“Mr. Ball, I can see no harm by informing the crew that Admirals Grant and Broke are on that lawn and also the Captain of the Herodotus, Captain Cheveley.”
Ball perfectly understood Argent’s motives in making such facts known and he grinned.
“Nor I Sir, no harm at all. Aye, aye Sir.”
Argent raised his Dolland again and waited for what he was sure would happen and soon it did. The guests saw Ariadne entering the harbour and they all took themselves to the seawall to watch her entrance. Argent saw the moment.
“Parade by Divisions. Topmen aloft.”
The three Midshipmen were stood close alongside the three Lieutenants and Trenchard looked forward at the sights and events and looked baffled. He turned to Bright.
“What’s all this about?”
Fentiman heard and turned on him.
“Silence there! You’re on parade! And for your information we’re turning up to a wedding. The Captain made a promise.”
Fentiman paused, but felt the need to say more.
“The Royal Navy puts itself out for ladies!”
With the ship settled on her course and Quartermaster Short at the wheel the whole ship’s company paraded on the gangways and forecastle, lined up from the quarterdeck up to the bows came first the Marines, then waisters, afterguards and foc’c’slmen. The topmen arranged themselves along the spars of their respective masts. All were in their best finery, even the new recruits had been given clean slops and a black hat. The ship was under perfect control, sailing in against the tide and Quartermaster Short eased his ship as far to the seawall as he dared and within 100 yards, and opposite their audience, Argent lifted his hat. This was the signal for all Officers to do the same and for Bosun Fraser to call for three cheers. The Marines presented arms as the three huzzas rang out across the water accompanied by the lifting of the sailor’s black hats. Not needing his glass, Argent could see Lady Grant stood beside her Admiral, who had come to the salute, as had most other Officers, but Broke and Cheveley conspicuously not. All the girls and even some of the older women were clapping with delight. With her huge White Ensign billowing off to starboard and her sides clean and freshly painted, Ariadne looked the very epitome of Naval pride and elegance. At perfect parade speed she pushed on through, forcing on against the strengthening ebb tide.
What their audience could not see, was a cluster of stone filled barrels lashed to the starboard side. Ariadne stood on for 300 yards more, then Argent ordered the foresail and topgallants to be furled. With the loss of their leverage, Ariadne slowed and Short swung over the wheel to turn to larboard and at the same time the barrels were cut loose to act as an anchor, lashed to the starboard quarter. The tide pushed her back, but the improvised anchor held and she swung around for a perfect anchor turn to reveal her starboard battery, with 13 guns run out; an Admiral’s salute. The sails were trimmed for the starboard tack, the “anchor” cable cut, and, with just enough steerageway, she began her exit. The crew repositioned themselves to parade on the starboard gangway and once more she passed the happy couple and their guests. This time there was no cheering, but Smallsize was on the gundeck below with orders to fire the guns between a careful four pace interval. He was to pull each lanyard, take four deliberate paces to the next, then fire it. Each gun had a salute charge and he was given a lighted match in case a flintlock failed and, with each gun fired from the stern, so that the smoke would not mask the ship, the salute rang out. With her crew stood stiff to attention she once more passed the wedding gathering, almost all of whom, this time, were applauding. As her stern passed and, as the last gun barked its addition, a signal broke out from her halliards; “Congratulations.”
As Argent sailed his ship out into the open sea, he climbed into the starboard mizzen shrouds and lifted his hat to those whom they had entertained. After climbing down, he thought it would be bad form to look back any more, especially with his Dolland glass, but his imagination had the picture clear in his mind anyway, especially the expressions on the faces of Grant and his Lady and the very different expressions on those of Broke and Cheveley.
oOo
“Mr. Fraser. I want 14 knots. Let’s see if we can’t make the Fastnet in record time.”
Fraser wasn’t sure how to answer, having been asked for something that may not be in his power to give.
“14 knots, Sir? Depends how we lie on the wind. And how she performs in it. Sir.”
“Right, and, as we speak, it’s coming large over our larboard quarter. Her best point of sailing.”
“What’re we on now, Sir? Our speed.”
“Twelve.”
