A Question of Duty

by Martin McDowell

  “If you could give us a moment, Lieutenant.”

  Sanders saluted and left, then Grant looked at Argent.

  “Just between us, Argent. What’s the truth?”

  Argent’s face went blank.

  “We got across her stern and began to damage her in any way we could. I saw Herodotus anchored in the Roads, she was far down, but not so far as to be unable to engage the bastion. I saw her fire a broadside and I saw her achieve some hits. She was taking fire, true enough, and I saw the fall of shot around her, but she was answering fire. My signalman told me of his signal to withdraw, but she must have sent it after cutting her cable, when I looked she was already on her way out, whilst I was still waiting for the Marines to get back aboard their lugger.”

  “You were stationary when Herodotus cut her anchor?”

  “Stationary? Yes Sir, absolutely, we were still fighting at La Pomone.”

  “So, Herodotus leaving whilst you were still across La Pomone’s stern made it impossible for you to leave together, giving mutual support.”

  “Impossible Sir, yes, that’s correct.”

  Grant nodded and Argent was saddened himself to see the Admiral’s normally genial face so cast down.

  “My thanks, Argent.”

  “Sir. I’ll get back to my ship.”

  “Yes. Get her around to drydock, immediately.”

  Grant fetched Argent’s crutch himself, from off the floor.

  oOo

  The carriage containing Argent and Sanders followed Cheveley’s at a distance, but they inevitably caught up at the quayside. At the sight of the carriages, both barge crews came to the attention, both in line. Cheveley remained at his carriage, because Broke was still inside and they were having further words through the open door, therefore Argent’s and Sanders’ coach drew up behind before Cheveley departed the quayside. As they arrived and Argent and Sanders alighted, Cheveley had reached the steps down to his barge, but, seeing both arrive from behind, he stopped, to leave his own barge crew waiting below. Cheveley turned to both Argent and Sanders with a face of thunder, his hands clenched, but his eyes directly on Argent, who stood impassive, expression blank. Cheveley dearly wanted further words and so the temptation for him was irresistible. He strode forward, across the front of the lined up Ariadne barge crew, to stand before Argent. His face was livid, eyes burning, mouth twisted. He overtopped Argent by some inches and it clearly appeared that a physical assault was about to fall on their wounded Captain. Whiting nudged King to be alert, but Cheveley only leaned forward, each word spat out.

  “You disobeyed a direct order. I ordered withdrawal, and you failed to comply. I hold you responsible.”

  Argent looked at him impassively, but contempt grew on his face. By his code, he was dealing with a coward and a bully.

  “Responsible for what? That we didn’t leave together? I was still engaging the enemy when you cut your cable. I withdrew, yes, obeying your order when I could, when I would be taking the Marines with me, and that being merely minutes after seeing your signal. My bowsprit over your taffrail, that was the agreement, before you would cut your anchor to leave, together with me. Why that did not occur, only you can answer, for only you know!”

  Cheveley leaned further forward and Whiting nudged King again. Their Captain remained calmly leaning on his crutch, but Sanders had moved to his shoulder, even partly covering Argent in front, face and chest jutting forward at Cheveley, eyes fixed on him, obviously prepared to defend his Captain, a fact not unnoticed by Whiting. However, it was Argent who spoke further.

  “You can ask for an enquiry yourself, Captain, if you feel your name has been sullied in some way. I suspect that one will come about in any event, and that will give you every opportunity to put your case and justify your conduct. That’s for the future, but now, if you have no objection, I have a sinking ship to attend to.”

  Cheveley straightened up. He gave Argent a last withering look, then turned on his heel to descend the steps. Soon, his barge was moving off across the harbour, no one within either looking up or looking back. Argent and Sanders stood at the top of the steps to allow the crew to descend first and Whiting motioned his men to follow him, but as he passed Sanders, the Captain’s Cox’n looked at him directly and nodded his head. Sanders, once before-the-mast himself, knew the meaning and smiled knowingly in reply.

