“Ah, yes, Mr Murray, somewhat akin to the problems one will discover in Heaven if one does not speak English, I presume?”
Frederick was rather proud of this conceit, even more pleased to offer it with a perfectly straight face.
Murray seemed almost stunned, had quite lost his place in his little lecture.
“Ah… the Arabs, quite so… they want only to remove the Ottoman sandal from their necks, but they are just a hopeless bunch of camel-shaggers when it comes to modern warfare, sir!”
“Elegantly expressed, Mr Murray!”
“The Ottoman Empire is in collapse, but it is not without strength, even so, will not disappear overnight. It is big and has generations left in it, but cannot survive – like Russia, sir. The next Empire, sir, will be based on the strength of industry, and none of the Eastern European powers is strong in iron and coal, or has the enterprise to create such a base. Returning to the Ottoman – its best, most able men are commonly the least loyal – they have no concept of patriotism, owe a duty to themselves and their kinsfolk only – so some are open to bribery while others try to carve out their own, independent princedoms. The concept of ‘country’ means nothing to them, and they are unable to understand it in, for example, the Greeks, to many of whom it is all.”
“Strange, is it not, Mr Murray – I do not think of patriotism, because it is part of me, it is there.”
“Exactly so, sir – the Greeks have no country, thus think of it all the time. The Ottomans have no country and do not yet understand what such a thing is.”
“Too difficult for me, Mr Murray – I have a brother by marriage who sat long at Oxford – he might be able to explain these ideas, but he is not here! You say that ‘some’ can be bribed, which means that others cannot?”
“Very much so, sir. Some, a few, are pious; some hate Franks; some have family ties at the Ottoman court. A number, even, have a personal integrity which leads them to despise those who would bribe them.”
“There was mention of an adviser who would join me here – I discover I have need of him, Mr Murray!”
Murray shook his head sadly. “That was to have been Brown, Captain Brown, I believe – he had been a Guardee, but he was discovered in possession of an intellect and was drummed out of the regiment. He grew a little careless, perhaps - overconfident for sure - went ashore on Rhodes once too often, died on the impaling stake two months ago in the company of a number of Greeks caught in arms; unrecognised, we believe.”
“Impaling stake?”
Murray made appropriate gestures.
“Christ! Even the Papuans did not do that!”
“Ah! The Fuzzy-Wuzzies! Tell me, Sir Frederick… no, not now, on a later day, perhaps. There may well be time, sir, for I propose to do myself the honour of joining you in the captain’s place, with your permission.”
Frederick surveyed the unprepossessing form of the lieutenant, even shorter than himself, thin, scrawny, apart from an incipient middle-aged paunch, stoop-shouldered. He was obviously designed by Nature to be a don, a schoolmaster, a librarian, a solicitor’s clerk, anything other than a fighting man of action, but… it required only a pull of two ounces to trigger a well-balanced pistol sear, very little more to draw a razor-sharp knife across a throat. A willing mind could more than compensate for a limited body.
“Have you ever been in action, Mr Murray?”
“Oh, yes, Sir Frederick! Indeed, I came out to the Mediterranean for being somewhat blown upon in France, as well as knowing some little of the languages, of course.”
“Blown upon, sir?” Frederick was suddenly aware that he was out of his depth, that there was just a hint of lupine teeth in this mild-mannered little sheep sat at his desk.
“It happens to us all, on occasion, sir – like poor Brown, we grow confident, careless after a while. I was working in an office of the Ministry of War in Paris when it became clear to the authorities that there was a leakage, probably emanating from my general area. So I placed some elegantly incriminating documents and letters, and a couple of hundred golden guineas, in the desks of my superior and the three most loyal of my colleagues and begged two days of leave – French leave, one might say. An investigation followed the executions – I wrote an anonymous letter, of course – and it is not impossible that I came under some suspicion, sufficient to indicate a possible identity for me. There is reason to suppose that questions were asked in London.”
Frederick was now certain that he was much more than out of his depth – these were murky waters indeed.
“But, you are a naval lieutenant, Mr Murray?”
“Well… not really. In fact, you might say, not at all! But, you know, Sir Frederick, a uniform is so inconspicuous on an admiral’s staff or on a ship – one can potter about unnoticed, and there is never a soul will question one, ask just what it is that one does – all have their duties, cannot imagine that any other uniform does not. Why, I was two months in the Vatican once, dressed appropriately, and was never queried – I came very close to being buggered, I recall, but my bona fides were safe.”
Frederick was seized by an overwhelming desire to know just what he had been doing in the Vatican, why he had been there, but knew he would probably never be told, suspected as well that if he was to be given an answer, it would be false.
“Mr Murray, was you to join and, say, two of my lieutenants died or went away in prizes, how would I not put you on watch?”
