A Question of Duty

by Martin McDowell

  “Won’t you both please sit down?”

  Argent and Sanders obeyed, with Argent in the middle and Lady Grant on his right. He began the conversation.

  “If I don’t get the opportunity, will you please pass on our gratitude for what Admiral Grant said in there. It was most supportive and a great comfort that some words were spoken for our side.”

  Lady Grant looked at him and smiled.

  “Between ourselves, Captain, and Lieutenant Sanders, Septimus needed no bidding, but he took no pleasure, I can assure you. He said to me, “I must do my duty”. He has been brooding on this for some weeks now. He has no concerns regarding the role and conduct of Ariadne, but he has some concerns, beyond St. Malo even, regarding Captain Cheveley. You need give no thanks, he gave himself the order.”

  Argent exhaled a laugh and looked at Sanders, who was grinning likewise.

  “Well, I must say something to you for what he said and that must be my thanks.”

  He paused. He was still in a state of emotion.

  “There is little we can do now but wait. However, I have no fear for the reputation of Ariadne. Whatever The Board says now, I feel that she has come out of it well.”

  Lady Grant placed her hand on his forearm and smiled.

  “That was never in question, Captain. It has not escaped my attention that you and your men, and your ship, gain applause from the crowd wherever you go.”

  Argent sighed. He was feeling calmer, more in control.

  “That’s very kind. To us, being her crew, the ship is everything. That’s how it is.”

  Sanders joined in.

  “Yes Sir. Yes. That’s right. Whichever part of her sinks, hull or reputation, we sink with it!”

  All laughed and allowed silence to settle. Soon came the return of Fentiman and Charlotte, and both seated Officers stood to give her the full space of the garden seat. Argent spoke to the other two.

  “I think a turn around somewhere outside will not come amiss for any of us.”

  Fentiman hovered, wanting to stay, but Argent wanted him away. He felt that Fentiman’s continued attentions of Charlotte were bordering on the overbearing. He knew that he may be wrong in that, but he did need to say something to both his Officers.

  “I wish to speak to you both.”

  He turned and bowed to Lady Grant and Charlotte.

  “If you’ll both excuse us. We need a “quarterdeck conversation”.

  A smile from both ladies was the reply and so the three walked off, from the garden to the residence gate and soon they were looking out across The Sound. Fentiman and Sanders had been waiting silent all along and now Argent spoke.

  “I want you both to know, that if this does go badly for the ship, I will write to the Admiralty to have it placed in your records that you both acted under my orders and followed them to the letter, despite the personal danger.”

  It was Sanders who spoke.

  “There’s no need for that, Sir.”

  Both their anxiety and regard for their ship was still high within each. Sanders continued.

  “Ariadne has come out well, and everyone knows…..”

  He paused.

  “Perhaps it’s not my place to say this, Sir, but everyone knows that this Board is some kind of effort to make repair to Captain Cheveley’s reputation, Sir. Sorry to speak of a superior Officer, in that way, Sir, but that’s how many see it.”

  Argent replied.

  “Don’t make a habit of it, and I fear that you are wrong. The push for this Board has come just as much, if not more, from the parents of Bentley and Ffynes, who, by the way, I want you both to make a point of seeing. Both parents have influence, either at Court or in Parliament, and they want someone to blame, these being Captain Cheveley and myself, either or both. We were in command; if both, then most on him or most on me, it matters to them not one jot. They want someone to pay, and this is the method they’ve chosen to use. Cheveley’s conveniently using it to shift any stain that he feels has alighted on him. That’s why my own reputation is unlikely to come out of this unsullied. That’s why I’ll write, to clear you both.”

  Neither argued further. They stood in silence breathing in the clean air. Then Argent looked at his pocketwatch, it was time to return.

  oOo

  The four Warrant Officers returned in good time, the three from the Inn returning just after the one from the Church. McArdle looked disapproving, but when did he not? However, he had spent too long amongst sailors and, more pointedly, man-o’-war’s men, to allow the daily occurrence of drinking, to cloud his opinion too much concerning the men he served with. He’d never say it, but all three stood in his high regard. It was they who greeted him.

