Far Foreign (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 9)

by Andrew Wareham

  “I had suspected such to be the case, Mr Mason. A full set of reports when you come to me, if you please.”

  Frederick saw Bosomtwi nodding from the cabin, knew that all was ready there.

  “Mr Wickham, come with me, sir.”

  The cabin was organised and there was a pot of coffee to hand.

  “Two cups, Bosomtwi. Be seated, Mr Wickham. How long has the master been in such a condition, sir?”

  “Two years, sir, but he was a relative to the captain, sir. A cousin of the same name – his father’s brother’s son. Captain Coombe was invited to retire to half-pay last week, sir. That is why he was not aboard to hand over to you, sir.”

  “The same reason?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then nothing that you could do about the master, Mr Wickham.”

  “Nothing, sir, though I made a formal protest to the captain, sir.”

  “And that, I presume, achieved nothing at all.”

  “Not quite, sir. I was placed on watch and watch, sir, for the last eighteen months, sir.”

  “Unbroken?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Eighteen months of four hours on, four hours off, apart from the two hours rotation of the dog watches. The men experienced the same, of course, but had less responsibility and no functions to perform when off watch. The premier had all of his executive duties in addition.

  “There are new lieutenants due aboard, Mr Wickham. You will cease to keep any watch the instant they appear, sir.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I need no thanks, Mr Wickham. The situation is intolerable, sir. Now then, what can you tell me of Mason? Can I make him master? Would it be better to promote him into a smaller ship and find a more experienced man?”

  “He knows Endymion, sir, and has worked very closely with me this past year. He has the knowledge he needs, and he is an able man.”

  “Would it be better to make him a lieutenant instead?”

  “No, sir. I have asked him the question and he says that a gentleman’s hat is not for him – he is not born to it and would not want it.”

  “I shall inform the Admiral and we shall see to his warrant then. What of Petersfield?”

  “Ah! A rare case, sir. His name gives the indication.”

  Petersfield was also a small town on the road north from Portsmouth to London…

  “A Foundling boy? Left unknown on the doorstep of the Workhouse as a baby?”

  “Just so, sir. The town is small and had only a tiny place for its orphans, the vicar of the day taking an interest in them – which is unusual enough. The boy was fed and taught his letters and was given to the sea a little later than most such; he was ten when he was sent off to fend for himself. They are normally put to indentures or sent to sea at the age of eight years. He showed bright as a ship’s boy and was made Captain’s Servant after a year or so, on a frigate, and then followed his patron onto Royal Sovereign when he was promoted. There he became a midshipman and passed his Board and was commissioned into her, all by the captain’s influence. When the captain lowered his pennant, last month, he was put across to Endymion and has shown himself a capable enough young man. The story came out of course, nothing is secret in the navy, and there were some mutterings from the two gentlemen who have now left us, but Captain Coombe would hear none of them, he being to an extent a follower of the original gentleman.”

  Frederick noticed that Wickham was going to some lengths to avoid naming Petersfield’s patron; he wondered why.

  “Send the lad into me when you go, Mr Wickham. I will wish to speak with you later, sir, about the state of the ship. Come back with Mason, if you would, and we shall discover the exact details. Before you go, have you anything confidential to tell me of any of the others?”

  “Nothing, sir. All are very ordinary gentlemen, warrants as well.”

  “Adequate in their jobs?”

  “Sufficiently so, sir, though Chips is getting rheumaticky in the fingers, sir – less and less able to handle the tools, but he has the knowledge and two bright youngsters as mates who are learning from him. Another three years and one of them can replace him, sir, but not quite yet. The Gunner has his little ways as well.”

  “I did not see the surgeon?”

  “He is at Haslar, sir, with a number of the men who are to receive treatment there, possibly for a prolonged period. We lost a foretopmast in the last storms, sir, on blockade off the North Dutch coast, towards Danish waters, and there were men injured who should not have been, forced to unnecessary hazard, sir.”

