A Question of Duty

by Martin McDowell

  Ariadne cleared the headland and turned to starboard and come to her best point of sailing and steer almost due West, to progress, under all common sail below topgallants, along the East-West coastline, a course that would keep her clear of Brest Roads. The Noon Sight confirmed where they knew they were anyway and all obtained a reading that even the hyper-critical McArdle could not cavil over. This included Berry, progressing well under Wentworth’s tutelage and a new addition, one Christopher Wheeler, also known as “Smallsize”. He had proved to be an adept pupil at his letters and ciphering and was being started on the training to at least become a Master’s Mate.

  Argent, being content with the heading of his ship, spent much time studying the cliff, constantly off his starboard side. From time to time he studied a group of horsemen, three, perhaps four, moving their way along the cliff, keeping pace with them and, through his glass he saw that often one or two waved their hats. He put their presence down to no more than a wish to convey thanks and make a long goodbye and hoped that they were from Loctudy. He studied them once more, discerned no change, then fell to brooding over his two personal concerns. Sinead Malley had given him some comfort, because sure enough; there was a lot of truth in what she said. Public opinion would be wholly for him, but their Naval Lordships rarely took even scant notice of such as that, certainly not enough to influence their decisions. Unless something came from the King! Now that was a thought, but the thought was shattered by a shout from the masthead.

  “Sail ho! Two. Off the starboard bow, comin’ off the headland.”

  Argent hurried down the starboard gangway and climbed rapidly to the foretopmast crosstrees. Ariadne had made good speed along the coast from Loctudy to the open sea and the headland marked the end of the run of the East-West coast. From there it was a simple Northwest run to Quessant, but what he saw emerging from beyond the headland made that run anything but simple. Mere seconds through his glass showed that these new arrivals were both powerful French frigates and seconds more showed that they had spotted him and they were matching his course, turning seawards as he was and forming line abreast to block any escape, both taking in sail to reduce their speed. This would give them the option of the one engaging Ariadne, whilst the furthest sailed around to his unengaged side when Ariadne caught up with them, as was inevitable, she had no choice if she was to reach the open sea. In that event, they would come onto her from both sides.

  He yelled down from his position to clear for action then followed the words himself to the deck. Once there he found the ship already alive with running figures as the ship was readied for combat, which seemed imminent. On his quarterdeck he looked again at the pennant, still showing a wind South Southwest. This gave him the weather gauge, just, but with odds of two to one, what did that matter and they were across his route home? His mind considered the options. To sail between the pair and the coast? On their present course, the gap between the shore was slowly growing. He looked through his telescope to examine the sea room he had, now a clearer picture as they finally passed the headland, but one of the Captains had thought of that. Both had shortened sail further to the point of being almost hove to, there to wait for this move, if chosen, and cut him off and have him against the coastline. If he made for the open sea, they would resume line abreast and both descend upon him, but he had to decide quickly. He decided to cut inside. They’d meet him one at a time, but perhaps Ariadne’s speed would see them through and her shallower draught could perhaps give them the option of sailing inshore where they couldn’t.

  McArdle had anticipated the need for a chart and appeared onto the quarterdeck with the exact one. It was spread on the cabinlight and Argent saw what he didn’t want to see. The chart showed no shallows, merely a deep descent from the cliff. The heavier French frigates could come almost as close to the shoreline as he, all that could get them away from the French guns was speed. He strode to the rail and found Bosun’s Mate Henry Ball waiting.

  “Topgallants and Royals. Mizzen, main and foretopsail staysails. All jibsails.”

  Ball ran to the bows gathering men for the huge task, but Argent noted the immediate reaction of the mizzentopmen, they were already in the shrouds, just ahead of all others.

  On the gundeck, the crew of number three starboard listened to the orders and the running feet. Morris looked at Cable, him with his fingers nervously gripping and relaxing on the shaft of the sponge.

  “Can you write?”

  Cable looked quizzically at Morris, why now such a question?

  “Yes, I can.”

