A Question of Duty

by Martin McDowell

  “A smuggler, yes, rich, well, that remains to be seen, Sir. I don’t know the price of linen and tobacco, but I’d hazard that it’s worth far more over the water than it is here, but it’s all in my log Sir; which I sent to you immediately we dropped anchor.”

  Budgen reached out a pudgy hand to his right, at the same time somehow dropping some adhering crumbs onto the desktop. He brought the log nearer, but did not open it.

  “Yes, Captain. I read it with interest.”

  Budgen dropping his name and substituting Captain, put Argent on his guard.

  “Seems you got yourself caught up with affairs on land, which extended your mission; considerably. In two directions, time and events.”

  “Yes Sir, but I’d like to point out that I acted under orders. The written order is in the log, Sir, from Commodore Harper, Commodore of the Port of Kinsale. He made it a formal order; I had no choice but to co-operate. But, er, excuse me, Sir, but Commodore Harper seemed to find your name familiar.”

  “He’s right. We were Lieutenants together, briefly, on the Egmont. I didn’t like him, but what’s that? No matter.”

  He sat back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, fingertips posed together.

  “But what does matter is you getting involved with their local Militia.”

  Argent waited for more, but none came.

  “I felt it my duty, Sir. The Militia were destroying every home. I saw no justification, and, as superior officer at the scene, I stopped it.”

  Budgen’s eyes became hard and stern and seemed to withdraw into his face.

  “In future, Captain, keep out of it. Ireland’s a God awful tangle at the best of times. Get off and away at the earliest, and that’s more than advice, that’s an order!”

  “Sir.”

  “Now, new orders. This is from Grant. You are to get your ship to Plymouth, at the earliest.”

  Argent could see his ship, out in Carrick Roads, idling around her anchor, with some topmen working on the spars.

  “You’ll sail on the afternoon ebb. Any supplies you don’t have by then, you get at Plymouth. Here are your orders, and your logbook.”

  Budgen pushed the book across, with the various communications, including the orders, protruding. Argent gathered the book under his left arm and saluted with his right. Budgen waved a finger in acknowledgement, but not pausing on its way to procure another roll. However, on his taking of his leave, the exchange between Argent and Venables was much more “proper Navy”. Argent had a “soft spot” for that, as well.

  Argent found his barge where he had left it, his crew in deep and frivolous conversation with a pair of local girls, who, for some reason, had stopped on their way back from the fish market. The bargecrew sprang to attention and the two girls turned all agog, as the seamen fiercely saluted and Argent replied. Both girls remained transfixed to watch as Argent took himself directly down the steps to the barge, Jones having preceded him to hold the barge steady and Argent placed himself inside and took his seat. In minutes the barge was skimming across the harbour, Beddows grinning at the diminishing figures of the girls, and soon their vessel was weaving its way between the small harbour traffic, which included some supply boats moving to and from Ariadne. Argent had dismissed from his mind the mild rebuke from Budgen, such was nothing new in his Navy experience, but what did preoccupy him was the instruction to return to Plymouth. The whole thing sounded urgent, but it was useless to speculate.

  He climbed the side ladder to be piped aboard by Fraser and Ball, whilst various sacks and barrels were being swung aboard above him. He made to return straight to his cabin, but the worried countenance of Master Gunner Tucker made him stop. Joshua Tucker was standing besides a stack of six boxes on the starboard gangway, looking anxiously at these, then at his Captain. Argent stopped beside him.

  “Mr. Tucker, you seem to be in something of a quandary?”

  “Aye, Sir. It’s these what’s just come aboard. I’ve ordered no ordnance, but these have arrived, and b’ain’t even Navy, Sir. It says “shrapnel shell’ on the box, which I en’t never heard of. I think this is army, Sir.”

  Argent looked at the boxes himself and confirmed Tucker’s conclusion. Also, over the side, he could see that Ariadne had swung on her anchor to the beginning of the ebbing tide.

