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

by Andrew Wareham

  “Surprised, Sir Augustus? I was bloody amazed, and horrified, sir!”

  Sir Augustus burst out laughing, suggested it was time for a drink.

  “Irish, her captain, I believe, Sir Frederick.”

  “He is, sir, but a goddamned fool whatever his birth. The captain of the sloop was little better – he was to cross Valmy at pistol shot, which was a good idea – my Sir Iain Jackman achieved a degree of fame for doing just that, you may have heard – but it is not desirable that one should fail in the very first tack and drift under the broadside of a massive frigate.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember your Sir Iain, and the business with a Spanish ship, before the Dons had declared war… what actually happened there, Sir Frederick?”

  Conversation drifted and the bottle lowered, all as was to be expected. Frederick returned to Conquest with a fuzzy head, which was only normal, he supposed. He drank a pot of coffee, waiting for the intelligencer to arrive, knowing that he would be a very clever gentleman, far too sharp for a man with wine taken.

  He cleared his head in time for the gentleman to come aboard with a great packet of papers to hand.

  “Sir Frederick, I am honoured to meet you, sir. Lord Turner sent his best regards, sir, in a recent missive to me.”

  “That was good of him, sir. A gentleman I am proud to name as a friend, sir. I do not know if you wish to give your name, sir, or if you prefer to remain anonymous like your colleague in Gibraltar.”

  “Oh, no, Sir Frederick! I am Woodhouse, sir, second in the office here – for the Navy, that is. There are several other British offices here, sir, none of them speaking to each other; there are people from the Army, sir, and three or four from the Foreign Office, and at least one who may well report directly to the Prime Minister’s office. None of them gives anything away to each other, or to the Governor, or the Admiral, sir. One can occasionally wonder just who the plethora of agents here work for, sir, for some of them are certainly doubles and a few seem to be independent, selling to the highest bidder. Some, of course, are French, and others are owned by the Vatican, part-owned, at least, the pair I have identified; there is one lonely soul who may well serve Vienna, and I am certain, in my own mind, that there are Moroccans, but they, of course, cheat – they have huge amounts of gold to hand and crudely buy their information.”

  Frederick was amused – it was possible that espionage was the busiest single profession on the island. He tried to put Mr Woodhouse’s mind at rest.

  “I shall be content to deal exclusively with you, sir.”

  Frederick had a suspicion that Mr Woodhouse was concerned to keep his own patch clear of competition, hoped to have reassured him that the navy was his alone.

  “What can you tell me of the Tripolitanian coast, Mr Woodhouse?”

  “It is a target for the French, Sir Frederick. I believe they have it in mind to assemble an army there and to march it into Mauretania and then across to Egypt. If one looks at an atlas, it seems a simple undertaking. Provided one has control of the coastal waters, in order to carry stores and water, particularly, it is not impossible. The first need is a harbour, of course. You, Sir Frederick, destroyed the first base at Mars-Al-Brega – but that was too small for the needs of an army. I much suspect that the aim was to land a corps of perhaps twenty thousand men there and to march against Benghazi – a harbour that is great enough for Bonaparte’s needs. I believe – and have some small amount of evidence, in fact – that the intent was to suborn a faction in Benghazi to rise in concert with the attack and to take the town very quickly and easily, with little damage done. That will not be achieved now, of course, the Dey being aware of their identity and being about to take vigorous action.”

  “Have you any indication of what the French will do now, sir?”

  “They will not simply give up, Sir Frederick. I know, of a certainty, that the French are recruiting troops of fighting men out of the Balkans and are mustering them along the coast of the Ionian Sea at various minor harbours there. They will be setting sail soon, I am convinced. They cannot land close to Benghazi now that there has been action taken to make the rulers there aware of the French intention. I have reason to believe that the garrisons in all the coastal forts have been reinforced, in fact.”

  Frederick confirmed that was so – he had observed them himself while looking about for a potential landing.

