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

by Andrew Wareham

  Trident rolled deep, swung across the wind and fetched her tack, parallel to the Frenchman and less than a cable from her side.

  Frederick waited for the deck to return close to the horizontal, lifted his hat and cut down with it; many of the gunners wrapped their ears against the noise of the guns.

  “Shoot!”

  The broadside, long guns and carronades together, caught the Frenchman still clearing for action, deck full of running men, few gathered in the protection of the guns and ship’s sides.

  The carronades fired again in less than a minute, silencing the great screaming and howling coming across the water.

  A single voice shouted.

  “Surrender, sir!” Fox yelled.

  “Cease fire!”

  “Bring us alongside her, Mr Nias. Boats away.”

  The two largest of the boats sheered off towards the troopers. A twelve-pound carronade fired a minute later, a warning, they hoped.

  The Trident slammed alongside the smaller frigate.

  “Quickly, Mr Backham! Take possession of her. Assess her condition, do what you must.”

  It was still too dark to see what was to be done – the prize might be sinking for all they knew.

  “Gunbrig or sloop tacking towards, sir!”

  “Bring us onto her, Mr Nias.”

  The second escort would be looking into the darkness, unable to ascertain just what had happened. For all he knew the cessation of the action might mean that his consort had stumbled across a Russian brig or surprised a Barbary pirate and destroyed her; he must find out.

  “Mr Merritt, your section to reload grape, if you please. Mr Archbold, reload ball.”

  Both would be loaded ball at the moment in the absence of any other instruction. Merritt would know to fire deck-high, Archbold to aim at the hull.

  The light was growing rapidly and the masthead lookouts began to report.

  “On deck! Convoy is huddling, sir!”

  Sensible instructions if the expectation was of attack by small ships or galleys. The escorts should be able to protect them and the soldiers could fire their muskets to advantage.

  “On deck! Escort is a gunbrig, eight or ten guns, sir, hauling her wind.”

  “Ease the head, Mr Nias. Mr Bennet, when she bears!”

  Bennet had so far been a spectator, his chase guns looking out over empty sea. He would be anxious to display his value.

  Two explosions, five seconds apart, followed by another pair seventy seconds later.

  “Very quick, sir.” LeGrys was, as always, leaning against the binnacle, watch to hand, notes weighted down in front of him, keeping his minute by minute log of the action.

  “On deck, gunbrig cast off sheets, sir. Down by the stern.”

  “Surrendered and sinking – too frail for that weight of metal. Has she any boats?”

  “Two, sir, both towed behind and men in them, casting off, sir.”

  “Good, they can look after themselves for the while. Convoy, Mr Nias.”

  “Union flag over tricolour on the frigate, sir. Thirty-two, sir, twelve pounders at a guess. Bodies going over the side, sir – six, ten, twenty… more than I can keep count of, sir. Making sail, sir, steerage way to stop her rolling, I think. Foretopmast is gone, sir, and some of the mizzen stays from the way the mast is jerking. Maintopmast is wounded, sir, close to going. I do not think Mr Backham will be able to bring her under command, sir. All three masts injured will make a vast demand on any prize-crew.”

  Annoying, they would be forced to fire her if they could not put her into condition to sail to the dockyard at Malta. Backham would do all he could because she would become his to command if they could salvage her, and that would probably mean his immediate promotion.

  A prize was also better than a cold report weeks after the fact. Still, one could not have everything in this life.

  “Mr Backham is a seaman through and through – if any man can save her it is he.”

  “Fourteen sail in the convoy, sir, still clustered together. Seven polaccas, as we surmised, sir; three of caiques and four larger, anomalous brutes, neither brig nor ketch, some sort of Dalmatic rig, I suspect, sir. The caiques are very small, little more than fishing boats, possibly brought along in case a beach landing should become necessary. Four thin battalions, sir, I would estimate, three thousand men at most to squeeze into those hulls. Just possibly a brigade of five battalions, their sick and garrison troops left behind and numbers reduced by a busy year or two on campaign.”