“Oh, but you do, sir! All of your men will have taken pity on me by then – ‘pleasant little fellow, very good in a fight but don’t know his arse from his elbow besides’. They will respect the little I can do, will forgive the great deal I cannot. I will give the orders and they will tell me what they should be and we will do very well for a while.”
It would work, Frederick knew; an established crew needed only the framework of discipline, a structure to follow. Eventually Murray would find himself in a situation where he needed knowledge or experience he did not possess, but they should be back in harbour by then, except by the unluckiest chance. Murray would be written down as a genial incompetent, brave, well liked, but not up to the job – they had all seen his sort before, promoted after a successful fight but incapable of an officer’s responsibilities, and would look after him.
“Good in a fight, Mr Murray?”
“Pistol, knife, sword – though I have doubts about those clumsy great cutlasses of yours, sir – but not bare hands, I fear – the prize-ring is not for me.”
“Can you handle a boat?”
“Not at all, sir – though I have been set down on the shore on occasion.”
“Not to worry… if, say, you were assigned to Green’s cutter, he to be yours, you to be Boarding Officer, for having the languages and local knowledge… it would make clear to all why you were aboard, not being naturally suited to sea-going life otherwise. My premier must know you are more than you seem, Mr Murray, was I to be killed then he would need the information.”
“That seems reasonable, sir.”
Frederick stood, paced formally round his desk, offered his hand.
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Murray. Bosomtwi!”
“Mr Backham, on the QT, Mr Murray is one of the Admiralty’s special people – never been to sea but seen more action than a dozen of us put together. Keep the knowledge to yourself, of course, and cover for him. He will be Boarding Officer and is to be my special adviser. He must have a cabin space made for him – there may be secret papers, so we do not want any of the hands there – somewhere that is not struck down when we clear, I had thought of part of bos’n’s or purser’s stores space?”
“That can be done, sir, but this of ‘covering’ for him, I am not entirely sure, sir…”
“He lacks the seatime one would expect of the rank, Mr Backham, will sometimes not know what to do or say, keep an eye to him.”
Backham agreed that he would, but clearly had little idea of exactly what he would do.
“It will all wor
k out, Mr Backham. Ask Mr Quinlan to see me, please.”
The Marine lieutenant stood at least an inch over six feet, was massively muscled, could have been a blacksmith. He had a voice to match, was a clumsy, insensitive bull of a man, a true ‘soldier’, in the naval sense.
“We shall be making, I expect, a number of landings over the next few months, Mr Quinlan, some on hostile shores to take batteries and make cuttings-out, others to meet dubious allies. You and your people will be our spearhead, with seventy or eighty of foremast jacks to back you if we are assaulting a position. You will need be practised in silent, night boat work, landing with dry powder and then making an attack or forming a perimeter against ambush.”
“Easy, sir. Rely on us. We will show you how it is to be done. No great need for rehearsals, sir – all part of a Marine’s trade, sir!”
Quinlan left, hopefully to inform his ensign and sergeant of the tasks ahead of them. The ensign was a mere boy, and not entirely bright, but Sergeant Benson was a true professional. A pity that protocol insisted that Frederick must speak to the officer, could not go over his head to his sergeant.
“Ablett? Do you talk to any of the Marines, ever?”
“Benson takes a pipe in the galley at smoko. Pleasant enough for a jolly, sir.”
“Did you happen to hear what I was saying to Mr Quinlan, by any chance?”
Nothing more was said – it would have been the height of impropriety even to hint at the possibility that his coxswain might go behind an officer’s back, and Ablett would not have considered suggesting it; he would, of course, do it that evening.
“On deck, sir, isn’t it.”
Frederick stood immediately, put on the coat and hat Bosomtwi held out to him. He did not waste time on questions, the situation would be obvious or Bosomtwi would have briefed him.
Bennett was speaking in an urgent undervoice to Backham, a pair of men at the entryport, seabags at their feet, Backham rigid, his whole body saying ‘no’.
“Good morning, gentlemen!”
The conversation broke off as they turned to him.
“Good Lord! There’s a surprise! Goldfarb and Jewson! Have you come aboard to join, men?”
“Ja, sir.”
“If you please, sir.”
“Of course I please! There’s always a place for good men. Goldfarb, you rated quarter-gunner when last I saw you, and you were able, Jewson?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good – read ‘em in, Mr Bennett. We need both, do we not, Mr Backham?”
“Well, sir, if you remember, we lost only one man on the voyage out, we are high on our complement.”
Doctor Morris had landed one sudden lunatic at Gibraltar, a new landsman, strong and healthy seeming, who had burst into tears one morning, had sat and wept and rocked to and fro and would not move, had fought when they tried to shift him, in the end had been tied hand and foot and deposited in the sickbay where, unbound, he had curled up into himself and cried unceasing in a corner, most upsetting for all who could hear him.
