list, shook his head.

  “Eight big ships, sir, valuable stores, some officers’ families. A great responsibility.”

  “And one sloop as escort. We must keep close, never losing sight of any of them, position depending on the wind direction and strength, obviously, but always there to interpose Athene between the convoy and any threat. Masters all have experience, know they must never scatter to be snapped up one by one. So, I am to be called for any sail sighted, however insignificant; for any change in the wind; for anything out of the ordinary in any way. Full sweep, dawn and dusk, double lookouts at all times.”

  “I will inform each officer personally, sir.”

  “The Admiral said that he presumed I would choose to follow the coast north, to shorten the passage. He did not give an order.”

  Frederick tried to remember the trend of the coast, the alternative deep water routing. “Water at Bermuda, sir, instead?”

  “Preferably not, with fair winds we can make the run in a month so water should not be a problem. Take a course as if for Bermuda, then head further east, pick up the Trades and run to Halifax on a nor’westerly heading. Any force looking to intercept us should be further south and west of our track.”

  The theory was good, Frederick agreed.

  Five uneventful, taut-nerved weeks, a sense of triumph as the stores were delivered without loss or incident of any sort. Halifax contained a bored, uninterested Port Admiral who saw the safe delivery of convoys as the merest routine, the simple function of any naval ship.

  “You’re not ordered to this station, Captain Atkinson, so you might as well bugger off again, sir. Water hoy in the forenoon and firewood; you will have no other needs after so short a passage.”

  “I would like some greenstuff if possible, sir. Fruit and lemon or lime juice certainly.”

  “Wrong season for fruit, captain! Juice, yes, waste of time and money, but it’s in the stores. If you must have greens then send your purser to the market. Good day to you, sir!”

  The flag-captain led Atkinson away, issued orders for water and wood, companionably escorted him to the jetty for his barge.

  “Shore boat will come out to you after you have watered, Atkinson – there will be cabbages at least, whatever else we can lay our hands on we will. The Admiral has his little foibles, you know, he believes scurvy to be the product of natural vice, sir. Men who perform undesirable acts, such as having congress with women, will inevitably suffer it – their own fault for not indulging in a purer love!”

  Faces studiously composed they farewelled each other gravely, formally, parted at the steps.

  “Oh, by the way, Captain Atkinson,” the flag-captain called, “I forgot to mention that the Admiral wrote a pamphlet – ‘The Scurvy Discussed and Its True Nature, Cause and Prevention Disclosed’- but I persuaded him that the Hurt and Sick Board would be upset to have official policy challenged so publicly, so he did not publish after all.”

  Atkinson’s howl of laughter rang out across the harbour, drew eyes from all the ships at anchor, knowing speculation from many.

  Fast passage to Antigua, Athene trailed by a miasma of boiled cabbage and thundering farts, the fresh vegetables having surprised any number of digestive systems.

  Frederick was furiously busy, at first with exercises, the long run of the Atlantic seaboard ideal for training. Sail-handling was still too slow and out-of-the-ordinary, unexpected orders received a very poor reaction, the men having to think their way through the new situation. It was essential that the topmen should be able to respond instantly, mechanically, to any demand made on them in action when only the captain’s thoughts counted. Much the same problem was to be observed with the great guns – in action, in the gloom of powder smoke, battered by the vast noise, frightened by the screams of the wounded, spattered with their mates’ blood, the men must serve the carronades rapidly and precisely, a round a minute, unfailingly, correctly pointed, using the short-barrelled smashers’ great advantage of rapid fire to its best. Incessant repetition, drill, drill and more drill until the hands moved independently of the brain and the best men could look around them and think what might come next without losing speed or accuracy in the present task.

