Deadly Shores (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 11)

by Andrew Wareham

  “We must see, Sir Frederick. There is word that the Navy has it in mind to reduce the levels of bribery and corruption in its yards, in England, initially. There will undoubtedly be a call for an Inspector of the Yards to be appointed, in a year or two. A Vice-Admiral assisted by a very senior captain, it is thought.”

  Frederick laughed, amazed that he might be considered for such a post.

  “A necessary, but daunting task, Mr Critchel! Theft, fraud and bribery is ingrained in the whole system, sir, and I doubt one could find a single honest man in the whole of the land. Rather than a Vice-Admiral, one might require a whole Naval Police Force, and all of them subtle, intellectual sorts who could ferret out the most crafty of schemers.”

  “Exactly so, Sir Frederick. One day, we shall create just that force, together with another for the Army and more for the country as a whole. Not now, of course – the need is yet to be perceived by the mass of the people of importance. Was we to have a public figure involved, attracting attention by his very presence, then inside a score of years we might actually have some means of enforcing law and creating order in this land of ours.”

  “One must ask, Mr Critchel, whether the aim would be to start, as it were, at the bottom and work up, or at the top and let integrity trickle downwards through the nation.”

  Mr Critchel winced, as aware as Frederick that the current crop of Royal Princes was no byword for honesty and integrity.

  “To be practical, Sir Frederick, the present dynasty is on its last legs. Between them all, they have produced but one female as heir – the Prince of Wales’ daughter, and she is not the most robustly healthy child. The whisper is that the poor little girl was conceived after her father was poxed rather than before, and will suffer all of those problems in adulthood that beset such unfortunates. One must remember the sad example of Bloody Mary and suspect that Princess Charlotte will fare no better in later life. Such being the case, unless one of the lesser Princes shall marry and produce a son or daughter, then the Crown falls vacant, and we must hunt for a proper little Protestant Princeling to be imported to the Palace of St James. The word is already out to our Embassies to keep an eye out for a likely sort of boy child who can be bred up to a life of integrity and service. There is no urgency – the Princes between them have a least a score of years to live and can provide us with a King or two yet - but their successors will be an entirely different kettle of fish!”

  “We live in a new age, Mr Critchel. I very much intend, when I am fit to travel, to take a trip, not to the Lake District to soulfully admire the mountains, but to the North East of the country to gaze at ironworks and coal mines and suchlike. I have never seen a steam engine, sir! I am told by men I respect that there will be steam powered ships within a very few years, able to choose their course irrespective of the wind! There may be tugging boats that will pull us through the Channel despite foul winds from the southwest!”

  “And you imply, Sir Frederick, that a new age demands new government… You may well be right, sir… I wonder what effect the steam engine may have on us all? I must find the properest persons to speak to.”

  Frederick was not in the slightest surprised at Mr Critchel’s reply – he knew him to be a very clever man, one who was receptive to the novel.

  “Lord Turner must be your first port of call, sir. Whenever I meet with anything new, I turn first to him.”

  Mr Critchel laughed aloud and wondered whether Lord Turner might not be too clever for his taste.

  “I am used to being the leader of discussions, Sir Frederick, have small desire to place myself in a position of inferiority. Lord Turner is a man of great learning and deep perceptions – he might discover more of me than I know myself!”

  Frederick wondered exactly what that might mean.

  A letter arrived from Dorset, sent by the hand of a groom, horseback and changing every hour, cost no concern, exhausting himself with twelve almost unbroken hours in the saddle of a running horse.

  Frederick discovered that he was to remain where he was, under no circumstances to risk fatigue, to take the best of medical advice – and to obey his doctors – and to eat well and wrap himself warmly. His Lady would be at his side exactly as quickly as a post-chaise and four could manage.

  It would, he thought, demand a far braver man than him to disobey.

  “Bosomtwi! A woolly shawl to wrap around me. Kindle a fire in the hearth, if you would be so good.”

