Flashman and the Seawolf

by Robert Brightwell

  Flashman and the Seawolf

  Robert Brightwell

  This book is dedicated to my father in law

  Geoffrey Timberlake who has shown great

  courage and dignity in fighting illness while

  it was being written.

  Copyright © Robert Brightwell 2011

  Robert Brightwell asserts the moral right to

  be identified as the author of this work

  This ebook may not be reproduced or copied

  except for the use of the original purchaser.

  ~~~~~~~

  Introduction

  After George MacDonald Fraser did a superb job of editing the immensely readable memoirs of General Sir Harry Flashman after they were found in a Midlands sale room; I have always kept a look out for further items relating to the Flashman family. I did once bid for a sabre that was said to have been owned by the General but the price soon went out of my range as there are now so many enthusiastic readers of his published works.

  So you can imagine my surprise when back in 2010 I spotted offered for sale on EBay a bundle of unpublished manuscripts relating to the life of a Major Thomas Flashman and his exploits in the early 1800’s. Fortunately for me there was very little interest in the writing of this hitherto unrenowned soldier and I was able to buy them with my opening bid.

  Given the unusual name I had hoped that the two Flashmans were related and it seems that indeed they were. Thomas appears to have been the uncle of Sir Harry. There are even references to Thomas having lent money to Sir Harry’s father (and complaining that it was never repaid) and so Thomas may have even funded Sir Harry’s infamous education at Rugby school which features in the book Tom Brown’s School Days.

  Beyond the name there are similarities in temperament too. While outwardly a brave and celebrated solider, in his personal memoirs Sir Harry admitted to being an amoral scoundrel and coward but with a gift for languages, horsemanship and for getting himself embroiled in just about every major conflict of the Victorian age.

  In comparison Thomas also has the uncanny knack of finding himself reluctantly involved with many amazing characters from his era. From forgotten but remarkable men like Thomas Cochrane to historical icons like Wellington, Napoleon and the noble North American Indian chief Tecumseh. He has, if not fought, then at least felt his guts churn in terror alongside them all.

  Thomas like Sir Harry was also good with languages but seems to have had appalling luck with horses - resulting in the unexpected routing of an entire Spanish regiment in one incident, but that may be for another book. As for being immoral, Georgian England had a rather murky moral compass compared to the outwardly straight laced Victorians of Sir Harry’s era. The Georgians strayed from wild licentiousness to stifling honour codes depending on the occasion and Thomas took every advantage of the former while invariably finding away around the latter.

  My role as editor has been restricted to checking the historical accuracy of the information and adding notes from subsequent research. Where it can be checked, a wide range of authorities confirm the detail Thomas provides, while his own personal perspective on the incidents and personalities in his career offer insightful context.

  I trust that you will find the work informative and enjoyable. Thomas has broken his memoirs down into packets - much as his nephew did later on. Indeed you must wonder whether his nephew Sir Harry ever saw Thomas’ memoirs and whether they sparked him to write his own refreshingly honest account. Certainly if you have not read them already, the memoirs of General Sir Harry Flashman VC, reluctant hero of Afghanistan and countless other places are strongly recommended.

  Robert Brightwell

  ~~~~~~~

  Chapter 1

  I am near 70 now and have seen and met many incredible people and seen some astonishing sights in my time. From ambushes and treachery, the feel of cold steel against your throat in the dark to pitched battles on land and sea, I’ve witnessed heroism, incompetence and slaughter, often while desperately trying to find somewhere to hide. I have been white with fear disguised amongst Napoleon’s Imperial Guard, terrified more times than I can remember fighting with Wellington’s redcoats and more than a bit alarmed with the tomahawk wielding warriors of Tecumseh. But when it comes to all those that have led me into danger, one stands clear above them all. Partly because he had two prolonged attempts at getting me killed. But also because as well as being the bravest lunatic ever to wave a blade, he was also the most cunning in battle, if a naive fool when the trumpets had stopped.

  At my time of life if you think of a brave comrade then usually you are also thinking of a man that the grim reaper eventually caught up with. There are only so many times that you can charge shot and shell before your luck runs out, which is why I was rarely to be seen when charging shot and shell was required. But Cochrane is still with us, indeed I had supper with him tonight and our jawing over old times has spurred me to put pen to paper. His name struck fear into French and Spanish alike and Napoleon himself called Cochrane the ‘Loup der Mer’ which translates as sea wolf. He has written his own memoirs of course – full of bitterness over those that wronged him and doubtless others will write about him too. But they don’t get across what it was like to fight alongside him, how he inspired you to believe that even the most suicidal action was no more dangerous than lighting a cheroot.

  But I can’t start my tale with Cochrane. No, that properly starts a few months earlier, in the summer of 1800. I was 18 and had just finished at Rugby School, with the headmaster Henry Ingles giving my old man a less than glowing report of my prospects. As the third son I wasn’t the ‘heir’ or even the ‘spare’ to my father’s fortune and for that first summer he left me to amuse myself on the family estate, which was probably a mistake.