  “Can you see any activity on their decks?”

  “Troops mustering in lines, sir, muskets held at the rest position. All at the sides, sir, facing us.”

  “Interesting! If we attempt to take possession then we will be driven off, very rapidly. But, as their officer in command will know, if we cannot take them then we will stand off out of small-arms range and sink them, one by one. Signal our boats to return. Close to two cables, Mr Nias, perhaps displaying less of verve this time, sir. An outstanding piece of seamanship, might I say – I do not believe I have ever seen its like.”

  Nias simpered, blushing bright red under his captain’s praise.

  “Mr Fox, you will enter into Mr Green’s boat. He will place you within hailing range of the largest or most senior of the polaccas and you will demand the surrender without terms of the military. Inform them that if they make sail they will be sunk and, in any case, if they have not capitulated within one hour we will open fire.”

  Fox touched his hat and ran to the side.

  “I beg your pardon, Sir Frederick, but I feel I might be better suited to any process of negotiation.”

  “You would be indeed, Lieutenant Murray, and if it should come to a discussion of terms then I shall place myself in your capable hands. In the first instance, however, the Frog might wish to demonstrate a modicum of bellicosity – and I can afford to lose a very junior midshipman far more than I can do without your services.”

  There was a shout from a small boat at the stern.

  “Survivors of the, what was it, a gunbrig, sir? Wishing to come aboard.”

  “Thank you, Mr Murray. Bring them on deck, inquiring whether they believe a search of the waters would be productive of swimmers.”

  There was a short delay while a score of wounded were helped aboard, followed by as many fit men.

  “They say their brig sank slowly and they were able to bring away all of the living. One officer only, sir, one of the balls plummeting through the quarterdeck and destroying all there.”

  “Take their parole as normal, the wounded to the doctor; they will be in his hands already, I doubt not. Beg their senior to present himself to me.”

  A young lieutenant, still shaking, tried to come to attention and offer his sword. He was no more than a boy, perhaps eighteen years old, was doing his best to act as an officer should.

  “Deschamps, sir, lieutenant de vaisseau. I wish to give parole for all of my men.”

  “Thank you, sir. Your parole is accepted, of course. Please to keep your sword, sir. It will be difficult to arrange an exchange, will take several months in the ordinary way of things. Mr Murray will discuss the matter with you and will see what we can come up with.”

  Murray nodded behind the lieutenant’s back – he now had a perfect excuse for a long conversation with the young man, before he came out of shock.

  “Take the young gentleman down to the wardroom, Ablett. Mr Murray, a moment, if you please.”

  “He speaks good English, so better out of his hearing, I think, Mr Murray. If he shows in any way cooperative you are at liberty to take a written agreement that he will not serve at sea again until he is formally exchanged and then offer him one of the caiques to take seamen prisoners back to French waters. It is not unusual, and will cause no eyebrows to raise.”

  Murray trotted off, about to wring his prisoner dry of every bit of knowledge he possessed, and all in the kindest, friendliest fashion. Frederick could almost feel sorry for the boy.<
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  Fox returned an hour later, happy and quite unaware of the undertones to his captain’s confidence in his abilities.

  “Officer Commanding the military is a Brigadier General, sir, Boisson by name. He has three battalions of light infantry and two companies of Engineers and a battery of field artillery, four-pound galloper guns which he says are old-fashioned captured pieces, very mobile and useful against charging cavalry, could possibly hold a bridgehead. No horses, sir, he said they would commandeer donkeys or mules, even oxen.”

  “Yes, Mr Fox.”

  “He says, sir, that he will absolutely refuse to surrender if he and his men are to be given over to the Turks, who, he understands, currently hold the Seven Islands. He would prefer to drown he says, being both quicker and cleaner than their fate in Turkish hands.”

  “He has a point there, Mr Fox. What of the ships themselves? Are they French national or chartered merchantmen?”

  “Commandeered merchantmen, sir.”

