“Lieutenant.”
Langley seemed pained at being addressed by his lowliest title.
“Your Log shows that you entered St. Malo at 5.15, five minutes after Ariadne.”
Langley nodded and Holdsworth continued.
“Once in position, for how long would you say you exchanged fire with the main bastion?”
Langley pursed his lips and rotated his thumbs together. Holdsworth looked annoyed.
“I’d say somewhere in the region of ten minutes, give or take.”
“Give or take what?”
“A broadside or two.”
Giggles came from where Langley had been sitting and he smiled at his own “bon mot”. Holdsworth continued, no longer feeling, nor looking, indulgent.
“And then, after the lapse of that time, your Captain, Captain Cheveley, ordered the cable to be cut and you made your exit?”
“That’s the right of it.”
A pause.
“Sir.”
“So, in your estimation, you engaged the main bastion for ten minutes, made your signal, then began to leave. Yes?”
“No. That’s not quite right. We made our signal after about five minutes, continued the action for a further five, then cut.”
“Where was Ariadne when you cut?”
“Still hanging about with La Pomone. We’d waited five minutes, we couldn’t wait any more. I wish she could have been sharper about her business.”
More giggles, more frowns from Holdsworth, then he fixed Langley with a look like a poised hatchet.
“Explain “hanging about”. Was Ariadne engaged with La Pomone?’
“Well, it would be duced poor if she wasn’t! There was certainly a lot of noise and smoke.”
“Noise?”
“Gunfire.”
“So, let me get this clear. You saw Ariadne up against La Pomone. You engaged the bastion for ten minutes, sent the signal after five, and then waited for Ariadne for another five? All the while under fire from the bastion?”
Langley was now grinning openly.
“That’s precisely the correctness of it. Sir.”
Holdsworth looked at Broke who shook his head, but Grant had already begun.
“Lieutenant, could you develop further, “couldn’t wait any more”, if you please?”
Langley looked puzzled and in no little way apprehensive.
“We were coming under heavy fire. Sir.”
“Heavy fire! Hmmm. Now, Lieutenant, how many hits had your ship sustained when you sent the signal?”
Langley’s face changed to deadpan; expressionless. He took some time to think.
“Three, perhaps, four.”
“So, in the first five minutes, you took four hits. That’s less than one a minute.”
Grant waited for a response. None came, apart from a condescending look, so Grant continued.
“Less than one hit a minute was sufficient for you to cut and run?”
Langley’s face changed to red anger.
“I cannot comment. That was my Captain’s decision.”
Grant remained staring at Langley for some seconds, then he turned to Holdsworth and nodded. Holdsworth took his cue, but his tone spoke of his displeasure at Langley’s foppish attitude.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. That is all.”
Langley rose and looked at Grant as though he wished to call him out, but he spun on his heel and stalked off. Holdsworth followed him with his eyes, his next witness was next to Langley’s vacant chair.
“Captain Cheveley. Please come forward.”
Next to Argent, Fentiman was incensed.
“Ten minutes, I wouldn’t allow them to say five. It was a pack of damn lies, and so will this be.”
Argent had re-gathered himself and was able to speak slowly.
“I agree Henry, I feel the same, but keep calm. It was only to be expected.”
Cheveley sat down, large, confident and immaculate. Holdsworth began.
“Captain Cheveley. What did you see when you entered St. Malo?”
“I saw our quarry securely berthed under the guns of two forts. One just upstream of her, that being on her side of the harbour, and one directly opposite. I ordered withdrawal.”
“What happened next?”
“To whom?”
“Let’s start with Ariadne.”
“She sailed on, against my orders, and attacked La Pomone.”
“And you.”
“We sailed in, turned, and came out. I expected Ariadne to follow. She didn’t. I hold Captain Argent responsible.”
“When did you send the signal?”
“As soon as I saw the impossibility of the mission.”
“As it states in your Log?”