  “Why do you want to know how our brother George is doing in the dragoons?” asked Sarah Berkeley coyly before sharing a conspiratorial glance with her older sister Louisa sitting on the other side of the drawing room. “Are you thinking of joining the army too?”

  Louisa joined in. “Now why would you want to do that? I can’t think why you would want to leave the area after all the fun you have been having this summer.” Louisa said this with a look of wide eyed innocence. “There is no reason, perhaps living near a windmill, that is causing you to look to your career is there dear Thomas?”

  “Not at all and I trust that you have not been listening to idle gossip” I blustered. The girls laughed happily, not believing me for a moment and enjoying my discomfort. I was surprised that they had heard of my troubles with the miller’s daughter for he lived a village away but the Berkeley sisters were notorious hubs for local gossip. They were the prettiest girls amongst the local quality for miles around and so were invited to all the balls and dances, which was why they always seemed to know what was going on. Sarah was just sixteen, the prettier of the two and an artless flirt. Louisa, the same age as me at 18, was more of a wicked tease. We had grown up on neighbouring estates and seen a lot of each other. I enjoyed their company although now they liked nothing better than trying to embarrass me.

  “So the miller is not after your blood for getting his Sally pregnant then” asked Sarah.

  “Certainly not” I lied. “But a chap cannot work diligently around his father’s estate for ever. I need to find a suitable career, somewhere else. As George joined the dragoons a few months ago I thought I would tool over and enquire what he has said of the life.”

  They both laughed at this and Louisa said “what he says of the life depends very much on who he is writing to. Papa visited the garrison last month and collected some letters from him. Sarah why don’t you read Thomas the letter he sent to us.”

  Sarah fo
und the letter in the bureau and recounted “he asks about our health and tells us that life in the dragoons is very dull, marching, riding, drills. The only entertainment he mentions is playing whist with his brother officers and hearing a singing recital by a Miss Marchbanks. Is that the kind of life you were hoping for Thomas?”

  Well it did sound a bit of a frost but I was not sure that George would be completely honest in all aspects of army life with his sisters. Maybe I would have to take the days ride to the garrison and see for myself.

  As if reading my mind Louisa said “I bet you would love to read the account of army life that he sent Edward Carstairs.” I would indeed, I knew both George and Teddy Carstairs from school. They had been in the year above me and had both been wild then. George would be far more honest with Teddy, although I could not see Teddy sharing his mail with George’s sisters.

  Louisa reached into her blouse and pulled out a second letter, with three large blobs of wax on it. “This is his letter to Edward, which fell open before we could send it on.”

  “But it has three seals on it, how could it fall open?”

  “It fell onto a hot iron that melted the wax through the paper” said Sarah smugly. “Do you want to know what is in it or do you want to discuss its provenance?” They were both looking excited now and I was sure that more embarrassment was about to come my way but I also really wanted to know what was in that letter.

  “Perhaps I could read it myself?”

  “Oh no, where would the fun be in that,” smirked Louisa. She opened the letter and read aloud. “Teddy you must speak to your father about a commission, army life is everything we had hoped. There is no chance of being sent overseas for the foreseeable future and so we are left to enjoy life in the garrison. There are hunts at least twice a week, horse racing, gaming and gambling of every description and parties in the mess every weekend. The prettiest local girls attend and fling themselves at all the eligible batchelors. I partied last weekend with a Tallulah Marchbanks and ended up having her in my rooms, taking her horse artillery style until she sang like a steam whistle. There is a cornetcy coming vacant next month, make sure your father knows. Yours George.”

  I was stunned, partly from hearing the sisters talk of such things and partly because army life sounded just the thing for me. My first clear thought was to wonder if I could get that cornetcy before Teddy Carstairs heard about it. The sisters stealing his mail could work in my favour. My musing was interrupted by Sarah asking “what is horse artillery style?”

  Well at that point in time I had no idea, never having heard of it before. I could guess it was a way of performing the capital act but quite how this involved horse artillery was beyond me. Of course I was not going to admit my ignorance to the sisters and so I simply replied with as much dignity as I could muster that “a gentleman would never discuss such things with a lady.”

  “Really”, said Louisa. “So you didn’t go horse artillery style with Sally Miller or with Ruby at the Fox and Duck or the Parson’s new dairymaid or with that girl you were seen with in Jarrod’s hayloft?”

  My God they were well informed and I thought I had been quite discrete. The only thing that they did not know was that it had been the dairymaid in the hayloft.

  “Again, a gentleman never discusses such things”

  “I don’t think he knows what horse artillery style is” said Sarah. “Shall we show him?”

  Louisa smiled wickedly and moved her hand up to her blouse again. My imagination was working overtime. What was she going to do or pull out of there now? If I had taken the rest of that summer to guess I would not have predicted that a respectable young lady would have kept the three cards in there that she now threw onto the table in front of me. They were pornographic drawings.

  “These were enclosed with George’s letter to Teddy” she said.

  The top one with the caption ‘Horse Artillery Style’ showed exactly what was involved. This is not the place to go into such details I will just say that all that hauling of guns must give a man a strong back. The second one called ‘The Wheelbarrow’ required finding a lady with arms as strong as a canal digger’s and as for the ‘Viennese Oyster’ position, well it just don’t bear thinking about.