Fraser looked up at the masthead, the highest point of the ship, the top of the mainmast. The pennant was almost ruler straight in the stiff breeze, firm between Southwest and South. He took a look at the sea conditions on the weatherside and saw a choppy sea, but no steep waves to fall into and then climb out of, which would markedly slow any ship down. He then looked at the vacant spars, all those above the topsails.
“All plain sail then, Sir.”
“All plain sail, Mr. Fraser.”
Fraser ran off gathering his Mates, then the topmen.
“Captain wants 14 knots out her. So, set topgallants and royals. See what that does.”
The topmen swarmed up each mast and soon every spar was possessed of its sail. Argent allowed the deck to settle, then called for the throwing of the log. Minutes later a Master’s Mate came to him with a number chalked on the board. He said nothing, assuming his Captain would read it and it said 13 and a half. Argent considered; staysails or stunsails? He gauged the wind direction and decided, staysails would not draw with so much common sail taking their wind. He looked for and found Fraser on the starboard gangway.
“Mr. Fraser. Larboard stunsails. Main, top, t’gallants and royals. Starboard mizzen stunsails.”
Again the topmen climbed aloft to send out the extensions to the larboard yardarms and haul up the square stunsails that would go into place alongside the common sails already set. It was a long job to secure the extensions, especially for the mizzen topmen who had to extend on both sides, then attach the sails, then sheet home. It took fifteen minutes, then all was done, with Whiting and his crew of the foretop looking smugly across at those of the maintop, the foretop having finished their work first. With the deck settled again, Argent asked for the log. Minutes later, his grin matched that of the Master’s Mate and also that of the population of the quarterdeck. The board read 14 and a half knots. Argent looked at McArdle.
“Any comment, Mr. McArdle?”
The Sailing Master looked once at Argent, then looked away. To him praise was an alien, irreligious, language that he rarely bestowed on anyone, or anything, but perhaps this time was one of those exceptions.
“Ay, she’s fast Captain. Over 14 is something outside ma experience, but nae ma hearing, I need tae add. But ye’ve got tae credit the new copper, as well as the ship.”
Argent stood at the quarterdeck rail and indulged himself for a while, luxuriating in his ship racing over the choppy sea, scattering spray downwind. It added to his mood to see the crewmen on watch looking over the side at the ocean racing past and he concluded that their conversation circled around the guessing of their speed, but the actual figure was passing between them anyway. Fraser came back, having checked that all was well and secure. He stood waiting until Argent turned towards him, feeling bold enough to ask his Captain the question.
“Did she get 14, Sir?”
“14 and a half, Mr. Fraser.”
Fraser grinned from ear to ear. Such heights of happiness seen upon his normally hypercritical visage were beyond the memory of all aboard.
“14 and a half! My, but she’s fast. Sir.”
“I can only agree, Mr. Fraser, but I’ll wager good sail trimming must take some of the credit.”
Fraser resumed his grinning in response to the shared delight between himself and his Captain.
“No argument from me,
there, Sir.”
“Right, Mr. Fraser, but now I feel the wind strengthening. We are in the Irish Sea after all, so, royals, and stunsails off. It’s time for the guns, let’s see if we cannot set a new record there.”
There was no new record, in fact slightly slower for three broadsides and two reloads, four minutes and 50 seconds, but Argent was not unhappy. There could be no surprise, with so many new men and so many of these not even close to the physical condition needed to haul out the guns at the maximum speed for repeated broadsides. In fact he was pleased that the veterans of his crew had integrated the new men sufficiently to only drop five seconds.
Argent may have been pleased, but this was not the case at Number Three, and the object of Morris’ displeasure was Tooley’s replacement.
“We might as well give that rammer to Smallsize for all the lively that you be showing with it.”
He confronted Landy Main full on, with arms akimbo.
“Now you listen, ‘cos I’m now tellin’ you how ‘tis. You can ask any man down this battery, that what matters, when you’m yardarm to yardarm with Johnny Frog, is beatin ‘im to that second broadside. You’ve got to take his first, like ‘ee takes yourn, but it’s the crew as gets off the second as wins. An yer’s another truth, winnin’ means a lot less of us gets killed, includin’ you, but right now I’d be ‘appy enough to sew you into yer ‘ammock and ‘eave you over the side for the fishes.”
