Murray knew of some of the nicknames, had not realised though that the habit was universal; he wondered what his own was, but was disinclined to ask.
They sailed north, making some speed but holding inshore, except in the environs of Cartagena where it was thought preferable to remain out of sight, the port holding a substantial part of the Spanish Mediterranean Fleet. They saw a goodly number of little coasters, working vessels of forty and fifty and sixty tons, creeping quietly about their business and far too small to be worth taking – the costs of the Prize Court would render them valueless.
“Have the larger ships been warned away, Sir Frederick?”
“Spain is a poor country and her sea-borne trade suffered in the last war. This coast was a favourite cruising ground for men such as Cochrane and I suspect that the merchants have lacked the time and the wealth to rebuild their shipping interest. It may well be the case that there are very few respectable ships working the coast these days, sir.”
Murray was surprised, and a little annoyed, to hear this explanation – he should, he believed, have known it already, or at least have intuited it.
“Then, sir, our two week cruise will likely be unprofitable?”
Frederick thought not – the coast between Barcelona and Marseille might well prove busier.
“The merchants of Catalonia might well come into alliance with England eventually, Sir Frederick.”
“Very true, Captain Murray – but for the while at least they are fair game!”
“What of the Mediterranean Fleet, Sir Frederick?”
“They might be upset by my poaching in their waters, you are quite right, Captain Murray. But I believe them to be more active in the southern parts, off the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies where the French are still busy. We shall work our way inshore, in any case, and see what may turn up. In the first days of a war anything is possible!”
Euripides crawled to her landing place south of Barcelona and launched a cutter, two seamen leading Mr Sanchez tenderly by the hand and placing him in the sternsheets for the short voyage to the shore.
The chosen cove was secluded by low hills from the nearest fishing villages and was empty of habitation. Captain Murray had explained that it had been raided by the Barbary pirates on three occasions in the previous century and had then been abandoned – the site was unlucky.
“We have landed people here several times in the past, Sir Frederick, never with any trouble. There is a track that Sanchez may follow along the rivulet that empties into the sea just here; at half a mile or so it joins onto a larger road, if one may call it such, which will lead within three hours walking into Barcelona itself. He has memorised the map of the city and will make his way to a particular marketplace and then address a certain stallholder, who will take him away and pass him along to another friend; all very simple, on the use of the proper passwords. He is expected within the month of the war resuming and will be welcomed.”
“Provided, that is, Captain Murray, that he has not been betrayed!”
“Oh, he will receive a very warm welcome then, Sir Frederick!”
“You say that it is a game, Captain Murray? I think I will stick to cribbage, sir.”
The cutter returned and reported that ‘the Spanish bloke’ had been put on shore, dryfoot, at the proper place.
“Which, sir, they did carry ‘im, so as that ‘e would not be showin’ the stains of sea water dried on ‘is trousers, like.”
“Well thought! I should have ordered that, but I did not consider it.”
Gentry did not approve, he thought.
“Should one really tell a seaman that he knew better than his captain, sir?”
“Only sometimes, Mr Gentry. In this case, I judge that it will do no harm, may well result in the cox’n of Number Two cutter telling his mates that old Fearless Fred didn’t mind saying when he’d made a mistake, and he thanked the man who put him right. I gain from that, sir, and so does he.”
“It makes you more human, sir.”
Implied was that the captain was God on his quarterdeck, his commands instantly to be obeyed; a degree of humanity might suggest that he could be doubted.
“A good point, Mr Gentry. Be sure that I shall not make a habit of being wrong.”
Due east through the remainder of the night, the wind allowing them to make a good offing, then north-west to bring the peaks of the Pyrenees in sight, a precise mark for the master.
“We must return to last night’s cove two weeks to the day, Mr Oates, the boat to be inshore at midnight, landsmen’s time.”
Oates must make proper allowance for the wind and seas, advise Frederick of just how much of an easting he might make along the coast before they must return to the rendezvous.
