A Question of Duty

by Martin McDowell

“Give it to Venables with orders to copy those two entries. Call back for it later today.”

  He spoke no more as Argent left.

  oOo

  Kalil Al’Ahbim was anticipating a large profit. He gazed avariciously at his “stock”, all required to parade past him, all naked and shivering in the chill wind of late September, and all pushed forward by the menacing scimitars of his crew. He examined each white skinned figure with some satisfaction and money flavoured thoughts came into his mind; they had made a quality haul and each would fetch a good price at the slave markets of Tangiers. The last passed him by and, with sobs and cries, they all descended to their prison in the depths of the galley. They had made five raids which included both sides of the Brest peninsula and the capture of the yacht had been a fine and easy bonus. They had room for the proceeds of two more, say a dozen from each, but he knew that, by now, word of his predations would have spread and the French navy was not so worn down as to fail to make a search and perhaps find him. Two dozen more would turn a good profit into a very handsome one. Two more raids, but not here, with the increasing risk of being caught. They were this far North, why not venture a little further, out of the range of the hunting French navy? He was proud of his ship, she was more seaworthy that most Xebecs; being wide beamed she was more stable in a rough sea. Ireland was possible and also England. He turned it over in his mind. So, which first, Ireland or England?

  oOo

  Chapter Seven

  Witness or Defendant

  There are some buildings that add gravity and weight to the events that they host, there are some that gain it from the events played out within them. The Port Admiral’s Official Residence, hosting the Board of Enquiry, was one such of the latter; imposingly built as it may be, it was, nevertheless, merely a place of domicile. Argent was the first out of the coach, property of the Royal Mail, but especially hired to convey, post haste, the three summoned Officers and the four Warrant Officers. Argent looked at the familiar façade and portico, but its familiarity did nothing to ease the tension growing within him. Stood as he was now, before this particular building, the weight of the occasion caused the neat architecture to bear down upon him even more, rather than to give any salve to his anxious thoughts. His intimate knowledge of the interior, coupled with the memory of past fraught occasions inside its walls, could do nothing to ease his troubled mind, only to add to his building sense of apprehension. The thought was never far beneath the surface; this could easily end with any resulting opprobrium poured upon his own head.

  Fentiman and Sanders emerged after him, then McArdle, Short, Fraser, and Ball, all more concerned to stretch their cramped limbs than to examine their grand surroundings. All seven had been carried from Falmouth in less than five hours, leaving before dawn to arrive in good time for the post noon gathering. They had travelled in silence; it was not so much the social gulf between the travellers that inhibited any conversation that may be termed “pleasant and convivial”, but more because each knew what awaited them and each was more consumed with their own thoughts on what they would say when their turn came to give their own observations and opinions.

  Ball, Short, and Fraser gave the building little more than a glance, for them its imposing frontage was merely part of the ordeal. In contrast, McArdle, perhaps more appreciative of fine structure and mathematical proportion, stood awhile and nodded his head. Argent was carrying the logbook and he had stood for no more than a minute, before a Naval Captain that he did not recognise, came forward to relieve him of it.

  “Captain Argent?”

  Argent nodded.

  “I am Captain Nathan Dunstaple, acting as Clerk to the Court. May I take that, the Members wish to compare the two logbooks before the Court assembles?”

  Argent knew the answer, but he wished for complete clarity.

  “Compare?”

  “Why yes. Your version, and Captain Cheveley’s. Before the Court sits.”

  Argent nodded and handed the weighty volume to him and Dunstaple turned and disappeared up the steps immediately. Argent, now joined by Sanders and Fentiman, then saw, at least, one friendly face, Marine Captain Baker, who descended the steps whilst grinning in open friendship, then warmly shaking the hands of all three.

  “I’ll bid you welcome, if that’s the correct word, and wish you well for a good outcome.”

  All three grinned and nodded in reply, but it was Fentiman who spoke first, the question that they had all been wondering.

  “Who’s on The Board?”

