His adrenaline pumping, Duncan stepped aside to dodge a flailing scimitar, then fired his pistol straight into the chest of a man who was about to stab Sir Sidney in the side. The man gave a cry and vanished underfoot. “Well done, Graham!” exclaimed Sir Sidney, when he realized what had happened.
Then Duncan had to fend off a savage swing from yet another huge dark man wearing a white turban who towered over him. He thought it had broken his wrist, the blow was so hard. But then came a volley from behind Duncan and the man, with a look of surprise on his face, fell over backwards to join his comrades lying in the dust.
Duncan whirled and saw that a small contingent of marines were standing behind his group, their muskets still smoking. “Reload!” bellowed their Sergeant.
“Thank you, Sergeant!” Sir Sidney nodded in approval to the marines. His youthful features were alight with the excitement of the engagement. “Come along, men. I fear we will be tardy and Colonel Douglas is expecting us,” he said, with a grin at his men as he cleaned and sheathed his sword, then moved to reclaim and mounted his animal, which had drifted away while the men fought for their lives.
It fell to the sailors to tend to the wounded on both sides. Duncan had a chance to observe the enemy who were being looked after. For the most part they were dark-featured men with huge mustaches and black hostile eyes who regarded their captors with wariness. The fight had gone out of them, however, so it was not difficult to bind their wounds and start them on their way back to Larnaca under an escort. The walking wounded helping to carry their more seriously injured friends.
The Janissaries who’d surrendered were herded into a small group and told to squat on the ground under guard, while the marines and sailors checked the rest of the village for more holdouts. They noticed that some were fleeing down the road towards the other villages.
“Let’s hope they are passing along the bad news,” commented Lt Fowler as they watched them running away.
Duncan wiped the sweat from around his neck with a handkerchief. He was hot and dusty but still exhilarated from the encounter. “They don’t appear to be very disciplined, Sir,” he remarked.
“No, they are not; but then they are used to charging madly in among their enemies and creating fear and despondency. They certainly don’t know how to fight in the manner we employ,” the lieutenant replied. “But one must not underestimate the enemy, Graham. They do not lack courage.”
Possibly because the fleeing men told the other insurgents what their fate would be, further resistance crumbled. Again a message was sent in advance to assure them that they would not be punished in the traditional sense — which would be a ghastly form of execution by impalement — but would instead be under the protection of Sir Sidney Smith.
As the column of Redcoats approached Alampra, three men dressed in the bright, baggy pants and red fez of the Janissaries were waiting for them outside the village, holding aloft a large white rag on a stick. Sir Sidney, with Captain Williams and Colonel Douglas and an escort of armed sailors, approached them warily.
Captain Williams listened to the men as they talked volubly for several minutes. He then turned to Sir Sidney and said, “They want to surrender to you personally, Sir. They will not surrender to anyone else, as they do not trust the officers of the Turkish Army.”
Sir Sidney nodded acceptance. “Very well, I accept their surrender. We will escort them all back to Larnaca and there I shall decide what to do with them. Tell them they are to put down their arms and they are to go with us back to Larnaca.”
There followed a lively exchange between Captain Williams and the men, who reluctantly agreed to the terms; amid much gesticulation, they hurried off to tell their companions.
Apparently, the terms were agreeable to the rest of the insurgents, not just at Alampra but at Lympia as well, so under a white flag and the supervision of the marines, they began the march back to the town of Larnaca. Because of concerns about reprisals from the angry Greek populace, the prisoners were marched around the town to the beaches to the north, where the disconsolate group of former Janissaries settled on the sand to await their fate.
“We have some old ships lying in the bay, do we not?” Sir Sidney asked Lt Fowler.
“Yes, Sir. I believe there are some. I’m not sure what condition they are in.”
“That doesn’t matter. Tomorrow we will pull the ships together, ferry the insurgents out to them, and then tell them to leave Cyprus. That way I will have kept my word and they will be free to go wherever they please, as long as the ships don’t sink beneath them. They’ll probably become pirates.”