  Fortunately, the men grew skilled, fast and expert – not perfect, that demanded years working together, but more than adequate – and the drills necessarily grew shorter. What to do with the men when they were not at exercise? Fewer than twenty were needed to sail the ship in normal weather, with another ten performing tradesmen’s functions, seventy potentially idle. Working the ship watch and watch meant that forty or so were resting, sleeping, relaxing, but there still remained a couple of dozen on duty with nothing obvious to do. The men who were needed to fight the ships were a superfluous nuisance at all other times, possibly for years at a time, a potential hazard, a source of mutiny and unrest if they were left idle. It was necessary to make work for them and then make that work seem valuable, not punishment labour. Much of a first lieutenant’s energy was devoted to squaring this particular circle.

  Painting, polishing, sweeping, cleaning, chipping roundshot, mending sails, greasing blocks; setting and trimming sail to take the best of every wind; exercising the boats; small arms practice. Teaching the landsmen their duty, each assigned a mentor; watching over Simple Simon; pumping out the ship having first let a foot of water into the bilges to clean them out. An imaginative premier could always find something for every man to do when the forces of weather and the King’s Enemies left them at a loss for activity, but there was no end to the task and the advance planning.

  It was a pity that the people had to have any free time other than a minimum for sleeping and eating, but some relaxation could not be avoided. Alcohol and tobacco helped calm them; there was always someone who could sing and the Welsh would chorus at any opportunity; Smudger Smith, an otherwise incompetent landsman, had a trumpet which he played adequately, could beat out all the old favourites the men loved. They needed a violinist besides, for dancing – he must look out for one – it was the Sugar Islands, it might be possible to buy a talented field hand.

  Into English Harbour with a flourish, the masts stripping sail as one, dropping a boat and squaring the yards in quick and quiet order. Not a flash ship, not one of the showy, boastful sort, but visibly competent and proud of herself.

  “Convoy to Jamaica, then a cruise along the Main, Mr Harris. Not such rich pickings in Spanish waters, generally, but a chance of a pirate to amuse us.”

  “Sailing when, sir?”

  “Three days hence. Prize court has sat on our captures, condemned both without query, no inconvenient neutral owners putting in an appearance. The agent has sold the sugar and tobacco already and has the hulls at auction, talks of a total of about twenty eight thousand, twenty seven after fees. Watchkeepers’ eighth goes three ways, Horley’s to his heirs and assigns, yourself and Paston seeing about eleven hundred and twenty apiece.”

  “Very pleasing, sir. I must get a message to the agent giving him my bankers’ names.”

  “Go ashore and do it yourself, sir! The men will all have shore leave and so must you. You have not been out of the ship since taking on your present responsibilities, which you are discharging remarkably well, I would add – I am pleased indeed with you, sir! You will take twenty four hours
, Mr Harris, and that, sir, is an order!”

  Jervis, the prize agent, was happy to see Frederick, advanced him one hundred guineas in gold, silver and paper and noted his bank’s direction – the Winchester and South Hampshire at its branch in Bishop’s Waltham – promising him his best attention. Young and profitable lieutenants grew up into dashing and profitable captains in Jervis’ experience, an unending stream of commission into Jervis’ pockets.

  “The coins, Mr Jervis – they don’t seem to be guineas, all of them.”

  “Almost none, sir – doubloons, moidores, sequins, dollars, louis d’or, Portuguese Joes, Maria Theresas – all of them circulate here, sir, by weight or face value, every shopkeeper knows them all.”

  Frederick was amazed – it was the stuff of the pirate stories of his childhood.

  “Can I recommend, sir, Madame Blanchard’s house? All of the best and cleanest, sir.”

  It took Frederick several seconds to twig, to understand what Madame Blanchard’s must be; he blushed – but he went there. The Madame, expert in her trade, provided a slightly older, comfortably mature, unthreatening lady who very gently relieved Frederick of five guineas and an increasingly tedious virginity; he learned a deal that night, quite a lot of it good for him.