  “Yes, Mr. Tucker, they are Army, but I ordered them, some time ago, for us to have a look at something new. But our priority now, is to leave harbour. I assume they’re dangerous, so get them below into your magazines. If we can’t make any use of them, we can always drop them over the side.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.”

  Argent continued to his cabin to find Fentiman stood at the desk, studying papers that concerned the on-going re-supply. Argent dropped the log onto its surface.

  “Ready the ship to catch this ebb tide, Henry. Rumour has it that we are needed urgently in Plymouth. Budgen has ordered us to sail directly.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir, but I’ve spotted something strange in the supply manifest. Something called “shrapnel”. I’ll attend to our sailing, Sir, and leave that with you.”

  Argent took the paper, studied it, and found the word, “Shrapnel, six boxes, 72.” Argent nodded, dropped the paper onto his desk and followed Fentiman out on deck.

  oOo

  A good Southwesterly was coming over the starboard quarter, which promised a fast passage to Plymouth. Argent was relieved that such a breeze had sprung up with the dawn, their exit on the ebb tide to shape a course for Plymouth had been hampered by a wayward wind, never West of North, and sometimes full East. Now, more content, he was timing the gun practice and his men were consistently achieving better than three shots in five minutes, which involved two reloads. He had timed the third broadside at 4 minutes, 40 seconds; he flexed his hands behind his back in pleasure, that was exceedingly good, but now, practice finished, the guncrews were being stood down and the ship returned to peaceful sailing. At Number Three, Morris and his men were stowing their gun, Morris watching Tooley very carefully. He was proving to be strong and agile and had even begun to understand the English names for his part in the process of loading. The commands “sponge” and “ram” were both now understood, signifying clearly to him the operation needed, and he rotated easily between both. As part of housing the gun, Tooley was carefully placing the sponge onto its hooks on the deck beam, the crew had no complaints at gundrill, but what did amaze his messmates was the amount he ate. Anything consumable, he consumed. No biscuits remained from breakfast for a mid-Watch snack, but they did notice that rum had a rapid and profound effect on him, such that, at grog time, he had to be carefully watched in case he committed some tipsy blunder.

  To Argent’s satisfaction, a good use had been found for Tucker’s shrapnel shell. If fired from a carronade, by adjusting a fuse, which Tucker quickly fathomed, it could be made to explode about 200 yards from the ship. The smoke made a perfect target, and all Ariadne’s Officers had been pleased to see the balls fired during the practice grouped closely behind as they fell into the sea. With his ship making 10 knots under a full set of canvas, Argent took himself up to the forecastle, curious to see his Master Gunner still there and he found Tucker in conversation with the Starboard carronade’s Guncaptain, one Bill Marshall. Both were examining a shrapnel shell, a curious combination of a cannonball, but with a fuseport and bolted to wooden disc. Both came to the attention and saluted, and Argent asked his question.

  “So, how do these work, Mr. Tucker.”

  “Well, Sir. This fuse, here Sir, is fired by the explosion within the gun. In flight the fuse burns to explode the shell over a target, Sir.”

  Argent examined the fuse.

  “It must burn extremely quickly.”

  “Yes Sir. The powder’s the King’s Red Grain, the best, Sir. It burns fierce, but even. But, Bill Marshall, here, Sir, has spent some time with mortars ashore. High angle stuff. We was thinking how we could, perhaps, use these like that, Sir, sort of dropped out of the sky. If we
ever had to go up against something on shore, Sir. Or such. Then they could be useful. ”

  Argent looked at Tucker, then Marshall.

  “But the fuse would have to last a very long time.”

  “Yes Sir. That’s what we was talking about. How to make the fuse last longer.”

  Argent nodded.

  “Good. I’ll not argue with that. Dropping these into their laps, were we to engage shore batteries, for example, would help our cause no end, I’m sure. But can you get enough elevation on the carronade?”

  Marshall spoke.

  “Yes Sir. We’ve solved that, Sir.”

  This was spoken so confidently that Argent didn’t enquire further.

  “Good, but have you any ideas with the fuse?”

  This time Tucker answered.

