A Question of Duty

by Martin McDowell

  “They say one thing, then do another. Quite another! Yes! Most unreliable. But keep that to yourself, politics you know.”

  He slapped his hands onto his thighs.

  “Now, your problem. The highest ranking Officer. Well, I’m Wellesley’s Second in Command, will I do?”

  Argent had genuinely warmed to the old General. Second only to Lord Wellington, nevertheless he was genial and charming company, with not a hint of hauteur nor self-importance.

  “You most certainly will “do”, Sir. If you could sign this receipt and date it. 18th today, I believe.”

  Argent had taken a paper out of the satchel and Hill took it over to the desk, carrying it face up with both hands. He obtained a quill pen, flipped open the inkwell, dipped in the nib, shook it into a box of sand on the floor to remove the surplus, then wrote the necessary. As this was taking place Argent stood, concluding that his business was done. He placed the satchel on the General’s desk, while General Hill was shaking sand over his signature and blowing it off with loud puffs. He stepped twice to Argent, carrying the letter in the same spiritual manner.

  “And how was your voyage, Captain, fast enough? I know how you Naval types revere a fast passage.”

  “It was good enough, General, thank you. Ten days.”

  “Ten days, my word, that’s good. It took twenty before I placed a foot on any dry land!”

  He looked away, thoughtful.

  “But that was on a bit of an old tub, though, not in an fully worked up frigate, such as yours, what?”

  Hill beamed again and Argent had to laugh.

  “Yes, Sir. She’s a fine ship, Ariadne. We’re very proud of her.”

  Hill remained thoughtful.

  “Ariadne? Ariadne? Now didn’t I see that name in the papers a while back? Something about taking a French frigate with not a single casualty.”

  “Yes Sir. That was us. We took the La Mouette, a 42.”

  Hill seized Argent’s hand and pumped it up and down.

  “Then to you my fullest and heartiest congratulations. To you and your crew. They must be fine seamen, good, fighting seamen, and of the very best.”

  “Thank you General, you are very kind.”

  The General tilted back his head in a mock laugh.

  “Not at all, not at all.”

  Then he leaned forward, even more conspiratorially.

  “Now then, you cannot sail until tomorrow morning. The next high tide is in the middle of the night and if you sail today you’ll never get over the bar.”

  His eyes took on a special glint.

  “You see, enough of a seaman to know that! Now. Right. We like to entertain ourselves of an evening, nothing formal you understand, nothing like a ball nor a dinner, just a few instruments and a bit of dancing, with a bit of food laid on at the side. A local affair mostly, and if anything they make up at least three quarters of the band and the audience more than that, but we join in, us soldiers and sailors, in the square in front the Town Hall, back of here.”

  This described, he placed a large hand on Argent’s shoulder.

  “I’d like you to bring over some of your men. Your Officers at least, this evening.”

  Argent was in a quandary. It would inevitably be revealed that he had women and children aboard, rescued from a slaver. This gave him some concern; his diversion from his orders would be laid bare and the opprobrium, perhaps, arrive early, possibly even causing angry communications back to the Admiralty. He would have to reveal the facts now, or refuse the offer. He couldn’t swear them all to secrecy and what amount of “hole in corner” conduct would that show? Did he want that to happen in such a way, which would make it appear as a secret he wished to keep? However, he could not refuse this most kindly of General Officers?

  “Well Sir. Yes, my Officers would be greatly honoured, but you see, we have over one hundred women and children aboard, mostly French, some English and Irish.”

  As a puzzled look spread across Hill’s face, Argent ploughed on.

  “An Arab slaver has been raiding around The Channel. The last place he raided was Cornwall. We caught up with him off the French coast in the Bay of Biscay and took him. Now we have the rescued aboard.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound.

  “It delayed us two days.”

  Hill’s face changed to a thoughtful frown. Something was working behind his clear blue eyes, pieces were coming together. When he spoke, the subject had changed.

  “Now let me understand this. You were charged with delivering a despatch of international importance from Castlereagh, post haste, and you break off from that fast passage to attack a foreign ship? Contrary to your orders?”

