A Continuing War_At Home and at Sea, 1803-1804

by John G. Cragg

  Giles had already designated his French-speaking Cornishmen to handle the mooring lines, and they and his Kentish men to respond to the sail and helm orders. He had also told the crew members who only spoke English to stay out of sight or on the starboard side once they had docked so that their nationality should not be evident.

  Généreux slid up the harbor passing a large raft of landing craft that had been assembled, presumably in preparation for the invasion of England. Captain Hoxley picked his spot on the quay and proceeded far enough up the harbor so that he could turn the brig and slide directly into the berth. The mooring lines were thrown. Idlers on the quay caught them and snugged them down to bollards* that studded the dock every few yards. As the mooring lines tightened and groaned, Généreux was pulled to a halt.

  The man who had caught the bow line called something to Tremethyk, the Cornishman who had thrown it. The seaman gave a reply that produced a laugh among the idlers who then lost interest in the brig. The laugh was joined by the French-speakers on Généreux including Captain Hoxley.

  “What was that all about?” Giles asked the privateer in a low voice.

  “The man on shore asked your crew member where was Leclerc, the seaman who usually throws the bow line. The answer was that Leclerc had caught the clap in some brothel and had missed the ship so that he could spread the same joy among all the other -- ugh – nightingales – ugh -- in the whorehouse. Now, I had better get on with my task. If all goes well, I should be back in time for us to push off before dark. Try to hide how well you are prepared, but be ready to cast off at a moment’s notice in case something goes wrong.”

  With that, Captain Hoxley left the ship and walked down the quay in a purposeful, but not hurried, manner. Giles and the crew pretended to be engaged in minor tasks about the ship even as they were on tenter-hooks awaiting the return of Captain Hoxley. After about an hour, Giles saw the ship’s master at the end of the quay, strolling along as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As he worked his way towards the brig, he even stopped to talk for a few moments to acquaintances. Only when he came aboard did he suddenly become more businesslike. He shouted out a stream of orders in French. Though he didn’t understand a word of the commands, Giles inferred that they amount to, “Come along, you lazy fellows. Man your stations to leave the dock. We don’t have all day,” though Giles figured that this was probably a much milder translation than a literal one would have been.

  Taking their cue from how the Captain had acted, the crew members drifted more than jumped to their stations. A string of orders, accompanied by what sounded like well-directed invective, had the mooring lines taken in, the sails set so that the slight breeze shoved the brig away from the quay before the sails were trimmed so that they could proceed down the harbor. At the appropriate moment, a seaman sliced his knife across the jib sheet, and the resulting loss of the head sail and a compensating turn of wheel had Généreux falling off, apparently out of control, right into a raft of landing craft. As planned, several seamen promptly swung down onto the decks of the two craft they had bumped into and secured several lines. Even as they swarmed back onto Généreux, several barrels of gunpowder from which protruded fairly short fuses already burning were lowered onto the craft and smoke began to waft from Généreux’s companion way, indicating that the brig had been set alight. The two boats that had been trailing astern were brought to the starboard side and the crew rushed to fill them. Last to leave Généreux were Midshipman Stewart and Captain Giles. The boats shoved off from the brig and their oars bit into the water to get them away from the ship and out through the harbor mouth as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, one of the fuses must have been cut too short for a barrel of gunpowder exploded before the boats reached the harbor entrance. As the boats approached the defenses at the mouth of the harbor, the guns opened up. Luckily, the boats presented a small and moving target, and the first salvos only soaked the men in the boats without doing any damage. Even as he encouraged his crew to pull with all their might, Giles noticed that Impetuous was sailing towards the harbor entrance and was continuing into danger when she should have turned away from the batteries that guarded the harbor mouth. People in the forts must have noticed the frigate as well, for the guns ceased to try to sink the two boats attempting to escape, presumably so that they could lever their guns around to fire on the frigate.