  “One or two, Sir. Can we have your permission to try a few over the next hour or so, Sir?”

  “You have, and I wish you well.”

  Both saluted as Argent returned to his quarterdeck to stand besides Fentiman.

  “Technical discussions, Sir?”

  “Yes, that shrapnel. Devilish inventions, and such. But, expect a few experiments fired over the side over the next hour or so.”

  Thus it went on, from both carronades on the forecastle. Gunner Tucker was up and down from the deck to his magazine, each time with one of his Mates carrying a modified shell. The first efforts exploded a good number of seconds after being fired, but still much too soon, but eventually one exploded 400 yards from the ship, just above the surface, this being greeted by much cheering and backslapping on the forecastle. Argent grinned at the capers being cut at the bows and spoke to Fentiman.

  “Good. Now for a bit of peace.”

  Fentiman replied, with a chuckle.

  “Yes Sir. And not a moment too soon. That’s Plymouth opening on the larboard bow.”

  oOo

  Broke’s Office held no surprises for Argent and he entered through the door opened for him by Captain Baker, who also announced him. They had met again as friends and exchanged a warm handshake. Grant, Broke and Cheveley were leaning over a chart, spread over the copious square yardage of the desk, a Marine Colonel was stood with them. Grant looked up and grinned, Broke and Cheveley raised their heads and scowled. Grant spoke his greeting, but Broke immediately demonstrated that nothing had changed.

  “You’re late, Argent.”

  “Sorry, Sir. Headwind off the ship.”

  Broke looked both angry and puzzled at the same time, the wind was off the sea, but the opportunity to take this further was cut short by Grant.

  “Captain Argent, may I introduce Colonel Benjamin Shortman, Royal Marines?”

  Shortman extended his hand and he took Argent’s with a grip of iron.

  “Your servant, Sir.”

  “Your’s, Sir.”

  Argent flexed some life back into his hand as Grant continued.

  “Captain, we have a problem on the far side of The Channel. The French have got a 44-gun frigate, La Pomone, into St. Malo. Their Lordships consider her a menace, so we’ve been given the job to cut her out, burn her, sink her, or do her some harm. Preferably the first.”

  He pointed to the map spread on the desk.

  “This is a chart of the harbour.”

  He stood up and indicated a harbour plan as Argent took a place opposite Broke and Cheveley. Argent saw that it was fully detailed and he didn’t like what the details revealed. He looked over at his superiors, expecting some plan or ideas, but nothing came, both had their eyes boring into the thick paper. So, Argent began some questions of his own.

  “Do we know where she’s anchored, Sir? Or berthed?”

  Grant placed his finger on a point inside the harbour.

  “Reports say here.”

  Argent saw that the map showed four arms protruding into the anchorage, two from each side of the harbour and they were not opposite, but alternated back into the depths of the anchorage. Grant’s finger was opposite the third arm, where the harbour was at its widest. Argent had noted that there was a bastion on each of the first three arms. A ship entering would meet the first bastion from the left, then the second from the right, then the third from the left, by where La Pomone was reportedly anchored, but the first bastion was on an island, fairly isolated. Again Argent waited, but nothing came.

  “Do we have a plan, Sir?”

  All three looked at him, Broke and Cheveley in annoyance, Shortman impassive, Grant in hope. Argent studied the chart further.

  “Do we have any Marines, Sir?”

  Grant answered.

  “Yes, that’s why Colonel Shortman is here. Four Companies, about 320 men, including yours and those off Herodotus.”

  Argent placed his finger on the first bastion.

  “That’s our first problem, Sir, but it’s isolated. I would suggest that we first capture that, to ease our way in, and also ease our way out.”

  All three, bar Shortman, looked at him, expecting more. Shortman looked at the chart and began nodding his head. Argent continued.

  “Well, with the first fort secured by the Marines, if Ariadne goes in first, carrying the second Marines, we could board La Pomone and cut her anchor. On an ebb tide she’ll float out. Herodotus comes in after and engages the first bastion on the right, the biggest, judging from this, whilst Ariadne engages the second bastion on the left. In the smoke and confusion it should work, Sir. Especially if we come out of the dawn, taking them by surprise, with the tide on ebb.”