  “Good. I am glad you did not attack, Sir Frederick. I shall pass the word that your squadron was hunting for the French, to keep them off the shores of Mauretania. That of course is the truth, a small part of the truth, and a long way from nothing but the truth!”

  Mr Woodhouse seemed to think that a very witty conceit; Frederick imagined he had been a lawyer by training.

  “What of Misrata, Mr Woodhouse?”

  “A possible landing place for the French, Sir Frederick. It is weak at the moment, having suffered a visitation of the plague – the Black Death itself – just a few months since. Many died, as you will appreciate, and the ruler there has not yet re-established his forces, mostly because he is a lad of no more than twelve years – the remainder of his family dying. The French might find it an easy city to reduce.”

  “And my squadron, sir?”

  “Might well discover the self-same thing, Sir Frederick. I happen to have a chart and maps of the town, sir, in my portfolio. I had intended to offer Misrata as a logical place of interest to you. I am glad to see our minds point us in the same direction.”

  “They do, Mr Woodhouse, but not if the Black Death may still be hanging around the town! As I remember – and very vaguely – the Plague is carried by a flea, which itself infests the black rat, which swarms in its millions in any port. I have no wish at all to bring the Plague aboard my ships.”

  “No, it is gone, Sir Frederick. I believe that the flea bites the rat as well, and the animal eventually dies, thus leaving the foolish flea without a host – the outbreak of the Black Death ends when the rats are dead, and does not return until a new population of susceptible rats builds and is then colonised by foreign fleas, probably brought by ship. I have heard it said, by the way, that the brown rat has spread through much of Europe, killing off the black rat, which is why the Plague is almost never seen in England any more, and does not explode into a great epidemic when it does appear.”

  Frederick was relieved to hear that, but was still less than enthused at the prospect of entering a harbour where the Black Death had so recently ruled.

  “The people of the squadron will not understand the argument about the rats, I fear, Mr Woodhouse. It might be better not to mention the Plague to them.”

  “Perhaps, Sir Frederick, we might give thought to educating the mass of hands aboard your ships. Was their ignorance to be dispelled, then the whole of humanity might be seen to benefit.”

  Frederick restrained himself – it was not wise, he supposed, to inform Mr Woodhouse that he did not care in the least about the welfare of the human race, that his sole concern in fact was to organise the efficient killing of a small part of it, namely the French. He decided to try tact.

  “Quite, Mr Woodhouse. I am sure that the ignorance of the ordinary man should be dispelled – but perhaps in schools rather than in the vessels of my squadron. For the while, sir, I wish but to carry out my orders, which involve the destruction of some part of the power of the Barbary pirates and the further confusion of the French.”

  “Of course, Sir Frederick. Suffice it to say that I have recent and, I believe, accurate details of the defences of the harbour, and some idea of the inland fortifications – which are in the ordinary way of things, fairly minor; they expect no siege. I would be available, sir, to sail with your squadron, if that suited your convenience. I could perhaps inform your captains of the details of the harbour, and of any particular bastion that they might be required to take.”

  Frederick instantly accepted the offer. There was, he had no doubt, some ulterior motive, possibly some scheme to somehow do the Army’s in
telligencers in the eye, but that was no concern of his.

  “Misrata is surprisingly rich in water, Sir Frederick. There are springs and the winter rains are heavier in the immediate region than on any other part of the Tripolitanian coast. It is a valuable harbour as a result. It is also the terminus for many of the caravans that cross the great desert. In normal times, it would not be practical to assault the town – but we must seize the opportunity, I believe. I had, indeed, suggested that the Mediterranean Fleet might be concerned to seek a harbour on this coast, if for no other reason than to keep the French out.”

  “Have you word that they might be in, sir?”

  “Not ‘word’ as such, Sir Frederick, but there is an indication, one might say, of interest, if I am reading my information correctly…”

  Frederick wished he might have been dealing with Lord Turner, a man who was willing to specify the nature of his information and to attempt to distinguish between speculation, rumour and known fact. Mr Woodhouse might be offering hard truth, or wishful thinking, and it was impossible to assess which. It was, however, necessary to take action on Mr Woodhouse’s intelligence; he must either accept it, and advance on Misrata, or reject it and expect no more aid from the office in Malta.