  “You made a Will?”

  “No.”

  “Then get some paper. You got time an’ the Purser ‘ll ‘ave some. This be a very bad fix we’n in, an’ I suspects we’ll get pummelled into surrender. Two to one, an’ pushed to the shore, I don’t see us gettin’ out. They’ll disable our sails and that’ll be that.”

  Cable looked terrified, but Morris said no more. His crew checked their gun, Dedman the charges in the saltbox, whilst Pierce and Wilmott chipped flakes of rust from the roundshot in the garlands. Smallsize stood close to Morris as he tried the flintlock again for a spark. It did.

  The two frigates had increased sail to bring them closer to Ariadne’s speed so that she could not sprint past. They knew Ariadne’s options and acted to cover both. They split, one to sail Northward along the coast, the other to cover the possibility of her heading for the open sea. Whichever way Ariadne went, one would engage and hold her, probably laying across her bows, until the other sailed up, perhaps across her stern to rake her. Argent had to grudgingly admit that both Captains thoroughly knew their business. The Captain of the frigate out to sea had taken his ship just to the point where Ariadne could escape by sailing close-hauled to windward, the maximum into the wind. Any course further South would be too far against the wind, even for Ariadne; she would stall, “in irons”. There would be no losing these as they had out sailed La Mouette.

  However, Argent had changed his mind and now looked on this direction, straight out, at least close to it, as their best chance, now that the route North along the coast was closed. He would have too little manoeuvring room against the coast, but out to sea, at least that was possible, he was confident that no ship could match Ariadne manoeuvring at speed. Argent had decided.

  “Mr. Short. Steady as she goes. West North West.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir. As she goes.”

  Argent turned to the Midshipman on Watch, a ghostly looking Thomas Trenchard.

  “All Officers to me, if you please Mr. Trenchard. Also Mr. Fraser.”

  Trenchard answered “Aye, aye, Sir”, in a voice less than steady and moved to the companionway, but Argent didn’t like the hunch of his shoulders.

  “Straighten up, please, Mr. Trenchard. We’re going into action. Your own bearing can have an effect on the men. I think you’ll find that the way that they are carrying themselves will give you the confidence that you should be giving them.”

  Trenchard straightened up and descended the ladder. Within minutes Fentiman, Sanders and Wentworth were in Argent’s presence. Fraser arrived seconds later.

  “I’m going upwind as we did with La Mouette, but we won’t get past that seaward frigate without taking some of his fire. So, I intend to draw him upwind to larboard and then dodge downwind to his starboard. He may expose enough of his stern if he turns upwind too far. This wind may even lock him “in irons”, if he turns too far into it. So, Mr. Fraser.”

  Fraser came to the attention. Strife and danger seemed to make him more formal.

  “Ready all staysails not yet set. All. And we must lose our common sails very quickly so’s to enable our fore and aft to draw quickly and move us upwind, and hopefully draw him across that way. But, when we dodge downwind, immediately to common sail, all plain sail and set at your fastest. We will need the speed almost in an instant. Are you clear?”

  Fraser had remained at attention and saluted.

  “Aye aye, Sir.”

&n
bsp; “Thank you, Mr. Fraser.”

  As Fraser hurried off, Argent turned to his Officers.

  “Load chain, larboard battery. It would be better for us to damage his sails than attempt to rake at long range at a bad angle. Round shot for the starboard. I expect an exchange with him over there at some point, so, counter battery in his case. Two quick broadsides into him to reduce his potency will serve us the best, I feel.”

  Argent examined their faces. Each was calm, but stern, and, in response, Argent did his best to look calm, professional, and cheerful.

  “So, to your stations, Gentlemen, and good luck to us all. We are Ariadne, a “bone to be chewed”. Mr. Fentiman “Beat to Quarters.”

  As the Marine Drummers sounded their urgent rattle, Sanders remained behind.

  “Sir. Sir, I feel responsible. My delay. Five, ten, minutes could have gotten us to the open sea.”

