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

by Alaric Bond

  The air was still, and it was a long pull; King always felt mildly guilty on such occasions as the eyes of the rowers naturally fell on him, sitting opposite them in the sternsheets, and doing precisely nothing while they sweated away. Pandora had been running low on some surgical supplies, which Venerable was able to provide, so the journey would have two uses. The second was far more important to King than a couple of cases of portable soup and some potions.

  His initial inclination had been to say nothing of the meeting with de Winter. This came from a mixture of adolescent reserve and slight embarrassment as to the nature of their conversation, and the message he had agreed to convey. Besides, it was hardly customary for junior lieutenants to request to talk privately with their admiral. But then he had given his word, and recent experience had taught him that no good came from holding information back; perhaps if he had been a little more forthcoming when Crowley had approached him, the unpleasantness at Spithead might have been avoided. And so he had spoken to Banks shortly after rejoining the ship, and formally requested an interview with his commander in chief as soon as time allowed.

  The captain, who had already read his written report, took his request seriously; for a British officer to have spent any time with an enemy commander was consequential in itself, and if he had a personal message to convey, one that he felt could not be sent by the usual means, then so be it. Unfortunately Duncan’s time was limited, and further additions to the fleet meant that Venerable and Pandora seemed fated to be on different stations, so it was only now, several weeks after King had been released by the Dutch, that an appointment could be kept.

  King had never met Duncan, although the admiral’s reputation was well known throughout the fleet. He seemed to enjoy universal respect; stories that circulated about his exploits were probably greatly exaggerated, but there would be enough truth in them to mark him as a man of note, and King was looking forward to the meeting with nervous anticipation.

  They were finally nearing Venerable now, and King noted the fresh, heavy paint on her prow, clearly covering a good deal of plaster filler. The ship itself seemed to squat lower in the water than was usual; possibly due to her outdated design, although there might be other, more sinister reasons.

  "Boat ahoy!"

  The coxswain looked toward Banks and replied with a hearty "Pandora!" to signify Banks’ presence.

  The sea was as calm as the weather and they mounted the starboard entry steps without incident. King was pulling himself through the gangway port as his captain acknowledged the customary compliments due to him, and they both turned and saluted the quarterdeck. Fairfax was there to meet them, but it was Lieutenant Timothy who led the way aft to the great cabin where Duncan would be waiting.

  "Happy to be back?" King asked as they followed him through the ship.

  "Aye, ‘tis good to be at the heart of things once more."

  "Beats life on a frigate, then?"

  Timothy grinned and whispered, "more headroom," before announcing himself to the marine sentry, and taking them into the great cabin.

  * * * * *

  "Kind of you to spare me the time, gentlemen," Duncan said when they were seated, and King had had all his expectations confirmed. "I must apologise for not being available earlier; there were other matters in the fleet that rather took my attention. I’m afraid it is one of the perils of a command close to government; they cannot leave us be."

  Banks sipped at his coffee. "How are things ashore, sir?"

  "You know of course that Parker is hanged?" he asked bluntly.

  "Yes, sir; I read the report. At the end of June, was it not?"

  The admiral nodded. "From the fo’csle of Sandwich, his late ship. There was never any chance of reprieve," Duncan looked up suddenly, and King was struck by his clear eyes and direct gaze. "Were you also aware that he had been an officer?"

  "No sir, that is news indeed."

  "Served as a midshipman, a masters mate, and even acted as lieutenant for a while." The older man sat back. "Strange to reflect; he had a strong ability to organize, and the men liked and respected him well enough. And no lack of courage, though terribly misplaced, of course."

  "Of course. But properly channelled..."

  "Indeed. But I have more news" Duncan said. "And I regret it is in a similar vein. Your late fellow, Scales, is it not?"

  Both officers nodded.

  "He is also to hang, although in his case there might be clemency; that has been rather the habit of late, and I don’t say that it is a bad one."

  "I was not called."