  “Mr. McArdle.”

  All three smiled and nodded. McArdle lifted his head to them, but looked blank. Short posed the question.

  “How do you think this will come out, Mr. McArdle?”

  McArdle folded his arms and looked, face still blank, at the vacant table.”

  “If ye’re seekin’ my opinion, I’m thinkin’ that this whole thing reeks of shiftin’ blame. It went wrong in that harbour, as well ye know, as well as I, and I’m thinkin’ that, depending on the way the wind blows between those three, one Captain will get the lion’s share, but they’ll both get somethin’. That includes Captain Argent.”

  The three stared back at him, hoping for more. None came, so Short asked further.

  “Which one? The most, I mean?”

  “That’s nae for me. We can only hope that The Good Lord takes them down the correct path.”

  All three looked away. The introduction of The Good Lord made further fishing for the thoughts of McArdle impossible. Also, this coincided with the arrival of their Captain and his companions and so all four stood to the attention and saluted. They regained their seats only when their three Officers were in theirs. All sat in silence, which lasted but minutes before the door opened and in came Dunstaple to signal to all still stood around the room that they should immediately return to their seats. When he was satisfied, he looked back through the door and in came the three. This time, Argent noticed, Dunstaple was carrying the Logbooks. The three took their places and all in the audience looked hard at those faces to try to glean some hint regarding the nature of the verdict, but all three faces were as blank and inscrutable as any stone statue. Neither Broke nor Grant showed any emotion, Holdsworth probably had not the capacity.

  Holdsworth sat up and hoisted his hands to form the apex of a triangle with his elbows on the desk and then he began, his words coming as they came to him. He used no written statement.

  “The Board has reached its conclusion. What I say now will be appended to a report that will be sent to their Lordships at the Admiralty. We have made no recommendations regarding further action, that being a possible Court Martial. Their Lordships will look at the evidence that we have gathered and draw their own conclusions. However, we do feel justified in providing some pointers for their thoughts.”

  He paused and lowered his hands to drape them over the table edge on his side.

  “We start with the Commodore, Captain Cheveley. Both his actions and decisions were highly questionable. That his ship would be at great risk if she remained under the guns of the bastion is not in question, but what is in question is his early withdrawal to quit that position, abandoning his men to make their own way out, alone and unsupported by his ship. She being the strongest adds to his questionable decision. He must have known that his early withdrawal did not follow the agreed plan that his under Officers were expecting him to comply with. His decision was precipitate and showed little regard for the men he commanded.”

  He paused and raised his hands again.

  “Regarding Captain Argent, he stood his ship on into the harbour in a manner that can only be described as reckless, brave certainly, but over the borderline of naval prudence. To tackle La Pomone where she was, placed his ship and the Marines at great risk. There was time for a signal
back to his Commodore to gain orders, but he did not make one. However, Admiral Grant here …….”

  He turned to look at Grant, then turn back.

  “……has insisted that this valid point be stated now, and included in our written report. It is, that, had both vessels immediately turned and exited the harbour, inevitably sustaining battle damage, but having done no harm to La Pomone, then we would now be conducting an enquiry into why an attack on her was not pressed home to the best level possible.”

  He looked both sides at each companion. Grant smiled, Broke looked glum.

  “Our final conclusion is that both Captains closed with the enemy, but each took decisions that could have been better judged. This Board is now closed.”

  Holdsworth picked up his gavel and smote the block. All three Admirals rose, but only Holdsworth took his exit through their door of entrance. Broke took the nearest course for the main door and out, Grant the quickest way to his Lady. Argent remained sitting, wholly still, then he rubbed his face with his hands and sighed. He looked at his two companions blankly, a wan smile, eyebrows raised. Fentiman spoke first.