Lt Fowler laughed. “It’s certainly better than what would happen if the Turks catch up with them, Sir.”
Late that evening Sir Sidney Smith, Lt Fowler, Duncan and the seamen were taken out to the ships while the majority of the marines remained to stand guard over the former Janissaries.
As they stepped onto the deck, to the shrill whistles of the bosun’s mates, Sir Sidney beckoned Lt Fowler over. “A word, Mr Fowler?”
“Yes, Sir.” They walked a little distance along the main deck, talking quietly together, then Sir Sidney smiled and went below.
Lt Fowler strode back to the waiting midshipman, who was waiting to be dismissed.
“You appear to have made your mark with the Commodore, young man,” he told Duncan. “He gave you a nod of approval for today’s work. No small thing,” he told the awed boy. “That does not mean you can grin at me like a Cheshire cat. Nor does it mean a swelled head. Dismissed.”
“Thank you, Sir!”
Lt Fowler watched the boy scurry away and shook his head. He glanced at Chauncey, the bosun’s mate, who also shook his head and grinned.
“There’s trouble and that’s a fact, Sorr,” he offered. “But e’ knows how to fight an’ no mistake.”
Fowler nodded his agreement. “Dismissed, Chauncey. Sir Sidney said a tot for each man.”
“Thank ee, Sorr!” Chauncey beamed. “That’ll please the lads. Good night, Sorr.”
“Good night.”
Chapter 4
Awards
It was late in the second day that another small boat sailed up to the Tigre and delivered mail. The sack of letters and newspapers was taken immediately below to the steward’s cabin for sorting. Almost every man on the ship looked forward with keen anticipation to the arrival of some letter or other. Not least Duncan but as was so often the case there was nothing for him this time. He watched moodily as Standforth gleefully opened a letter and went up on deck to read it, the light in their crowded quarters next to the orlop being almost non-existent.
Duncan found him an hour later in the bows looking pale and shaken.
“What’s the matter, Minnow?” he asked the distraught-looking boy. Standforth turned towards him and it was clear that he had been crying. Duncan was taken aback. He knew that the boy on occasion had come close to tears from the hardship and bullying that was meted out by the likes of Tewksby, but Standforth had courage and refused to cry no matter how much he was pinched and bullied. He had earned Duncan’s respect by this, but now the boy was almost sobbing.
“Och, lad, what is it? Can ye no talk about it?” he offered, his Scottish accent coming out in response to the distress of his young friend.
“It’s … it’s my youngest sister, Charlotte. She’s … she’s dead!” the boy almost wailed.
Duncan glanced around the deck. They were being given a wide berth by the sailors on duty, who sensed that something was wrong, for which he was grateful. Duncan knew all about losing members of his family. His middle brother Jamie had died of consumption when he had only been eight years old. His mother had taken it hard, and so had he. But not long after she too was gone. The boys had been close, getting up to all sorts of mischief — and getting strapped for their pains often enough. The loss of his mother had been devastating.
“What did she die of?” he asked Standforth, who was trying hard to bring himself under control, w
ell aware that it was not seemly for a midshipman to be weeping on deck.
“Jaqueline, my other sister, thinks it was the measles. She was only six years old!” Standforth gave a low wail of misery.
“What have we here? A pair of crybabies?” a high-pitched voice sneered from nearby.
Duncan whirled and found Tewksby standing with Midshipman Brown a few paces away. They were on watch so they had every right to be on deck, whereas he and Standforth were spare bodies, ‘Idlers’ as it were.
Standforth sniffed and wiped his nose, then turned away to look out to sea. “Go away, Tewk,” he said in a cold undertone.
“It’s none of your damn business, so why don’t ye bugger off, eh?” Duncan snarled at the two boys.
Brown, more sensitive to the situation, turned away. “Come on, Tewksby. Leave them alone.” He nodded to Duncan and walked off towards the quarterdeck.
Tewksby lingered. “Tell his little nibs that crying on the deck is for babies, not for men.”
