The demonstration at the gun was observed in awed silence, the malevolent shape of the gun and its variety of ammunition suppressing any thoughts of any comment, either complimentary or critical. As the gun was run out, thoroughly displaying the evident effort required, several gasps were heard and not only from the Mayoress, when they heard from Argent that to beat the French they needed to fire three shots inside every five minutes, however long the action lasted and that Ariadne could consistently do it in four and a half. Thus, in quelled silence, they filed off to the galley. The Lady Mayoress asked to taste the left over stew from the Midday meal, but her distorted expression at the mouthful dissuaded any others curious enough to sample and none made enquiries. Mortimor’s only reaction was a scowl as they left and make a simple observation to Johnson and Jeremiah.
“What do they know about what it takes to work a ship, Watch on Watch?”
It was the sole time they heard him speak without adding a Bible quote, but it was merely a pause for thought.
“If the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch. Matthew 15, verse 14.” All done, madeira was served on the quarterdeck by a disapproving Mortimor, aided by Johnson and Jeremiah. All Officers were present to add to the hospitality and conviviality, the Mayoress making a maternal beeline for the Midshipmen. The sounding of five bells caused much amusement and at least provided a topic of conversation to explain that it was the equivalent of 2.30pm “land time”. They departed, some aided by Marines along the gangplank, for these had requested to sample the rum, in addition to the Madeira. Argent shook hands with the Mayor and felt his mood somewhat ameliorated by the genuine pleasure and gratitude shown by the portly, but personable figure. However, the Mayor was not the last to leave the quarterdeck. This was a thickset man in his early forties, short iron-grey hair, with curious dark scars on both his face and hands. He was evidently prosperous, dressed immaculately, but soberly, in a dark grey suit with the newly fashionable trousers extending down to his polished shoes. However, there was nothing in any way of ostentation, his snow-white linen showed at both his cuffs and above the plain waistcoat. Argent had noticed him often stand to merely observe the men about their duties, both aloft and on deck, his face showing contentment, even admiration, for what he saw. After the demonstration at the gun he had taken the trouble to shake Wood’s hand and that of the gun’s No. 2, and nod his thanks to the others. He had then pressed a silver shilling into the hand of the diminutive but delighted powder monkey. As he shook Argent’s hand he had made a curious comment.
“I’ve not seen better, Captain. Men knowing why they work. The reason why! That’s the secret.”
Argent politely observed the disembarkation of all, then took himself to his cabin. He finished some paperwork and the ship’s Log, then suddenly felt very tired. He took himself to bed and slept; better than he had for several weeks.
oOo
The two bells of the Second Dog Watch chimed in with the seven of the church clock on the quayside as the eight Officers of HMS Ariadne, plus their Surgeon, assembled at the embarkation port. Respectfully and back towards the bows stood the crew delegation, this being the bargecrew, Marine Sergeant Ackroyd, and all Warrant Officers, twelve in all, two extra above the ten. Ship’s Carpenter Frederick Baines had been added and Senior Bosun’s Mate Ball had sidled up at the back.
Arriving perfectly to time, the carriage, a large, open landau with the Willoughby crest, began using the space on the Navy mole to swing around to face the way that it had come, followed by the huge charabanc. The four chestnut horses on each could smell the salt of the sea and their heads nodded and swung throughout the manoeuvre, but the coachmen had them under perfect control. In the light of the two lanterns either side of the entryport, Argent gave his three Midshipmen a final check, but he had no concerns over the appearance of the seamen. Mortimor had got the three up to standard, in that regard they were identical, but apprehension showed on the face of Daniel Berry. It matched that in the countenance of Benjamin Wentworth, but there was little that Argent felt he could do other than to clap each on the arm.
“Cheer up, the pair of you. At least the food will be a damn sight better than what you’ve been used to!”
Both smiled, but then looked down and away. Each had their own Devils to contend with when mixing with high society, but both Trenchard and Bright were plainly in the highest of spirits and full of eager anticipation. Fentiman also showed something different in his eyes, but Sanders looked what he was, a competent and solid Officer, engaged, this time, on some social duty. If he remembered his last treatment at the hands of Broke and Cheveley, he didn’t show it.
Each Officer wore his sword and the Midshipmen their dirks. Argent had given the matter no thought, to wear it or not, until he saw his own sword laid out by Mortimor on top of his newly laundered dress coat. Mortimor had acted on his own opinion of what a King’s Officer, particularly one from his ship, should look like, then, somehow, the same message had been relayed to all others. Thus, it was as very chivalric bearers of the King’s Commission that they were piped formally, and unexpectedly, through the port by the attendant Fraser and his mates, then down the gangplank. With four swords erect beside the cramped left knees of their owners, the carriage door was closed, completed with a click more akin to that from an expensive mantel clock.
The ride through the streets was dark, but no drizzle, and the conversation came from the Midshipmen who answered questions on their homes and families. What noise there was, besides the eight sets of hooves clattering the cobbles, came from the charabanc behind, twelve seamen, all in good spirits, not at all depressed by the heavy presence of Sailing Master McArdle, this thoroughly countered by the addition of Senior Bosun’s Mate Ball, who was undoubtedly good company for the likes of Captain’s Bargemen, Carpenters, Bosuns, Gunners, Quartermasters and Marine Sergeants.