  "No, Sir Richard, at the time when his court martial was being prepared Pandora’s position was not certain. But there was your written report, and witnesses enough to see it through. The fact that the marine made a good recovery will work in his favour no doubt."

  "A sorry business, nonetheless." Banks said after another pause.

  "Indeed, but one, like all that has happened of late, that we must put behind us. I will not say the men had cause, and certainly do not agree with the behaviour and temperament of those at the Nore, but there is a fairer system now and, I gather, the people are keen to make up for what has gone before. That is an important point, gentlemen: one we should remember in the days to come."

  He looked at the two young officers in front of him, and smiled benignly.

  "And it seems Mr King has been in contact with the enemy; spoke with Admiral de Winter himself, or so I hear."

  "Indeed sir, I had one interview with him, and spent some time on Texel."

  "I have your report; it makes interesting and valuable reading; you are to be congratulated; very astute observations."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "But I surmise there was more?" his eyes flicked across to Banks for a moment. "Something you were not able to put into your despatch?"

  "It was the detail; the content of my conversation, sir." King felt suddenly awkward; he had asked for this meeting, and yet how could he tell his commander in chief that the enemy were well aware of the dilapidated condition of his fleet? "It might not be to your liking, but I gave my word," he added, rather feebly.

  Duncan nodded. "Then you must honour it, my boy. And be assured that I will not judge you by what is said. Make it accurate; I would hear my opponent’s words, and shall not consider them to be your own."

  King drew breath. "Admiral de Winter seemed well aware of the problems we had encountered at Spithead and the Nore," that was no surprise; Duncan acknowledged the fact with barely a nod. "And he was quite disparaging about the type and condition of our ships, sir. He said that several have been converted from merchants, and in the main are outdated and in need of refit. He went on to point out that the Dutch fleet is not large but well maintained. The main bulk of it is at anchor in the Mars Deep; he has the cream of his seamen and they have not recently been in mutiny. In brief, he feels we are no match for him, and he is anxious to avoid bloodshed."

  "And does he suggest we stand back and watch whilst he escorts a fleet bent on invasion?"

  "I think he was hoping for a dialogue with you, sir, although that was not stated in so many words."

  "I see." Duncan passed his hand through his long white hair, and King noticed a massive gold ring that seemed to pin two of his fingers together. "Thank you, young man. Thank you for what you have told me. None of it comes as a great surprise, but it is good to know what the enemy considers to be our weak spot. In the main he is right, but it would not take any great intelligence to discover that our fleet is not as modern as, say Lord St Vincent’s. And the mutiny; that is hardly something easily kept quiet. But I have had word from the Nore and Yarmouth very recently, and flatter myself that I can feel the tenor of the fleet. It is as I have said; the lads are ready to move forward, and would welcome a chance to prove their loyalty. To be blunt, I think they will make a better showing in action now than they might have this time last year."

  Duncan placed both hands on the desk in front of him and King co
uld see that the ring did indeed extend to cover two fingers.

  "And yes, it would be good if wars could be solved by talking, although I fear that the admiral is being a little naïve in this instance. By all accounts he is a man of honour, but I do not feel his French masters have the same concern for gentlemanly conduct, so there would be little point in entering into negotiations with one who could not be sure that any commitments made would be respected." Duncan paused and considered again.

  "He also might boast of the Dutch fleet which, I understand, is indeed a powerful one. But it’s all they have. He would need to risk everything were he to take us on, so has double the reason to come to another resolution. And finally, he might be doubting himself; Admiral de Winter has the reputation of a fine seaman, but as an officer he has yet to prove himself. I understand that he only reached the rank of lieutenant in the old Dutch Navy; his elevation to flag rank has come through political pressure, rather than ability or experience. He has yet to command a fleet at sea: yet to have grown used to thinking for a number of ships, rather than the one beneath him. In fact he has never commanded a true ship at all, so there will be further lessons for him to learn; hardly an enviable position when we would hope to bring him to battle within days of his leaving harbour."

