True Colours (The Third Book in the Fighting Sail Series)

by Alaric Bond

  The pause was slightly too long, before someone felt obliged to ask the obvious question.

  "Well, it weren’t beef," Cribbins replied. "That was for sure; it were mutton, and good enough, if you’ve not tasted the stuff for a year or two."

  But as far as interest was concerned, he had reached the bottom of the barrel, and Cribbins became aware of several conversations starting up amongst his audience.

  "So tells me then," he said, speaking in a rallying tone as he tacked. "What’s been afoot in Pandy whilst I were adrift?"

  There was another pause, before Greenway finally stumped up.

  "We’ve had a few more joining us: several liners, and we gets a regular cutter and transports from home."

  "Aye," another added. "No shortage of news, nor mail come to that. And we’re pretty well victualled."

  "Never better since ’er Ladyship took control." Greenway again.

  "Her Ladyship?" Cribbins asked.

  "Aye, th’ bint we collected from that merchant earlier in the year. She’s back now, standing in for the pusser."

  "I remembers," Cribbins mused. "A comely looker: an’ no longer a passenger, so fair game, eh? I’m partial to a bit of female company."

  "You’ve told us," Flint said bluntly. "But you don’t want to go messing with this one."

  "She’s fixed with the Surgeon’s Mate, right enough," Greenway confirmed. "But even if she weren’t; we never had such good victuals, not since she joined. Sent a whole load back she did; first two transports took as much away as they brought. Don’t know how she managed it, but what we’re getting’ now is top grub; all fresh an’ lovely, it is."

  "An’ she has a fair hand in surgery. Fixed me leg up proper," Piper told them. "Split right down it were, but her an’ Mr Manning spliced it like good uns. You want to see the scar?"

  "You’ve shown us the scar," Jenkins cut in. "But Piper’s right, a fair face, a good hand with the food, and she can sort you up when you’re crook; there ain’t many women I’d want aboard, but this one can stay as long as she wants."

  "Her and your Rosie, eh Jenkins?" Cribbins asked, a wicked grin on his face.

  "What’s my Rosie got to do with it?"

  "Still planning on seeing her when you gets in?"

  "Planning that, an’ a wedding an’ all, if that’s any o’ your concern."

  "If I gets in afore you, it might well be my concern. And I’ve got the coin; come to that I got yours an’ all!"

  There was an awkward silence, which no one felt inclined to break.

  "Actually, we settled that while you was away." Flint said eventually.

  "Settled?" Cribbins had been enjoying being the centre of attention once more, and was clearly surprised. "How so, when I was rotting in some Dutch prison?"

  "Well that’s just it, we didn’t know you was in a prison, we thought you was dead."

  "An’ we settled it," Jenkins said urgently. "Like Flint said. Once an’ for all, so there would be no going back."

  "’fraid you’ve lost me there, boys."

  "We tossed for your debt," Flint explained. "Jenkins agreed to pay you double if he lost an’, if he won, you’d be square."

  "Double or quits? I’d never take a gamble like that!"

  "No? I seems to recall you doing that very thing not three months back," Flint said evenly. "It seemed a reasonable enough answer to the tangle."

  "So Jenkins here tossed?"

  "I tossed," Flint said.

  "An’ let me guess," Cribbins looked cynical. "He won?"

  "Straight up," Flint confirmed. "It were legal, right an’ in front of everyone." He turned to look at the sea of faces. "Any here not happy with the way we did it?"

  Cribbins’ eyes swept about the group of shaking heads, and he began to grow angry. "Well, it’s good to know this is a tight ship; that the men you serve with will look after you, even when you’ve been captured by the enemy."

  "We thought you was dead." Jenkins reminded him.

  "All the worse for that: rob a body, why not? Even though it be a shipmate."

  "Now there’s no cause for that," Flint cut in. "Like it or not, we was protecting your interests. If Jenkins ‘ad lost, you’d have earned double, for your family, I mean."

  "I ain’t got no family, and it appears I ain’t got no friends, neither."