  Impetuousheld her course for several moments more, until Mr. Milton must have judged that the frigate had come as close to the defenses as he dared, for she fired her two, especially large bow-chasers, before spinning around to head back to sea. The shots from Impetuous fell short, but they did kick up large clumps of earth that sprayed over the guns that were being lined up to destroy her. The first two retaliatory salvoes from the battery were misdirected and luckily only caused large splashes in the water beside the frigate without hitting her. The next shot was high. The following one was low, but two balls skipped off the water rather than sinking and they struck Impetuous’s stern. One of them destroyed part of the windows of Giles’s cabin. The other thumped into the ornate board which had her name emblazoned on it. Both probably did further damage, but they had missed the rudder. The following shots missed the frigate all together and after that it was evident that the ship had sailed beyond the range of the guns. At that point, Impetuous luffed up to wait in the hopes that the boats from Généreux would be able to reach her.

  The guns were again directed at the fleeing boats. Their aim was not good, with most of the balls missing their target by a large margin. Some, however, came disturbingly close. One, indeed hit one of the starboard oars on Giles’s boat and the impact drove the handle into the chin of its rower. Giles could not pause to attend to the man, his only reaction to the hit being to starboard his helm a little to compensate for the imbalance in the number of oars that were still pulling the boat.

  One other ball seemed to fly past within inches of Giles’s nose. There was a sound to his left, and when he glanced that way, he saw that Captain Hoxley’s body was splayed across the side of the boat, his head gone, presumably having been carried away by the cannon ball. Despite the bile that rose in his throat and his horror at the sudden fate of the pirate, Giles training made him seem indifferent to the sudden slaughter. “Steady, steady, pull hard” he growled, the order primarily directed at the rower nearest him who had vomited into the bilge at the sight of the headless corpse. Giles diminished the immediate horror by tipping the corpse out of the boat. Amazingly, given the large number of shots that the battery had taken at the boats, there was no other damage and both boats were able to escape to Impetuous. The only person killed in their foray had been Captain Hoxley. Penprase, the rower whose oar had been hit, had only been knocked unconscious and had his jaw broken. He had not been killed. The surgeon claimed that the Cornishman would recover though his jaw would have to be bound up and sustenance and water poured carefully into his mouth until it healed.

  As Giles was ascending the side of Impetuous, he was debating how best to reprove Mr. Milton for putting the frigate in danger in trying to rescue Giles. He found it particularly difficult, since he knew that he would have done the same thing if their roles had been reversed. That was not really comparable, however. He would have sent Mr. Milton into danger, and Mr. Milton had certainly not sent Giles. What Mr. Milton should have done was to turn away. However, Giles realized that he would not truly want to serve in a Navy where such a cold-blooded and calculating approach to comrades’ danger would be taken. Mr. Milton was wrong, yes; he probably knew that he was, himself; Giles would simply thank him, not give him a tongue lashing.

  The damage to the ship was not serious. The stern windows would have to be rebuilt, and the other ball had cracked an underlying plank. Impetuous was getting more and more banged up and would have to go into dry dock soon. Giles would have to report to the Admiral that his ship was hardly sea-worthy. Then, surely, his superior officer would send them into Chatham for supplies and repairs. With any luck
, the repairs would take quite a while and he would be able to visit Dipton while the work was being done. Giles was already anticipating seeing Daphne again. But first he would have to have another interview with Admiral Gardiner.

  Chapter XII

  The records from Salton Masham arrived on the morning following the trip to evaluate hunting horses. Daphne spent some time studying the accounts. She had learned basic arithmetic at the dame school she had attended, as it was an accomplishment that ladies were thought to need in managing their households. That had kindled an interest in figures which was furthered when her father allowed her to assume much of the running of Dipton Manor. She found that she had a knack for seeing what numbers said about how things were being run and that they even showed the way to improvements which might be made. She could do quite complicated calculations in her head and could keep track of several numbers from different pages at the same time in order to illuminate a larger picture.