  “I’d say that was good enough, Sir, if all they could say was we should’ve sent a signal. How much time have you got during a raid like that? And signal what? “Shall I proceed?” They had to load something on you, us, and that was it. “Small beer”, I say.”

  Sanders grinned and nodded.

  “I agree Sir. All that about a signal sounds more like an offence against naval etiquette. What matters, Sir, high blown as it sounds, is that no one questioned our courage in the affair. That question went elsewhere.”

  Argent smiled and nodded, he did not disagree and felt at ease. He turned to the four behind and they too looked well content, then he spoke to all six.

  “Back to the ship.”

  This time Argent led the way through the thinning crowd. This time no salutes, nor slaps on backs nor arms for any of them, just looks of approval. Argent suddenly found himself confronted by Baker.

  “I hope you are content with their findings, Sir? I have my opinion and it does not differ too much with what Holdsworth said; after you take out that total stuff about a signal, that is.”

  Argent laughed, as did Fentiman and Sanders stood just behind. Baker smiled, he was pleased.

  “By the way, have you seen Captain Cheveley, Sir?”

  Argent looked puzzled.

  “No, was he not here?”

  “No Sir. It seems he did not reappear to hear the verdict.”

  “Well, his choice. Now. We take our leave. We’ll be seeing you again, no doubt. Our thanks for your support.”

  “Yes Sir, but don’t forget your Logbook, down there.”

  Argent looked at the table, it being now deserted and somewhat forlorn, but supporting both Logbooks, one atop the other. Dunstaple had expected both Captains to come forward, but Cheveley was absent and it had slipped Argent’s mind. He turned to Fentiman and Sanders.

  “I’ll get them. You seek out Ffynes and Bentley’s parents to pay your respects. I’ll see you outside.”

  He turned to his Warrant Officers.

  “Wait here for me.”

  Salutes and “Aye aye, Sir” came from all four. Argent took himself down to the table and saw that the Log of Herodotus was on top and there was a marker protruding. Conflicting emotions arose within him; it could be construed as dishonourable to look; yet Cheveley had acted very less than honourably himself. After the lies he had just heard, he convinced himself by saying that it was right that he should know what was being written about his own ship, and he was, after all, second in command in St. Malo. Therefore he opened the Log at the marker. It was the entry for the raid and he scanned down the description and grew angry at the entry he saw, that as stated by Grant, “Signal sent at 5.25”, after that there was another; “Ariadne not yet engaged”. It was an utter untruth. His own Log, initialled by McArdle, stated their entrance to be at 5.10. By 5.25, he knew, he was considering ending the action. Clearly, Cheveley had made false entries into his Log to support his case. Argent was angry, but what did it matter now? Also, to a Board, contradictions such as that proved nothing; in any naval action Logs rarely agreed. He closed the heavy volume and moved it sideways to expose his own. Suddenly a voice.

  “I’ll take that.”

  Argent looked up. He was looking at a First Lieutenant. Argent was still incensed, and angered still further at the omission of the required formal introduction, even though he was well aware of the identity of he who stood before him.

  “And you are whom?”

  “Lieutenant Lord Charles Langley. First of Herodotus.”

  “Well, Lieutenant Langley, I would remind you that you are speaking to a Post Captain, and I require you to come to the attention and address me as “Sir”.

  He let the words strike home, but Langley didn’t move.

  “Attention!”

  Langley shuffled himself together.

  “And you want, what?”

  “Our Logbook.”

  A pause.

  “Sir.”

  Argent pointed down at the table.

  “It’s there! For all it’s worth!”

  He scooped up his own and left. Langley may or may not have seen him opening their Log; that he couldn’t care about, he just wanted away. He arrived at the back of the Hall, by the exit, and his four Warrant Officers fell in behind and they left. However, on the steps down he had to halt again, the parents of Ffynes and Bentley were calling him and were approaching. Argent told the four following Warrant Officers whose parents they were, handed the logbook to McArdle and then turned to the two couples, at the same time coming to the attention and saluting. His Warrant Officers did the same and it seemed that the two sets of parents appreciated the gesture, certainly the two mothers. It was Sir Matthew Bentley who spoke.