  Argent sensed a change and expected an accusation.

  “And you had no doubt that this ship held those taken to become slaves?”

  “None Sir. We had seen him before and I had an accurate description.”

  Hill’s face lost the frown but remained serious.

  “This could mean trouble for you, Captain. Serious trouble.”

  “Yes Sir. I appreciate that, but I couldn’t find it in myself to just sail on by, Sir. And I felt unable to ignore the feelings of my crew and Officers, Sir. Getting those women and children off him struck me as being absolutely the correct thing to do, Sir. I viewed it as a matter of duty.”

  Argent had come to the attention and was staring over Hill’s left shoulder, as a respectful subordinate. The response was a huge hand that descended down onto Argent’s empty left shoulder, to rock him back and forth, then slap down again.

  “And that way of looking at it, Captain, has the right of it, absolutely the right of it, in my opinion.”

  The beaming smile returned, Argent felt relieved and showed it, but there was more from Hill.

  “Duty, yes, duty, I feel strongly, is the word I’d use. Duty to civilians is a concept we understand well enough in this army, so, I’ll tell you what I am going to do. I’m going to write a letter that could possibly give you some support.”

  Argent’s face registered shock. Hill responded.

  “Yes. I’m going to say the facts, that your arrival being delayed two days made not a jot of difference. We can lose that in this country from negotiating with the local Mayor to use his horse trough! I don’t know what difference it will make, not much if I know the Admiralty, but it won’t do any harm and it may do some good. I do hope you think so too?”

  He nodded at Argent, who spluttered his thanks.

  “Why, yes Sir. That’s very gracious and I can only thank you for your support.”

  Hill threw back his shaking head and closed his eyes in a dismissive gesture.

  “No thanks are needed, Captain Argent, none at all. It will be but the very least of all gestures. To whom should I address it?”

  Argent thought for a moment before looking into the re-opened blue eyes.

  “Admiral Septimus Grant. Plymouth Command. Sir.”

  “Septimus Grant! I know him. We met sometime back. Can’t remember the place, nor the tedious occasion it must have been, but I remember him. We amused each other for hours with various stories. How is he?”

  “He’s fine Sir. He’s just got married.”

  “Married! The dog! Married. Ha!”

  He leaned forward again for more conspiracy and smiled with a glint in his eye.

  “So, this letter. You can take it with you, after this evening. And you must bring your rescuees!”

  oOo

  When word of the invitation passed around the “rescuees” there were shrieks in French, Gaelic and English, all being variations on “I’ve nothing to wear!” The early result was the festooning of the rigging with all kinds of washing and many of the women resorting to their Arab garb, itself now clean and mended and significantly more colourful. The additions to the braces and shrouds were the cause of many comments and catcalls coming across the water from both warships and the merchantmen. The Ariadnies made themselves scarce on deck.

 
Transport could have been a problem from ship to shore, but General Hill used his influence and, as the sun edged to the horizon, five longboats arrived at Ariadne’s starboard side. Argent thought that he should be amongst the first onto the quayside to make the necessary introductions; formality required it, so he believed. However, whilst he was making his final arrangements with Mr. McArdle, who would command the ship during his absence, Sinead Malley led the charge over the side into the waiting longboats and three of them set off immediately, filled to capacity. All the women were as best apparelled as could be managed in six hours, many touches of colour and changes of line coming from items begged and borrowed from the crew, topmen especially. Argent looked over the side to see his carefully laid plans in utter disarray, with Sinead Malley somehow at the tiller of the leading longboat. He didn’t need to watch and see what would come next, evidently it would be her and her crew piling first up the steps and around to Army Headquarters. Argent turned to Mr. McArdle.

  “I expect to return at eight bells, Mr. McArdle. We must ready the ship for the morning tide.”

  “Aye Sir.”

