Shores of Barbary (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 12)

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Shores of Barbary (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 12) Page 8

by Andrew Wareham


  The poop contained a sleeping cabin, a second for dining, with a large table that might seat sixteen men at a guess, and a third cabin for working. It was more common for the dining cabin also to be his workplace, but the Spaniards had their own ideas on the comfort of their officers.

  Lieutenant Aggers was waiting for him, had come aboard earlier in the day.

  “Copies of the orders to hand, Sir Frederick. A list of ships and their captains, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary, sir. No names that are familiar to us.”

  “Let’s just have a look at the orders, Mr Aggers. Simply to confirm that all is as I understood. Have we statements of condition for the squadron?”

  “All are present, sir. I have not had time to sort through them yet, sir.”

  “Make that the day’s business, if you would be so good, Mr Aggers. If we are to make our sailing day, then we must bring every vessel into immediate good order.”

  “Yes, sir. Beg pardon, sir, but the Carpenter heard last week that you were to have Conquest and has made up a stand for reading, sir.”

  It was in effect a lectern, or possibly a music stand, a simple frame that could hold two quarto sheets at a convenient reading angle. It fixed onto the desk by means of a simple pair of sprung clamps, easily operated with one hand. Frederick’s first reaction was of outrage that he might be treated as a cripple, pandered to, patronised almost; common sense rapidly supervened and he set the little machine up on his desk, found it was actually very convenient.

  “Pass the word to Captain Arbuthnot that the Carpenter’s device is most useful. Say also that I am deeply pleased and grateful for the thought and consideration that went willingly into the creation of so clever a piece of equipment.”

  It was a fair bet that Captain Arbuthnot had not been party to the Carpenter’s initiative, but it would have been very wrong for Frederick to send a message to the Carpenter except through the captain. He must not be interfering in any way with the running of his captain’s ship; an admiral was a passenger, not an officer with power to command in the day-to-day business of seamanship.

  He read the orders, the bulk of which were contained in the first page, the remainder being more by way of Intelligence than instruction.

  ‘First to land at a small harbour along the Algerine or Tripolitanian coast and to take it. Once installed, to burn its fleet; to release and carry away all slaves; to prize all valuables without distinction of public or private property; to slight any fort or batteries; to foul all water supplies; to burn or otherwise destroy all farms surrounding the harbour, and their crops; to break any bridges, aqueducts or other public works; to take or kill all livestock; to drive off the whole population prior to burning their housing.’

  “Attila and his Huns, or the Great Khan, are to be our models, Mr Aggers.”

  “So it must seem, Sir Frederick. I must presume there is reason for this action, sir?”

  “We are then to blockade the coast, taking or destroying every Barbary ship, except those belonging to the Empire of Morocco. We must send one ship in to Algiers or Tripoli to inform them that their harbours must be closed to France, or we shall proceed to bring a whole army to ravage their coast and destroy their cities, following the example we have given. We shall cut down their olive groves and foul their water and return the whole coast to the desert, we must inform them.”

  “A mighty threat, Sir Frederick. Can we make good on it?”

  “No. We lack the ships and troops both to do so – but hopefully they are not to know that.”

  “They will beg assistance of Bonaparte, sir.”

  “It is to be hoped they may, Mr Aggers, for that will bring their fleet out of Toulon and into the arms of the Mediterranean Fleet, which will be anxious to greet them!”

  “Is that the true aim of the exercise, sir?”

  “I do not know, Mr Aggers. I am not entirely certain that Their Lordships know either.”

  “Then why, sir?”

  “The Levant convoys must be protected – their trade is worth millions. The Mediterranean Fleet must be rationed, its hovellers protected. The slave-raiding along the civilised coasts must be brought to an end. In part, the savagery of the Ottoman and other Mohammedan empires must be kicked out of the Christian world and thrown back into their deserts, where they belong. Hinted at, is the question of India. It is far quicker to travel to India by means of a land crossing from the Med to the Red Sea – and that means to control Egypt, and to have a safe passage of the seas for our merchant vessels. All of these elements come together to demand that action be taken against the pirate states. The Moroccan Empire is rapidly civilising itself and is becoming a reliable ally – but the smaller places along the North African coast are barbarous indeed, and need to be ground under the heel of the Great Powers before they can be remade as entities fit to exist in the modern world. The damned French are no better than them, willing to arm and encourage savages if they will temporarily assist them – this Bonaparte is not fit to sit the throne of a civilised state, you know, Aggers!”