  “Vice Admiral Grenville Holdsworth is Chairman, along with our own Grant and Broke.”

  Argent continued.

  “Holdsworth we don’t know. What’s he like?’

  “Unknown to me. He was at Copenhagen, but not under Nelson. He was Hyde-Parker’s Flag Captain when Nelson decided he “couldn’t see the signal”, so you can read into that whatever you like.”

  Argent nodded.

  “Right. An unknown quantity.”

  Argent knew that Broke would support Cheveley, and could only hope that Grant would be fair to him. He changed the subject.

  “Is Cheveley here?”

  “Yes, and inside.”

  “What’s the word?”

  “Well, the talk at table in these parts is much as I told you last time and he’s holding to it. He’s saying that he judged for reasons of prudence……. damn weasel word that is…….. that an immediate withdrawal was necessary to save the ships in an impossible mission. He sent his signal and you should have obeyed quicker.”

  By now the four Warrant Officers were close and overhearing all. The mouths of each face set hard into a thin line, but only McArdle emitted a kind of growl, he feeling that the Ninth Commandment was now in some deep jeopardy. Argent looked at Fentiman, the unspoken fact showing clearly on his face, “This could go very wrong.”

  Baker broke in.

  “I should tell you, that Bentley’s people are here, and so is Ffynes, with his. I took them to their places myself. Also Charlotte Willoughby and Lady Grant.”

  Argent sensed Fentiman shifting beside him, but continued on the subject of Bentley and Ffynes.

  “Are they inside? Ffynes and Bentley’s people, that is. I must go to them, before things begin. Could you point them out?”

  He began to mount the steps and Baker turned to ascend beside him.

  “Yes I can, assuming they’ve not moved.”

  Argent’s companions followed and they entered the main reception room where they had entertained the Spanish Admiral, but now all was set for a Board of Enquiry; one table covered in green baize, nothing on top bar a block and gavel, four chairs behind and many ranks before, bar one, a chair very alone three yards before the table. The heavy paintings, of battle and disaster seemed to shrink back into obscurity in the face of the profound magnitude of what was about to occur. Baker looked around.

  “There they are, where I placed them, seated towards the back right. You can see Ffynes, then the two couples to his right. His parents, then Bentley’s.”

  Argent followed the directions and was successful, then he turned to Baker.

  “Where are we sitting?”

  “Witnesses in the front two rows. I’ll take your party down there now. Shall I save you a seat? Are you going back to them now?”

  “Yes to both. Save me a seat. I think it right that I pay my respects immediately.”

  Saying no more, Baker motioned for Argent’s companions to follow, leaving Argent to stand where he was. Being stationary made him noticeable and so Ffynes saw him and his face showed that he had. Argent made his way back to them and he saw Ffynes lean sideways to talk to his parents. It soon became evident that he had told them that his Captain was on his way back to them because both Mother and Father turned their eyes upon him, but not before Father had passed the word down the row to Bentley’s parents. Soon all five pairs of eyes were on his approach, but only those of Ffynes showed any light of welcome. Argent concentrated on Ffynes, st
ill wearing his Midshipman’s uniform, but with his right sleeve pinned across his chest. Ffynes stood as Argent neared him and, poignantly, stood to attention. He seemed thinner and paler in complexion. Argent extended his right hand, but palm down, and Ffynes left hand lifted to meet it, making a satisfactory handshake.

  “Rufus. I’m so very pleased to see you again.”

  Argent stopped himself just in time from asking after his health. It seemed crass and pointless.

  “How do you do, Sir? Permit me to introduce my Mother and Father”

  Argent blessed his good memory for names, from the time when Midshipman Ffynes was first delivered to the ship.

  “Sir Harold and Lady Ffynes. I am pleased to meet you again, although I would have wanted for better circumstances.”

