Fortune And Glory (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 5)

by Andrew Wareham

  Book Five: The Duty

  and Destiny Series

  From the author of the acclaimed,

  ‘A Poor Man at the Gate’ Series

  Andrew Wareham

  Digital edition published in 2015 by

  The Electronic Book Company

  A New York Times Best-seller

  Listed Publisher

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  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This ebook contains detailed research material, combined with the author's own subjective opinions, which are open to debate. Any offence caused to persons either living or dead is purely unintentional. Factual references may include or present the author's own interpretation, based on research and study.

  Fortune and Glory

  Copyright © 2015 by Andrew Wareham

  All Rights Reserved

  Contents:

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  By the Same Author

  Introduction

  The Revolutionary War is dragging to an untidy end. Britain, France, Russia, Austria and even the disintegrating Ottoman Empire are seeking to position themselves to take advantage of what is expected to be a short peace.

  The Balkans and the Eastern Mediterranean are in chaos, decomposing into a shambles that would demand the political skills of Machiavelli to resolve. Frederick Harris has been ordered to take his frigate into these waters to pursue British interests, whatever they might transpire to be.

  Prime Minster Pitt is losing power in London and his successors may disavow his policies while Russia, an ally of England, is considering turning to the French. Frederick finds it easy to enter the maelstrom of Near Eastern politics and warfare, but discovers it to be very dangerous to get out again.

  Author’s Note: I have written and punctuated Fortune And Glory in a style reflecting English usage in novels of the Georgian period, when typically, sentences were much longer than they are in modern English. Editor’s Note: Andrew’s book was written, produced and edited in the UK where some of the spellings and word usage vary slightly from U.S. English.

  Book Five: The Duty and Destiny Series

  Chapter One

  “I would suggest, Captain Harris, that we should sail into the Adriatic first. The recently formed Republic of the Seven Islands is less than entirely stable, shall one say. It relies for its existence on a tenuous alliance between Russia and the Ottomans, the two being traditional enemies. Corfu having for centuries defied the power of the Sublime Porte is not pleased to welcome a Turkish garrison now, and the Russian fleet, such as it is, offers little protection against the French, who are believed to be in the process of launching an invasion.”

  Frederick Harris was puzzled, a not uncommon state of affairs when he was trying to comprehend the nature of Balkan politics.

  “There is a peace treaty in force, I believe, Lieutenant Murray. The status of the new Republic has been guaranteed by all parties.”

  Murray was his political advisor for the waters of the Eastern Mediterranean and, whilst not being a true naval lieutenant, was at home in the murky world of back-stabbing, betrayal, bribery and butchery that substituted for diplomacy in the Near East.

  “Yes, sir. It is a piece of paper sometimes referred to by those who signed it. When the greater war ends, as it soon must, one believes, then it will provide a reference point for the negotiators, provided it still has relevance.”

  “What does that mean, sir?”

  “If the French have taken the Seven Islands, then they will do their very best to keep them, stating that the Peace Treaty was never actually ratified, that the Russians failed to understand its terms and that the Ottomans broke them. If they do not possess the Islands then the French will argue that they should be granted a true independence with all foreign troops removed, thus leaving them defenceless on the outbreak of the next war.”

  “So what does that mean for Trident, sir?”

  Murray shrugged, smiled ingenuously.

  “I really do not know, Captain Harris. I would suggest that we should sail into Corfu, salute every flag we can find, if there are no French there, and seek permission to take on water. I shall visit the markets, in company with the proper person, the purser I assume? If I cannot discover something of interest I shall be rather surprised. Depending on what I hear, I shall then be able to give more detailed advice, sir.”

  “If the French are there, what then?”

  “If they are simply visiting a neutral port, then I am sure you will be aware of the procedure, sir. If they are invaders then you will know far better than I do what action you must take, sir. If there is, say, a single frigate or smaller vessel in port then it might be possible to ‘persuade’ the harbour authorities to arrest her. Word would soon reach Venice and the French would take the excuse to assault the Islands, quite possibly with an ad hoc force comprised of whatever they had in harbour at the time. Trident might then be well placed to make hay amongst them.”

  It smacked of duplicity, entrapment, dishonourable nastiness – it was not the way of making war that Frederick was used to.

  “Will it work, Lieutenant Murray?”

  “Probably not, sir. One thing one must learn, with respect, sir, is that in this part of the world nothing ever comes out as one plans or expects. Thus we make plans and write them out very prettily and submit them to our masters, and then we go and do whatever occurs to us at the time. If, at the end of our endeavours, we have embarrassed, or ideally killed, some Frenchmen then we have done very well and may pat ourselves on the back.”

  “If not?”

  “Then we blame the Russians or the Ottomans, or preferably the Austrians, and try again.”

  “Why the Austrians?”

  “Why not, sir?”