  “And we are to have the privilege, sir, of bringing the barbarians to heel – of either civilising them or destroying their whole power.”

  “Not with our squadron, Mr Aggers. We are to serve notice upon them – behave or die, if not now, then in the near future.”

  Aggers was not entirely certain of this strategy, but he could see the possibility of a substantial amount of prize money in the offing. If the squadron was to take even a small harbour and all of its contents, then there would be a good few thousands of pounds flying about, some small proportion of which might make his old age comfortable. He sat down with the statements of condition of the whole squadron, making out a table recording for each vessel its victualling and stores; its state of repair; its men; and its guns and powder and ball. It was a long, slow process, hindered by the relative illiteracy of the captains, the legibility of their clerks’ handwriting – or in the smaller vessels, the captain’s own – and their desire to conceal the truth, probably to hide peculation.

  Frederick sat with Captain Arbuthnot, trying to get a more personal feel of the squadron and its people.

  “Starting with Conquest, Captain Arbuthnot; an 84, which is uncommon, sir.”

  “The Spanish, Sir Frederick, tempted by failure at sea to build greater ships to discover whether that might not offer them the victory that otherwise eluded them.”

  Frederick thought for a few seconds and decided he at least understood what had just been said.

  “Yes, indeed, Captain Arbuthnot. Just how great a ship is Conquest?”

  “A main battery, sir, of thirty-two pound long guns, forty-four of them. New guns, sir, replaced at the last refit, three years ago. A deck battery of eighteen-pounders, sir, twenty-eight of them. Twelve long guns, again eighteen-pounders to the poop, sir – they was twelves but I had them condemned for being aged and replaced by eighteens. Carronades, sir, eight of forty-two pounds, available last year, the Carron Works having produced them for the East India Company, which has been taking such for some years.”

  “I had a sloop under my command ten years ago, Cobra, in the East Indies which carried them, Captain Arbuthnot.”

  Captain Arbuthnot tried to show interested in that piece of information.

  “The boats, sir, all have twelve-pound carronades as boat guns. Swivels and muskets as is normal, sir. Eighty-four Marines under a major, sir, senior Marine officer of the squadron, apart from the half-battalion on the stores, which ain’t quite in the ordinary run of Marines.”

  Frederick might have preferred twenty-four pound long guns to eighteens, but Conquest was a powerful ship, he agreed.

  “Manning, Captain Arbuthnot?”

  “A complement of nine hundred men, sir, thereabouts, but short by some one hundred and fifty, sir. We are due a share of the Quota men, sir, and of goal delivery, both expected this week. There is a chance of picking up a few from the blockaders, sir; word is that two which made port for repai
rs just yesterday will be in dock for several months, their crews to be dispersed throughout Portsmouth. The Imprest Service, sir, may be able to supply some bodies as well, having been busy along the Sussex coast just of late. I would expect to sail with eight hundred men aboard, sir.”

  It was not unusual; if they were lucky, then it might be possible to pick up bodies in the Mediterranean, provided one did not enquire too deeply into questions of nationality. There were merchant seamen aboard taken ships who might be inclined to serve at sea rather than languish part-starved in prisons, and they often would be good seamen, even if a little on the traitorous side.

  “Good enough, Captain Arbuthnot. What of the officers, sir?”

  “I have had Conquest for three years, sir, two on blockade and a summer on Baltic duty. I have come to know them in that time, replacing just one who felt he would be happier elsewhere – a lieutenant for more than twenty years and growing a little too staid and stiff for duty at sea; he found a vacancy on the Imprest tender in Plymouth, sir.”