  The accounts revealed that the stud farm had been quite a profitable enterprise until the past year when its expenses seemed to be getting out of hand. It would take more investigation than Daphne was prepared to put into the records to determine whether this was due to inefficiencies or to thievery that had crept into the operation with the death of the owner.

  The stud record was written in quite a different hand, one which suggested that the writer was not comfortable with a pen and had possibly learned to write as an adult. From the context, it appeared to be Mr. Griffiths who recorded in detail and precision all the breeding activities and results of the farm. It was the work of someone who clearly knew his business. To Daphne’s surprise, while it listed where each colt had been sold as well as its characteristics, it never mentioned the price. That, Daphne surmised, had been the domain of someone else.

  The accounts did little to dull her attraction to the stud farm, even though caution would be needed to discover the reason for the recent increase in expenses. However, before Daphne got too lost in dreams of turning Dipton Hall into a famous breeder of horses, her resolve of the previous evening caught up with her. She would be risking too much to undertake such a radical change in direction even with permission from Captain Giles if he had not himself examined what was involved. Only if the opportunity was still there when once more he returned to Dipton, and only if he came to the conclusion on his own that this would be a good direction for the estate, would she take any steps to accomplish the change. She, instead, should make sure that all was in order for the dinner that night, not dream of a remote change whose realization, she had resolved, would not occur at her instigation.

  The dinner to initiate Daphne’s scheme to provide futures for her house companions turned out, in her opinion, to be a shrewd maneuver. It started well by her asking Lieutenant Charles what had been his occupation before he joined the militia. The answer was that he had been at Cambridge, but had been sent down for some unspecified prank. He seemed to think that this dismissal was a great joke. Daphne’s heart sank as he reported that he had been up at the University because she had visions of Lord David and Lieutenant Charles going into a corner to swap reminiscences of their student days. Fortunately, however, the lieutenant turned the conversation another way by adding that he had intended just to have a good time after being sent down, living in London and spending an allowance from his father. His parent, however, had quite other ideas about how his son should occupy his time. He had bought his son a lieutenant’s commission in Lord Moresby’s Regiment where he hoped his offspring would learn responsibility. Lieutenant Charles complained that, really, his father should have bought him at least a captaincy. This gave an opening to Miss Lydia Crocker to comment on how stingy rich relatives could be, citing the case of her own grandfather. They were sitting together and somehow their conversation drifted away from the others as Daphne turned to Captain Hicks with much the same question as she had directed at Lieutenant Charles. As she expected, he explained that he had a position in the family bank.

  To keep the conversation going, Daphne stated, rather untruthfully, that she knew there was a bank in Ameschester, but she wasn’t really sure what they did. Despite a serious, sudden case of coughing from Lord David who was well aware of Daphne’s financial acumen, Captain Hicks proceeded to explain how banks could take deposits and people could write draughts on them and how banks would make loans and issue bills of exchange that could be cashed at their correspondents’ offices. How did that work, Daphne asked, while really hoping that Catherine Crocker would show some interest in the conversation. The Captain explained, again not overly coherently, how you could put money into one bank and then have the bank give you a piece of paper that could be taken by someone in another town to the bank there and get the money. At that point, Miss Crocker suddenly showed a keen interest in the mysterious world of banking about which Captain Hicks was so well informed.

  “How, Captain Hicks, can that be? How do they know in advance to which bank to send the sack of gold coins?”

  Daphne was sure that getting this conundrum sorted out would surely take the two young people until dinner was announced. She turned to getting her third project under way.

  “Major Stoner, did you know that Lady Marianne’s late husband was an army officer?”

  “No, I did not. Lady Marianne, what was your husband’s regiment?”

  As Daphne hoped, that got the two of them engaged in comparisons of army life in India and in Yorkshire and how, while some challenges were quite different, others were the same wherever there were soldiers.

  Lord David winked at Daphne, much to her annoyance since she did not like having her stratagems recognized so easily, and they then started to discuss the adequacy of the vicarage’s stables and of Lord David’s groom if he were to acquire a first-rate horse for hunting. Lord David spent quite a bit of the conversation on the relative merits of the two horses he had under consideration, and they agreed that the choice should not be made without another chance to ride the two mounts again.

