A Question of Duty

by Martin McDowell

  “Starboard tack, Mr. Fraser. Close hauled, wind one point on the quarter. Down all staysails, set all plain sail.”

  “It’s already aloft, Sir! All plain sail.”

  The reply brought home to Argent how distracted he was. He rebuked himself thoroughly, he had a job to do that was not receiving his fullest attention.

  “My apologies Mr. Fraser. I think the main staysail will draw and so will both spritsails.”

  Fraser knuckled his forehead and took himself off, shaking his head. The Watch busied themselves to carry out the new orders, the topmen and those remaining on deck working in close conjunction to set the ship for the new tack. However, the wind was now almost astern and Argent was disappointed, but not surprised, that there was no appreciable change in speed. However, they had made a good landfall and the island at the mouth of the harbour grew steadily in size. Argent looked at his watch, it was now gone eleven. If the auction was not late afternoon, he would be too late, but he became resigned. He was powerless, he told to himself, and then he brought his attention back to what he should be about, that being entering a harbour with the purpose of gaining recruits for his undermanned ship. The former was in hand for the moment; time to see about the latter. He returned to the quarterdeck and found Fentiman.

  “Mr. Fentiman. I will be going ashore in my barge, but we are here to try to find volunteers, or even a few “hard bargains” in the town gaol. I’d like you to accompany me in the longboat, with a party that can put on a show, but also press a few if needs be, come evening. A bit of finery and a few tales of adventure and prizemoney will not come amiss. Guncaptains and Topcaptains should best fit that bill, and my own bargecrew could well add to the theatre, and muscle for the press. Can I leave that with you?”

  Fentiman saluted.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Argent returned to the job in hand.

  “What tide, Mr. McArdle?”

  The Sailing Master had already addressed the matter.

  “Top o’ the tide, Sir. Just. Ye’ll have plenty o’ room!”

  “First bit of luck for too long a while!”

  “As ye say, Sir, aye aye.”

  Argent looked at his Sailing Master, but found him staring impassively ahead and so he concerned himself with the affairs of the ship. They were passing the island and Kinsale Roads were opening up, due North. The last time they had anchored outside and gone in by small boat, but, he reasoned, the sight of Ariadne may induce a few extra recruits. With all plain sail and more, Ariadne was on six knots, approximately running pace, therefore, a few more minutes, he concluded, and they would reduce to topsails and courses. However, the few minutes extended out to almost half an hour, before they hauled their wind onto the larboard tack to turn Westwards into Kinsale, the houses of which could just be seen at the end of the long arm of the harbour, picked out in bright and cheery colour, even on so dank a day. Holding to the right hand side of the channel, they held the wind that now swept down off the hills to their left, this good breeze taking them between Charles’ Fort on the mainland and James’ Fort far up on the headland, this amazing landform created by the sharp left turn of the estuary further inland. Both ship and stone respectfully dipped their colours to the other. They had reached the turn, which at sea would require a full tack, but Argent decided that a bit of a show would not come amiss, especially as a crowd was gathering along the nearest quayside.

  “Mr. Fraser. In all plain sail, set all fore and aft.”

  Fraser turned to run down the larboard gangway, but Argent had more to say.

  “We have an audience, Mr. Fraser. Sharp and lively will do no harm.”

  Fraser ran down the larboard gangway, shouting first for “all hands” and “all Bosuns”. As the rigging became black with men, Fraser issued his final instructions.

  “I wants it smart, you bastards! Smart! Smart as paint!”

  Smart it was. The square sails were gone in minutes to be replaced by the staysails that flew up to their top pulleys. The extra time of them holding the wind for the final yards took Ariadne perfectly to a prominent mooring buoy and, with the staysails holding her against the slow ebb of the tide, George Fraser himself commanded the gig that was waiting to take the cable to the buoy. A double loop through the ring brought the ship to her mooring and the tail end thrown up to Henry Ball for the final securing completed the job. All sails were furled. Ariadne had arrived.

  oOo

  Both boats pulled purposefully for the quayside, their oars not only in time within their own crews, but in time boat with boat; the display of Naval class and style was to begin from the very outset. All were in their best finery, including a squad of Marines, sat red and upright in the bows of the longboat, but Argent sat in the stern of his barge, looking glumly at his watch. The mournful single bell of the clock on the quayside told of one o’ clock, as confirmed by his own timepiece, if the auction was in the morning, he was now too late; but perhaps it would be in the afternoon, or even the evening. He could only hope.

  On the quayside, formalities had to be performed. There stood the same Port Commodore Harper, perhaps with a little more flesh on his bones, but his face the same as July, showing a formal yet kindly welcome, but plainly curious. He stepped forward as Argent mounted the top step to the quayside.