  “It will take no more than one more day to make up our wood and water, Mr Woodhouse. We can aim to sail at first light on Thursday, the day after tomorrow. I shall draw up no orders, give no details of our course to the squadron until we are at sea. I shall then call all captains and will beg you to instruct them on the nature of the harbour at Misrata. If they do not know where they are to go next, then they cannot accidentally open their mouths, as you will appreciate, sir. For the while, I would be obliged if you could sit down with my flag-lieutenant and tell him of the harbour forts and batteries, and perhaps of the barracks as well. I must, I think, beg a little more of Sir Augustus.”

  “Powder and ball, Sir Augustus. We are fairly well up, I believe, but I would like to bring the magazines back to full if we are to attempt a harbour along this coast. I have it in mind to take Misrata, and then to hold it for some little while. I have a half-battalion of Sea Soldiers, and they have shown very well and may form a garrison for the town. I have nothing by the way of artillerymen, of course, and can hardly afford to set my gunners ashore, so will probably wish to leave Preston in port when I sail. She is not in the best of condition and might well do better as a floating battery than as a ship of the line.”

  “She might perhaps anchor fore and aft, Sir Frederick, presenting the one broadside, the remainder of her crew ashore to man the batteries. You might even consider landing some of her guns. She is one of the Forty Thieves, is she not, and the Admiralty would not be surprised that she was condemned as unseaworthy. The yard here in Malta is familiar with her and might well survey her hull, Sir Frederick, and declare her unfit to take a place in the line.”

  It was a generous offer, Frederick thought, one that placed him under some obligation to Sir Augustus. He might prefer not to accept the debt that it created, but he could do much with a safe harbour on the African shore, particularly one that had fresh water in quantities.

  “An excellent notion, Sir Augustus! Could I beg a surveyor from you, sir?”

  Frederick was somewhat disconcerted when the surveyor reported that Preston should never sail again, that if she left Malta it was against his most earnest recommendation.

  “I am obliged to inform you, Sir Frederick, that she might not survive even a rather ordinary gale, sir, the Mediterranean seas tending to whip up short and confused, as you are aware, sir, leading to violent pitching and rolling which her seams and knees simply cannot tolerate.”

  The surveyor took a deep breath before launching into his next sentences.

  “As for broadsides, Sir Frederick – no, sir, they are not to be so much as considered! It is my informed, professional opinion, sir, that Preston’s timbers are in so poor a condition that I cannot guarantee that the breechings would hold – I suspect it is not impossible that the great guns on their recoil might simply tear free and continue to roll and even pierce through the unengaged side, sir. The timbers are rotten beyond belief, sir – I have never seen their like! In places, sir, dry rot is meeting wet in competition for which shall sap the ship’s life first. It is certainly the case that the builders used green timbers, part seasoned, and wholly seasoned in proximity to each other; I have no doubt that they took old timbers from broken ships and reused them; I suspect that they slapped a coat of tar on top of wet wood to disguise its nature from inspection, and in process encapsulate the damp and the rot.”

  Frederick was taken aback, began to say that he had never heard the like…

  “The sole good thing I can say, Sir Frederick,” the surveyor continued, “is that Preston is not likely to be lost to fire. She is so wet that I much doubt she could ever be persuaded to take light!”

  “Thank you, sir. I will require one service of Preston, that she should sail the single voyage as far as the coast of Tripolitania and there should set her guns ashore to defend a place that we are to take. A day’s sail in a moderate wind, sir – she should, one trusts, survive that.”

  “I offer no guarantee, Sir Frederick. I will, however, state as an absolute certainty that she will not survive a gale, or an action at sea. I doubt she could sensibly be rebuilt in the yard, sir. She must be taken from service, Sir Frederick. Landing her guns is a sensible and necessary course, but insufficient – she will not serve as a store, if that was your intent.”