  “How?”

  “The mast was swaying, sir, whipping with each pitch of the bows. The captain sent men aloft to hand the topgallant pole, thinking to save it and perhaps avert the fall of the topmast itself by removing the extra weight. Two died as the whole mass fell – the bulk of the men themselves probably hastening the process; six were severely hurt and as many again with bruises and sprains that healed only slowly. We were sent in by the admiral, sir. I do not know what report he made, but all occurred in plain sight of the Flag.”

  The whole added up to a crew that would be seriously disaffected; they would not be pleased to discover that they were to be probably three more years at sea in Endymion.

  “How many bodies are we short, Mr Wickham?”

  “Nearly one hundred, sir. The sole comfort is that those we do have are almost all ordinary at least and the bulk able, for being at sea so long on blockade. We have very few boys, sir, which means that the shortage of men is less severe than it would at first seem.”

  “Boys are easily come by, at least, Mr Wickham. I would be obliged to you if you would make the rounds of the foundling hospitals, sir, to obtain the number you consider right. We will also be given some quotamen when they come in, and I have some hopes of the prisoners down at Portchester Castle; there may be Poles and Germans and Italians among them who were forced into Bonaparte’s service and who will be willing to change masters. Not ideal, perhaps, but they will not run far in the Indian Ocean!”

  Book Nine: The Duty

  and Destiny Series

  Chapter Two

  Admiral Fenton was not certain of the wisdom of a court-martial for the master, Coombe; better simply to dismiss him from the ship.

  “Might it not be wiser to draw a veil over the matter, Sir Frederick? The man is a mere sot, that is undeniable, yet do we wish to puff the fact off to the whole of the nation? These court-martials are reported in the newssheets and do the service no good in the eyes of the people, you know. Importantly as well, there is the matter of Captain Coombe who was permitted to go to half-pay rather than be subjected to any disciplinary process and who might be smeared by association. He has a cousin, I believe, who is of some slight significance in the current Administration – All the Talents, that is – and who might be inclined to take his part at the Admiralty, to the annoyance of both of us.”

  Frederick nodded impatiently. The Coombes were protected. So be it.

  “There is no choice, it would seem, sir. One could wish that matters were otherwise, yet the politicians may not be gainsaid. He must be dismissed from the ship and that will be an end to it. I will say though that I am most displeased at the treatment that was meted out to the First Lieutenant, Wickham; they behaved cruelly to him and he is not even to have the vicarious pleasure of seeing the one punished.”

  “Could he be rewarded, promoted into command of a sloop, perhaps, Sir Frederick?”

  Instant demurral – justice was one thing, practicality another.

  “Not at age forty, sir; not in my squadron, I beg of you!”

  “Nor in any other man’s, thinking on the matter! He is far too much aged to go adventuring in a small ship; besides anything else, he would be crippled with the rheumatics inside his first winter! I have no vacancies ashore that he could fill… There is little to be done for him, unless he might wish to go to half-pay for the remainder of his existence. I have the authority to make him Master and
Commander, as you know, but it seems he would then remain unemployed, as so many of such do. Speak to him, Sir Frederick, let him choose. I could replace him without too much difficulty if he should go.”

  Wickham preferred to remain in his commission; he was single and had no family that recognised him and no attachment to any particular place. He would rather stay at sea and, after all, there was always the chance of a prize or two.

  “We are to hunt pirates, are we not, sir? The possibility is always there…”

  “Let us hope so, Mr Wickham. Now, Mr Petersfield will I believe remain as Fourth, as the two gentlemen who are to join today have more than a year of seniority to their names. Mizzenmast and the four carronades would you think?”

  “Yes, sir. That would be proper for him. The new men must take main and foremast. Which brings the question of whether you have word of guns for us.”

  “Why?”

  “There was some mention of replacement for the chasers, sir. Both were condemned and removed last year.”

  Frederick was displeased – he had not noticed their absence and he should have.