  “Captain Argent! Again you surprise us, and this time you have brought in your whole ship.”

  He let the silence hang.

  “You have orders?”

  Argent handed over Budgen’s order. Harper read it, and then studied the signature.

  “Budgen again. Still in place, I see. Is he well?”

  “When I left him, Sir, yes, tolerably well.”

  “Well now, let’s see. He signs himself per pro Admiral Grant, so I suppose we must jump about to obtain you some recruits.”

  He allowed his arm holding the paper to fall. His speech was sharp and clipped.

  “You’re not the first surprise. We had a Marine Captain Baker through here, some days prior to Christmas. Came through and went away, in a fast cutter, quick as a flash, carrying a bag of some form of stuff, and left me with the job of putting a garrison into Fallows place, Grant’s orders again. He never took a bite nor a drink in my eyesight; first Marine to refuse a good feed that I’ve heard of.”

  Argent smiled inwardly, but Harper looked again at the orders and then spoke directly to Argent.

  “You are welcome to set up your show, of course. I would advise the square, half a cable up that street there.”

  He indicated with a pointed finger.

  “We have some in the gaol, I feel sure, and I’ll contact the Magistrate, to meet you there, or whoever you delegate.”

  He grinned, the humour not mislaid on his face.

  “There’ll be more than one who’ll regret the extra pints and quarts of last night, eh, Argent?”

  Argent managed a half smile, then looked behind to gratefully see Fentiman approaching, having climbed his own set of steps to the quayside.

  “Absolutely, Sir, but may I introduce my First, Lieutenant Henry Fentiman. I would wish to leave the recruiting business to him, Sir. I have some affairs here of my own, which I would like to take this opportunity to deal with. If that falls in with your own needs, Sir?”

  Harper looked from one Officer to the other, then stretched forward to shake Fentiman’s hand.

  “Certainly, Captain. Please to be our guest. Pleasurable I hope? A little of that added to business does not come amiss here. This is Ireland after all!”

  “Yes Sir.”

  Argent paused.

  “So, if we may?”

  “Of course. But please to call in before you sail. There are the usual formalities that are unavoidable.”

  Argent saluted, as did Fentiman, and the Port Commodore turned and walked at leisurely pace through the crowd, now significantly grown, of curious onlookers. Argent took a deep breath and let it out.

  “Henry. The Commodore recommends starting in the squ
are, up that street there.”

  Argent indicated with an inclination of his head.

  “But, with this crowd, I can see no harm in a bit of a bellow, here, on the quayside. Can I leave that with you?”

  Fentiman looked at his recruiting party; they had already begun, led by Fraser. He was proclaiming, with his topmast voice, the wonders and rewards of a life in the Royal Navy, much backed up by the grinning, bedecked “Captains”, all nodding in agreement. Sanders was present and despite the dignity of his Officer’s uniform, he also was all smiles and gentle bonhomie.

  “I’ll take the Marines to the gaol, Sir, and see what’s there. Will a Magistrate confirm my choice, do you think?”

  “Almost certain. According to Harper, him just left, a Magistrate should meet you there, but first you must find it.”

  Argent’s patience had run out.

  “As must I, find a certain place. I’ll find you in the square or here, agreed?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  But this to Argent’s back. He was gone, into the crowd, heading, as was his best guess, towards the busiest street that would lead to the most important part of town. Argent entered into its crowded and narrow confines and, as a statement of faith, joined the stream of people moving up to what must be the Town Hall or somesuch. He saw two Militiamen coming down the other way and he moved across to stand in front of them. They immediately came to a very passable full attention.

  “I’m looking for the building where today’s auction was, is, held. I’d be obliged for your help.”

  The shorter of the two took the initiative.

  “Yes Sir. It’s my belief that such is held in the rooms of Stanhope and Murphy, Sir. I know that ‘cos me Mother’s a sweeper there, Sir.”

  Nothing more was forthcoming. Argent moved the conversation on.

  “And this place is where?”

  The Militiaman thought, then looked at his companion, as if for confirmation.

  “On up, past the Town Hall, you’ll know that by it’s clock above the door, then, on the left, the second, no third, turning, on the left. Joe, am I right?”

  Both Militiamen nodded at each other. The shorter one continued.

  “Yes, that’ll be right, Sir. Third left, after the clock.”

  Argent nodded, whilst finding two single shillings in his pocket. He handed one to each.

  “Have a drink on me. I’m obliged.”

  The shorter replied.

  “Obliged we are to you, your Honour, now. We hope that you find it easy, as ye should.”

  Both saluted smartly and Argent returned the salute and hurried on. The clock soon appeared above and ahead and, once past, Argent counted the streets on his left. At the third he found the need to check his bearings, so he asked a passerby.

  “Excuse me, Stanhope and Murphy?”