  No more need be said of a man who would choose to join the Press.

  “My midshipmen are mostly of my own selection, sir, and are no more mixed a little group than are normally to be found. Lost one a few months ago, oversetting his boat through sheer bad seamanship; no great loss to the service. The warrant officers generally are very satisfactory, sir. Carpenter and Gunner are both old in the service, perhaps, but very skilful. The Doctor is a drunk; I had hoped to replace him, but have been unable to make the change while in Portsmouth.”

  Frederick saw the opportunity to make an immediate impression.

  “I shall seek to persuade him personally, Captain Arbuthnot. It is not impossible that an admiral may be able to prevail upon the gentleman to discover himself unfit for further sea duty. I shall speak to Vice-Admiral Parker to secure an immediate replacement for the gentleman. Will you send him to me at soonest, sir?”

  Captain Arbuthnot smiled and promised that he would do so. The doctor had not been on deck for Sir Frederick’s introduction to his command, which suggested a drunken stupor – he was definitely aboard. He would be woken and chivvied along to Sir Frederick’s presence, a file of Marines to hand in the hope that he might show obstreperous once in the cabin.

  The Surgeon arrived within ten minutes, dressed anyhow and smelling of stale spirits, eyes bloodshot and hardly able to comprehend just what was happening. He tried to stand on his dignity, a very weak footing.

  “Sir, I am a professional man and unused to such treatment.” He was not helped by releasing a loud belch at the end of this statement. “I find myself slightly incommoded by a gastric upset, sir.”

  “Are you to say that you are unwell, sir?”

  “Of course I am unwell – is that not obvious?”

  “I beg your pardon, sir - would you wish to consider that statement and the manner in which it was delivered?”

  The Surgeon could not understand that any man might be angry with him, assumed that Frederick was suffering an imbalance of the Humours, not surprising in a man recently promoted.

  “You show choleric, sir, would undoubtedly be better for blood-letting. Take off your coat and present your left arm, sir.”

  The doctor’s professional skill surfaced; he gave the instruction by rote as he dragged a bloody lancet from his pocket, disentangling it from his well-used handkerchief.

  “That might present a certain difficulty, doctor, as you would notice if you opened your bloody eyes!”

  A Marine grasped the Surgeon’s arm, removed the lancet, whispered something in his ear.

  “Don’t you call me a bloody fool! What wounded admiral?”

  “Me.”

  There was a silence, broken by the Surgeon bursting into tears.

  “It’s not my fault, you know! I did not want to become like this!”

  “You are unfit to serve, sir.”

  “Of course I am not! Just allow me a quick drink to settle my nerves and I shall be right as rain!”

  “You are formally forbidden to ever touch alcohol on board this ship, doctor. You will be held in irons and sent to court-martial if you take one drink more.”

  The threat was effective; the Surgeon did not know very much, his brain was so fuddled, but he was quite certain that he must have another drink, and very soon. The thought of spending days locked up, waiting for a court to sit, had an almost sobering effect upon him.

  “I resign, sir. I will leave the ship instantly.”

  “Very good, doctor. Mr Aggers, write out a formal request from the doctor to resign his warrant, in three copies. One for our records, one to go to Surgeons’ Hall and a third for the Port Admiral. The gentleman will sign each – he will not be permitted alcohol in any form before he has done so. Instruct his servant to pack his trunk, if you would be so good. Captain Arbuthnot, I would be obliged to you if my launch could be made ready for thirty minutes from now. The Surgeon will accompany me to the Port Admiral’s office. He will have a pair of Marines as escort.”

  Captain Arbuthnot passed the orders along to the lieutenant of the watch; he was impressed by the ruthlessness of Frederick’s action, as was intended. He now knew that if need arose his admiral would dispose of any man who was a nuisance to him.

  “A Surgeon, Sir Frederick? You have a choice, sir, of two. A pair of liners came in off the blockade yesterday and the dockyard surveyor has ordered them into the yard and tells me they will not be released this year. Rot in their bottoms, under the copper – the old problem, Sir Frederick, the copper protecting against the worm but rendering the timbers vulnerable to unseen decay.”