  Back to the ship in the morning, swaggering a little, a grin on his face, feeling goodwill to the whole world; he passed a market, row upon row of variously black ladies sat behind piles of roots, fruit and vegetables; a few stood behind tables of anonymous flesh and dried or smoked fish, the smell here strong and indigestible. Three men leant against empty donkey carts, presumably having brought their womenfolk in at dawn from further down the coast.

  A shilling each hired carts and drivers, a very few shillings more loaded the carts with bananas, coconuts and papaya, green, tan and gold in the bright sunshine; to the steps and a signal for a boat, Arkwright loading and instructed to return at soonest. Back to the market – a welcome return, the few shillings he had paid being a lot of pennies over the top – and he bought again, live chicken, their feet tied, cobs of maize, sweet potato, okra, pumpkin tops for greens, a mass of boiled groundnuts. The crew would feast before sailing and would have fruit for a week thereafter; they would be healthier and would know that the officers cared about them, wanted to look after them, had their best interests at heart, and all for less than he had spent at Madame Blanchard’s – there was a moral there, no doubt, but Frederick did not really care what it was.

  A pair of troopships to Jamaica, ancient East Indiamen, no longer to be trusted with valuable cargoes, too decrepit to carry John Company’s silks and tea, but quite adequate for soldiers, a full battalion of foot and all of its stores crammed into them. There was a motley collection of island traders besides, semi-officially attached at the admiral’s nod and wink – there were privateers about, mostly out of Martinique, and there was neither the availability of escort vessels to set up a formal convoy system nor the desire to offend local merchants by letting their crops line French pockets, so the Admiral helped them out as he could – and if he made a profit as well, so that was the way of the world! He had provided a second escort, a schooner of seventy tons, Nutmeg, carrying four pounders and a crew of two dozen under command of a master’s mate.

  “So proving, Mr Harris, that admirals do have a sense of humour, although I have never, myself, had much liking for practical jokes. I have set her to a roving role, always within sight of signal and acting as a distant pair of eyes.”

  Nutmeg reported a shadowing sail on three consecutive days, a brig far in the offing and wisely staying there – privateers rarely attacked convoys, except they were in company, but might tag along in hope of a storm scattering their prey.

  The passage was tedious, routine, normal.

  “They say, Mr Harris, that more than half of all officers never smell powder in their whole careers. Brave, able men, often in danger of storm and blockading a lee shore, but never a sniff of action, and never a chance of promotion other than by interest – how many Ansons or Hoods are there never stepping out of the shadows, never having the chance to serve their country as they could, I wonder?”

  A very good question, Frederick was sure, and surely a very interesting answer – one of these philosopher fellows would probably have a lot to say about it, but he, personally, did not give a tuppenny dam, as long as it did not happen to him.

  “Yes, indeed, sir, it does give one to think, I do agree. A fascinating concept.”

  Their orders were changed in Kingston – they were now to sweep the coast of Florida and the Lousianas, it having belatedly occurred to Admiral Farquhar in English Harbour that none of his cruisers had ever done so, and an intelligence report having suggested that the French had become active in some way in that area. Despatches run by fast schooner had outstripped the convoy and were sat waiting, together with a master’s mate found especially for Athene.

  “Jackman, sir, reporting aboard.” A swarthy, brown-eyed, curly-haired young man – ‘he had an Italian mother’ – he had been taken out of the merchant service at age twenty, had served deep-sea as a third mate, his accompanying letter said, and had evinced a wish to serve his King, would no doubt grace the service.

  “Written personally by Admiral Farquhar, in his own hand,” Atkinson stated, wholly noncommittally.

  “He moves like a seaman, sir,” Frederick responded, watching Jackman as he ran lightly down the companionway to find the black hole he would share with the other master’s mate, Aston. “Is the Admiral known to enjoy the company of young men?”

  “No! Not at all – married, but a bachelor once past Gibraltar, quite enthusiastically so, one is told.”

  “Ah, well – no doubt he has his reasons.”