They turned to head north, the wind still showing an amount of west that permitted an inshore course. It was easy to in effect become embayed on this coast, a wind from the south or the east presenting a vast expanse of leeward shore. Any master became very twitchy in this particular part of the Mediterranean.
“On deck! Ship, sir, nor’west by north at mebbe eight miles, sir. T’gallants, sir. Rain clouds, sir, and in and out of sight.”
“Clear for action, Mr Gentry. Ease course slowly to come onto her, Mr Oates.”
Topgallants said a national ship – merchantmen almost never set them.
“British, French or Spanish, is the important question, not forgetting what Rate she may be. Is there a Russian squadron in the Mediterranean, still, Mr Gentry? And if, so, with whom is Russia allied?”
Gentry was uncertain of the answer to either question; they called for Captain Murray.
“The Russians are based on the Seven Islands, sir, and more likely to be cruising against the Turk than in the Western Mediterranean. Currently in alliance with Britain and showing no sign of being likely to turn to the French, sir.”
“So probably not a Russian and almost certainly not a Turk in these waters. What of the Austrians?”
“They maintain a fleet, sir, in the Adriatic. It sails, sometimes.”
“Forget the Austrians?”
“Yes, sir.”
There was no point to hailing the lookout – he would tell them just as soon as he knew more.
Frederick waited another five minutes, increasingly impatient but maintaining a placid face.
“On deck! Ship, sir, single decker. Small frigate or sloop, sir. Not English built, sir.”
Nearly one ship in ten of the Royal Navy was not English built; more than fifty ships had been captured in a condition that had allowed them to enter the service.
“Close her, Mr Oates. All sail, sir.”
“Another jib, sir? Set flying, perhaps. We could point up to some advantage, sir, but royals are out of the question and we cannot sensibly set studdingsails. I am of a mood to remain with our present set, sir, for this wind is inclined to be fluky and will possibly vary more in the presence of rain, sir.”
“As you will, Mr Oates.”
Frederick glanced at his watch, observing the progress as they cleared. Slower than he would wish. The animals particularly – the poultry keeper was working alone, leading the two goats below and then returning for the hen coops which he was manhandling very awkwardly. Gentry had not noticed… the boatswain spotted the problem, sent five men to make a pair to each coop. That would be a topic for discussion later in the day!
What of the boats?
Still in their cradle, on the spars to the fore of the mizzen mast; just the one cutter towing astern, as was their normal practice. Might it be wise to set them all to tow when they cleared for dawn quarters? It was a slow process… That could be discussed, perhaps, opinions sought. It was easy to lose boats when they were towed but they were more quickly to hand if they were needed – too many opposing arguments, there could never be an absolute decision.
“On deck, sir, Spanish colours.”
“Tricolour to the main, Mr Gentry. She might well recognise us as not to be Spanish but she shoul
d be less familiar with the French ships of this class.”
Gentry did not approve; he knew it was quite lawful to wear false colours prior to an engagement, but he did not believe it to be gentlemanly.
“Ease our course, Mr Oates, so as to appear to be passing rather than directly intercepting her. Mr Gentry, we are not to run out until I give the word. I had rather take her than be forced to fire a broadside into her.”
“On deck, sir, the enemy is a sloop or post ship of twenty guns, sir. Dipping her colours, sir.”
“A salute, an act of courtesy. What do you make the range, Mr Oates?”
“Just less than a mile, sir.”
“Further than I wanted, but it is dishonourable to return a salute under false colours. Not an acceptable action. Strike the Tricolour, Mr Gentry, our colours to the mastheads. Mr Weare, a shot across her bows, sir. Wait until our colours are unfurled, sir.”
The chaser fired, well clear of the Spanish ship. They waited for a response, the range closing and Oates bringing them slowly onto her stern quarter.
“They are delaying any reply, sir.”