  Sir Harold, heavy set, pomaded black hair, dressed all in navy blue and white, and leaning forward onto a silver cane, did not rise to shake hands. His wife’s mouth moved to form but the slightest smile, before her head turned so that the edge of her bonnet cut out the line of sight between herself and Argent. Sir Harold felt no need to say anything, he simply continued to regard Argent coldly, clearly he felt no need to be polite, but Argent did have something to say.

  “I do hope that you received my letter.”

  Father answered in the affirmative and Ffynes continued with the introductions.

  “And Lieutenant Bentley’s parents. Sir Matthew and Lady Cynthia.”

  Sir Matthew, him in black and white, matching the clothing of his wife, stared back stonily, from a full face that spoke of opulent living, but his eyes were angry. Those of his wife, in contrast were close to weeping, but it was she who spoke.

  “We, also, received your letter, Captain Argent, and we’re grateful for the kind things you said. I found your letter a great comfort.”

  Her husband’s angry gaze turned on her, but she continued.

  “I know that he’d never have amounted to much of a leader of men, but I do feel, that since he joined your ship, he was growing in character, and for that I thank you. In your service, I grew very proud of him.”

  “Thank you, Lady Cynthia, and I meant what I said, because it was true. He met his end alongside his men, encouraging them all to stand by their guns. He led by example, which is all that any of us can do. That’s our memory of him and it will always remain so.”

  At this Lady Bentley did begin weeping and she managed to gasp a “Thank you” before she brought an already damp handkerchief to her dampening eyes. However, her husband was having none of it. He looked up at Argent, the anger that was in him growing further.

  “We’re here to find out what happened, Captain. Why our son died in so hopeless an escapade, and where the blame lies. Have you any thoughts, now, at this moment?”

  “I do, Sir Matthew, but I must hold them for the Board that is about to assemble. I am pleased that you are all here, and I hope that it will give you some comfort, when it’s done.”

  Both Sirs gave a curt and formal nod, but with Argent, they were plainly less than satisfied, in their eyes blame already lay thickly upon him. Argent concluded that it was time to go; his continued presence could do no good. He smiled to both sets of parents, but received nothing like back in reply.

  “I should take my place. I’m sure this will soon begin and I should be where I am needed. Should you wish to talk to me afterwards, then I am at your disposal. So, I bid you good afternoon.”

  He bowed, then turned, but paused to pat Ffynes, who was still standing, on the muscle of his left arm. Amazingly Argent perceived him as being more cheerful than when he was serving on ship.

  “Good bye, Sir. I’ll write. I’m getting quite good with my left hand.”

  Argent smiled and nodded.

  “Please do that, Rufus. We’re always pleased to hear from an old shipmate.”

  The word struck home and warmth came into the face of both, but Argent had to go. Servants were entering from the side door, its room evidently contained the Members of the Board. Argent gained his place in the front row, as the four entered, Grant first, then Holdsworth, then Broke, him being the shortest, between Holdsworth and Dunstaple. Each of the first three wore their full uniform of rank, gold epaulettes on each, but only on the epaulette of Lord Grenville Holdsworth could a second star be seen, designating his superiority as a Vice Admiral, as did the extra ring on his cuff. He carried in the books, under one arm and, on reaching the table, these were then set within easy reach before he took his place. Broke and Grant stood waiting for him to be sat in his own chair before they took their own, then Captain Dunstaple entered with a sheaf of paper and took the fourth seat.

  Whilst each member was placing himself Argent leaned towards Fentiman.

  “I’ve just been speaking to the people of Ffynes and Bentley. Not good.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Towards the back right. Ffynes is alongside.”

  Fentiman rose slightly, looked for Ffynes and saw them, but proceedings were beginning. With each settled besides him, Holdsworth looked up and sat with both elbows on the green baize, his fingers interlocked to form a rest for his chin. His face was impassive, thin, weather-beaten and stern, but his eyes glared out; impatient, annoyed, a gaze that could pierce fog. With these he regarded the assembly, left to right, up and down, as though gathering their attention. Silence he already had and he began with no welcoming formality.