  “I will remind the Admiral, Mr Wickham. Do you know if there is anything in the artillery park?”

  “There are two of long thirty-two pound guns, sir, that I know of.”

  “Good, I shall see what can be done. Coming back to Petersfield – there is that in his mannerisms and behaviour that puzzles me a mite, a certain strangeness to him.”

  “I had not noticed, sir.”

  Wickham was severe in his denial – he had seen nothing, knew nothing. He was so rigid in his insistence that Frederick became convinced that the young man was of an ambivalent nature – which would explain his promotion from foundling waif to officer’s hat. No matter, while he did not provide gossip for the crew.

  “What of the Marines, Mr Wickham? I have not seen their officers.”

  “A full party, sir. Seventy-four rank and file, including a sergeant, and a lieutenant and a captain in command; in no way out of the ordinary, sir. Both officers are taking a brief shore-leave, sir, with my permission and in fact at my suggestion, sir, the one having family in Chichester and the other at Fareham. Either could be recalled in half a day.”

  “Good. Let them be for the moment; there is no urgency and they will be a long time away.”

  The two merchants from Torbay called for Frederick’s attention that afternoon, sending a polite message aboard and begging that he might dine with them at the Crown. It was socially encroaching of them, mere merchants as they were, to suggest that he shared their table, but he would eat a good meal and would see both the parents and the boys in relaxed surroundings, giving them the opportunity to show their worst.

  No doubt the gentlemen believed they were displaying their very best, and they were not impossibly vulgar. It was clear, however, that they had not come into contact with the dictates of Fashion, and, although they dressed for dinner, Frederick could not approve of the grass-green waistcoat of the one or the coquelicot stripes of the other; he accepted though that the flaming poppy red of the new, expensive dye-stuff made a statement of very solid prosperity.

  They had set a good table, as he had expected, and their sons sat mute and polite and showed dexterity with a full array of cutlery. The fathers both had a strong tinge of the Dorset in their speech, but they had sent their boys to, at minimum, a good day school and they spoke quite well in the King’s English dialect. They would do, Frederick decided. He made the normal arrangements and refused the offer of payment, as was his wont, and pointed out that both lads could be quickly kitted out in Portsmouth; there were naval outfitters in plenty in the great port and a steady flow of hopeful boys going to sea as well.

  All would be done and the boys would board Endymion within three days.

  “A final point, gentlemen – it is custom in the Service for new boys joining to bring a gift to their mess. Being boys, and forever hungry at the age, this normally takes the form of something edible – a ham or a big plum cake or something of that ilk for all to share, them included, of course.”

  “You ‘ave said that they should ‘ave no more than twenty-five pounds a year of pocket money, Sir Frederick? Is there a particular reason for this? Would it be out of the way for my lad to ‘ave more?”

  “Empty pockets keep them out of mischief on shore, Mr Barker. Add to that, sir, they must not come to think they are on holiday, off to see the world and enjoy themselves. It is a hard life and they must work to master it. They have six years of service as midshipmen in front of them, and I would wish to see them fit and ready to be commissioned before those years are up; they will not achieve that goal by spending money in riotous living ashore.”

  “Good enough, Sir Frederick. You are to be at least three years away, you tell me, in the Indian Ocean. Will there be a chance of letters home in that time, sir?”

  “The East Indiamen pass through at least twice a year, more often for the saltpetre carriers; a letter entrusted to the purser of the larger sort will normally be sent when they reach England. You may reasonably expect to receive four or five letters from your boy. I shall order him to write home, in a diary so that you will receive a substantial packet when one does arrive.”

  The pair seemed rather daunted, finally realising that they were truly bidding their boys farewell.

  “They will be men when we see them again,” coquelicot waistcoat said.