In what seemed like no time they reached the high and imposing gates. Two groundsmen opened the gates, but they did not drive through. The coachman had positioned the coach door to face the open gates, the dark drive extending beyond them to the lights of the house, that could just be made out through the trees, all now almost bereft of leaves. All retained their seats in the carriage, with growing puzzlement, until the lead coachman turned and solved their mystery, at least partially.
“I’ve orders to drop you, ‘ere, Sirs. Lady Grant’s orders.”
It was Fentiman who spoke to answer.
“But it’s two hundred yards, and more, up to the house!”
“I agree, Sir, but that’s how her Ladyship would have it.”
Argent intervened.
“Come on. No point arguing, it’s a mild night and not a damp one.”
The noise from the charabanc had ceased with their arrival, the occupants overhearing the discussion with the lead coachman, but they, too, alighted at the same time as their Officers. The two carriages took themselves quickly on up the road leaving the guests to begin their walk, which they did, until interrupted by McArdle.
“Sir! This’ll nay serve, Sir. To wander up yon drive like a bunch of hobbledehoys off on a jaunt. There’s nigh on twenty of us, we should form up and march, Sir. That’s a cable length, more, here tae there!”
Argent looked at Fentiman, through the gloom each could see little of the other and neither spoke an opinion, but perhaps McArdle was right and it would do no harm. He turned to his marching expert, Marine Sergeant Ackroyd.
“Sergeant Ackroyd, could you form us up, in some sort of order for a parade? Through you, of course, Captain Brakespeare.”
Brakespeare’s gravelly voice emerged from the darkness.
“As you choose, Captain. I’ll gladly accede to Ackroyd over such a matter.”
Once told, “We are in your hands, Sergeant”, Ackroyd collected his parade and pushed, pulled, and persuaded all into some sort of order. Basically, Argent was in the lead, then his Officers, then the Midshipmen, in a line of three. The twelve seamen gave no proble
m, these being put into three lines of four, with himself as right marker.
“All’s ready, Sir.”
“From you, Ackroyd.”
“By the left, forward march. Left. Left. Left right. Left. Left. Left right.”
With each carefully listening to the crunch of feet on the gravel and watching as best they could the man in front, a good rhythm was achieved and they progressed with a good swing of the arms. They had marched not a minute when from both sides came a host of lanterns which must have been lit, but masked. The lights progressed from the trees marking the back edge of the lawns, to move down to the path and, in the growing light from a hundred lanterns, could be seen hundreds of people, who immediately began cheering and applauding as their small parade continued between the growing crowds on either side. Argent heard Ackroyd respond behind him, responding he hoped, for discipline’s sake, to the men alone, but it was audible nevertheless, although at least two there outranked him and could have him arrested.
“Up straight, you bastards! Chests out, arms up.”
Argent recognised no one but he heard the word “Ruanporth” several times and could only conclude that at least the whole population of that village were there, arranged secretly up in the trees, waiting to show their appreciation and gratitude for the return of those taken. Argent heard Fentiman, plainly moved, speak from just behind his right shoulder.
“Any doubts now, Sir, on whether we did the right thing?”
Argent shook his head in the dark, more to answer himself than to answer Fentiman. They marched on through the throng until they reached the front portico, where Ackroyd resumed command.
“Parade. Halt!”
They came to a clean halt, but they were facing along the front of the house, not turned to face it. Ackroyd continued.
“Parade. Left face!”
All swiveled on their left foot and no-one fell over. By this time Admiral and Lady Grant had arrived on the steps, all fairly well lit by several lanterns and candelabra’s held by servants. Ackroyd wasn’t finished.
“Parade. Off hats.”
With all head-dress removed from his special guests, Grant came forward extending his hand to Argent, his face beaming, his smile showing even in the poor light falling on the drive. His Lady was just behind him, equally aglow, but it was Grant who spoke their greetings.
“Welcome, Captain. And to your good Officers and men.”
He had turned to beam a huge grin further at the assembled ranks, whilst his wife placed her hands on Argents elbows and smiled up at him. Argent was sure that she was crying, but Grant had returned his attention to him.
“We hope you didn’t mind the walk, but my wife’s people wanted to make a show of some kind, to convey their thanks, you see, and we thought this the best way to do it.”
Before Argent could reply someone shouted “Three huzzas for Ariadne!” and when that was done, the cheering and clapping was renewed. The din prevented Grant from being heard and so he waved them all inside and there he explained the arrangements.
“I’ve laid on something further down the hall for your good lads, in the Great Hall. We are in the Dining Room.”
Argent took his cue and turned to the indispensable Ackroyd.
“Sergeant, take the men on down to the Great Hall. It’s the last door on the right, just follow that fellow there.”
Argent had no need to make any indication. A footman had arrived to solve the division between Officers and men and Ackroyd, the Warrant Officers, and seamen took themselves further on, to disappear off to the right. Grant stood waiting.