  Once back alongside their ship, the noise of the pumps having grown louder in their ears as they drew nearer, all was hoisted up to be made safe, the barge and then Argent, with a whip around his armpits as a precaution, as he ascended the ladder one step at a time. He reached his quarterdeck and gave his orders.

  “Longboat over the side. Signal to harbourmaster, “Request a tow”.

  Meanwhile Whiting and his mates had reached the lower deck and begun to relate the lurid tale of the confrontation with that “floggin’ bastard” Cheveley. The “floggin’ bastard” had raised his fists to the Captain, but the Captain had given him “one muzzleload into his ear”, and Sanders had stood before their wounded Captain and put in a hand in to block Cheveley, simultaneously telling him to “shove off and sink”. Sanders’ personal star was well in the ascendant.

  Come the evening Ariadne was in the dry-dock, having been towed there by two longboats and warped in. The removal of the water had revealed two more hits, low down. The water had taken much of the impact, but the balls had penetrated nevertheless and these were the sources of the continued ingress of water, a yard below the waterline. As a nearby church clock chimed six of the evening, Argent ordered the whole crew stood down and to a late supper. An hour before their own meal with his Officers in the greatcabin, Argent sat with Fentiman and Frederick Baines, to establish priorities. The hull came first, which would require the hold to be emptied, also the forward magazine and, once watertight, Ariadne would be moored to the quayside to complete her repairs. There was no need for the masthoy, her own crew could raise a mizzen topmast, so, tomorrow, at seven bells, which began the forenoon watch, the larboard watch would begin emptying the required spaces and the starboard would continue with the spars and rigging. Baines, his business finished, took his leave.

  Management complete, both took a glass of madeira, Fentiman doing the pouring. Argent’s leg was painful and tired so he gratefully took his ease. However, with both seated and provided for, Fentiman took Argent by surprise, such a change of subject that Argent could only attribute to Fentiman feeling light headed with fatigue.

  “Do you think I have any chance with Charlotte Willoughby?”

  Argent could not prevent a look of shock, which he quickly removed.

  “I don’t see why not. You’re from a good family, landed, and with a good income. Salt, isn’t it, your family are in? And aren’t you some kind of Honourable?”

  “Yes, and Father’s had a canal dug, linking us with the Trent. Funds won’t be a problem. But; what do you honestly think?”

  “What can I say? I’m no expert on the ways of women, nor their society; of which she’s a major part, at least in this area. Have you had any communication, at all?”

  “Yes, I’ve written and received a reply that I would describe as most kind and gracious. It’s given me some hope, as you can imagine.”

  Argent pictured Charlotte Willoughby, a stunning beauty, who would not be out of place at The Palace; she would grace even the Royal Court. He remembered how Cheveley was always pushing his attentions forward in her direction and the Spanish couldn’t take their eyes off her. Fentiman was a fine, brave, Officer, with good prospects within the Navy, but a suitor for Charlotte Willoughby? He had his doubts, but it was not impossible.

  “I wish you good luck, Henry.”

  oOo

  The yacht had been easy prey. Almost becalmed, she had been overtaken by the eager oarsmen on the galley and now her passengers, disbelieving and traumatised to the point that their minds had almost ceased to function, were being brought aboard the galley. All were crying uncontrollably and in deep
shock, they couldn’t believe what was happening to them and worst, couldn’t believe what had happened to their menfolk and the crew. They were all dead, butchered by the slavers the instant they took the ship. Kaled Al’Ahbim felt some satisfaction, some gain at no cost; two women, three girls, two boys, all would fetch a good price. Weeping and barely able to stand, they were pushed below decks, surrounded by men of a strange race, each with a cruel and malevolent grin spread large over an alien face. They disappeared down into the stench and gloom as fires sprang up aboard their yacht. A pleasure cruise just off the coast by two families of wealthy merchants from La Rochelle had ended with their lives in ruin.