  “The ships’ captains will obey our orders; without a paymaster they will have no loyalty. Will Boisson surrender if given assurances that he will be held in European hands?”

  “He will, sir, though he evinced some alarm when I identified you as captain of the Trident. It would seem that he had heard of the fate of other French captives taken by you, sir. You are apparently known to the French, sir.”

  “Worried that I might eat him, I presume. You may assure him that I have no South Seas Islanders in my company, Mr Fox. Tell him as well that he will not be placed into Turkish custody. I will require the surrender of all military stores, as is normal, but inform the Brigadier that all foodstuffs are to be excluded – he must retain his rations. You are at liberty to state that small-arms and powder and ball will in all probabilities find their way into the possession of Greek insurgents against the Turk – he will be happier for that information, I have no doubt.”

  The question then arose of what to do with the prisoners. Releasing them without formal exchange was not a possibility. The French navy would show a degree of honour and would make an attempt to balance out the return of their men, but the army would not, had conspicuously failed to do so in the past. Experience in the Sugar Islands, the only theatre where significant numbers of French troops had been taken, had shown that parolees would be instantly placed under arms and no question of exchange. There would be no brigade of Englishmen sent back to Dover if Boisson was paroled, therefore he and his men must be held.

  The Russians had apparently deserted the Seven Islands and the sole military presence was Turkish, so the French could not be left there.

  The Kingdom of the Two Sicilies was the nearest theoretically allied country; it would be possible to land the prisoners there, and they might prefer to be deposited on the Italian mainland. Frederick asked Murray his opinion.

  “They might be murdered out of hand, sir; they could be put into quarries under the whip, to die of overwork; failing that their gaolers would sell their rations and slowly starve them, assuming they were to be held prisoner. Other possibilities include selling them to the Barbary pirates, they always needing galley slaves, or ransoming them back to the French. They might just conscript them into their own army, first publicly hanging their officers as an example to the men. Any course is just as likely as any other – all depending upon the whim of the moment. What they would not do, as a certainty, is treat the prisoners with any degree of honour, as the Court of the Kingdom is entirely alien to the concept.”

  Frederick had been warned in London to have no dealings with the Kingdom if he could possibly avoid it. Apparently Lord Nelson had become involved there, to his detriment. Frederick envied Nelson his naval prowess but had no wish to emulate his scandal-ridden private life, if ‘private’ it could indeed be called.

  “Thus, I have no choice other than convey them to Malta.”

  “Practically, no, sir. And one must remember that there are peace negotiations in the wind and the government would not be pleased to be embarrassed at this juncture.”

  “And Mr Pitt has lost power and I could become a very convenient scapegoat, you believe?”

  “You are not unknown, sir.”

  “Could the new First Lord change my orders, think you?”

  “Quite possibly, sir. I believe the Admiral was sure that he would.”

  Malta could be expected to have new orders for him, which could not take effect until he received them. He would hate to lose his independent status, and could only remain his own master if he stayed out of contact with the Admiralty.

  There was nothing to be done. He dared not simply release the prisoners and he would not break his pledged word and hand them over to the Turks.

  “Mr Nias, course for Malta, if you please. Convoy to conform. Mr Murray, I would be obliged if you were to use your knowledge of local languages by having yourself rowed to each of the prizes and informing their masters that I will sink, without further warning, any vessel that strays or even looks as if it might be thinking about leaving company.”

  Backham had a scrap of sail on the prize frigate, had closed them sufficiently to yell a message to Bennet in the bows.

  “Bo‘sun and thirty men, sir, and Mr Backham will be able to jury-rig sufficiently to bring the ship to port, he says, sir.”

  “Mr Archbold! Yourself, Mr Cheek and thirty able seamen – the best we have – to join Mr Backham.”

  Without a watch-keeping officer Backham would work himself into his grave, going entirely without sleep.

