“Then I must make haste to read myself in, sir. My people are in your outer office, sir. May I send them aboard?”
The Admiral gave his assent, thought it very wise, in fact. Frederick gave Gentry his instructions, telling him to leave Bosomtwi on shore – he and the other followers should accompany Frederick in the barge. He returned to the Admiral.
“I must expect to return within two weeks, sir; Tetuan is not far distant. May I ask for the men’s pay-tickets, and a paymaster to meet us on our return, sir? Then four days at least tied up so that the men may have a run ashore. No doubt the doctor will wish to replenish his store of drugs in anticipation of the happy event, sir.”
“I share your opinion, Sir Frederick – the men must be granted their relaxation, however destructive of their health and moral well-being it may be.”
“The convoy, sir, has it an escort?”
“A sloop and a gunbrig, all that was to hand. While we are not at war with Spain there is only a limited presence here in Gibraltar. My flag-lieutenant will escort you to the quay, Sir Frederick. You may use my barge to go out to Euripides.”
A mark of respect, a sign to the other ships at anchor that Frederick was well in with the Admiralty and could expect favours from the Admiral.
Bosomtwi was watching and brought the party of followers to the quayside as Frederick arrived, quickly shifting his baggage into the launch and settling unobtrusively on the bottom boards. The Flag Lieutenant followed, escorting him in courtesy, and then Frederick stepped aboard, boat cloak wrapped round him for warmth. Gentry would be looking out for him and would have seen Bosomtwi and Marc and Jean boarding the barge.
The Marine sentry at the entry port gave the hail.
“The boat ahoy!”
“Euripides!”
The sentry stamped to rigid attention, his sole function in the circumstances.
Last into the boat, first out – Frederick stepped out and up the side, noting the ship’s boys and the manropes – all quickly organised. As he expected the Spithead Nightingales began their trill as he reached the deck, the boatswain’s mates precise in their duty.
The scene was orderly and precise, and Gentry stood as he should to welcome him aboard.
Gentry turned to the hands drawn up in the waist, formally cried, “Off hats!”
He took Frederick’s commission and read the familiar words loudly and formally and returned the sheets to Sir Frederick.
“There is of course no need to introduce me to my officers, Mr Gentry, with the exception of the one gentleman of the old wardroom.”
“Mr Martindale, sir, who was First Lieutenant.”
“I understand you are to go ashore, Mr Martindale. No doubt the Admiral will find something for you.”
Martindale was tall, fleshy and purple in the face with suppressed rage – he had perhaps expected more to come of his appointment, felt that he was superseded. He saluted and left the ship, saying that his servant would no doubt pack his traps for him.
The Standing Officers were as ever – professional seamen who would do their jobs, marginally a fraction better or worse than others he had known, but none badly. There was a Chaplain who stepped forward and offered to shake hands, of all things; Gentry growled outrage at him and he recovered his position, looking like a puppy gratuitously kicked.
“Dismiss the hands to their duty, please, Mr Gentry.”
Frederick glanced at the deck as the men dispersed; snow-white, not a sign of gun trucks cutting grooves in the deals.
“Master Gunner! How do we stand for practice powder?”
The Gunner stopped on his way below, turned back, looking hopeful.
“High, sir. All of this year’s allocation, sir.”
It was December – no practice for eight months, at least.
“We sail at first light, Mr Gentry, and shall be firing live one hour later.”
“It will be necessary, sir. What is to be done for the Marines, sir?”
There was a captain and three lieutenants, implying that the numbers had been made up to keep one permanently on watch.
Frederick glanced at the ranks of redcoats; three of thirty-two – half as many again as was normal. One Marine per gun plus officers was the rule for manning – there should be sixty-four.
“Captain Thomas has the command of our detachment, sir.”
“I am glad to meet you, Captain Thomas. Do we need to keep the extra men aboard?”
“No, sir. I am not certain there was ever need for them. I shall make the arrangements, if you desire, sir?”
“Please do.”
The Master, Boatswain and Carpenter remained, together with the Chaplain who seemed not to know what he must do next. Frederick ignored the Chaplain, greeted the three Warrant Officers courteously.
“Mr Oates, sir, Master.”
A man of fifty, perhaps, but fit and alert.
“Baker, sir, Boatswain.”
Old in the trade – well into his forties and probably soon to look for a place in a dockyard, before the screws began to slow him. He would find employment easily.
“Chips, I know you do I not? Where was it and when? I can remember your face, but not, to my shame, your name.”
“Pallas, sir, time we took they old Frenchies, a dozen years back. They pushed I up to a bigger ship on the strength of that, a frigate, and then I got given Euripides three years since. Milliken, sir.”
“So it was! I remember seeing you staring at your best wooden maul, Milliken, splintered and all covered with blood and hair where you had bashed more than one French head in the fight.”
As always there were hands working close enough to hear and pass the word – the Carpenter would find himself much more respected when that story was known.
The Chaplain had to be greeted, finally, out of courtesy.
“I presume you act as schoolteacher for the mids and boys, sir; or do you prefer to give your aid to the sick bay?”