  The first reply was the finger, pointed down the street, this then confirmed by the second form of indication.

  “Down there. You’ll see it on your right. The place has a big overhang.”

  Argent nodded his thanks and hurried on. He saw the overhang immediately, but, after a few steps more, his spirits sank. A servant was carrying in a big auction sign and there were very few people around, merely one or two either going in or out or merely standing. Then he pulled hope back up within himself, “Perhaps that’s because all is still in session.” He continued on and entered the double doors, then his spirits did wholly deflate. Once inside he could see into the auction hall and it was empty, save a few servants removing chairs and two important looking characters at the top table. He went in and approached these. His uniform captured their attention.

  “Excuse me, but may I enquire? Was the Fallows estate sold?”

  The one in the biggest chair answered.

  “It was.”

  Then he continued, with feeling.

  “And at a scrawny price, too, even for the deadalive hole that it is, but sure, it’s gone.”

  Argent’s shoulders sank, then he heard the voice.

  “You’re late!”

  He turned around and it was Sinead, her face turned up to him, bathing him in her own creation of sunshine; bright and happy, even in the gloomy room.

  “I’m late.”

  “Yes. Late! Y’are!”

  But she was now holding the buttons on his left cuff and all kinds of things were going through his mind, but he held to the point and blurted out the question.

  “Fallows’ estate, who got it? Plainly it wasn’t me, perhaps I could buy it off them. I’ve heard that the price was low.”

  She looked at his face and grinned, her mouth and eyes in pure harmony.

  “Then, sure, you’d be buying it off yourself!”

  Argent’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but Sinead was moving on.

  “Sure, now just how much of a fool d’you think I am? It was as plain as can be that you wanted the place, so I bid for you. Acted as your agent, sort of thing.”

  “But you had no authorization, no paper.”

  “Didn’t I now?”

  She pulled him away from the top table and whispered, so close that his chin touched her hair.

  “Your signature isn’t so very hard to copy, you know. You should do something about that.”

  Then she held a piece of paper between their faces. It clearly stated “This paper gives one Sinead Malley, the authorisation to act as the agent of Captain Reuben Argent, RN for the purchase of the Killannan Estate” At the bottom was a very good likeness of his signature. He leaned back.

  “How much did I pay?”

  “£9,520.”

  “And that’s cheap?”

  She pulled his cuff in rebuke.

  “Why, ye’ve got a whole village, a castle, a road and acres and acres off over the hills! All fertile or good grazing and, and, prosperous! Ten years and ye’ll get most back in rent and such. And profits! If ye’ve a good Estate Manger.”

  She looked at him very knowingly and Argent looked at her, head to one side, then pointed to the auctioneers over his shoulder.

  “He said it was a deadalive hole!”

  “And sure what does he know? Never even been there is my guess. Sure, I’ve never seen him there, not that I’d want to, miserable squint!”

  Argent laughed.

  “So I’ve got something worthwhile. And the buildings? And the use of the road?”

  She swung her hips coquettishly and inclined her head.

  “Well, I was hoping we could come to some arrangement over those.”

  Argent nodded, resignedly, but then his face cheered up.

  “And I’ve got a castle!”

  “So ye have, but ye can’t live there! It’s all taken.”

  “Taken?”

  “Yes. There’s a perfect building for a school! And a bothy for foundlings.”

  “A school? And a bothy?”

  “Yes. And an infirnary, away off, There’s a perfect building there for that, too, on the side where it’s quiet. But the castle proper is for some more looms, driven by a steam engine!”

  She allowed the surprise to register on Argent’s face.

  “I’ve been finding out all about them. They’re the future.”

  She looped both her arms into his left arm and held it tight against her side, then led him out of the hall.

  “A man called James Watt, Scottish, not English, couldn’t possibly be, invented one, way back.

  Argent answered, in mock impatience, spoken in a slow drawl.

  “Yes, I am aware.”

  But Sinead was continuing

  “Well, his engines are being hooked up to mills all over King George’s kingdom, and I’ve got just the same plan.”

  “Your plan! In my castle!”

  “Yes, and a good plan. There’s water, and coal! On your own estate, for free! Sure, a steam engine’s just the thing, but you can’t live close to one. No. All noise and steam and smoke and smells.

  “So, I’m being thrown out of my cast
le by a steam engine?”

  She ran to stand in front of him and took both his hands in hers. The look on her face left him dissolved.

  “And just think now, what good’s a castle to you, you on your own, rattling about in such a place? You need somewhere more cosy.”

  He replied softly and gently, gazing down at who, suddenly, was the only person, speaking of the only things, that mattered in the whole wide world.

  “And you have a plan about that, too?”

  “Oh, yes, but you’ll have to bring your ship around and have a look. It involves the pair of us both, you see.”

  oOo