He paused.
“An’ they’d probably chuck you back!”
However, when Morris looked at Main he became even more depressed by the look he received back; dead eyed and uncaring. What he liked even less was that Sanders, their new Officer of the Gundeck, was speaking to their new Midshipman. As Sanders walked back astern, their new Section Commander came to them, this being Trenchard, who stood to look up at Morris. There couldn’t be a wider gulf between them in terms of shipboard experience, but one was “Officer”, the other “before the mast”.
“Your gun was last for both reloads. You must improve.”
Morris made his respects, as did the rest of the crew, completed by Main being kicked by Dedman to add his salute.
“Right Sir. We’ve a new man, Sir, but we’ll get there.”
It didn’t enter Trenchard’s mind to retort that almost every other crew had a new man and so, rebuke delivered, or so he thought, he returned back to his position at Quarters. Morris made up his mind, Main would load the charge. It was the simplest of all the operations, to take a charge from the powderman’s saltbox, load it into the muzzle and push it down far enough to make room for the wad before the rammer. He looked at the tackleman that he had most faith in, that being Bearman.
“Tom. You’n on the sponge an’ rammer. Main, I’ll show you now what you do.”
Three more broadsides were called for. The time was still four minutes 50, and Number Three was still the last, but not by so wide a margin. The guns were stowed and the Starboard Watch went to Supper, which was also being taken in the Midshipman’s Berth, the food having been obtained by Trenchard and shared out by Bright.
Trenchard had fitted in well. Both Bright and Berry had taken to his cheerful and ingenuous character, not only because he seemed willing to reveal, if only for the sake of conversation, all kinds of details about himself and his family home. He was willing to learn, confessed any ignorance and never disparaged conscientious effort in others. Just as important, he shared what he had, which included a three pounds of sweetmeats that he had brought on board in his pockets. As the third son, not even the “spare to the heir” he had been pulled out of Public School and packed off to the Navy at the earliest age when Mother could contemplate being parted from her youngest. It was to their betterment, for both Bright and Berry would have agreed that the loss of the sarcastic Ffynes had rendered their berth a more cheerful place. As the rations were portioned out, Berry was giving his sextant a final polish. Wentworth had made the necessary adjustments and Berry was now regularly obtaining Noon Sights that enabled him to avoid the worst of McArdle’s displeasure. However, it was Trenchard, as usual, who opened the conversation.
“What’s it like, being in action?”
Berry looked at Bright, who had taken his first spoonful of food. Berry said nothing, but Bright swallowed to answer.
“Ship to ship, when we took La Pomone, it was not so different from gun practice. The Captain wholly outmanoeuvred that French Captain and all we had to do was fire quickly and accurately. We took a few shot into the hull, and had some men hurt, but worst was at St. Malo. We came through that just by sheer luck and the Captain.”
He paused and looked at his equally experienced companion.
“What do you think, Daniel?”
Berry stopped eating and subconsciously rubbed his forearm. He’d been hit by a splinter that gashed his arm and both his coat and his arm had been sewn up in identical manner, so that both now showed similar evidence of the injury. Truth be told he had never been so terrified in his life, from the endless bellow of the guns, the sickening noise of the balls smashing through the sides and on across the gundeck. On top were the screams and the sight of the appalling wounds. He knew, that had they received another series of hits from the shore, he would probably have run off to the bilges if he didn’t faint first. He was in a quandary as to what to say, either to put a brave face on it or tell the truth. In the end he did neither, he spoke from halfway.
“It was awful, but we got out of it.”
Bright recognised Berry’s discomfiture and, although he knew that Berry was limited in the technical arts, he liked his friend and spoke up in his aid.
“The ship did her duty, that’s all you can say. Despite taking a pounding.”
Berry brightened up.
“Yes, that’s it. We stuck it, that’s all you can say. If you weren’t wounded, you were lucky. If you were on your feet, you stuck it.”
Trenchard became far less than comfortable at this last, but it was Bright who continued.