“Strange, one might not have expected the habit of mañana to apply in these circumstances, Mr Gentry. Run out!”
The Spanish crew were running to their guns, the opposite, starboard broadside, casting them off and loading hurriedly.
“Surely to God she cannot mean to tack, sir, hoping to cross our stern, fire a broadside and escape?”
“All things are possible, Mr Gentry. We can delay another minute at most…”
They were three cables distant when the sloop fired a broadside into the sea and hurriedly dropped her colours.
“They cannot now be said to have surrendered without firing a shot, sir.” Murray seemed mildly amused. “It is a question of the honour of the flag, sir.”
“No doubt they will report it was not bloodless, sir – total casualties two sardines and one tunny! Captain Thomas, your Marines to take her, if you please. Mr Gentry, you must have her command and you will require some twenty of seamen in your party. If at all possible, take the parole of the officers and crew; any who will not give their word are to go into the hold. No, belay that. Any officer refusing parole to be sent across to Euripides, they will not get up to mischief here.”
“Write up the report, Mr Dunnett, all in standard form as you did for ships taken in the Sugar Islands. No comment on the action, of course – it was hardly a matter of glory. Twenty guns of nine pounds, or the Spanish equivalent. One bowchaser of six pounds and a sternchase piece of twelve – which makes an interesting commentary in itself, she is better equipped to run away than to attack! Captain, equivalent of post; four lieutenants and four juniors of more-or-less midshipman status. A crew of one hundred and eighty men and boys, which is a good sixty more than I would look for; a half company of sea soldiers – thirty of them. Very heavily manned! On passage from Marseille to Barcelona, carrying despatches, which, quite correctly, have gone over the side.”
The question arose of what to do with her.
“So heavily manned as she is, Mr Oates, there is no alternative to sending her in as quickly as possible. There are just too many prisoners to safely keep her in company.”
“A good prize, Sir Frederick!”
“Thank you, Captain Murray. She will be very welcome, of course – there is always a shortage of frigates and heavy sloops. The Admiral will buy her in almost of a certainty. If the Dockyard finds her hull riddled with teredo worm or rotten they will burn her, but otherwise she becomes His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Something-or-the-other. There are too many Concepcions about to retain her name.”
“Will Mr Gentry be made Master and Commander into her, sir?”
“Taken without a fight? Possibly not, there is little need to compliment me on this action – a sixty-four taking a sloop without firing a gun – hardly a great victory, even if very useful. The prize-money will probably be held to suffice. You will, of course, Captain Murray, be in for an eighth, as is only fair. Captains to split the Captain’s share between them, as is normal practice.”
Murray did not know whether it was normal or not, but a thousand pounds or thereabouts would be very handy – he could not refuse.
The next week saw a pair of polaccas in hand as well, laden in the one case with wines and brandy that would sell very expensively in London; the other carried only olive oil and hard wheat for baking into ration biscuit, less profitable but still adding to the prize fund.
“Highly commercial, one might say, Mr Blenkinsop, but there is nothing like prize-money for reconciling one to the hardships of the naval life! The men will see another six months’ pay as well, and that will not be unpopular, bearing in mind that we have taken no casualties in process.”
They saw no more worthwhile traffic before they reversed course, making for the cove south of Barcelona to pick up Sanchez.
“At midnight, Captain Murray?”
“Traditional, sir. It gives the gentleman one half of the hours of darkness to creep to the shoreline and then allows the ship the other half in which to escape.”
“Highly logical, sir!”
“Second cutter as well, Mr Blenkinsop. Gun loaded grape and party of six with muskets in both boats.”
There was little gain to sending Marc and Jean with their rifles – sharpshooters were of small value at night.
“Run out the broadside and the carronades, all loaded grape.”
Frederick wondered if he would look foolish when daylight came, but he could not be happy with this whole affair. Perhaps he was too sensitive about spying.
“How long are the boats to wait if Mr Sanchez is not present at midnight, Captain Murray?”