  “That is true, Mr Weymouth, and unavoidable. It is part of the life of the sailor. It could easily be that your boy will do well enough to be transferred to a frigate or heavy sloop, where an officer soon gains the best of experience, and then be sent off to the China Station and perhaps return by way of Botany Bay. It is possible that he might not see Portsmouth again until he is a lieutenant, even a Master and Commander in his own ship. He might, equally, be taken ill with his chest, as is not too uncommon, and be shipped back an invalid within the year.”

  They frowned and agreed – the risk was there. Neither actually said that all they might receive was a black-bordered letter notifying them of their son’s death – but both had the thought.

  The new lieutenants arrived and showed competent. They had been midshipmen under captains who were followers of Admiral Fenton and had thus a slight claim upon him; they could not demand much, the relationship being tenuous, but they could not unreasonably ask of him for a place.

  McDonald was remarkable for not having the accent of his name; when asked, he said that he was Chatham bred, his father having been a Marine, and he had never seen the North of Britain. He had served on Third Rates before, was used to the ways of line-of-battle ships and was most happy to discover they were not to go to blockade. He had spent two years off Brest as a boy, twenty-six months actually, never leaving the deck of his ship; he was pleased not to repeat that tedium.

  Dalby was equally happy to go far foreign. His name had originally been D’Albeche, he said, his parents émigré and himself brought up almost wholly in England.

  “Even so, sir, was I to be shipwrecked in France I could be identified as a traitor and lose my head for it. I was never easy in a winter’s storm, sir, off the Brittany coast.”

  “No more would I have been in like circumstance, sir! You are senior to Mr McDonald and will have the mainmast and the lower tier of guns. We are short of midshipmen, I am afraid, and you must do the best you can with the aid of your quarter-gunners to look after your broadside.”

  “Beg pardon, sir, but my young brother is ashore at this moment, Black Prince having just paid off on entering the dockyard for repairs. He has three years, sir, and a good report.”

  “Bring him aboard, Mr Dalby – that is a good ship to have served on.”

  They were interrupted by shouting and hallooing on deck and by frantic and increasingly irate calls for discipline.

  “I suspect that may be our quotamen come aboard, gentlemen. Landsmen, of course, and knowing nothing of how to go on. All the shouting is probably becau
se one of them has chosen to take a piss against the mainmast.”

  “I’ll see the bugger flogged if he has, sir!” Dalby started from his chair in indignation before realising that his captain had made a joke.

  They left the cabin to see for themselves.

  The boatswain and his mates were rapidly establishing order on the deck, illegal ropes’-ends swinging hard; a two-foot length of seven-strand cable, three inches in circumference, was as effective as a billy club yet seemed somehow to be less brutal, to the onlooker that was. Frederick made a habit of banning their use on any ship of his, they belonged to an older, less humane era, he believed; he decided to inform the boatswain that they were forbidden, but not till later in the day.

  The quotamen – their agricultural clothing identified them without doubt – were put into five lines in the waist. Frederick brightened – that made the better part of sixty bodies and landsmen could very quickly be taught enough of their duty to be useful.

  The Premier stood to their front and called for silence; the muttering and oaths and moans of pain ceased. He ordered ‘hats off’ and waited while the boatswain dealt with the slowcoaches, then turned to Frederick, saluting very formally and announcing the presence of eight and fifty of volunteers from the inland counties.

  “Very good, Mr Wickham. Put their names on the roll and run them past the surgeon, if you would be so good. Then assign them their parts of ship, with the Master’s aid, and issue them with proper clothing. Purser on deck, if you please.”

  The purser came reluctantly into the daylight, peering about him like a mole chased from its hole and about to dive back underground. He was a short, bent-over little man, wore thick spectacles and dressed always in rusty blacks, an ankle-length and presumably second-hand frockcoat wrapped tight against the winds of the open air.

  “Mr Mockson, you are to issue slops to these men; a standard allowance, sir, of warm waters clothing.”

  Mockson would not disobey an order, so Wickham had said, but he would do nothing without a specific instruction. The labourers would have remained in their smocks without the command.