  Frederick thanked Sir Peter for his kindness, while pointing out that this must mean some fourteen hundred seamen were temporarily unemployed.

  “How many, Sir Frederick?”

  “Conquest alone needs one hundred of ordinary and able, sir, and could take fifty of landsmen as well when the Quota men come in. I have yet to discover figures for the remainder of the squadron, but one must assume that all will be short of bodies. Six brigs and cutters at ten apiece; four sloops at thirty; one frigate – say fifty; a 64, another fifty; a 74, one hundred, sir. That comes to…”

  They totted up the figures on their fingers, wrote them on a scrap of paper and added them up three times, coming to the same answer twice.

  “Including Conquest, sir, four hundred and eighty. Landsmen additionally, sir, when you have them to spare.”

  It left nine hundred bodies available for the other ships in port, none of whom had an admiral aboard. Additionally, Sir Peter knew that Mr George Hackett, son to Lord Partington, and brother to Sir Frederick’s lady, was a member of the Navy Board, and Lord Alton was an uncle.

  “They will be sent out to you tomorrow in the forenoon, Sir Frederick. When do you sail?”

  “In four days, I hope, sir. I have no certainty yet as I have not inspected the Statements of Condition of all of the squadron.”

  “I can reassure you for the bulk of them, Sir Frederick. They have passed inspection by the yard. The sole difficulties must arise with your 64, Harfleur.”

  “There is a problem there, sir?”

  “Better you should make your inspection of her and discover for yourself, Sir Frederick. You may find a solution, or, of course, you may not. Now, let us see about a surgeon, sir.”

  Messages were sent to the two 74s and a pair of surgeons were trotted to the Port Admiral’s offices, were set on display for Frederick’s delectation. It was eleven o’clock in the forenoon, landsmen’s time used ashore, and one of them gave off an aroma of fresh gin. Unfortunately, he was the younger of the pair, and probably the better qualified; he showed a sympathetic interest in Frederick’s arm. Nonetheless, he would not do.

  “I have dismissed Conquest’s doctor for drunkenness, sir. I find you smelling of gin in the forenoon. That will not do, sir; you will not do for one of my ships. I have no place for you.”

  The surgeon said nothing, simply turned and left. Frederic
k called the other man back to him.

  “Conquest is to sail to the Mediterranean, sir. You are appointed Surgeon to her, if you wish to accept.”

  “Thank you, sir. I will be very happy to come aboard. I had not known what I was to do, sir, when we were told that we were to be set ashore.”

  “Very good, Mr Marsh, is it not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go aboard Conquest, examine your facilities and report as quickly as possible to Captain Arbuthnot on your needs. We are to sail within the week.”

  Frederick turned to Sir Peter and made his thanks for his assistance.

  “Now, sir, I must read the statement from Harfleur and then make a visit to her. Does the problem lie in the fabric of the ship, sir?”

  “Not in my opinion, no, Sir Frederick.”

  “Mr Aggers, the statement of condition for Harfleur, 64 – does it show any particular anomaly, that you saw?”

  “Not precisely, sir. She is an ordinary old 64, sir, unsuited for the line of battle now, but otherwise unremarkable. Twenty-four pounders and twelves and thirty-two pound carronades; short four-pounder boat guns, which are not generally to be seen these days. Victualled fully; water is up; firewood high; boatswain’s and master’s and carpenter’s stores up; sailmaker is short of canvas – but that is in hand. Ship’s complement is short, due to frequent desertions – the number marked as Run is high. That would be my sole query, sir.”

  Frederick drew a deep breath and said nothing; he knew why seamen ran in large numbers. There were desertions from every ship, inevitably so when the bulk of seamen were either directly pressed or forced to come aboard by hunger and unemployment, but the numbers were predictable and relatively low, except when the opportunity was exceptional. A ship making a call in an American port and not placing an armed guard or permitting shore leave could lose one third of its men in a night; normally the figures were far lower. When they were high there was an unhappy ship.

 

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