  Duncan sat back and half closed his eyes as he thought. "But it is interesting, none the less. Interesting and illuminating; I feel I know my opponent a little better now, and am strangely reassured by his attitude. Not the hothead I had feared, no not at all; clearly a man who wishes to avoid unnecessary carnage, which is commendable. And, possibly he is not quite sure that he can destroy us, otherwise why would he have bothered to speak with Mr King?" he smiled suddenly. "So there we have it, valuable information: very valuable indeed. The summer is heading to a close, we would have expected the enemy to move by now, indeed they have barely three months before winter storms and shorter days will threaten a second debacle like Bantry Bay. But we know a little more of their thinking, and we can use that to the good. I have had an idea in mind for a while, and what you have told me confirms my thinking," his eyes suddenly flashed at Banks. "Tell me, Sir Richard; how is Pandora set?"

  Banks bent forward slightly as he spoke. "In fine shape, sir. We have made minor repairs following those undertaken at Sheerness; I would say she is good for a season or more."

  "I am glad of it, but there are many of us not so well prepared. We will stay at sea, at least until the end of the summer. After that we can consider invasion unlikely; the army would have grown stale and, even if it were used, would be less effective. I feel they will stand down, perhaps to try again the next spring, perhaps not, but the immediate danger will have passed. By then some of our number will have been at sea for many months, sadly it is too long for the majority. A programme of refitting will be in order; we will take one or two ships at a time, and put them in for major refit. And the others, those who would not fare well in the autumnal storms, will also return to port."

  Banks was in the act of sipping at his coffee, and very nearly coughed; for several months they had been without sufficient force to meet the Dutch, and now that ships were available again, Duncan was talking of withdrawing.

  "It is easier to undertake the smaller repairs when at anchor, rather than scrapping off this coastline." Duncan switched his attention to Banks. "What say you?"

  "But the enemy, sir; you would not be leaving them totally unattended?"

  "Indeed not. Your ship and some others that are better set up will remain on station. The Dutch can make of it what they will. With luck they might even think us more the worse for wear than we actually are; that we are sheltering in port out of necessity rather than prudence. I will see to it that you have enough small craft to keep up communications with England. When I am not on station I expect to be informed of even the smallest movement. And obviously I shall require you to advise me as soon as the Dutch sail."

  "So we should not attempt to detain them?"

  Duncan smiled. "No, captain, indeed you will not. Send news to me, and shadow the fleet; as I have said, there will be more than enough small ships to maintain a chain of communication. We can be across in a day or two, and will be relying on the observation squadron to have advised us of the enemy’s course. If, as we expect, it be south there should be no difficultly in finding them. With luck they might even be trapped betwixt ourselves and the Channel Fleet; otherwise I will take them on alone. But one thing is certain, Admiral de Winter and his fleet will not go away; previous attempts to destroy them at anchor have failed: it is clear that they can only be defeated at sea. And somehow I feel that they will not be sailing while I am waiting outside their front door."

  * * * * *

  "I’m sick of being called a pusser," she said as she closed the ledger. "I know it is the tradition, and I don’t think for one moment that anyone is going to change, or consider my feelings, but pusser - it sounds like some sort of cat!"

  Manning grinned and looked up from his book; he loved these little rants of hers. "Purser sounds more like a cat," he said, after considering the matter. "A cat that is, well... purring."

  "I’d prefer it; at least I would if I was a purser."

  "You could always apply; the bond need not be a problem; Mr Doust’s brother put up for Soames, and if someone such as he gets backing, anyone can."

  She shook her head. "I’d have to serve as a clerk for a year before I could even make an application."

  "Then you’re earning your sea time now; if what you have been doing for the last couple of months ain’t clerking, I fail to know what is. Besides, you have clerked for your father for more than a year."

  "In the merchant service, though."