  I must have gone red with embarrassment and the girls were laughing loudly, almost muffling the sound of carriage wheels pulling up outside. I looked around at the door worried that Lady Berkeley may come in to see what the jollyment was all about and pushed the cards back to Louisa.

  As the laughter subsided Sarah went to the window. “Why the miller has come calling, oh and he has just seen your horse Thomas.”

  “Jesus no!” I charged up to the window and took a peak around the edge of the drapes. “You witches, that is the bloody coal dray.” They were off into peals of laughter again.

  “So you have got Sally in the family way,” cried Louisa. “Everyone’s been talking about it. You had better speak to your father before the miller does.”

  I rode home thinking about what to do next. The girls were right I did need to speak to father. Sally was claiming she was pregnant and her father was starting to kick up a fuss over it. Of course they knew that marriage was out of the question. What they really wanted was to be paid off from the Flashman fortune to give her a new start. Looking back the Flashman family had for generations been running an unofficial benevolent scheme for such fallen women in the locality. It would seem quite generous if you overlooked the fact that they had also been responsible for the women ‘falling’ in the first place.

  With several people in the village bearing a striking family resemblance I was pretty sure that my old man had used the Flashman benevolent fund on several occasions himself and so would not be as offended as people are now under the prudish influence of Vicky and Albert. Why back then the Prince of Wales had probably married bigamously and would mount just about anything apart from his wife, most politicians saw a mistress as being essential source of gossip and the Devonshires were living openly in a ménage a trios. In fact the only politician who seemed to live a life beyond reproach was Spencer Percival, and when he finally got to be Prime Minister he was assassinated by a lunatic, which shows what demonstrating restraint gets you.

  No, the problem with the Sally incident was not that I had been bulling my way round the village but that I had not yet decided what I wanted to do with my life. School had proved that I was not academic smart. I also clearly was not Church material. Back then all the talk was of the Navy as they were beating the French and Spanish everywhere they found ‘em. But at 18 I was already much older than many midshipmen, who normally started at around 12. There were also exams such as in navigation to pass before you could progress. I had hated mathematics at school with all the angles and calculations and did not want to be the oldest midshipmen the Navy ever had.

  Apart from some fashionable cavalry regiments, the army at that time was considered second rate. It had been beaten by the colonists in North America and had not covered itself with glory in various other expeditions such as in the Low Countries. But on the plus side you could buy your rank, so you did not have to languish as an ensign or cornet all your days and for the most part they spent their time in barracks.

  I pictured myself tooling around town in my sharp red uniform coat and officer’s trappings with a pretty girl on each arm and parties in the officer’s mess each night. If I thought of actual fighting at all, it was shouting orders and seeing neatly ordered files of troops marching off to obey my command. Yes my ignorance was appalling, and if I knew then what I know now I would have jumped straight on a horse, ridden to Canterbury and begged the Archbishop to let me become a parson!

  My father generally kept to himself, my mother, who had been a Spanish Contessa, had died some years ago and so it was not often that we had a father and son talk. I remember clearly walking into my Father’s study that evening and meeting that piercing glare from under his bushy eyebrows. He was around sixty then, his grey hair quite sha
ggy but still pretty lean and energetic. He had eaten alone as usual and the supper dishes were pushed to one end of the table. He had been reading some papers but put them down with a resigned sigh as I approached.

  “Hello Papa, I was wondering if I might have a word” I said sounding more brightly than I felt.

  “Yes I thought you would be dropping by, I had the miller calling for me this afternoon in a fine old state. Apparently you have ‘defiled’ his pure daughter. Although from what I hear from the gamekeeper she has also been defiled by half the county. The child could be yours I suppose?”

  “Ah yes well… err… it could be yes.” We were getting to the point rather quicker than I had expected. I had rehearsed a bit of a speech about how the girl had led me astray, only a saint could have resisted and so on, but realised at once that this was not going to wash. If he had spoken to the gamekeeper about Sally’s reputation, he was bound to have found out what I had been up to all over the estate during the summer months, if he had not known already.

  “Well I have agreed to give her a dowry and the miller is lining up some local lad to marry her but it would be best for you to be out of the way for a bit.”

  “Yes father” I said looking suitably crestfallen. “I have been thinking about that I was wondering if a career in the ...”

  “I have written to Castlereagh,” my father interrupted brusquely. “He owes me a favour and will be able to find a place for you. It won’t be glamorous or well paid, you will need an allowance on top of the salary but it will get you on the ladder. You need to start thinking of a career.”

  “Oh but I have father,” I said all eager now we seemed to be talking along the same lines. “In fact I was thinking of joining the Army.”

  My father sat back in his chair and fixed me with a firm stare. I sensed that he was looking at me for the first time in ages, sizing up my build; I was tall but still had some filling out to do. He looked into my eyes as though trying to assess my character. I held his gaze as long as I could but then looked away. Growing up I had been closer to several of the servants than my father who I normally saw rarely but I sensed that instead of just dealing with me as an irritation, this discussion was going to be different.