  “But…”

  “They make very fine music, sir, and very little else, though I am told their chocolates are also excellent. They have a great empire, including Catholics, Greek Orthodox, Russian Orthodox, Musselmans and any number of uncompromising Protestants. They speak a dozen different languages, but very few of them to each other. They believe themselves to be far more civilised than the other German speakers, especially the Prussians. They are contemptuous of the Russian barbarian, uncomprehending of the new France and consumed by hatred of the Turk. I am persuaded that they have a great liking for themselves. They are very good at being defeated in battle and of recent years have shown few other aptitudes. One can always blame the Austrians, and will often be believed.”

  Frederick surrendered – he had no concept at all of what might be in Murray’s mind, merely hoped that there was a fine, convoluted conceit too subtle for a mere sailor man to comprehend. He turned to David LeGrys, his clerk, silent in the background, and instructed him to provide a summary of the advice he had just heard to be placed in a confidential file, for the eyes of the Admiral commanding Malta only.

  "Not to go to the Admiralty itself, I think, Mr Murray?"

  Murray agreed - he did not want his name mentioned in Lond
on, where tongues wagged most reprehensibly.

  “Make a course for Corfu, Mr Backham. Exercise all hands to the great guns. Double lookouts to fore and main. Longboat to tow, a petty officer and two good hands aboard her at all times, carronade shipped, water and provisions to be checked; inform the petty officer of our course in case the tow is lost.”

  Backham acknowledged and gave his orders. It would take twenty minutes at least to roust the longboat out from the booms and put her to tow, so the captain must envisage the possibility of instant boat action. That meant he must have a full crew alerted to board the longboat at no notice and Mr Cheek must be aware that the other boats might be called for. What else? Small arms to be broken out, with powder and ball; cutlasses and boarding axes immediately to hand. A word with the master, he would give the petty officers the expected course – boat compasses! They could not steer any course without their compass; a small slate and chalk as well, to make a note for the steersman. Lucky he had remembered those!

  “Mr Cheek, we may well be called to action at very short notice, it would seem. It would be very inconvenient to clear for action and remain in that state for days at a time, but we may have only a very few minutes of warning. We shall be following the coast and anything might be hidden around the next headland.”

  Cheek raised his one hand to his forehead, more or less in salute, and thought for a few seconds.

  “Best would be to give the leading hand of each mess the word, sir. They can strip down to bare bones and still keep a few comforts out, make a sort of balance, sir. I’ll just see to it now, sir.”

  A visit to the gunner might well be a good idea, Backham thought – he also was new to Sir Frederick’s ways, might need a quiet word in his ear.

  “We can expect close action in the near future, Mr Plumb, possibly against heavy frigates, but perhaps to deal with convoys of small ships and their escorts. Plenty of serge sewn up for cartridges, I trust?”

  “Forty to each of the twenty-fours, sir. Twice as many to the carronades, being as ‘ow they fire the quicker; all sewn up and weighed out, sir. For the chasers, twenty rounds apiece and my two mates do be workin’ on they this very minute, sir, as you may see.”

  The fixed brass scales were in use, powder being weighed to the quarter of an ounce, ten pound charges for the long, nine foot barrel, thirty-two chasers.

  “Good! What of shot, Mr Plumb?”

  “Ball to the ready-use racks by the cannon, sir. Grape in nets to be run up as soon as ‘All Hands’ is called. Bar-shot, I got just four rounds a gun of they, but they ain't often called for. Chain, well, I do reckon that to be a trifle old-fashioned for us, sir; langrage the same. Grape cuts up rigging just as ‘andy-like, to my mind.”

  “You may well be right, Mr Plumb. The gunner before you when this ship was still a two-decker said the very same. What of small arms?”

  “Cartridge paper cut up and filled for sixty rounds apiece, sir. Standard issue, both for pistols and muskets. Cutlasses all got a sharp on; boarding axes the same and fixed firm to they hafts. Belts all made up, or soon will be, sir, being as ‘ow we organised a party to cut and sew ‘em.”

  “Good. What of the boat guns and swivels?”

  “All to ‘and, sir.”

  Backham consulted his notebook. What next?

  Purser and cook would make sense. Rations of biscuit and cheese to be made up and wrapped dry, cook’s mate under orders to put them in the boats as they were called away. As well, the men might be under arms for hours at a time with no opportunity to sit to their dinners at their mess tables.

  “I would be obliged to you, Mr Jenkinson, was you to arrange for pease pudding to be boiled up, and plum duff as well, can it done. A slab of each cold in the men’s hands will cheer them up in the middle of a long night waiting for action.”

  It could be done, Jenkinson thought, mostly because he had taken the opportunity to loot the stores of the privateer they had brought into Malta. He had been able to sell off rice and olive oil and some sort of foreign beans in exchange for flour and plums and dried peas, the purser of the flagship being an amenable sort of fellow and no doubt knowing the right people ashore to profit on the deal.