“Yes. “Entered St. Malo at 5.15. Signal sent at 5.25.” It took ten minutes to finally appraise the situation.”
Holdsworth sat back, this time it did mean that he was done. He looked at Broke, who looked very cheerful. He turned to Grant, who sat forward, his face dark and very disturbed. His mouth set into a purposeful line, chin jutting forward. Grant began.
“Captain Cheveley, there is something I am very much in need to clear up.”
He already had both Logbooks open in front of him.
“Your Log states that you entered St. Malo at 5.15?”
“Yes.”
“Your Log also states: 5.25. Sent signal to Ariadne, she not yet engaged.”
“Yes.”
“Ariadne entered before you, say five minutes before you. So by your own Log, she was in at 5.10 approximately, as Ariadne’s own agrees, yet 15 minutes later, a quarter of an hour, 5.25, by your Log she had still not engaged the French, and all she had to do was sail up a couple of cables. Any comment?”
“I stand by the entries I have made.”
“But your own First Lieutenant has just stated that when you sent the signal, Ariadne was still “hanging about with La Pomone” presumably within very effective cannon range?”
“I stand by the entries I have made.”
“Ariadne’s Log states that she left at 5.40. She came in at 5.10 and you’re saying that she had not yet engaged, even at 5.25. Therefore, everything she did in that harbour until she sailed past the last fort, every piece of every action, start to finish, including the 5 minutes of the Marines aboard La Pomone, all happened inside a mere further 15 minutes?”
“I stand by the entries I have made.”
Grant stared at him for several moments, his expression cold, yet questioning.
“Captain Cheveley. You are an experienced officer?”
“I count myself as such.”
“How many actions have you been in? Whilst in overall command, I mean?”
Cheveley shifted uncomfortably. He looked down, then up, then back at Grant.
“None.”
“None?”
“No. St. Malo was my first, as a Commodore, I mean.”
“Right. So there you are, taking your ship up to engage the enemy, the last in, but following the plan as agreed, in all fairness.”
He took a deep breath to control the emotion in his next sentence.
“Before you are your men, those you command, in their vessels engaging the enemy, piling into the enemy for all they’re worth. They are obeying orders, doing their best to carry them out, which was to damage the French.”
“I cannot argue with those facts, but I judged the risk of further action to be too great.”
“You did, Captain Cheveley. Yes, you did. But they didn’t!”
The last three words hit like a thunderclap. Grant paused and looked calmly and levelly at Cheveley, whose face reddened. Courage and cowardice were now in question, particularly his. Once again he shifted himself on the chair.
“I made my judgment. I was Commodore.”
It sounded lame and growls from behind, of disapproval, confirmed it as so. Grant continued, his face coldly humorous from the poor answers.
“So, despite your order to withdraw
not being carried out, and any experienced Officer here will tell you that instant communication in battle is a myth, it was plainly laid out before you that your men were following the plan and doing whatever damage to the French as was in their power to do!”
Cheveley nodded. Grant pressed on.
“Now, let’s consider your signal. You ordered a withdrawal and it was acknowledged? It says so in your Log.”
“I did order withdraw and it was acknowledged.”
“And you concluded from the acknowledgment, what?”
Cheveley was recovering.
“That Argent was going to comply.”
“So, you concluded that Argent would soon be on his way out. Surely it crossed your mind that he’d need some time, and so, you stayed, of course, knowing that the plan required you to engage the bastion until Ariadne arrived, to reduce its effectiveness and to draw some fire. As a good Commander, despite the hopeless cause, as you saw it, you stayed to help your men fight their way out?”
Cheveley’s hands twitched and his head jerked upwards. His face reddened further, it then spread behind to the back of his neck. Subconsciously, the audience sat forward, the better to hear the answer. It was mumbled.
“No, but….. I waited five minutes more after sending the signal to withdraw. I thought ....”
Grant interrupted.