  There was an awkward pause; no one knew exactly what to say, although it was clear that Cribbins did not have the sympathy he expected.

  "’mazin’ what happens when a man goes off for a spell; strange what you discover ‘bout your friends an’ shipmates."

  "Sounds like being dead ain’t all it’s cracked up to be," Jenkins said, dryly.

  Cribbins turned on him: "An’ you can keep it stoppered; I didn’t agree to no double or quits; far as I’m concerned, you still owes me, and I’m looking forward to collecting."

  "Now back up, there," Flint again. "Like I said, we fixed it fair and square. Jenkins don’t owe you nothing, and you’d better forget about it from now on."

  "That’s right," Greenway confirmed.

  "We all saw it," another added.

  "Well I think it stinks rotten, and I’m not happy. Not happy one bit."

  Again there was a pause, and again the sympathy was definitely against Cribbins.

  Jameson, watching, hated to interrupt when men were talking. But the sight of Cribbins, who had certainly been through a bad time and now seemed totally let down by his mates, was too much for him and he summoned up the power of speech.

  "If it will make you feel better," he started, and was horrified to notice every eye fall upon him. "I’ll help you out."

  "You?" Cribbins looked both surprised and disgusted in equal measure. "You’re not but a lad, ‘spite what it might say on the books. How can you help?"

  Jameson felt suddenly foolish; Cribbins was right, this was out of his league and not of his concern. "Well, I was thinking," he paused, uncertain how to go on, yet very aware that the entire group was waiting upon his every word. "If it makes any difference… I could let you have your knife back for half a crown."

  * * * * *

  The dinner in the great cabin was as lavish as any Banks had hosted in Pandora. It was a joint celebration; welcoming King back from death, and a send off for Timothy, who would be returning to Venerable the next day. Banks felt slightly guilty about the last point; a commission in a frigate was every young officer’s dream, and to be given such a posting, only to have it snatched away after so very brief a period, must be galling. The more so when Venerable’s current dilapidated condition was remembered. Pandora might stay with the North Sea Fleet for a number of years, or she could be despatched to any of the world’s seas or oceans; maybe rejoin Jervis with the Mediterranean Squadron, or be sent off on an independent cruise to snap up privateers and enemy merchants. That way led to excitement and danger: prestige, prize money and promotion. But Venerable would be lucky ever to sail beyond home waters and, even if she maintained her present role, a substantial and time-consuming refit would be needed. Were he retained, as junior lieutenant Timothy could expect to be employed in all the mundane tasks of shipboard life. He might slowly mount the ship’s internal promotion ladder as his betters retired, exchanged, or died, and in five, ten, maybe fifteen years he could expect to be a first lieutenant, although it would be to a different commander, as Duncan, and probably his successor, would have gone years before. Luck and a following wind might see him retire a commander, but without that he was heading for an undistinguished career, and one that might so easily have changed if his time with Pandora had been longer.

  On the morning of the meal Banks had gone over the arrangements for the final time with Dupont; he was particularly concerned that the event went well and he knew that the questions he asked, and often repeated, were starting to annoy his steward. There was no doubt he was becoming a bit of an old woman; nitpicking points that the young, devil-may-care, mischief maker he had been would have simply ignored or trusted
to luck. But when three o’clock came, and the first of his guests started to file into the coach, he felt he had done all he could, and that knowledge enabled him to enjoy the next few hours in a way that the lad who had begun the commission would have found impossible.

  "Gentlemen, help yourself to a drink, if you please," he shook hands with Caulfield and Doust who both took a small glass, and Newman who politely declined. A moment’s small talk, then he turned to meet King, who was looking especially smart; somehow he must have managed to get hold of a fresh uniform. And there was Fraiser, oddly relaxed and with a genial smile on his face. As Banks shook his hand he realised how much they all meant to him; more than just his officers; they had become friends. In the past he had always assumed such a thing to be impossible between a commander and his men but now he readily accepted that they were as much to him as any family. Timothy was next and looking slightly awkward; Banks did all he could to put him at ease, pressing a second glass of Madeira into his hand as soon as he could, and laughing heartily whenever possible.