  “Yes, sir. A letter from her ladyship, isn’t it!”

  Her ladyship arrived after taking one night on the road, a single post-chaise, the children left behind. Frederick met her at the door, to her great indignation – he should have been sat in the warm, she said.

  Tears were very close as she actually saw the missing limb; she fought them back – weeping would do him no good at all.

  “Lord Turner’s own doctor has seen the arm and is as satisfied as is possible. He is a Scottish gentleman, and hence of education and skill greater than can ever be expected from an Englishman.”

  She acknowledged the truth of that statement.

  “What of other losses, Frederick? Is Sir Iain well?”

  “Unharmed, and will be home within a few days. He has led the squadron to Chatham, there to take a new commodore and captain for Waldeman. A new boatswain as well, Mr Cheek having discovered that his missing hand makes him unfit for service. He has in fact added up the prize-money due and decided it to be sufficient for a whole sounder of swine for his little farm, and he is forsaking the sea. Fox is gone.”

  “Dead?”

  “Shot in a minor action on land – he was unlucky. I have written his uncle at Bursledon. Young Kent has a small command, however, and has every chance of becoming master and commander in short order. The boys generally did very well, apart from those who died that is. Your cousin Kearton flourishes as a midshipman.”

  “What of you, Frederick?”

  “No man can fight very often without occasionally being wounded. This is only my second misfortune, when all is considered. It will take a year at least to regain ordinary health, and probably as long again to become strong – but it will come about. I suspect that I will be called to sea again then. I have spent a little time with the List today, my love, and have been amazed at just how high my name is. I have been thirteen years a post-captain, and should see myself as admiral within another two, particularly as several of those above me are of peacetime age.”

  She did not understand.

  “Promotion in time of peace is less rapid than in war. In the slow years it is typical for a man to make post-captain in his thirties – while I was barely one and twenty, as I remember. So some few of those above me are in their fifties now, liable to go to the Hurt and Sick List and to be crossed off the List as unfit to serve again. The rheumatics will do for many – bent over and crippled by years of hard laying in cold, wet ships – and they again will leave the List. The great bulk of those above me will be Yellowed – made Admiral without squadron – and my chances of Blue at the Mizzen are correspondingly greater.”

  “And you much wish to fly your flag, do you not, Frederick?”

  He shrugged, and winced – that was not a gesture to be casually made.

  “I would like to take a fleet to sea, but I doubt very much that I can be made Vice-Admiral in time to do so in this war. But Rear-Admiral would be something. In fact, it would be a great deal. I suspect, though, that I shall be given my flag and then offered Port-Admiral in one of the greater harbours – and that I must accept. Not Portsmouth or Chatham, but Harwich perhaps, or Malta, or one of the Sugar Islands – Antigua or Jamaica. Those are all postings to which I could take my wife, of course.”

  She could accept that as an ambition, having little desire to see him afloat again.

  “Your last letter suggested that we are well for prize-money, Frederick. Is that truly so?”

  “The agent called upon me this morning. He is talking of figures that are very great indeed. W
e might well consider buying another estate, in fact. I might, however, be far more interested in purchasing a coal or iron mine, or perhaps an ironworks, for I think those are where the future must lie. We should discuss the matter with Lord Turner, I think.”

  “And with Mr Chalfont, who you will remember as Mr Hartley’s brother by marriage?”

  Frederick cast his mind back – when he had been wounded previously, Mr Chalfont had served as his fencing master, reteaching him the skills of the sword, or such few as he possessed. Mr Hartley was still his Agent at Abbey, and responsible for much of the state’s prosperity.

  “Did he not become an ironmaster or somesuch? Bagged cement, was it not, his first enterprise?”

  “It was, and highly profitable, Mr Hartley has told me, and Abbey in for a quarter for providing his first funding.”

  “Ah, yes! I remember now. What is he doing these days?”