  Argent looked at him and smiled.

  “Dismiss the thought, Jonathan. If any blame lies anywhere, it lies with me. I should have cracked on sail as soon as we picked you up. I didn’t. Your five, ten, minutes made little difference, little or none.”

  Argent let the pause hang, the drumming filling the space.

  “Now, one thing you must do. Get our passengers down into the hold, but, if it seems that we may well sink, I leave it with you to bring them up. Pass that on to our Midshipmen. We can’t have only you or I with that knowledge. Just in case!”

  Argent smiled and Sanders saluted and left with no further acknowledgment. Argent raised his telescope to examine their opponents. For the first time it struck him that their hulls were more a deep purple that the usual French washed out maroon. At that moment the challenge was issued; both frigates showed their Colours, an intimidating swathe of red, white, and blue, as big as a mainsail. As if for emphasis, both raised their gunport lids and the blank stare of the gun muzzles soon appeared all along their sides. Argent turned to Trenchard.

  “The Colours, Mr. Trenchard, if you please.”

  Trenchard strode to the locker with all the solemnity he could muster and, with due solemnity, Ariadne’s Colours were, also, spread to the wind. However, despite the display of Naval ardour, the manoeuvring had continued. The frigate on the coast had divined Ariadne’s broad intention, to run seaward, and her Captain was using his big stern driver to swing his stern around to point his bows to the open sea, the quicker to support his compatriot, who would now, almost certainly be in action first. Argent watched the movement of the two frigates against his own. He was content with their positions, as content as he could be in such a situation, the frigate to the left was idling in the wind, waiting for Ariadne’s move, left or right. He needed to move her left, before swinging right himself, but the other frigate on the coast side was now powering up close hauled to close that door. Whatever, the die was now cast.

  “Mr. Fraser. Staysails. Furl all other.”

  The sail change came in minutes and Argent gave his order.

  “Up helm. Come to West South West.”

  The calm repeat came and Ariadne swerved to her new course, but two minutes later their immediate opponent had also added sail and moved leftwards, to larboard, to cut off the narrow wind channel that Ariadne had. Any further left, upwind, and Ariadne herself would be in irons, too far into the wind, and then the contest would be all over.

  Suddenly came a cannon shot and Argent looked around. There was no gunsmoke either from his ship, nor his opponents. He was perplexed until Trenchard called out.

  “Sir. From the headland, Sir. They’ve fired a gun.”

  As if for confirmation, another fired, the smoke swirling Northward. Argent pulled out his telescope, but it could be seen with a naked eye. The headland had it’s own signal station and, there were some signal flags already up the mast and the semaphore arms were moving frantically. Argent turned away, he had his own concerns. His moment had come, desperate as it may be.

  “Down helm. Come to North West.”

  Short acknowledged and swung the spokes, whilst Argent went to the rail to see Bosun Fraser screaming like a madman, but the topmen were already in the shrouds. The sails changed and Ariadne picked up speed as her bowsprit swung across the intimidating picture of her opponent framed within the rigging of Ariadne’s bows. Then Argent saw what he couldn’t believe, first one, then the other, of his opponents lowered their Colours. For whatever reason, they were not going to fight. They were not surrendering, ridiculous thought, their guns were still run out, but they were not going to fight. To confirm this, both were shortening sail, the frigate to the right actually turning into the wind to heave to. He leaned over the rail to shout at his loudest.

  “All guncrews stand down. Close all flintlocks.”

  He was still uncertain, even perplexed, but Ariadne stood on for the open sea, on a course between the two.

  “Steady as she goes, Mr. Short.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir. Steady as she goes.”

  Ariadne sailed so close to the stern of the left frigate that they could read her name. “Renard”. He knew that to mean “Fox” but what drew his strongest attention were the Officers of Renard along her taffrail, all with raised hats. Argent climbed onto the larboard carronade and pulled himself up next to the larboard mizzen shrouds to stand on the rail, where he raised his own hat, very high. From behind him Captain of Marines Breakspeare drew his own conclusion.