  “Captain, we would not wish to go without imparting our thoughts to you.”

  Sir Matthew turned to Sir Harold, who nodded. Fraser, Short and Ball had drawn their own conclusions from the stern look on both men and Fraser closed up to Argent, better for these toffs to see his hat badge and that their Captain had him right at his shoulder.

  “Captain. We would wish you to know that we are satisfied. What blame there is attaches but lightly to you.”

  He paused, and Sir Harold took over.

  “We have heard what has been said, and are of one mind that the responsibility for what happened to our sons lies elsewhere, at least the great majority. I would wish to add, that Rufus himself attaches no blame to you for his injury. Despite his wound, he is resigned to say that he was luckier that some, unluckier than most. He can say that his ship went straight at the French, of that he is very proud, and that everyone took their chance. In addition his character has changed, and we think for the better. We now think it right that this matter is settled and confined to the past.”

  Sir Harold looked at Sir Matthew, then at the two mothers.

  “We will take our leave now. We wish you good day.”

  Argent came to the attention once more, and again saluted. Both mothers smiled and nodded, then he was looking at their backs. Fentiman came up and saw who Argent had been talking to.

  “Is all well?”

  Argent looked at him.

  “Yes, all’s well. Now.”

  “I’ve just left young Ffynes. He’s leaving the Navy to run the family estate. He’s got himself engaged, on top. A lovely girl, she was in the crowd and we were introduced. Just deserts for a naval hero!”

  oOo

  They arrived back in the middle of the night, rattling down onto the quayside to identify Ariadne by her silhouette against the stars and the feint moonlight of the night sky. She was moored as Budgen ordered, bows out. Earlier, in Plymouth, they had found their mail coach, but it was wholly stood down in need of some minor, but vital, repair. Informed thus, the seven took themselves off to The Benbow for food, refreshment and some conversation that might ebb aw
ay the anxiety of the day. The three Officers kept their own company, because Ball, Short, and Fraser, minus McArdle, who wished to make his own arrangements that took him elsewhere, had found old shipmates and immediately cleaved unto them. Three hours later, in the gloom of a wet September evening the Mail coach turned onto the turnpike for Falmouth. All, bar McArdle, had been drinking, all had felt the stress of the day fall away, all were sailors who knew the value of sleep and soon all were slumped down on the bench seats, unconsciously supporting each other as the coach swayed and rocked.

  With no formality, save the ‘present arms’ of the Marine sentry, all ascended the gangplank and took themselves to their own quarters, there to indulge in two or more extra hours sleep. By some unknown telegraph the crew took their breakfast all knowing of the events of the previous day and the stories circulated of how Ariadne, according to the judgement, had “gone in like a game plucked ‘un,” and that Cheveley and his Herodotus “must have all fell over dizzy when she spun around so fast.” However, whilst the mood aboard should have been overall good, it was not. Many were far from content, especially in the mess of the foretop, namely Gabriel Whiting the Captain of the Foretop and his four messmates of the Captain’s barge crew. It was Whiting who was speaking.

  “What else can it be, but a thief? I’ve lost two particulars now and so have you, and so have others, one at least. ’T’ave only come about since we took on all them quay sweepings a while back, so it has to be a thief!”

  Able Jones answered.

  “So, we does what?”

  Whiting was angry, but that always concentrated his mind.

  “We does some askin’ Ask each Guncaptain what’s gone from their mess. Leave the topmen; none of the convicts went into any mast, they’n all in guncrews. Let’s see what comes back and what sort of picture it draws.”

  Thus were some days spent. Whilst minor repairs were attended to and stores came aboard, the Captain’s Barge crew conducted their enquiries. Come an evening meal three days later, each reported back. All but three guncrews had suffered theft; Eight and Ten, of the Larboard Battery, Number Three, Starboard Battery, Sam Morris’ gun. Gabriel Whiting looked puzzled.