“One thing about the Navy is, that you do your duty. That’s your orders. Do that, and you’re safe, fail and you get punished.”
‘What kind of punished?”
“Could be anything, from a rocket off the Captain to being chucked off the ship and into gaol. Even hung, I suppose.”
“I’ve met the Captain. He seems a bit of a stickler.”
“He is, if you foul up. Avoid that, and, as I say, you’ll be fine. By and large we’ve all got a lot of time for him, if only that he puts prizemoney in our pockets.”
Berry now joined in, but he was still on the previous topic.
“I’ve seen the likes of us stretched across a gun, breeches down and whacked with a cane.”
Bright nodded and Trenchard looked up.
“Not much different from school, then?”
“No, not so different, except that it’s laid on by a bloody great sailor rather then some spindly schoolmaster!”
Berry laughed as loud as anyone at his joke and the three then fell silent and resumed serious eating, until a thought came to Bright.
“This is your third day at sea. Are you feeling quite well? I mean, by now, after three days, I couldn’t eat a thing.”
Trenchard took another huge mouthful. He allowed that to be his answer.
oOo
As soon as they were sailing across routes from Ireland to France, Argent ordered the doubling of the lookouts, but nothing was seen and Ariadne stood on to the Fastnet Rock, the reaching of which coincided with a Noon Sight and so most knew what their Latitude answer should be. Argent decided to turn around the Rock to make their second leg of the triangle and then set course for “48 and 8”. Most came up to take a look at the incongruous, conical lump of rock, a barren, bleak and cheerless spectacle. In the Autumn light it showed more grey than black from the habitation of countless seabirds that claimed it as their home, but it had claimed the life of many a sailor as it proved to be the graveyard of their ship. Known as the tear
drop of Ireland, not just because of it’s position of “dropping” off the mainland, but also for the tears it had caused to be shed by those seeing the last of Ireland and also the relations of those sailors lost on it’s unforgiving shoals.
The wind had veered and was now stiff from just South of West and the waves provided a spectacle as they rolled up to pound and surge over the low cliffs of the island. As the desolate and noisy sight passed along the larboard side, Argent ordered a course South Southwest to complete their middle passage and in the strong wind Ariadne was confined to lower sails alone, nevertheless, stiff and short of canvas as she was, she now began to “corkscrew”, a motion disliked by any crew. As she obliquely crossed the run of the waves, her bows dipped up and down with the peaks and troughs and her deck tilted right then left as she climbed to the crest tilting to larboard then descended the other side leaning to starboard. Within an hour the new crewmen were on deck hanging over the bulwark and not a few of the old, either. This included Bright, elbows leaning on the quarterdeck bulwark rail, looking oddly green and wishing he would faint or die. It was not his Watch but he felt an obvious and undeniable need to be at the rail. Trenchard was in attendance, it was also his Watch, but he was occupying the time taking alternate bites from an apple and a ship’s biscuit, he found the “lift and send” of this most splendid ship eminently enjoyable.
For days the motion was unrelenting and gradually the stronger or more experienced stomachs were able to indulge in larger portions from rations, this being because many of their messmates were still prostrate on deck. In some cases dehydration became severe and Surgeon Smallpiece found the need to intervene, not by asking the Captain to change course, but by the tried and tested method of having the worst cases hoisted into a hammock and then held steady until the sickness abated and they could stomach a little water. The only consolation from the wind was that it provided a perfect driving force for their destination and three days later, the Noon Sight gave their position as 49 degrees 10, 8 degrees 20. Argent gave orders to again head for Quessant and, with the sea now following from astern, the motion eased considerably and almost all seasick cases recovered. With a fast passage on the first two legs, Argent was content to idle his ship along to draw out the time spent in close proximity to the French coast. The weather turned wet and misty and visibility came down to little more than a mile, but McArdle brought them to within sight of Quessant, flat and brown and now more than familiar, at five bells of the forenoon. Argent held a course just North of East to enable them to track along the line of the French coast, which they held off at just under a mile. Immediately after both Watches had finished their dinner came a cry from the masthead.
A Question of Duty Page 30