  “The cement led naturally to the importation of jute to make the sacks, and that progressed, it seems, to other imports on the same ships, to make up their loads, and he is now a successful merchant as well as a manufacturer, all done in a very few years. So many of these ‘self-made’ men have created their fortunes in almost no time at all! I understand that he has bought an interest in barges – on the canals – but its nature is unclear to me, for he is apparently building them of iron! How he persuades the iron to float, I do not understand!”

  “A very good trick, my dear. I must renew contact with the gentleman!”

  They talked quietly at the fireside until it was time to change for dinner, when she took the opportunity to inspect his arm for herself, rather against Frederick’s will – he had no great desire to display his mutilation.

  “The boys will be upset, Frederick – both firmly believe you to be so great a hero that nothing could touch you.”

  “Let us hope that it will persuade both that they have no wish to pursue a military existence. And for the little one?”

  “She will see and will be distressed for you, and will much hope that it will get better – she is a gentle soul!”

  Frederick delayed two weeks before begging audience of the First Lord; it was sufficient of a delay to remind him that he was seriously hurt, but not so long for him to be forgotten.

  “Two years, Sir Frederick, is a reasonable period to remain on half-pay after your years of service and will coincide with your attainment of the top of the Captain’s List and your necessary promotion to admiral. I can assure you that if I remain as First Lord, then you will be made with squadron – if I am replaced, then I cannot speak for my unknown successor, but will leave my very strongest recommendation. In any event, you have friends in plenty, sir!”

  Frederick agreed that he had few fears of being yellowed. Governments could change, the war could end, any other event might supervene, but it was reasonable to expect an orderly progression in his successful career.

  “For the while, Sir Frederick, you are appointed to the Board of the East India Company, and there will be some other mark of distinction to be made in the near future. That will be notified to you in the normal way. Sir Iain Jackman is made a Colonel of Marines, and will be employed within the year – he is a most able man, and also not without a friend. Have you a captain who should be made into Waldeman? In some ways, it is not unfortunate that Captain Dench fell – for there would have been great pressure to advance him to the post.”

  Frederick shook his head – he had liked Dench, but had not been entirely satisfied with him as captain of Iris – he had never seemed sufficiently dependable when out of his direct sight.

  “Captain Vereker could perform the duties, but would not thank me for losing his frigate and should be retained in Perlen. Captain Warren is capable, but there is small gain to him in being transferred from one Third Rate to another. He has made his Norge into a very reliable ship – he could be used other than on blockade, I might suggest, sir. He has discretion and could be sent far distant with confidence in his ability to succeed independently.”

  “I shall note that, Sir Frederick. I can find a captain for Waldeman very easily – there are several very senior men who would desire the post. While you are here and we are talking of appointments, you may wish to elucidate something of a mystery - what of the young gentleman, Mr Shifnall, who was sent home, promoted as master and commander from a brig?”

  Frederick told the tale, disguising nothing of the exercise in butchery.

  “They were no more than Moors, one might say, My Lord, and pirates too, yet the business left a bad taste in my mouth. I would not have employed him had I had a vacancy.”

  The First Lord was shocked – captains in his navy did not behave in that fashion, and the fact that one had so transgressed should not be made public.

  “Better kept quiet, I think – and that means removing his mouth from England’s shores before he might imagine a grievance and begin to talk. A sloop that is bound for far distant coral strands, I think. Let me see…”

  The First Lord consulted the many files on his desk, calling for an assistant to bring more.

  “Here we have it, Sir Frederick. Nightingale sloop, 16 guns, for Botany Bay and to discover the far coast of the continent, charting all and raising the flag where appropriate. There is word that the Russians are to mount an expedition to the South Seas, and we are to forestall them by claiming every green bay as our own. Five years at least in far waters!”

  “Excellent, My Lord. That is not a gentleman I should wish ever to serve with, and this takes him as far as can be away from England. Five years… a possibility that the war might end… one might perhaps append a note to the appropriate authorities in Botany Bay that Nightingale should be laid up in ordinary at the outbreak of peace, and Captain Shifnall offered a post in the Convict Administration, thus satisfying his appetite for butchery and keeping him at far.”