  “She will go to the mud, sir, as it seems she will hardly make firewood. I will not send her to sea again after this one voyage.”

  Captain Baker had stood silent as his command was condemned from underneath him; he knew that Preston was in poor condition, could not argue that she must continue to serve, but he was not pleased at the prospect of half-pay.

  “Am I to return to England, Sir Frederick?”

  “Sir Augustus may have a captain who wishes to invalid out of his ship, Captain Baker. I shall speak to him.”

  Sir Augustus had employment for Captain Baker, he was happy to say; indeed, the good captain’s presence was by way of solving a problem for him.

  “I have bought Valmy in, naturally enough, Sir Frederick; a powerful frigate, I have so much for her to do. Now I must man her, which I can do at a pinch, and fill her wardroom, which is possible provided her captain does not demand proof of age of some of his lieutenants! But, what I cannot sensibly do, is to fill her cabin. I simply do not have a post-captain to hand to take so powerful a ship. I have five frigates on station, all of them cruising for months yet, or escorting a convoy west, none in harbour; I have sloops here, two tied up just now, but neither of their masters and commanders is exactly the sort I should wish to command a forty-gun frigate. I can – without this piece of good fortune, would – make a chain of promotions and end up with the least unsatisfactory man in position – and then I would simply wait for disaster to occur with a green captain in a dozen different vessels. But, sir, if your Captain Baker is to hand, then I can shift him into Valmy, preserving his pay and seniority of course, and eventually return him to a two-decker, probably with prize-money in his pocket and perhaps even a Gazette letter to his name.”

  Frederick considered the proposal briefly; a captain’s pay depended to an extent upon his ship – a 74 put more into his pocket than did a 40. But, if the shift to a smaller ship was made for good of the Service, then the higher pay could be maintained. Provided that the Admiralty fully understood that the change was no demotion, then Captain Baker should be happy, especially if he could take some of his own officers, men he had formed, with him.

  “I shall bring Captain Baker to you, sir. He must, I feel, be given the opportunity to refuse the post – though I firmly believe he would be very foolish to do so. I would wish him to take Preston on her last voyage, sir; I can return him in one of the cutters.”

  Captain Baker instantly accepted – Valmy was a plum
, in his eyes, and most other captains would have agreed; heavy frigates did not grow on trees, he well knew.

  “Might it be possible, sir, to bring Valmy alongside Preston, wherever she finally lies, and exchange carronades with her? A frigate with sixty-four-pound smashers to add to her bite would be something indeed, sir.”

  Frederick nodded; carronades with their short range were less useful in a battery than at sea. He ordered his captains to the flagship.

  “Gentlemen, we shall lie off Misrata at dawn. It is my intention that we shall take our berths in the harbour before noon.”

  There was a mutter of approval of this bold statement – they were to take the most vigorous action, it seemed.

  “Mr Woodhouse here is a member of the Admiral’s staff in Malta and has some knowledge of conditions in Misrata. He will explain the details, as it were, and then I shall issue your orders.”

  It was important that the assembled captains should know they were not at the command of some civilian; the gentleman was obviously of importance in the world of intelligence, but that was not to allow him any significance in their business at sea.

  They listened intently to all that he had to say, asked the obvious question at the end.

  “Plague, sir – the true Black Death?”

  He confirmed that it had been, that it was likely that as many as a quarter of the population had died and twice as many fled, not to return. This had, he said, most importantly included the bulk of the soldiers posted to the town.

  “Those who left the town almost all used the coast roads. A few took the Plague with them and died of the disease. Many carried too little water and perished in the dry lands east and west of the immediate hinterland of the city. Of the remainder – those who reached another village or town found the road blocked against them, armed men driving them off for fear of the contagion; some wandered into the desert and were killed out of hand by the Bedu, again in fear of infection; the bulk simply died where they stood. I cannot imagine that one in ten of those who fled lived.”