  This spoken to Grant, but then Argent looked at Cheveley and spoke straight at him.

  “Herodotus will be against the main bastion.”

  It was spoken as a fact, but plainly posed the unspoken question, “So, how do you feel about that?”

  Cheveley’s face registered no emotion. Broke was working his gaze up and down the chart and made his first contribution.

  “How will you turn to sail out?”

  “Anchor turn, Sir. Drop an anchor off the stern, then let the tide swing us around it, to point back out to sea. We’ll have to cut the cable and lose the anchor, but that’s worth the sacrifice if it gives us a rapid exit.”

  Grant looked at Shortman.

  “How do you feel about this, Colonel?”

  “Well, Sir. I like it because so far it’s simple. Once inside, things will get much more complicated. Best to start simple.”

  Grant looked at the two opposite Argent.

  “Broke, do you agree?”

  Broke looked confused, but said nothing. Instead he nodded his head.

  “Cheveley?”

  Cheveley looked annoyed. Argent had made all the running, so he felt as though he was following Argent’s orders.

  “What about the Marines? We’ll have 300 plus. 100 will be going in with Argent here. The other 200, and more, will be landing independently on the island. How will that be done?”

  He looked at Grant, to then answer his own question.

  “We’ll need two coasters. One for the landing at the first fort, a large one, and one to go in with Argent.”

  He then looked at Argent.

  “The Marines in their own vessel means that you can board her from both sides.”

  Argent smiled and nodded vigorously.

  “Yes, good idea, but I’d suggest two small for the landing. They can get off two vessels quicker than one, and get a good force quickly up to the wall. Colonel?”

  “True enough.”

  Grant nodded and Argent continued.

  “So, let’s hope our agents are right, and she is anchored out in their Roads. And she’s not out cruising. Nor berthed, especially.”

  Grant responded.

  “If she’s berthed, you must assume she’s secured against a quay, probably here.”

  His finger touched the chart where a quayside was indicated, on the right of the harbour, looking from the entrance.

  “If so, I leave it to the boarding party to decide if she can be cut free and the tide carry he
r out, but be prepared to abandon cutting out. Just do what damage you can. The Marines with you, Argent, will have demolition charges.”

  Broke voiced another worry, directed at Argent.

  “What about you and the prize getting out?”

  Argent looked directly back at him to answer.

  “Ariadne and La Pomone will come out with the tide, which should be running strong by then.”

  “But you’ll be passing before the largest bastion, right under their guns.”

  “Yes, but hopefully, by then Herodotus will have pulled some of their teeth.”

  Then Argent looked directly at Cheveley, right into his eyes.

  “We must leave together, to divide their fire, and answer with both our broadsides, us together. Herodotus doesn’t cut her stern anchor until my bowsprit is over her taffrail.”

  Cheveley stared directly back, saying nothing, but his temper was growing. Another order from Argent, but it was Grant who forced the issue.

  “Captain?”

  Cheveley jaw clenched together and his eyes narrowed, but it was his Admiral speaking. He answered whilst meeting no-one’s gaze.

  “Agreed.”

  But then Broke finished the discussion, looking directly at Argent.

  “Cheveley is Commodore. Understood?”

  oOo

  The night was ending off to the East, the day but a suggestion on the far horizon. Having kept well together, with Ariadne leading, Argent saw the other four vessels emerging into sight as light replaced the gloom. Herodotus was the last, with the three luggers between and behind Ariadne; one off her starboard stern quarter, the remaining two off the larboard. They had left in the late afternoon and sailed through the night, keeping together with their masked lights showing only astern, both frigates with only minimal sail, allowing the slower luggers to keep up and hold their station. Argent looked at McArdle, who had been glued to the binnacle all night, studying the compass. The log had been cast every 15 minutes and it was McArdle who had called for increasing or shortening sail to use the steady wind, just South of West.

  “Mr. McArdle, what is your opinion concerning our position?”