  oOo

  Chapter Six

  New Shipmates

  Ariadne’s hull seemed to be full of hammers, all busy and all competing; the large and the small, the tuneful and the discordant. It had been decided to bring forward Ariadne’s refit and so, besides the carpenters pulling at her decks and planking, she would receive new copper on her hull and a thorough check of her masts, spars and rigging. The existing copper was old, green, and Spanish; thin, and the victim of corruption. It was also peeling off the hull in all directions, revealing her timbers and, more importantly for her Captain, slowing her speed, but the noise from it’s removal and replacement during the working day was incessant. Argent’s leg was better, he could stand on it, but not walk normally and the crutch was still required, also, in addition to the noise of the hammering, Mrs. McArdle’s potion made him sleepy and absent minded. To his consternation, she had sent a second bottle and he dared not fail to do as he was bid; yet wicked thoughts were circulating in his fuzzy head about dispensing doses out of the cabin window.

  The new coppering had progressed to the larboard quarter, adjacent to his cabin and the hammering was echoing around his cabin and twice as much inside his head. There was no reason to remain there and no administration to occupy him; there remained only the signing off of the repairs and that was in the future. He took himself out to the gundeck. All the guns were housed and bowsed up, two with conspicuously new carriages and conspicuously new carving, “Bad Language”, and “Mad Joseph.” He continued to the quarterdeck companionway and threw up his crutch, then he followed it, one step at a time, but at least independently. A September wind was blowing off the sea, chill, but refreshing to his cotton wool head, a cold precursor to the Autumn now arriving with the ineluctable rotation of the planets. He looked forward and felt in some way further disorientated, the reason being, he could only conclude, was because beyond the ship’s side there should be water, either moving or still, instead, there was the damp grey and green brickwork of the dry dock, with uncountable wooden spars leading from the dockside to Ariadne’s tumblebhome, thus holding her upright and steady, although Argent would swear to a lean towards starboard.

  The lack of affairs concerning his ship had turned his thoughts to the affairs of his family. Had there been any developments, had Lady Willoughby found anything, had his sisters? He felt that he could justifiably take himself away for a day, or perhaps two, albeit that his ship was now in Plymouth and that much further away. However, it was easier for him to get on and off the ship, also to get letters off the ship, and so he resolved to return to his cabin and write to both his sisters and Lady Willoughby to warn them that he would be with them the day after tomorrow. However, for the moment, he would take a few more lungfuls of fresh air and a few more minutes of respite from the incessant din. He hammered his own fist against the new and extra backstays that now ran up to the join of the maintopmast and the mast above it, the maintopgallant mast, backstays ordered of Fraser and to be anchored from the unusual point of the mizzenmast shrouds. He hammered to no effect, both were as solid as the bulwark rail under his elbow, so then he leaned against the starboard bulwark to ease his leg and watch his crew sending up a new mainsail spar, with all attachments, including the huge sail. The old spar had been found to be sprung, which gave much ammunition to the men of the fore and mizzen tops about the “half blind lubbers” of the main top. The huge assembly was going up powered by almost all the crew on the capstan, all accompanied by the harsh admonishments of Bosun Fraser, shouting warnings to all involved about what could happen if they were to fail in their proper attentions. If that were all that had the potential to cause him disquiet, that being what he saw from his quarterdeck, Argent would be a contented man, but the worries of his family nagged at him. He was just about to lever himself off the bulwark and lean upon his crutch, when Fentimen brought over a piece of paper he had been studying. He handed it to Argent.

  “Replacements, Sir.”

  It was a long list. At the top it said Lieutenant Benjamin Wentworth, a recently passed out Midshipman; second on the list, a new Midshipman, the Honourable Thomas Trenchard; and third a Captain of Marines, Reginald Breakspeare. Beneath that was a list of 59 names, to replace the casualties amongst the men. Argent noted that the description “pressed” or “convict” came up with depressing regularity as an addition to many of the names, but, at least, there were nine volunteers. Seven said merely “Marine”. Argent handed the paper back.

  “The usual mixture, in the usual proportions. We must spend time with their instruction. They are replacing good men. Are any of the Officers known to you?”

  “Not personally, but I’ve heard of Trenchard’s family. A political one, I believe. But there is no replacement for Bentley. I assume Sanders remains “acting”?