“Fifteen minutes, sir. He may be delayed a minute or two for his watch running slow, but he knows that he must not be late.”
Frederick spoke to the two coxswains, established which would beach his boat and exactly where the second would lay-to.
“Returning to the ship row clear of the broadside! If I see soldiers coming onto the beach I shall shoot at them.”
They agreed that it would be wise to be clear of the line of fire, assured Frederick that they would not forget.
“What does the lead show, Mr Oates?”
“Sand and shell and fine gravel, sir, at fifteen fathoms. No sign of mud, sir.”
The bottom was right for river scour; there might well be a channel all the way into the beach.
“Take us in, very slowly, Mr Oates. On the lead. Bring us broadside on at one cable or, what… four fathoms, whichever comes first.”
Frederick took up his night glass and attempted to survey the shore line. It showed nothing other than the gap in the hills where the little valley came to the sea. Captain Murray had chosen the dark of the moon for the pick-up, which was highly logical, in one sense, but a damned nuisance to a captain looking for a possible trap.
“Send the word round the lookouts.”
There were eight men at intervals around the deck, staring into the darkness; they called in succession, ‘nothing’ or ‘clear’ depending on the habit of the ship they had first gone to sea in.
Oates brought the ship round, hove-to, mainsail backed and pushing against the fore, the slight current running along the coast sufficient to hold them in balance. It was difficult, could not be sustained indefinitely because the wind never blew at precisely the same pace for the whole of every minute, but it was far quicker for escape than an anchor would permit.
Frederick checked his watch, again, decided it was time.
“Boats away!”
The cutters reached the beach and the lookouts began to call.
“Movement on the beach, sir! More than one man.”
“Sail, sir, north-east, distant a mile maybe.”
“Sail, sir, south-east, roundin’ the point, sir.”
“Due east, sir, something there, big, sir.”
Three ships, possibly more.
“Make sail, Mr Oates. Fir
e a musket.”
A single shot was the recall to the boats.
The carronades on the boats fired, one stab of flame then the other. The muskets volleyed, six and six, together – not taking individual aim so the targets were not immediately on top of them.
The boats rowed away from the beach, towards the stern, at an angle, as ordered. Their carronades fired again.
“Boats are clear of the line, sir!”
“Shoot!”
Euripides heeled under the simultaneous discharge of both batteries and of the two carronades. A cloud of smoke blew slowly downwind.
“Even at night that should have cleared the beach of an awful lot of policemen or soldiers or whatever, Captain Murray.”
“If he was lucky, poor Sanchez was there to show them the way, sir. Better to go like that then spend a few more days telling them all he knows until finally pleased to die.”
“Long guns reload ball!”
Frederick used the night glass again; three ships, size indeterminate. Out of Barcelona to close the door on him, left, right and centre.
The wind was still from the north-west, possibly picking up a fraction, which could do no harm.
“What says the barometer, Mr Oates?”
“Last I looked, ‘twas falling slowly, sir. More wind, perhaps a storm to come – which, at this time of year, is not unlikely. But not for a day perhaps, sir.”
“So… Where are the boats?”
“Second cutter is tied on, sir, first is just coming up on her.”
“Coxswain and one man to remain in each, Mr Blenkinsop. If need arises they are to pick up survivors and one at least to make Gibraltar with the story. They must be ready to cut the tow.”
Blenkinsop turned to the stern rail, shouted the orders.
“Both tied on, sir.”
“Good. Make sail, Mr Oates. Everything you can set and sod fighting sail, sir! Course south-east, Mr Blenkinsop, to shave the point. Mr Weare! Chasers, sir, fire as you bear.”
“Beg pardon, sir, but there is a ship shaving the point, on the reverse tack, sir…”
“Tell me, Mr Blenkinsop, when you were a boy, did you ever play the game called ‘chicken’?”
The Odd-Job Man (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 7) Page 17