  “Oh, neatly said and thought, Sir Frederick! I shall indeed do so! And if peace does not supervene, the authority to make him post on condition of his employment in Botany Bay. I really do not wish to see that gentleman ever return to these shores!”

  “Nor I, My Lord. I was horrified, yet could not see a way of offering a court-martial that would do more than publicise his deeds while finding him guilty of no crime. Best dealt with in this fashion, I believe.”

  The First Lord noted that Frederick was capable of acting with some subtlety – in the naval understanding of that concept – and must be capable of high office.

  “What are you to do with yourself in your time of half-pay, Sir Frederick? Will we see much of you in London?”

  “Possibly in the Season, My Lord. That will depend on the wishes of my lady, of course. I have it in mind to pay a visit or two to the north country. I wish, in fact, to see a steam engine! I am told that there are canal boats built of iron, My Lord! And I have heard of a canal boat in Scotland that used steam.”

  The First Lord had also heard of such shocking aberrations, such defiance of the natural, God-given order.

  “There is a very ill-conditioned American conducting such experiments, and who has had the audacity to petition Their Lordships to indulge him in his scheming. Needless to say, we have rebuffed his appalling presumption. Should his steam kettles ever take to the water, it will not be in British hulls! However, Sir Frederick, was you to write me a report on such matters, no doubt detailing their inevitable failure, I should be obliged to you; I feel I must at least be informed upon this monstrosity of steam.”

  Frederick made the appropriate reply, just a little concerned that the First Lord might be blinding himself to a great future benefit to the navy. He wondered if Forshaw had returned to England, and if he, in his erratic genius, might have an opinion of steamships.

  “Have you considered taking a seat in the Commons, Sir Frederick?”

  Frederick was surprised, wondered what might have given rise to such an enquiry.

  “No, My Lord. I am not of the sort to take part in the, ah, ‘cut and
thrust’ of debates in the Chamber. Cut and thrust, I am used to, but I prefer my opponents to lie bleeding at my feet afterwards!”

  The First Lord chuckled, envisaging Frederick slaying the Opposition.

  “Perhaps as well, Sir Frederick. I wish you well, sir, and trust we shall soon see you recovered in your constitution.”

  He escorted Frederick to the door and then refreshed his mind on the reports that had reached him of vigorous political activities by Sir Frederick’s friends. If it was solely to relate to the prizes returned to the Spanish, then action could be taken to silence the cabal before the Mob began to show an interest. He called for his private secretary.

  “Three ships of the line, of one hundred guns – First Rates, that is – and two heavy frigates. How much would they cost to build new, or to purchase as prizes?”

  “As much as thirty-five thousand pounds apiece, My Lord, for First Rates, and I would expect between eighteen and twenty thousands for the frigates.”

  “One hundred and forty thousand pounds! That is not a sum to be sneezed at! A Flag’s share of one-eighth would amount to… let me see… Seventeen thousand and five hundred pounds sterling!”

  The secretary confirmed his arithmetic.

  “A fortune, Snodgrass! And not a small one at that. I must go to the Prime minister, I fear.”

  His Grace of Portland agreed that the sum was not small – though it was not so great as to be insuperable. His Grace enjoyed an income from his estates in excess of sixty thousand pounds a year and had his own ideas on the value of money.

  “The gentleman has been deprived of his rightful dues, I believe, My Lord. A Grant-in-Aid must be appropriate – though it need not be too public. Did I not see a proposal that he might be awarded the Bath? Knight Companion of the Bath and a large sum of money should be as balm to his hurt feelings.”

  “It is not merely his feelings that have been hurt, Your Grace. He lost an arm in taking those ships.”

  “Did he now! I am even more taken by sympathy for the poor man! Let there be no delay, My Lord. He is related to Lord Partington, is he not, and to the Earl of Alton? Certainly, he must be looked after!”