  “This Board of Enquiry has been set up to examine the events of August 10th 1809, namely the raid on St. Malo against the French frigate La Pomone, as carried out by HMS Herodotus, Captain Cheveley, and HMS Ariadne, Captain Argent, in the company of 320 Marines under Marine Colonel Shortman. This is not a Court Martial, but part of our brief is to discover if there should be one, as may lead on from our deliberations here.”

  He paused.

  “I would remind any Officer here, about to give evidence, that they are automatically on oath, on their honour as Commissioned Officers of The King, to tell the truth.”

  Argent’s stomach had churned at the mention of his own name out of the thin lipless mouth, but Holdsworth had now paused to look at both his companions, a look of enquiry in case they wished to add anything. Both shook their heads and so Holdsworth began.

  “Marine Captain Baker.”

  No request, no please, just the bare name. Baker came forward with a file and sat in the single chair. Holdsworth immediately corrected him.

  “Captain Baker. Please stand and read to the assembly the notes you took of the meeting of 7th August to agree a plan for the raid.”

  Baker did so, laying particular emphasis on the “cut out, burn, or do what damage that can be done”. He also stated slowly and clearly, “Herodotus to begin her withdrawal in close consort with Ariadne, to both bombard together the enemy bastion as they leave and force it to divide its fire.” Baker remained standing, while Holdsworth looked left at Grant.

  “Admiral Grant. You were Senior Officer at that meeting. Do you agree with that account?

  “I do.”

  “And you signed off those Minutes?”

  “I did.”

  “That’s all Baker.”

  Baker saluted, which wasn’t returned, and walked to his seat. Holdsworth consulted his own notes.

  “Lieutenant Henry Fentiman. HMS Ariadne.”

  Fentiman sat bolt upright at being called so soon and looked over to Argent, who nodded encouragingly. Fentiman rose and strode, somewhat disjointedly, to the single chair. Holdsworth adopted his earlier pose to support his chin, but his mouth still worked well enough and his eyes were cold and level.

  “Lieutenant Fentiman. You have heard the plan of the raid read out.”

  Fentiman nodded, but Holdsworth continued straight on.

  “How would you describe your relationship with Herodotus during the raid?”

  Fentiman looked puzzled and he frowned.

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t?”

  The word exploded ou
t of Holdsworth’s face.

  “No Sir, I can’t because we were never in any kind of relationship during the whole action. Herodotus came in well astern of us and went out well ahead. The only relationship that we were in, if it can be termed thus, is that we received her signal. And, I suppose, it can be said that we, that is Ariadne, bombarded the main bastion at long range, whilst she engaged it at effective range. Other than that, the relationship can only be described as independent action. Sir.”

  Holdsworth glared at him, he wasn’t pleased at such frank opinion.

  “So, how would you describe independent action?”

  “We each fought the French in our own way, Sir, according to our own circumstances. I cannot relate to you any level of co-operation at all. Sir.”

  “But you say you engaged the main bastion across the harbour together with Herodotus?’

  “Yes Sir, but our fire, Ariadne’s, was almost completely ineffective, the range was too far. We opened fire more to cover ourselves with smoke. Sir.”

  “That’s all Fentiman. Captain Argent, come forward, please, and take his place.”

  Argent rose and took himself to the chair, around one way, whilst Fentiman departed around the other. Holdsworth fixed Argent with the same stony look.

  “Captain Argent. Please describe the action as it applies to Ariadne.”

  Argent took a deep breath and began. He outlined the events as he remembered them described in the Logbook, which was just as well because Holdsworth had opened the Log and was following Argent’s description, word for word. Argent finished with a description of their battle damage and casualties, he then sat and let the silence hang. The drama of what he had said had reduced the hall to total stillness, the utter silence conveying fully the impact upon the audience of the intensity of the action. Holdsworth looked up from the Logbook.

  ‘Let me get this clear. You entered and saw La Pomone berthed in neither of the places intelligence told she was likely to be?”

  “That’s correct, Sir. She was berthed bows in, stern out, under the guns of the third bastion. Sir.”