  Paston appeared with his charts, enquired whether the captain proposed to venture along the Atlantic coast of Florida, was informed that the captain’s previous experience of those waters led him to believe the coast was the haunt exclusively of mosquitoes and alligators, neither of which served to attract the enemy.

  “I had, indeed, heard much the same comment before, sir. Show the flag on the west coast only and make our way quickly to the delta of the Mississippi, sir?”

  “Rice, cotton, tobacco, hides and some sugar outbound; slavers going in. A worthwhile place to be, with luck, Mr Paston.”

  “I prefer to rely on the blessing of the Lord, sir, rather than heathen luck.”

  “I am sure we shall join our prayers to yours, Mr Paston.”

  The Florida coast was pretty, its islands truly beautiful and providing excellent fishing while the bright sun baked their tans to the delight of all, but the sea was empty of profitable activity, coastal trade consisting of tiny yawls and barges, none carrying as much as thirty tons, not worth the effort of taking; no enemy privateers patrolled these waters.

  “Neither French nor Spanish burn a poor man’s sole livelihood, Mr Harris, and we return the compliment – enemy they may be but human decency must be considered, so fishing boats and small craft are left untouched.”

  “Aye aye, sir – war to be made on rich men only.”

  The Louisianas loomed at dawn, muddy, smelly, heavily forested, a few plantations carved out beside inlets where wharves could be built, the Athene a most unwelcome visitor, two big coastal schooners in hand in three hours of quiet work, not a shot fired, taken silently from the boats by grinning seamen.

  “Much to be said for early birds, sir,” Frederick observed as bleary-eyed, stale-drunk prisoners stumbled unprotesting down to the hold.

  A third wharf, a snow tied up and hastily breaking out American colours.

  “It’s commonly an American rig, Mr Harris. You go, use your judgement, tread carefully on neutrals’ toes at their own backdoor.”

  Into the teak boat, six men at his back, Bosomtwi prominent with a musketoon over his shoulder. The Athene heaved to at half a cable, broadside run out, ‘just in case someone wanted to play’.

  “Snow, ‘Martha Goodman’, mi
ster. American, trading lawfully, loading cotton for Charleston.”

  “Thank you, captain. My name is Harris, premier of His Britannic Majesty’s sloop Athene. Blockade has not been declared on this coast, sir, so you are wholly free to trade, but, as is normal, I wish to inspect your papers and rummage your vessel for contraband goods of war.”

  The American had his papers ready, clean, new and almost certainly legitimate; one hold was empty, the other part laden with cotton in bales. Frederick thanked the captain for his cooperation, glanced across to Griff Griffiths, his senior hand, who had a significant eyebrow raised almost to his hairline.

  “Beg pardon, sir!” Griffiths whispered in an urgent, dramatic undervoice. “Two blokes at the end of the line, sir. Right arm of the one on the end, see, tattooed, ‘Benbow’, it says. T’other one served with Denton, here, on the Lively, quarter gunner, sir.”

  “I’ll take the two deserters back with me, thank you, Mr Adams,” Frederick informed the American captain. “Put ‘em in the boat Griffiths, under guard.”

  “They are American citizens, lieutenant!”

  “They have papers to prove that, sir? No? I know they are deserters, sir, and any attempt to prevent or resist their arrest will be seen as piracy, sir. We have a short way with pirates!”

  Nine thirty two pounders loaded with grape, twenty three hundred two ounce balls, at a distance of one hundred yards, were an argument against fighting; eleven men against a hundred was another. Adams reluctantly, bitterly, took the only possible course.

  “Smith, Jones, go with them. I am sorry, I shall have your wages banked for you in Charleston.” Adams swung back to Frederick, restrained himself carefully. “I trust King George will be pleased with you, Lieutenant Harris.”

  “I hope so, sir.”

  “Will you hang them?”

  “Only if they took part in violent mutiny, their names on the circulated list. Bloody mutineers always hang.”

  “They swam to me from the Hermione in Kingston, six months since.”