  Ariadne’s own longboat was being filled with the crew’s musicians and some of those lucky enough to have been selected by the drawing of lots. The Officers, both Commissioned and Warrant, and two Midshipmen, would use the launch and the Captain’s barge, meaning that Gabriel Whiting and his crew would be ashore and available for much anticipated recreation. The three ship’s boats and the last two of Hill’s longboats, with most of the lucky lot drawers, set off as convenient. Propelled by such expertise, it was no surprise that Argent arrived first, to ascend the steps with Fentiman and Wentworth. Sanders was not with them; for some reason, he was in one of Hill’s longboats. The three Officers, led by Argent, who knew the way, went immediately to the Headquarters building to find, leaving its front, a noisy cavalcade of gambolling children, chattering women and all ranks of soldiery, all very attentive to the newcome females. Argent stood and sighed, this had gone out of his control. Fentiman noticed his Captain’s anxiety and immediately spoke up.

  “Don’t worry about how it’s all working out, Sir. No one cares much, just go with the flow! Everyone simply wants to enjoy themselves, formality’s out the window!”

  Argent conceded and nodded agreement.

  “Nevertheless, I must pay my respects to General Hill. Please wait here.”

  Argent entered the building to find the desk now occupied by a Sergeant, who stood to salute.

  “Is General Hill present, here?”

  “No Sir, ‘fraid not Sir. He’s away round for the evenin’s singin’ an’ dancin’, Sir.”

  Argent nodded his thanks and exited the building to find the contents of the three longboats and his own crew forming their own cavalcade to follow Sinead’s, Ariadne’s musicians and songsters providing the unnecessary marching impetus. Argent, Fentiman and Wentworth tailed on at the end.

  The square was a kaleidoscope of costumes and cultures. All around and across were British uniforms of all ranks both Navy and Army but most of those in the square were civilian. The Portuguese men were in close fitting pantaloons, black, much buttoned and finishing below the knee. Waistcoats and hats, also black, contrasted with white shirts and hose, as did scarlet scarves and sashes. However, they were wholly outdone by the women, these highly colourful in waist shawls over black skirts, white blouses and hose, and scarlet waistcoats, but all very much augmented with multicoloured headscarves, bracelets, bangles, necklaces and circlets around their foreheads. The Irish, and Cornish rescuees looked well enough in flouncy skirts and blouses with added shawls and sashes, as did those from the French fishing villages, but the French ladies, some from the yacht, stood out, being dressed in something much closer to high fashion.

  All was gathering momentum. Rumours had circulated of something extra and all who had no very pressing business were there, including, Argent noticed, several Naval Officers, presumably from Minerve and Grampus. Argent looked around for General Hill and found him, wandering around greeting all and sundry with Sinead Malley on his arm. Fentiman took charge.

  “Come on, Sir. Let’s see what they’ve laid on to eat.”

  As they took themselves around the edge of the square to find any tables carrying food, they could see that the entertainments were in full swing. A band, composed of instruments of great variety, and the musicians’ nationalities not far behind, were straining to co-operate in Portuguese folk songs, whilst the centre of the square was occupied by tumblers of very high talent, which included several from the warships and no small number from Ariadne. Whilst the crowd yelled their appreciation and encouragement of the acrobatics, the three found a table with an array of large porcelain dishes containing a variety of types of stews, mostly fish, and others spread with preserved meats. However, there were no plates, the practice being to obtain a wide, thick slice of bread, pile on one’s fancy and then eat from there, with your fingers. If you were still hungry, you ate the plate! The next table supported barrels of wine.

  Argent, Fentiman, and Wentworth lost no time in dipping into the offerings and stood silently eating. Fentiman, unlike the other two, who were concentrating on the food, which was very good, saw Sanders, with the French girl. Sanders, still much wrapped in bandages, was being helped with his eating by the girl, amidst much giggling and amusement. Sanders saw them and motioned for his lady companion to follow him and both came over.

  “Sir, may I introduce Mademoiselle Angelie Picard?”

  Mme. Picard lowered her eyes, lowered her face and curtsied. The three, despite holding their food, bowed in return, and Argent handed his “plate” to Fentiman, to free himself to take her hand and kiss it.