  "It is counted the same; I’d say there was little to stop you applying now."

  "But even then I doubt the board would agree." She pouted in a way that he found particularly attractive. "A woman might be given a temporary job, she might be used to clear up a mess and sort matters right, but to actually give her a position, an official rank; that surely would be pushing things rather too far."

  "But a pusser—sorry a purser—even that ain’t a rank in the normal manner of things."

  "How so?"

  "Oh it has status, a uniform, and a cabin in the wardroom in most ships, but a purser is a civilian officer; they would never be expected to fight; not unless they so wished, nor are they really subject to naval discipline as such. Even the distribution of the stores is down to the master. Pursers just have to keep accounts and make sure everyone is fed, watered, and clothed on a regular basis, and to the best standards that can be kept."

  "Sounds more like a mother." Manning was always vaguely troubled when Kate used words like mother.

  "Think of it as a glorified shop keeper," he said, recovering quickly. "But were they to make you a purser, it would not be like being a lieutenant or a sailing master. You’d still be a civilian: in essence, rather like a surgeon."

  "Do they have women surgeons?"

  "Er no, not officially, though there are some who act as such, especially in shore bases and hospital ships."

  "It is a thought."

  "You’ve done a good job in Pandora; everyone says that."

  "Everyone calls me pusser as well."

  "It’s a compliment."

  "Well I don’t like it."

  "If you were to be a purser," he said, emphasising the word carefully. "You would have to get used to it. But it would also mean that we could sail together."

  "We are sailing together now."

  "I meant…"

  "I know what you meant."

  There was a moment of silence while he waited for the reaction. They were close, but he had yet to be certain exactly how close, and this was the first time he had taken a true sounding.

  "It is a consideration," she said at last. "Though were you a proper surgeon, I could always ship as your wife, and not bother with being purser at all."

  Now it was her turn to gauge the react
ion and it was swift and decisive. He put his book to one side and swung round to face her directly.

  "Kate, I’d like that more than anything. Do you think it possible?"

  "Eventually, yes I do. You would have to study, mind; passing a surgeon’s examination is far more taxing than that set for an assistant. And you have to serve a while in your present capacity I believe, I’m not sure exactly of the time, but…"

  "I meant you becoming my wife," he cut in. "Is that in your mind?"

  "Robert, it has been in my mind since the day we first met, it has just taken a little while for everything to come to fruition."

  "I see," he said, feeling suddenly helpless, and not a little manipulated. "So you can envisage a time when we are both living together in the same ship?"

  "It is what we are doing now, surely?"

  "I meant as man and wife."

  "Oh yes, eventually."

  "Eventually?"

  "Yes, we would have to be married first, I would insist upon it; I think any decent woman..."

  "But then?" the frustration gave his words extra emphasis. "When I became a surgeon, you would marry me?"

  She looked mildly surprised. "When you become a surgeon? Robert, do you honestly expect me to wait that long?"

  * * * * *

  Banks was pacing the quarterdeck; it had become something of a habit with him. It gave exercise and aided thinking; it was also an opportunity to be on the spot should anything of import occur. He had dined with Hackett in Circe the day before, Fayerman of the Beaulieu had been present and they had all agreed that having Duncan off station, even temporarily, was rather akin to being in a house without a father. But on that afternoon enemy action seemed unlikely. The sun was still impressively hot for September, hot enough to calm his usually forceful pace to a slower and more considered stroll. And Caulfield was playing his ‘cello below; it was difficult to rush while the measured, thoughtful sounds emanated from the depths of the ship. The first lieutenant had started with a series of scales and arpeggios, but was now plodding through several short pieces. None were known to Banks, but they made a welcome, if slightly exotic, accompaniment to the Sunday afternoon’s 'make and mend'. And while the sun shone, while Caulfield played, and while he paced, Banks found his mind beginning to wander to other matters, matters far, far away from the immediate and impending battle with the Dutch, and the possibility that his country could be overrun.