  Jenkinson had laid his hands on four barrels of a rather nasty red wine as well. He intimated that there could be an issue into each man’s leather jack if they should wish to hold a minor celebration at any time.

  A successful but not very important action could be the excuse for a little of jollifications, Backham thought. The captain was very keen to indulge the men when they did well, and he kept a firm discipline nonetheless, so it seemed wise to humour him.

  Backham relaxed, his extra tasks completed – he was pleased that there had been no problems, the junior officers all cooperative and going out of their way to help. Not like service on blockade where month after month of dull, futile routine dulled every man’s edge.

  Look-outs! He had not remembered them – it would make sense to have an additional man in the mainmast, as high as he could get and under orders to watch the coast only. He would do that immediately.

  Frederick was called on deck soon after dawn.

  “Fishing boats, sir. Would we wish to purchase from them? Perhaps to seek information?”

  “Do they speak English, Mr Backham?”

  Backham expected everybody to speak English, it had not occurred to him that they might be so primitive in these parts as not to.

  “Call Lieutenant Murray, Mr Backham. I am given to believe that he has every language of the Mediterranean at his command.”

  Very strange, Backham thought, sending a runner to bring Murray on deck.

  There was a delay of nearly five minutes before Murray appeared, a helping hand pushing from behind as he fumbled with belt, buckles and shirt buttons. He had not quite mastered the sea-going habit of waking with the dawn, was able to sleep through the noise of clearing for the change from night to daytime routine, his own cabin next to the boatswain’s stores being unaffected.

  “Fishing boats, sir. Yes, sardines, primarily, sir. Greeks, one can tell from the eye painted in the bows of the caiques. Not that these are actual caiques, as such, more of a local variant, I believe…”

  Murray became aware that his ramblings, though no doubt very interesting, were not what he had been brought on deck for.

  “Ah, yes, sir… Speak to them, yes of course, sir, a local dialect with certain variations from the mainland speech, but there should be no difficulty in understanding.”

  They had closed the boats while waiting for Murray, were within hail, the fishermen quite confident, displaying no fear of the foreign warship - Barbary pirates attacked fishermen but the civilised nations did not.

  Murray shouted across, dropped into the lingo to the admiration of the bulk of the crew, only a few inclined to regard with suspicion any man who could speak an unchristian tongue. It was explained by the knowledgeable that the Greeks were Orthodox, which if anything added to their qualms of the minority, being as they must therefore be Russians - them being notorious for their Orthodoxy - which had no business fishing in these waters.

  “Do we wish to purchase, sir? It would be a popular move, especially if we could offer Maria Theresas or gold. A guinea would buy the whole of any boat’s catch, the ship’s boy as well in all probabilities.”

  “We will take the fish, thank’ee, Mr Murray.”

  Bucket after bucket of sardines came aboard, sufficient for a breakfast for the whole crew, and then dinner as well, Murray talking to the crews all the while.

  “Mr Backham, tell the cook to get busy, if you please. A man from each mess to gut and scale and whatever else is necessary. Tell the cook to set the fish to fry using the skillets that he does not possess – the men put lines out whenever they can and eat fried fish at least once a week!”

  The purser appeared at Backham’s side and told him he would take care of the matter, much to his relief.

  Frederick did not notice Jenkinson’s p
resence, as he had expected. A little of flour and of illicit butter from his extra-legal pantry and the men would be very pleased to assist him with unofficial work parties if it became possible to access the stores of a warehouse or taken merchantman during the busy confusion that followed an action.

  “I scratch their backs and they scratch mine, Mr Backham!”

  The First Lieutenant was left even more puzzled, he having only one understanding of the term ‘backscratching’.

  The fishing boats sheered off and Murray took out pencil and paper, made a few quick notes while all was still clear in his mind.

  “Have we discovered anything of interest, Mr Murray?”

  “Sorry, sir! Yes, sir.” Murray glanced about him, the crowded deck seeming a less than ideal place to discuss intelligence. Perhaps it was different at sea. “The Greeks tell me that there is a garrison of Turks and a flotilla of the Russian navy based on Corfu. There were some ships, including a pair of two-deckers, belonging to the Turkish navy, but they sailed last week having heard rumours of a French invasion force at Venice. They were to destroy the French armada, such as it might be, but would seem to have sailed south, despite Venice being to the north. Perhaps they have gone to seek reinforcements, sir.”

  Frederick was unconvinced, but little concerned – it left more for them to share.

  “How many Russians?”

  “Three brigs, sir, thought to be out patrolling. There were more but they sailed some time ago on a cruise of the Islands, though which archipelago is uncertain. As well, sir, they left behind some troops, probably some two hundred, but they are known to have killed their officers and taken ship for the mainland, presumably with the intention of deserting, possibly into Austrian territories.”

  The Russians were a potential nuisance, Frederick thought, being very uncertain allies of Britain and probably about to change sides. If they had chosen to take themselves off, so much the better.