  “Enchante’, Mademoiselle, Je suis très heureux de vous rencontrer.”

  At that point Argent’s command of French ended, but he was struck with the picture of a very pretty girl, 19 or 20, fair hair, striking blue eyes, slender, with pale skin. She was wearing a plain dress, but well cut and of good material.

  “Merci, M’sieur.”

  Sanders looked affectionately at his companion, very affectionately.

  “Angelie has not had the chance to thank you for her rescue.”

  He looked at her and she took her cue.

  “Je souhaite à merci pour l'économie nous, surtout avec la plupart d'entre nous l'être français, vos ennemis.”

  Argent was lost and looked at Sanders for a translation.

  “She says that she is grateful for the rescue, especially as so many of those rescued are French, our country’s enemies.”

  Argent looked at Angelie, who did not drop her eyes, but feelings rose powerfully within him at the thought of what they had rescued this girl from.

  “Please tell Mademoiselle Picard that the Royal Navy is at her service.”

  Sanders did so, and Angelie curtsied again. A huge grin spread across Sanders’ face.

  “We were both saying that this looks like a lot of fun, Sir. We intend to join in the dancing and anything else.”

  Now it was Argent’s turn to laugh.

  “You’ll be the turn of the show, I’m sure, with only one yardarm and a fender of swaddling over one eye.”

  Sanders displayed mock affront.

  “Nevertheless, I, we, intend to give it a go!”

  All laughed and it seemed that Angelie also understood. With a final curtsey, she took Sanders arm and both wandered off. Argent looked wistfully at the pair but, mercifully, with enough worries of his own, he didn’t let his thoughts dwell too long on the fact that the war would soon pull them apart.

  A juggler had just finished and the band now felt sufficiently rehearsed to begin their repertoire of dancing tunes. An ancient stood up, shouted something in Portuguese, and within seconds there were two long lines of partners. The band struck up and immediately there followed a whirl of arms, white legs and coloured skirts, the community section of the evening had begun in earnest. Argent suggested some wine and, at the wine ta
ble, each was given an earthenware mug, which they could then fill for themselves, as full as they chose. The three then stood and watched proceedings, before wandering around the edge of the square. Argent was the only Naval Captain there, but his right hand was very busy returning salutes from both Officers and men, many from the other two ships. They passed the Boatswains of the three warships, drinking and sharing stories, their ship emblems clear on their hats, their other Mates nearby. Argent was surprised and relieved; from the reception they had received on their entrance to the harbour, their meeting on shore had a much more likely outcome, a fistfight. He saw Sinead Malley whirling past, partnered by an Army Officer, both a blur of red, white, green, navy blue and mauve, then Bright and Trenchard cavorted past, both having a wonderful time partnering two local girls. Wentworth, for the first time, had wound himself up to say something.

  “Th-this is a g-good event, Sir. C-coming ashore l-l-like this, is doing us all, s-s-some good.”

  Argent waited patiently and indulgently.

  “You have absolutely the right of it, Mr. Wentworth. If nothing else, it gives us some idea of what we’re fighting for, and our rescuees are like lambs on a Spring day.”

  He turned to look at the dancing. It seemed that all that they had rescued were joining in the Portuguese reels and dances, getting the moves wrong, inevitably, but enjoying themselves immensely. The laughter and gaiety in such good company were plainly helping to heal the memory of what they had so recently endured and confine it back to the past.

  The dance ended and so had the wine in Argent’s mug. He was thinking about a re-fill when he was confronted by Sinaid Malley, stood foursquare in front of him. She was indistinguishable from a Portuguese peasant, apart from the tumbling auburn hair. She too had jacket, a’ la mode Portuguese, but it looked suspiciously like that of a Gun Captain, and gold earrings such as would be typical in the ears of the most self regarding topman. All was set off by a red kerchief and a gaudy patterned waist shawl. Her green eyes looked directly into his, then she produced a letter from inside the jacket.

  “General Hill says I am to give you this.”