  “Yes, until we hear otherwise. Until then, I’m well content. That’s not a boat that I intend to rock.”

  Fentiman smiled and nodded.

  “Nor I. He’s liked by the men and respected. A rare combination. From somewhere, somehow, they know his background, which gives him a head start above most.”

  Argent nodded, but he wanted to change the subject.

  “Henry. How are you fixed, work wise, over the next two or three days?”

  “Nothing formal, Sir, bar the odd day-to-day. Fraser and his mates are taking care of most things. I was just studying this list for something to do”

  “Good, then I’m going to take my leave for two days, day after tomorrow. There’s a Mailpacket, leaves early each day for Falmouth and beyond. I intend to take passage on her and visit my family, and the Willoughby’s.

  “Oh, the Willoughby’s. Would you do me a great favour and deliver a letter to Charlotte?”

  oOo

  Argent leaned on the weather bulwark, out of habit, but not that of the quarterdeck. Not just for the change in place, he was dressed as a civilian, but also because, uniformed as Royal Navy, he would not be left to himself by the Officers of the Mailpacket and he relished the time of freedom from his normal level of high responsibility. To that end, he told himself to resist the temptation to assess the sails that were set, if more or less canvas, or sheeted more here or less there, but he had failed. Captain’s instinct frequently took his gaze aloft, but he could find no complaint. The cutter, sporting two masts with a fore and aft rig, was moving beautifully in a wind just before the beam, a wind steady, just East of South. All around and above showed the crew all to be “right seamen”, well practiced and long accustomed to their ship. She being “official”, a Mailpacket about the King’s business, she was therefore exempt from the Press, no man could be taken from her. They had made good speed since their Noon departure and now Pendennis Castle was growing in detail off the starboard bow.

  Argent was quiet inside, still subdued from his morning attendance of the funeral for his men. For common seamen there had been no last bugles, no fired salute, simply a brief, standard sermon over the mass grave dug fresh amongst other, older, mass graves, and the sermon read routinely before the earth could be shovelled over the long row of 31 simple coffins. As the Cleric walked away and the gravediggers began their work, he had bade them halt and had himself taken the time to cast a handful of earth on each, followed by McArdle, Short, Fraser and two of his Mates.

  He took himself back to the break
of the quarterdeck, mostly to get himself out of the way, for soon the Captain would be ordering the same change of course as he had made himself, some weeks previously. The order came, the wheel spun and the sails came over for the starboard tack. The Mailpacket, needing to sail on at the earliest, found a longboat out waiting for her in Carrick Roads and the two were made fast together. Then, Argent, two mailbags, and a corpulent Merchant were transferred and soon Argent was at the door of the same stable where he had hired a horse before. The owner had remembered not only his name, but also his fame, and offered a better horse. However, Argent was content to again use the same mount as before, which he termed “that good mare, which now knows her way.” Thus he came to the gates of the Willoughby Estate and they were open, which somehow gave Argent hope that they had received his letter.

  He ascended the steps and approached the door, the familiarity of both making him feel welcome, this stemming from recent happy memories. He knocked and a liveried servant opened and bade him enter, to then to take his cloak.

  “Lady Willoughby is occupied elsewhere, Captain, for the moment. But she is expecting you, and I’m told to take you into the Drawing Room and offer you tea. I will tell her that you have arrived, and I am sure that she will be with you shortly.”

  Argent stumped to the door of the Drawing Room, giving the servant ample time to swoop round and open it for him. Once inside, rather than sit, Argent felt the need to stand by the French windows and look out over the green and immaculate lawns. Bright flowers, shrubs and bickering birds presented a soporific scene of tranquil calm in which he submersed himself, and also came thoughts of the jolly evening the last time he was there. Hardly had he observed all the detail before some tea arrived and the maid presented him with a cup that he drank whilst remaining standing in order to continue to look over the garden. She moved a stand close to his right hand to support the cup and saucer and waited until he had finished, then poured him another. Half way through it, Lady Willoughby arrived. She began with the usual greetings but then noticed the crutch under his left shoulder and the odd shape of his left thigh.