“Oh! May I teach the ships’ boys their letters as well, sir? The last captain would not permit such ‘laxity’, as he called it.”
“I would wish you to do so, Chaplain. In my experience the boys can be very bright – not all of them, of course - and some can be brought on in the service.”
“I will be pleased to do so, sir. Young Olsen especially will need help.”
Gentry intervened, suggested that was to be discussed later and in private.
“You may wish to take action in his case, sir.”
Book Seven: The Duty and Destiny Series
Chapter Five
“Not the most auspicious of beginnings to a commission, Mr Gentry. Do you know why has there been no meaningful gunnery practice, sir?”
“There were more important matters, sir, so I was told. The appearance of the ship was really rather poor when Martindale was appointed, and, after all, sir, ‘it is not as if an old sixty-four is to be employed in the line of battle in these modern times’, sir! His exact words, sir.”
“All the more reason to work up one’s gunnery! Euripides must expect to be in single ship action rather than in a fleet battle. I will expect the most rigorous action to remedy this great fault, remembering that it is not the crew to be blamed. Live firing every morning; drill during the day; more live firing at night, sir.”
The boatswain, stood to one side and waiting for his turn to be interrogated, uneasily pointed out that Mr Martindale had spent the better part of a year bringing the deck to its present snow-white condition.
“It will take an hour to return it to that condition proper to a fighting ship, sir. White decks and white flags go together, sir – and we shall never surrender!”
“Thank’ee, sir. I am glad to hear that.”
It transpired that Martindale had seen no reason why they should ever fight. The Navy had better things to do than to prance about the world fighting people!
“We sail to Tetuan at first light, sir. Are stores properly up?”
Gentry was still unce
rtain and would confer with the Master and the Purser, who was currently ashore in the Yard.
“So you must. Why was the doctor not on deck?”
“Ashore, sir, but I have yet to enquire where. His name is Carlisle.”
“I should inspect the sickbay, will go and ask his mate.”
“Dr Carlisle, sir? He is at the hospital, sir, as always, assisting with the sick there. He is using his skills for the benefit of the Navy, sir.”
Frederick pointed out that they would sail in the morning and that he must be informed.
“I have a seriously sick patient, sir. I beg that you will send a messenger, for I do not wish to lose him.”
The Master appeared, about to escort Frederick on his tour of inspection, as was his duty. He suggested that he might send one of his mates ashore to the hospital.
“Mr McAlpine must properly stay here, sir, to nurse young Olsen.”
“Let it be so.”
Frederick let the Master and boatswain take him back to his cabin, pointing out the general state of the ship as they went. All was, bearing in mind her age, in remarkable condition; the past two months had been profitably spent.
Gentry was waiting for them, Punishment Book in hand.
“You should read this, sir. The Chaplain tipped me the wink.”
It was outrageous, some two hundred dozens of lashes awarded in the previous eight weeks.
Lieutenant Martindale – signing himself ‘Acting-Captain’ – had played the tyrant, it seemed. The final entry recorded four dozens to one Olsen, under Article 36, the ‘Captain’s Cloak’, which allowed punishment for any offence commonly and traditionally regarded to be a breach of the laws they lived by, if not otherwise specified.
“What did he do?”
“A ship’s boy, sir. He farted when Martindale was walking by him and was accused of insubordination and deliberate insult. He is in the sickbay, sir, too ill to do his duty – two days after his beating and possibly to die.”
Frederick stared, utterly appalled. Gentry continued with his summary, hard-voiced and angry.
“The sentence was unlawful in itself, sir, even had the offence been real; and to be flogging a boy of fifteen is quite disgusting. It was Martindale who brought the crew to the verge of mutiny, I suspect. Though I have yet to discover what happened to the captain and how he came to die.”
“I shall go to the Admiral and request that Martindale be put before a court for this. It is a disgrace!”
Frederick gave Gentry his instructions for the remainder of the day, essentially to prepare to sail.
“We are for Tetuan at first light, to pick up the victualling ships for the fleet. Inform the master and consult with him on the best course, having regard to this unfortunate wind.”
“South-easterly, sir. Dead foul.”
“It is. We should be able to work into the north-east and then make a leg south and west, but possibly having to beat up for days first. There will be gun drill, firing live, as soon as we are a decent carry from the shore. I must go ashore to the Admiral in a very few minutes and will require my barge.”
Frederick wrote his report in his own hand, Dunnett peering over his shoulder and taking notes for the official document which he must produce in his best Italian script for the court.
“Article Thirty-Three, sir? I do not know that one.”
“An officer who behaves in an oppressive manner to be discharged. That is the outcome I must prefer – I do not wish to be hanging a man, always a bad start to a commission, gives the people to wonder who might be next. Though if that unlawfully punished boy should die there may be no choice in the matter. Flogging a fifteen years old youth – a disgrace, sir! At that age two dozen from the boatswain is more than sufficient for the worst offence.”
Admiral Clerke agreed – he had not known of the affair, would have taken steps himself if he had, so he said.
“Must it be a court-martial, Sir Frederick? It may be months before I can find five post-captains together and him an embarrassment whether he is in gaol or in lodgings on his parole. I can have him sent back to Portsmouth, unemployed, and with a letter on his file that will ensure he never goes to sea again.”