  And here was Manning, newly promoted: cause for another celebration, although he was aware that the gunroom had already feted the event. And Katharine; Katharine was on Manning’s arm, but looking as desirable as ever. Banks had only met with her a couple of times since she had come back on board, and on each occasion it had been strictly business. She was there to audit and correct the ship’s accounts and stores, not to be impressed by his achievements, his position, and certainly, as he had previously discovered, him.

  And she was doing a splendid job; splendid. The food had improved; and he told himself he was pleased to see her now. Pleased that she had so clearly found a friend in Manning, and delighted that there was to be some female company to enliven the afternoon. As a person he had gone through so many changes since they had first sighted the Dutch coast and, if he was just a little sorry that she had so politely spurned his advances, then that was simply one more subtle adjustment for him to make.

  They sat at the long table which had been fully extended to cover almost the entire length of the great cabin, with Banks at the head and the officers gradually descending in rank until it ended with Dorsey and Rose, the youngest midshipman on board, at the foot. Each took their place, self consciously looking to their neighbours and fingering the silver cutlery, little knowing the amount of brick dust and spit that Dupont and his assistants had used to create such a mirror finish. Then the air was filled with the smell of a robust onion soup as a tureen was brought in, and soon there was silence other than muttered comments and the clink of metal on china.

  When nearly all the courses had been served, most had at least three glasses of wine inside them, and sudden bouts of laughter had started at the midshipmen’s end of the table and gradually worked their way up, it became the merry occasion that Banks had so wanted. Cheese and fruit were served, and it was time for toasts; Banks tapped his knife against his glass and looked pointedly at Rose, the junior at the table. The lad, just recovering from a story Dorsey had been relating about a sheep, pulled himself up to his duty and, red faced and slightly stumbling, toasted the King. The gentlemen stood, but remained slightly bent to avoid the deckhead as they drank, then relaxed into their seats once more.

  "We’re sorry to be losing you, Mr Timothy." Banks said in the pause that followed.

  "And I shall be sad to go, sir. But pleased for the reason, of course," he beamed at King who was seated next to him. "Still, I am also glad to return to Venerable."

  Banks nodded, it was polite of the young man to be so loyal to his ship.

  "You’ll stay in touch, I trust," Newman, though an abstainer, was slurring his words ever so slightly, and his face was a credible shade of red. "It would be good to hear the gossip from the admiral’s table, what?"

  "’tis rare that he confides in me," Timothy said when the laughter had died. "But be sure, you will be informed." There was a slight gap, which Timothy felt obliged to fill. "In truth, it is the admiral that attracts me," he continued, a trifle awkwardly. Dorsey, who was just in the process of sipping some wine, choked and apparently took some in through his nose, an act that clearly amused Rose, although it was pointedly ignored by the others.

  "Pray, tell us more, Mr Timothy." Fraiser said, with unusual attention.

  Timothy held his hands wide. "He is an inspiration to be with. In the brief time I have spent under his command there is so much I have learnt."

  "Indeed he is a fine officer, and an excellent seaman." Fraiser again, but he was watching the young lieutenant keenly.

  "Yes; yes to both." Timothy went on. "But as a leader, a commander; I have never met the like, nor never expect to do so again."

  The company digested this for a second before Caulfield cleared his throat.

  "We were under Jervis, you know," he said rather stiffly. "Fine man, you could go a long way and not have a better leader."

  "Aye, and Nelson has much to offer." King added. "He was with us at St Vincent; some of our number briefly served in his ship."

  "The Mediterranean Fleet is certainly a prime command," Banks added. "And Admiral Jervis a man worthy of it."

  "Duncan was offered the Med. Squadron." Timothy said quickly.

  "Really?" Banks lowered his knife in the act of peeling an apple. "I had no idea."

  "Oh yes. But he turned it down," The lieutenant continued. "His physicians told him to avoid hot climates, unless he wanted a relapse; you know that the fever nearly killed him when he was serving under Admiral Kepple? He recommended Admiral Jervis – or Lord St Vincent, as I suppose we should start to call him, in his stead."