“You’re saying no. You didn’t stay to support your men, bar the five whole minutes you quote. This five minutes is “dancing on a pinhead”, is it not? A mere nothing. It can only lead to the inevitable conclusion that when you began taking hits, you took your ship out as soon as you could turn and then lay a course out for the open sea. Out! You did not stand your ground until your men came up to you. The facts are that you spent 10 minutes in that harbour, from passing the first fort, before you decided you’d had enough, which included a mere five minutes under fire. Then a mere five minutes later, you cut to break off the action entirely. Ariadne’s log says her stay in there was close on 30. Twice as long as yours. What say you?”
Cheveley suddenly looked smaller.
“I took my ship out or I’d risk losing her. I expected Argent to do the same.”
Grant was turning the knife. He listed the facts.
“So, you came under sustained fire. You couldn’t remain a moment longer. You sent a signal to withdraw, that was acknowledged?”
Cheveley seized on the notion like a lifeline.
“Yes. Remaining was impossible.”
“Your ship was under sustained fire, it was causing you severe battle damage, damage so great that it was impossible to hold the place that the men under your command were expecting of you. Your ship was being knocked to pieces.”
Grant paused to allow Cheveley to nod his head. He then nodded himself.
“And your casualties and damage from this sustained fire was?
Grant leaned forward.
“Remember, I have your Logbook.”
Cheveley twisted in his seat, his hands grasping the sides.
“Five great shot hit my hull, causing one killed and five wounded.”
Almost the whole audience sat back, shocked. Naval Officers exchanged looks of horror, or contempt or sadness, the question either thought or spoken, “What now for The Service?”. However, Grant had not finished.
“Five hits, and six casualties, Captain, therefore, gave you cause to abandon your men to their fate; the men who had sailed in, sailed up, and attacked the French with all the vigour they were capable of. Their brave conduct carried no weight with you?”
He paused to give emphasis to his following words. Cheveley remained slumped yet fidgeting.
“The men of the Ariadne and the Marines must now have very good cause to curse the French gunners in their aim; that they hit your hull and not your sails, which perhaps would have forced you to remain at your post a little longer.”
Grant folded his arms and sat back, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips, looking down at the green baize, saddened and forlorn. He had taken no pleasure from exposing the conduct of a Royal Navy frigate is such manner. He gave no look to Holdsworth; he could now take whichever course he chose. Holdsworth chose to make an end.
“This Board will now retire to reach its conclusion.”
All four stood, all with grim faces, although for different reasons. Both stony faced and hard eyed, Grant, and then Holdsworth exited through their door, but Broke’s face showed no small depth of anxiety. Almost the whole audience rose, amongst the last being Cheveley. He was still in some shock from his treatment from Grant, but when he did rise, he took himself straight outside, meeting the gaze of no one, to sit and suffer in his own carriage, alone.
The Ariadnies remained in their places, as did most of the assembly. The high drama that had just played out before them filled their thoughts such as to give no admission to the idea of moving or even standing. Sanders looked across Fentiman to ask of Argent.
“What do you think, Sir?”
Argent was as much moved by what had just taken place as anyone. He took a while to collect his thoughts and find the correct words.
“I think it now rests with the whim of the Board, which, in my experience means it can go either way. Whatever, Ariadne and yourself have emerged with some credit. There can be no criticism of you. If any bad decisions were made, they were mine. My responsibility. If the Board wish to draw attention to that, well, that is their choice.”
He paused and looked down, his face serious, then he looked back at Sanders.
“I’m for some fresh air.”
He stood, as did his two Officers. Argent looked back at the four Warrant Officers sat behind. Being addressed by their Captain, they stood also.
“There is no need for you to remain in here. The decision will take some time, I’d say over an hour.”
He pulled out his half hunter.
“3.15. If you return here not long after four, it will be plenty time enough.”
All four came to the attention and saluted.
“Aye aye, Sir.”