His anger rising rapidly and threatening to get him into trouble yet again, Duncan took a step towards Tewksby with his fist clenched. “Go away or I’ll...”
One look at Duncan’s face, suffused with blood and very set, and Tewksby finally got the message. With a sneer on his lips he turned around and sauntered away, heading for the quarterdeck.
Standforth, having heard the exchange, turned to watch with Duncan as the other boy left.
“Thanks, Graham, but you didn’t have to do that,” he sniffed. “I’ll be all right.”
“Aye ye might, Minnow, but I don’t like that bastard to begin with, so it was a pleasure,” Duncan growled. There was a world of difference between a fourteen-year-old-boy and a boy heading into manhood at sixteen, and bullies took advantage of it all too often for his liking.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Minnow. A’ve lost family too. It’s very hard,” Duncan said briefly.
“I … I appreciate your concern, Graham. One day perhaps I can introduce you to my family,” Standforth said with a smile. “They would like you, I am sure.”
“I’d like that,” said Duncan, sure in his mind that it wouldn’t happen. He had already grasped the fact that most midshipmen moved up the promotion ladder by virtue of their family’s rank and his lacked all of that.
He fully expected that Tewksby and even Standforth would rise to lieutenant before he. Tewksby rarely let him forget this either. It was one of the reasons he disliked him so much. To his mind the other boy was useless. Their feud went back some time now. He was equally sure that meeting Standforth’s family was a very remote possibility.
“I’ve got to go and write a letter myself or I’ll lose the chance to get it taken on the mail boat,” Graham said and turned away, wondering why he had said that. He didn’t have anyone to write to. His father could barely read and his mother was dead. He envied Standforth, who appeared to have an extended family. The lad received letters almost every time a packet boat arrived with the mail, whereas Duncan had not received one the entire time they had been on station.
However, he didn’t have time to brood because the word came down that Sir Sidney was disembarking and Graham was required by Lt Fowler to be in attendance. Seizing his chance, Duncan walked hurriedly up to the lieutenant and asked very politely, “May it please you, Sir, but could we take Midshipman Standforth with us?”
Lt Fowler looked put out. “Why him in particular, Graham?”
“Er... well, Sir. He’s just received some bad news and it might take his mind off things.”
Lt Fowler stared at him for a long moment as though reevaluating Duncan.
“Very well, tell him to get ready. We leave in ten minutes. Don’t delay.”
“Thank you, Sir!” Duncan rushed off to tell Standforth the good news. The two delighted boys ran below to pick up their swords, hastily brush their hats, and hurry back on deck to join the crew of the jolly boat which was to accompany Sir Sidney Smith on his new venture ashore.
Just as Duncan clambered aboard the jolly boat he looked up and saw Tewksby peering over the side. He waved cheekily, but the wave was not returned and the thin face was withdrawn. “Eat yer heart, ye Sassenach bogger,” Duncan muttered under his breath, with a grin at Standforth, who was almost jumping up and down with excitement at the adventure about to take place.
“Are we going into action, Sir?” he squeaked at Lt Fowler to the barely suppressed amusement of the rowers and Chauncey.
“Not this time, Mr Standforth, and please sit still. Sir Sidney has business in Nicosia and we are to accompany him for his protection. Chauncey, do we have enough arms for all of us?”
“Certainly do, Sorr, no problem. I can provide the young gentlemen with a pistol each.”
Lt Fowler nodded. “Good. Then we need to hurry, as Sir Sidney is some way ahead already.”
“Put yer backs into it boys!” Chauncey roared. “We need to be landed before the Commodore arrives.”
As the men labored at the oars Duncan had a chance to look around. The small group of ships that had been idling at anchor in the bay had been brought closer to the shore and the former insurgents were being ferried out to them with marines in attendance.
“Where will they sail to, Sir?” he asked Lt Fowler, pointing at the ships.
Lt Fowler snorted. “I have no idea, Mr Graham. Not very far, if what I heard about those ships is true. They are leaky and poorly maintained. Those poor souls will have to make land as fast as possible or the first storm will sink them all. Still, it’s better than what they could have expected from their former masters.”