“He claimed to have ‘friends’, sir. The crew knew he had backing.”
“A more than thirty years old lieutenant? If he had influence he would be a post-captain senior to you, sir.”
“It seemed so to me, but one never can tell, sir. So long, sir, as he is at a distance from me, I care not how you achieve it – and I would not wish to risk the rope for him. I have no love for hangings. It is no start to a commission in a new ship to have an officer kicking away at the main yardarm; especially when the people might cheer.”
“There is a storeship returning empty to Chatham, Sir Frederick. I can have him put aboard her, the master under no illusions about him, listening to none of his prating. At this time of year he should have a nasty passage of the Bay, could be six weeks at sea very easily. It is only a petty revenge, but it is remarkable just how satisfactory such can be!”
“That Martindale, sir, he call himself ‘acting-Captain’ and he let them all know he just waiting for the order to come from the Admiralty, isn’t it, then he be the real captain. He tell them it all arranged. They don’t like it, but there ain’t nothing to do about it.”
“Moored one cable offshore, almost exactly, and he could play the tyrant unchecked. Perhaps we have a few things in this navy of ours that are not exactly as they should be. How is the boy, Olsen?”
“The doctor say he ain’t going to die, sir, but he don’t do no work for months yet.”
“Ask the doctor to come to my cabin, please, Bosomtwi.”
“The boy, Olsen, Doctor Carlisle – the one who was unlawfully flogged. Should he be sent ashore? Would he heal better in the hospital?”
“A gutter-rat out of Plymouth, sir, an orphan with no family or friends other than aboard this ship where he has lived this last six years. Taken from the only people he knows I fear he might simply fade away. He has no other name, sir – he is just Olsen – perhaps that was ‘Oliver’s son’ when he was a little boy and was shortened in his mind – I do not know. I feel he should stay, sir.”
“Then so be it. When he is able to move about again then send him to Bosomtwi to be a second captain’s servant – the work will be light enough, I would expect. I am entitled to eight servants or followers in the perquisites of my rank, and that excludes my Clerk, so I can muster him legitimately.”
“I will tell him so, sir. He will feel easier for knowing that he will have a job that he can do. Is he to become a follower of yours, sir?”
That was close to an impertinence – it was none of the doctor’s affair, particularly as they were unacquainted.
“Possibly, sir. On liking.”
“I will tell him that as well, sir. He had wanted to become a topman, but I am not entirely certain that he will ever gain the strength for that now. The flesh and muscle of his back is much damaged – he was too thin, too young for such treatment. I am more than tempted to seek out Mr Martindale and push a quarrel with him!”
Duelling outside of England was far less than a criminal offence and the blind eye would be turned where a man died in a properly-conducted affair.
“You would do so with my blessing, Doctor Carlisle, but there will be no opportunity, I am afraid. He is to be forced onto half-pay and placed on a store returning to England empty, a letter on his file at the Admiralty that will prevent him ever being employed again. I do not doubt that he will insinuate himself into one of these new wartime regiments that are forever being formed – he will become a Volunteer or a Fencible or somesuch, or even a Regular lieutenant in a West African regiment or in the Sugar Islands where they are now employing ex-slaves as soldiers. He will never go to sea with the navy again, however.”
“We may yet meet again, sir. We live in a small enough world, and I shall not forget him.”
“I must – I have t
o create a fighting ship from this band-box creature of his. And very quickly. Are your stores up, sir?”
“Sufficient for a short cruise, yes, sir.”
“That is all I expect of this set of orders, sir.”
“How close are they to mutiny, Kavanagh?”
“Not hardly thinking of it yet, sir. The warrant officers have them well in hand – they have been passing the word that a new captain was due any day and that all would be made well.”
“Just mention in passing what is happening to Martindale, and tell them I expect to be in action within the week. Most crews like a fight, I think.”
“They do, sir. They’ll enjoy thinking of Martindale in the Bay of Biscay in December, passenger on a small ship with empty holds and rolling her guts out for weeks on end, and going home to be beached at the end of it. They had rather see him hang, of course, sir, but that will do well for most of them.”
The wind was still in the south-east as they sailed, able just to weather the point and enter the Mediterranean but forced well north of the desired course. The master feared they would be pushed almost as far as Port Mahon before being able to come onto a south-westerly bearing that would bring them back to the track of the convoy.
“Two sides of a long triangle, sir, and slow as well. Add to that, sir, though the wind is foul for us it will be right for xebecs and galleys out of Tripoli and Algiers and the rest of the eastern Barbary Coast. The escort to the convoy may well have had a busy few days when we reach them, sir.”
“Then we must ensure that our gunnery is well up, Mr Oates, so that we can pull our weight when we do get there.”
There was no certainty that they would ever intercept the convoy – its sailing day depended on how long it had taken to make up the stores required. Had the live bullocks and buffaloes been waiting and the warehouses been full of flour and onions, then they might have loaded in one day and sailed on the next. If they had had to wait on the merchants’ convenience then they might still be in Tetuan harbour.
The Odd-Job Man (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 7) Page 13