The three Officers acknowledged their salute. It was a small, but profound gesture, each to the other. It did not go unnoticed by those around.
The chairs were emptying, few now contained their occupants, almost all had come to the same conclusion as Argent and so the spaces to the side and behind the chairs were crowded with members of the assembly, many of which were military. Bosun George Fraser looked at the throng and didn’t like the idea of his Captain having to fight his way through such a press. His three Officers were now gathering their hats and gloves. He turned to his companions.
“Henry, Zack, you too, Mr. McArdle if you’ve a mind. We’ll see the Captain through this lot.”
He set his Bosun’s hat squarely on his head, having given the Ariadne badge a brief dusting. When Argent, Fentiman and Sanders entered the crowd, they found their way being gently, but firmly, created by the four Warrant Officers, Ball, Short and Fraser using hands and voices, whilst McArdle needed neither, merely the look, from his great height, of the condemnation of Judgment Day. Many Naval Lieutenants saluted, Captains tipped their hats, women smiled. Outside a crowd had gathered, they had heard that something was afoot with the upper classes and it involved Ariadne, she that dwelt high in their regard and probably their affection. The sight of Fraser’s hat coming down the steps, set off clapping and cheering. The details of her fight in St. Malo had emerged and they had themselves seen her damage when she came home to harbour. The four Warrant Officers set off through the crowd, each with their own idea for the next hour, but this did not spare them the backslapping and good wishes, which brought a smile, of sorts, to even the lugubrious face of the Sailing Master. Ball, Fraser and Short made straight for The Benbow. Once sat and with their drinks, the conversation opened, begun by Ball.
“That lyin’, floggin’, bastard Cheveley.”
Replied to by Short.
“An’ Broke. Crawlin’ bilge rat!”
Sailing Mas
ter McArdle was elsewhere, on his knees in the nearby Pentecostal Church, praying that The Good Lord would guide to righteousness the thoughts of the now deliberating Board.
The three Officers had taken themselves around to the garden and, being amongst the first out, had found a seat, sheltered from the chill sea breeze of late September. However, this was soon surrendered when they saw the approach of Lady Grant and Charlotte Willoughby. Argent immediately walked forward to greet them, followed by Fentiman. He bowed over the hand of Lady Grant and then did the same for Charlotte. Argent’s mind and emotions were still in turmoil after the trauma of the past two hours and his greeting was crass and clumsy.
“Lady Grant, Miss Willoughby, you have come to distract us as we wait in our hour of deep anxiety.”
To Lady Grant such over blown language was of no consequence, her reply was as gracious as ever.
“Captain Argent, gentlemen, if we can provide some comfort or distraction, then it is our pleasure to do so.”
With that Argent led both to the now vacant seat. Sanders gave his own greeting.
“Lady Grant, Miss Willoughby. I am Lieutenant Sanders. I hope your remember me from the dinner at Admiral Grant’s, sometime back?”
It was Lady Grant who spoke.
“Yes, Lieutenant, I do remember you, and you are too modest. The occasion was marked as that immediately after your taking of La Mouette and it was you that gave the toast. I remember it well.”
Sanders smiled and bowed as both ladies occupied the seat. Fentiman had put himself forward, offering his hand to Charlotte.
“Miss Willoughby. I was wondering if you would care for a short walk around this garden. There are still many blooms to be seen and it is quite sheltered.”
Charlotte looked at Fentiman, then at Lady Grant, then back at Fentiman.
“Why, yes, Lieutenant, that would be most acceptable. Some mild exercise after being sat in the hall would be most welcome.”
Fentiman leaned forward, offering his arm, the gracious smile on his face not even rivalling the delight in his eyes. Charlotte placed her hand delicately on his left forearm and rose from the seat, then both promenaded slowly across the lawn to the shrubbery. This left Lady Grant alone on the seat, with Argent and Sanders now standing.
A Question of Duty Page 34