Lt Fowler seemed to be in a chatty mood today. “The Commodore has been awarded great honors by the Sultan in Istanbul and by the British Parliament, but now we are going into the town of Larnaca at the invitation of the Archbishop of Cyprus.”
“What about these honors for Sir Sidney, Sir?” Standforth asked curiously.
“Ah!” The lieutenant went on impressively. “The Grand Seignior at Constantinople himself, feeling no doubt the weight of his heavy obligation to our Commodore for relieving Acre of the unwelcome attentions of the French Army, lightened his purse and his conscience by sending seven purses of gold to Sir Sidney.” He hefted an imaginary purse of florins in his right hand and raised his eyebrows at the midshipman, who looked suitably awed.
“Not only that, he was sent some fancy furs, the kind royalty wears, and the insignia of the Ottoman Order of the Crescent. Remember that gaudy Turk who visited when we arrived?”
“What about the Parliament, Sir? You mentioned them earlier,” asked Standforth, who considered awards by Eastern potentates to be trivial compared to the substance of his own King and Parliament.
“I hear that Parliament passed a formal vote of thanks on behalf of the nation to Sir Sidney, and to the officers and men under his command. I presume that means all of us,” Lt Fowler replied, and some of the sailors grinned appreciation.
“He is also to receive a pension of one thousand pounds per annum. The City of London, in a letter, has presented him with its freedom, and a sword valued at 100 guineas. And from the Turkey Company he received another, valued at 300 guineas.” Lieutenant sounded somewhat envious. Sir Sidney would be well-off for life.
They landed at the wooden pier instead of the stone one. Standforth commented on an aside to Graham, “Looks rotten to me.”
“Probably is,” Duncan grinned back. “Watch where you put your feet.”
They walked along its green and shaky boards to the firm shore with some care.
The people of Larnaca must have heard something of the impending visit to Nicosia by the now famous Sir Sidney. They cheered him all the way out of the town as he rode in an old carriage pulled by four horses that had been commandeered for the purpose, while his entourage of sailors and officers rode whatever horses they could scrounge. Since there were not enough horses for the ten sailors and two midshipmen, some of them had to settle for mules. Bosun’s mate Chauncey remained
behind with two men to guard the boat.
Lt Fowler rode in the carriage with Sir Sidney and Colonel Douglas. Standforth took to his horse well, riding as though he had done this kind of thing since early childhood.
“It is more of a pony but it will do,” he told Duncan disparagingly, whereas Duncan, who was no rider, clung to his mount with the desperation of a drowning man.
“You need to relax more and don’t tug so hard on its mouth,” Standforth admonished Duncan as his horse, objecting to the treatment, skittered about waving its head in the air.
Duncan let his death grip on the reins relax a little and the horse became less upset. It tossed its head as though it had won a small victory, but Duncan’s legs were still locked to its sides and his heels were digging into its flanks. Taking this to be a command, it broke into a trot and then a canter. If Standforth had not seized the reins it is probable that the animal would have bolted and equally unlikely that Duncan could have remained on its back for very long thereafter.
“You do not appear to have ridden very much, Duncan!” Standforth laughed as he sat back comfortably in his own saddle, still holding the reins of Duncan’s horse. Duncan could not have been more mortified. He glanced back at the smirking sailors, perched on mules which were stolidly plodding along the track.
“Noo, I’ve not, but I shall master this bogger before we get there,” Duncan swore under his breath.
“Well … the first thing you need to do is to loosen your legs and sit on your bum instead of clinging to him like a frog. Sit up, and then to keep him going, move your hips on the saddle and he will understand that he needs to walk on, but not to run off.”
“Like this?” Duncan asked as he warily moved his legs away from the agitated animal, which immediately reduced its pace to a slow walk. Duncan was surprised, but then the animal walked so slowly that the sailors who had been a little ways back, just where he wanted them, began to catch up.
Midshipman Graham and the Battle of Abukir Page 4