  After dinner, when the other men had thoroughly bored Lord David by exchanging tales of life in barracks while indulging themselves with copious glasses of port wine, the opportunity presented itself for the ladies to exhibit their musical talents. Luckily the army men did not seem to have much of an ear for music and things proceeded even much better when the men themselves were induced to sing. Daphne, as the most accomplished pianist, was pressed into service to accompany the men, which she did more than adequately. Lieutenant Charles had a light tenor voice which he controlled excellently so that his singing of standard love songs seemed to have Miss Lydia almost swooning. Captain Hicks provided a rougher baritone, though it seemed to please Miss Crocker immensely. Finally Major Stoner persuaded Lady Marianne to play while he sang some well-known military songs. What they lacked in technique, for Major Stoner had a harsh voice and sang off-key while Lady Marianne’s precision in hitting the right notes was rather wobbly, they made up for in enthusiasm. They only grated on the nerves of Daphne and Lord David, for the other possible listeners had moved to the end of the drawing room and seemed to be engaged in good-natured banter that was not hindered by their elders’ efforts.

  Lord David took the opportunity to discuss once more the horses that they had examined. He was eager to see them again and to choose one in time to have some experience on the horse before the next hunt. His unpleasant ride on Dark Paul still grated on him and he wanted to avoid any chance of a repeat. Daphne sympathized and felt that she would also like to get used to her horse before displaying her skills to the jaundiced eyes of the men of the hunt who, she was sure, believed that women in a hunt should merely follow meekly along in order to admire and praise the actions of the gentlemen. Discussing horses and agreeing to go over to examine them the next day did something to give relief to the enthusiastic noise-making that was occupying Lady Marianne and the Major.

  After the guests left, Daphne could congratulate herself that the first steps of her plans were off to a
flying start. Of course, it was still very early days, and the course of true love was not supposed to run smoothly. But that had not been her own experience, and she wasn’t sure that true love was really what she could expect from her scheming on behalf of her in-laws.

  It was still nearly pitch dark when Elsie drew the curtains in her mistress’s bedroom the next morning, though a pink line along the horizon indicated that dawn was at hand. The scullery maid had been in a couple of hours earlier to lay the fire in Daphne’s grate, so getting out of bed was not the torture that it might have been otherwise. Daphne wondered how she should occupy herself in the coming day. The farm tasks had ground to a halt except for the chores needed to maintain the livestock. She was now well versed in the financial accounts. She would read, and play the piano forte and possibly take a brisk walk for exercise. She was about to instruct Elsie on the proper clothes to get out to match her intentions when she remembered her agreement with Lord David. She ordered Elsie to bring her the special writing desk for use in bed, which, in fact, she had not yet used, so that she could write a note to her father to suggest that he join them in the expedition. With that dispatched, Daphne bounced out of bed to don her winter riding clothes before going down to breakfast.

  Daphne was surprised to find that her nieces were already at table. Normally they slept later. They also seemed to be having a much less substantial meal than was their norm. Daphne suspected that this self-denial might have something to do with the men who had attended the dinner the previous evening, and that suspicion was strengthened when the first topic of conversation raised was the dowries that Daphne had indicated might be forthcoming. Daphne confirmed that there would be dowries, but indicated that the amount could only be determined by Captain Giles. She rather hinted that it might be a subject of negotiation between the captain and any suitor. That made the girls realize another problem which they had never considered. At their age, someone had to consent to their getting married. Could their mother do that, or did it require some man? And if so, which man? Was it their grandfather, in whom they had no confidence, or could their half-uncle be the one to give permission? Daphne had no idea what the answers were, but she indicated that she imagined that their uncle’s permission would be sufficient, especially if their mother agreed. The girls then began to pester her on when the Captain might be returning, a subject on which she had no information.