  A slow fortnight, the wind choosing to turn foul, and the whole convoy was escorted into Valetta, Backham in the renamed Doge frigate playing his part. The prize had originally been Venetian so the name was regarded as appropriate and they had refused to refer to the ‘First Consul’ in their day-to-day signals.

  “A French invasion force, sailing presumably for the Seven Islands whose status the French had guaranteed. You received a whisper of information and acted within both the letter and the spirit of your then orders, Sir Frederick. Well done, sir. One of the caiques sent north carrying the French naval prisoners under cartel and parole; I will not argue with that decision, Sir Frederick. So, thirteen troopships and one mauled frigate to go to the prize court, sir. And some three thousands of prisoners to be confined, on a tiny island. They must go to Port Mahon, immediately – there are facilities there, and a pair of store ships in harbour to squeeze them onto.”

  “A full count, sir? Head money for the men.”

  “Will be done, Sir Frederick. You took them fifteen days ago, I see. I received orders from the new First Lord, seventeen days ago, but, of course, orders are not effective until they are actually given. You are to carry out much the same purpose as before, Sir Frederick, but you are to do so under my command.”

  Under Admiralty orders the captain of a prize-taking ship received three eighths of its value; where an admiral gave orders he took one of those eighths.

  “The instructions must be held to be valid from the date on which you accepted them, sir. The responsibility for my actions devolved onto you from that time, sir.”

  Frederick had foreseen that this problem might arise and had decided, reluctantly, that it was better to graciously surrender one of his eighths than hold to the strictest letter of the law and grasp the cash to his bosom. He would find Fortescue far more willing to accommodate him, he was sure.

  “That is generous of you, Sir Frederick. I have three advisers here with a knowledge of Admiralty law, and the only thing they could agree upon was that the Prize Court would take forever to issue an adjudication on the point, probably wishing to take advice from the High Court of Justice in London at huge cost and great delay. One eighth of the value of your convoy, and all its stores and armaments, will be no small sum, sir, and I would have been grieved to see it all eaten up by lawyers, irrespective of the final decision.”

  Frederick agreed, better far to hand the money over and at least keep it in the service.

 
“The Doge frigate, sir, will certainly need some months in dock before she can sail again. I was close to burning her in fact, but Mr Backham was sure she could be salvaged, and we are always short of frigates.”

  “Correct, Sir Frederick, and I shall be very happy to see her bought into the service. Your Mr Backham must be made in compliment, I believe, and very conveniently so. Not to be spoken aloud, sir, but the Master and Commander of the sloop Active, who you see tied up along the quay, is to go home immediately, he having requested relief from command.”

  That meant he had been given the option to jump or be pushed. He had done something unpleasant in anomalous circumstances and there would have been a public and nasty court-martial if he had not chosen to go, in effect to leave the service, because he would probably not be offered another command.

  “May I ask why, sir?”

  “No, you may not, Sir Frederick – the most absolute discretion is demanded as a condition of his cooperation and I have promised to answer no questions. I may, however, choose to make a statement to you, the good of the service demanding it. He showed shy, Sir Frederick, when faced with a pair of galleys seeking to prey upon the ration carriers I have already mentioned; gave orders to sheer away and refused to close when the First remonstrated. Whilst the First argued, very little short of mutiny in his expressions, I believe - quite possibly offering to do him violence - the Master tacked the sloop and crossed the stern of the nearer galley, the men pouring in a broadside all unordered. They sunk her and, ignoring the captain, took off after the other, who fled. The whole matter was put into my hands when they made harbour. I suspect they might have tried to cover it all up for the sake of the good name of the Active, but the masters of the merchantmen brought it to me.”

  Cowardice in the face of the enemy, a certain hanging after court martial, no possibility of a lesser sentence. But the First Lieutenant would probably face a counter-charge from his captain of mutiny, which might also be upheld, the court making a clean sweep. As well, the Master would stand trial for his actions, not to speak of the unknown warrant officer who had, presumably, ordered the broadside. A bad business, injustice for all except the captain, a strong possibility of good officers being hanged or dismissed the service.