“Now, Captain, we are in here.”
Grant himself opened the door and allowed Argent to lead his Officers through. Inside was brightly illuminated by hundreds of candles and, as the clapping started, Argent could see that all the fellow guests were on the far side of the table, all standing to applaud their entrance, as they made their way to the empty chairs on their side and take their seats. As the ovation and bravoes died away, Grant took his place at the head of the table, but he continued to stand.
“I’m remaining standing the better to make formal welcome to Captain Argent and the good Officers of His Majesty’s Frigate Ariadne!”
The applause broke out again, but Grant raised his hand.
“Who, by the quality of their seamanship and courage, have returned the loved one’s of our community to live once more amongst us.”
More applause, accompanied by “Here him”, and polite rapping on the table.
“Gentlemen, we bid you the heartiest of welcomes!”
Argent felt the need to stand again and make some kind of reply.
“Admiral and Lady Grant. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your generous welcome. We are overwhelmed by your kindness, but would wish to point out that what we did was merely to re-affirm the reason why the Royal Navy exists, and duty is duty, whether to the King or merely to his honest citizens. But we do thank you for this good table that you have honoured us with.”
Argent sat down to more applause, but the food was arriving, prompted by a nod from her Ladyship and so Argent set about organising his napkin. It was then he noticed an amazing ice sculpture in the middle of the table, of a female figure, clad in Grecian robes and holding a crown of stars, which immediately made it impossible for her to be anyone other that the Goddess Ariadne. Looking beyond, he was able to view his fellow guests opposite and most noticeable was Charlotte, looking achingly lovely, also the two farmers from the last occasion he was there, and their wives. He recognised both Pargeter and Guilder from the church and what he guessed were two Ruanporthans, perhaps Councillors, and their wives. The one blot in the line was Admiral Broke, but at least his face was merely deadpan and not scowling.
It was the quality of the food that settled the table down from the high theatre of the sailors’ entrance. All fell to eating and the meal progressed at a leisurely but well marshalled pace; soup, fish, meat, pudding, cheese and coffee. Surprisingly, little conversation came across the table and Argent was pleased to see his men attending to their plates with gusto, particularly the Midshipmen, all three taking more when it was offered. What did pass across was a question from him to Charlotte regarding the whereabouts of Captain Blake and the reply was that he was out with Wellington in the Peninsula. Some toasts were proposed, the most heartfelt coming from one of the Ruanporth men, who included the fact that his own daughter had been amongst those returned home. His wife felt the need to bury her face in her napkin, but it re-emerged to find all smiling in her direction and Sanders proposing a toast to their village, its good inhabitants and its peace and prosperity.
The Royal Toast was conducted in a most convincing manner by Trenchard and then the ladies took their leave, whilst the port and cigars arrived. This was the cue for the story of the rescue and all were questioned on the part they played, particular attention being paid to the Midshipmen, who were required to describe in detail, their role with their shells from the foretop, which gave rise to great amusement. Broke’s face grew more sour as the personal tales unfolded, all modestly understating the difficulties and danger, but none mentioned the murder of the child. With the taking of the slaver being the sole topic of conversation, and it being wholly in praise of Ariadne’s exploits, Broke, with no ally to provide support, could only hold his peace and suffer the many compliments crossing the table.
It was not long before they rose to join the ladies, but, as the others left, Grant gave a signal that he wished for words with Argent. They were in marked contrast to the mood of the previous events of the evening.
“I’ll not beat about the bush, Argent, simply to say that Budgen has sent me your Log and is enquiring over a Court Martial. I greatly doubt that the Admiralty will even convene one and I’m sure nothing will come of it, even if it does take place, but I have little choice, my hands are tied, so I have to send it on. My own sentiments are expressed by the events this evening. I hope you understand?”
Argent
smiled at the kindly but concerned face.
“I do, Sir. You have no choice. There is an issue and it must be resolved. And I appreciate that you have set yourself out on a limb, giving support this evening to events which could lead to a Court Martial.”
Argent paused and took a deep breath.
“But I welcome it, Sir, I have no regrets. I welcome its being examined in Court.”
Grant nodded, but his face remained serious.
“I’m pleased you see it that way, Argent, but I have another issue. Lady Grant has made known to me the problem you are having with the Deeds to your farm. Enclosures here are imminent and the County Court will be acknowledging claims next week. Now ….”
He set himself, as if for some serious speech, finger raised.
“Just yesterday afternoon, whilst out on her ride, she herself saw Broke and Cinch coming out of Lanbe Barton, each with a face like a thunderhead in a force ten. It’s no secret that they are both set to pounce on anyone who cannot provide proof of ownership. She also told me that Pargeter said this evening, simply in passing, that your sisters came to call and how pleased he was that they have taken the parish registers up to your house to “undertake some family research. So pleased to help in such a thing,” he said. This doesn’t take much deduction. Broke and Cinch left without what they wanted and those registers must have been part of the cause. I’d say they supported your claim.”
Grant looked at Argent, but the expression received in return was puzzled and waiting for more.
A Question of Duty Page 57