  "Then, indeed, it must be good to serve with such a man," King said. "Though his deeds have not been notable."

  Timothy nodded. "He might never have commanded a fleet in battle, although he has been in attendance, and completed some notable shore actions. But it is his strength of character that comes across; any man can teach you to splice, or navigate, Admiral Duncan has something far more valuable."

  "You must tell us," Banks said, after the pause, and indeed he was fascinated.

  "Well, you might take the recent unrest. We had trouble aboard Venerable, as did most ships, I fear." There was a hushed nodding of heads and a few whispered comments. "Captain Hotham was also bothered in Adamant and suffered an uprising; Duncan got to hear of it, and had himself rowed across to meet the disturbance head on. I followed him to the ship, and in truth I would rather have been boarding a Frenchman." He paused and his eyes fell to the table as he remembered. "The men were up in anger; ready to fight; eager, like before an action." The officers nodded; they knew the signs. "And the lieutenants, midshipmen, master’s mates, they were all together on the quarterdeck, swords drawn, and blood as high as any. The marines had been called, bayonets were fixed and both sides ready for mischief: all was to erupt." He looked up suddenly. "And Duncan walked between them, cool as you could wish. He bade the officers to put by their swords, stood the marines down, and looked at the men like they were just so many folk who had happened to pass by, and he smiled as he spoke to them.

  "But when he did it was in a mighty voice that seemed to cover the entire ship; it was like a father talking to his sons. He had a presence and standing that I have never before encountered; called them ‘his lads’, in fact, and said how he had looked after their interests, which was true, they all knew that. Then he explained that, if he were to continue to do so, he must maintain his authority, and he was not going to give that up easily. Then he asked them straight; ‘is there any man here who disputes my right to command?’."

  "No one spoke, and I thought he had done enough, then this fellow steps forward. Well, he was no lightweight, and ’twere clear the men would listen to him. It was a bad moment; and one that could have grown far worse; but Admiral Duncan was equal to it. He steps forward and reaches out to the man. I thought he was going to shake hands, but he just gets hold of his shirt, pulls him toward, and lifts him straight up."

 
Timothy looked around him, noticing he had the undivided attention of all at the table, as well as the stewards and the marine servants standing behind. "Picks him off the deck, no word of a lie, then he carries him to the starboard rail, and swings him over. ‘Here is the man who would deprive me of the command of my fleet’, he bellows, and I reckon all at anchor would have heard him. He turns to the ship’s company and says; ‘will any of you follow him, should I let go?’"

  There was a smattering of laughter from the table, although all were impressed by the tale.

  "So something that could have ended in carnage did so in mirth. There was a shout from one of the seamen: ‘give a cheer for Old Adam!’, and suddenly the troubles were gone and forgotten." A collective sigh spread about the table as Timothy continued. "I might remind you that Adamant was the only battleship to stay with Duncan and Venerable when the mutiny spread."

  Banks cleared his throat. "Well said, Mr Timothy; the admiral is certainly a worthy man, and lucky to have one such as yourself under his command. But it still does not alter the fact that you will be missed."

  "Thank you, sir, and I have valued my time in Pandora, for sure she is a different vessel to Venerable which is inclined to show her age, as you might be aware. But even with a worn out ship, and the backwater of stations, I would prefer to see the war out with Duncan than any other commander."

  "And it does you credit," Fraiser said simply.

  "Besides," Caulfield added. "The Dutch fleet might sail at any time, and we at last have the ships to meet them. Who knows, it could be that the North Sea is not the remote posting that all might think."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  KATE had made the uniform, but not from scratch; she had taken some of the panels and facings from two of King’s old jackets, and combined them with further cloth and several buttons from one that Caulfield had donated. King had been getting decidedly scruffy of late, and she had offered to sort him out, after a uniform she made for Manning had been so much admired. The end result was not perfect; it appeared best in low light, as some of the colours did not match exactly, but it had already served a purpose at the captain’s gathering, and now, as King and Banks were being rowed across to Venerable, it was doing so again.