  “Seems that our call at Loctudy has spread about, Sir, and they’re letting us home.”

  oOo

  Quessant was long past and The Channel felt of late October, the long rollers parading up from the Western Approaches to assault the coasts of Cornwall and Southern Ireland alike, or push on into the space between, there to wreck the tranquillity of the Irish Sea. Ariadne, heading for Ireland, found herself traversing across their ordered ranks, causing a slow “corkscrew” for the inhabitants of her now less crowded hull, but all within were now experienced sailors enough to feel no queasiness from the up and down and the side to side. If they now had any problem it was coping with the chill in the air, such a contrast to that of the milder Spanish and French waters. The crew were now rarely seen without a warm jacket or some kind or canvas overshirt and their remaining passengers were wrapped in whatever was to hand, mostly loose Arab garments over the clothes they had been taken prisoner in. However, if the climate had grown chill their thoughts were warmed as Ariadne, under all common sail, harnessed the stiff breeze to wing them closer home.

  Argent was off Watch but still on deck, where there was a whole choice of distractions compared to his cabin, where, sat alone, he would soon sink into pessimistic meditation. Feeling the need to move, he levered himself from the rail of the quarterdeck, the weather side, he checked the set of the sails and then noted some topmen working aloft. He finally set off for a turn around the deck, crossing the quarterdeck to start with the starboard gangway. He manoeuvred himself around a bunch of children being entertained by Kaled juggling with some kind of spinning top that he tossed up with a length of twine held between two handles and noted that some sailors nearby also chuckled at the sight. The laughing of the children, their evident glee, did some work on Argent and he smiled himself, albeit briefly. As he progressed forward he found himself answering the challenging stare of Sinead Malley, she having ascended the forecastle companionway as soon as she saw him leave the sanctum of his quarterdeck. Argent stopped and touched his hat.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Malley.”

  She did no more than nod. With him she remained in ill mood, mostly because she couldn’t understand, nor do anything to alleviate, the depression that she saw upon him during each occasion he came within her closely focused gaze.

  “It would seem that children playing are one of the few things that can cheer you up.”

  She had long dispensed with formality towards his rank, but Argent gave a half smile and nodded.

  “That’s about right. My sister has a child, he brings a smile to all our faces ……�
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  But the sentence died. Sinead took it up.

  “Have you any of your own?”

  “No, Miss Malley. I’m not married.”

  She paused to look at him, the scowl disappearing for the briefest moment.

  “And you’re still walking around with a face like a week of wet Mondays!”

  Argent managed another half smile.

  “I’m a Naval Captain, Miss Malley. Most of the time I feel the weight of my command. At sea I may be the master of all around, but the responsibility that comes with it, can crowd your thoughts. It often leaves little room for humour.”

  She made no reply but turned to lean on the rail and watch the waves racing astern. Argent could have taken that as a termination of their talk, but, for some reason he decided not to and he joined her at the rail. She looked sideways and up at him. Had she been facing inwards someone may have seen the warmth in her look, but almost looking out over the empty ocean it was for her alone to know of it.

  “When will we reach Killannan?”

  Argent smiled again and pointed to a seagull scudding across the waves.

  “You see that gull. He, she, sleeps on the Scillies. If this wind holds, sometime late tomorrow you’ll see home again. If we hold to ten knots or close, which is nothing special for Ariadne, we can make 240 miles from Noon to Noon, you know. I’d say Killannon was about 200, so tomorrow should see it.”

  Now it was her turn to smile.

  “Boasting about your ship again.”

  This time he grinned openly and slapped his palm on the polished rail and rubbed the wood as though passing on congratulations.

  “Yes, and I make no excuses for that.”

  “About Kaled. I, we’d, like him to come off with us. He’d like to an’ all, but it’s your decision.”

  Argent paused for thought.

  “You say he was a slave himself?”

  “We’re convinced of it.”

  “And he told you of our arrival?”

  “That he did.”