“Yes, of course, the purser will not be best pleased with me. How is Steyning?”
“Sulky, idle, unwilling to learn still, tries unceasing to talk to his farm boys, but they will not listen to him, so he can hardly be said to be suborning them, sir.”
“Has he back-answered again?”
“Not quite sufficiently to pick him up, sir, and only to the boys, the mids, and then only when he thinks they are out of the way of any officer.”
“The young gentlemen must be fully supported, I think, Mr Backham.”
“Certainly, sir. I had not realised those two men to be old ships, sir, or I should not have gone to turn them away.”
“Reliable men, both – two of the Cape Town soldiers – sent off in a prize crew, I suspect. They always keep together, you will discover them to be very close friends, should be messed together.”
Backham looked somewhat surprised – he had always understood policy in such cases to be to split the couples well apart, different messes, opposite watches. However, if that was what Sir Frederick wanted, then that was how it would be. There was much the captain understood that he did not, feared he might never - but he did not need to understand, with such a captain to follow! He went in search of the boatswain.
“We have a new lieutenant joining, Mr Cheek – he is to be Boarding Officer, has the languages. He is a special sort of officer, I understand, who has been very little to sea, but has much experience of another sort. The captain says we should ‘look after’ him, make sure he does nothing silly; he says he will be very useful up in the islands. He should have his own cabin, not in the wardroom, but in a stores space which will not have to be struck down when we clear. There will be papers, I understand.”
“Right, sir, I think I know what you mean, nothing to be said.”
“Just so.”
“Good, sir. I shall see to that, and look after him. He must have a servant – best would be one of the older men, getting a bit stiff in the knees and back, one who knows everything. Best if he can’t read or write – I have just the chap in mind, sir. When does the new man join, sir?”
“We sail on Saturday, expect him on Friday.”
“Sunday today, sir – we shall knock up a cabin tomorrow, bookshelves on Tuesday if he has all of that paper.”
“Thank you, Mr Cheek. Now, the captain tells me he expects to make landings in the islands, perhaps cutting out, destroying a battery, that sort of thing. He wishes us to identify a party, as large as we can make it, to go ashore behind the Marines and to be trained in pistol, cutlass and musket.”
“Not more than eighty men, sir, and Marc and Jean, of course – they are worth a dozen each. That will allow us to work the ship and man a single broadside, the boats crews having to stay with them.”
“That is about the number we had arrived at.”
“The Indian men and the Cape Town soldiers, number about seventy, are very useful in a fight. If, say, we take ten of the farm boys, sir? We could train up all twenty, take them turn and turn about – it would make them feel part of things, show we trusted and valued them. Soldiers to take muskets, in the nature of things – we could rate Goldfarb gunner’s mate, sir, stretching a point, so he could lead them, he was used to be their sergeant.”
Backham agreed – he had heard a few of the stories from Bennett and Doctor Morris, decided he must make a point of discovering all the rest – he had to know these things. Perhaps he could chat with Ablett on occasion – he wondered exactly how he would go about it, he had never learned how to chat to people.
“Good enough, sir. The Indian men have all got their fighting knives and will take a cutlass apiece.”
“But, they are only quite small men, Mr Cheek.”
“I would not be the man to argue with them, sir – by the time they’ve finished cutting lumps off you, you’re exactly the same size as them!”
“I see I shall have to learn more about them, Mr Cheek – I had thought them to be peaceable little fellows. The farm boys are mostly strong lads – boarding axes and pistols, think you?”
“Do them well, sir. Grapnel and lines as well, they being strong. The soldiers to carry a blade of their own choosing as well as bayonet, if they want.”
Backham took out his notebook, jotted down all the details, a habit that the men half-respected, but only half, it was a clerkish sort of trick, after all.
“Officers, sir?”
“Me and Mr Murray.”
“And, sir, Mr McGregor and Mr Davidson.”
“Is not McGregor too young, bos’n?”
“He pistolled a Barbary pirate on Djerba and was slashing at another before one of the men took over, him being over small still, it being two years back. You have heard the name the men gave him, sir?”
“I had thought it to be some kind of joke. A brave lad!”
“He needs be, sir, because he’s never going to be a true seaman, not like you or me or Mr Nias, or even Mr Mer
ritt or Mr Archbold or Mr Bennett. He will be just good enough to pass his board, sir, but he will make a hell of a captain for finding a fight and getting into it and coming out the other side.”
“Like Sir Frederick?”
“Pretty much, sir – it would help the boy no end to have an admiral’s letter to show alongside his journals when it comes to passing for lieutenant.”
Backham nodded, noted the name in his book.
From boatswain, Backham proceeded down two companionways to the gunner’s dark domain, broached the question of small arms.
“For they Marines, I dunno, sir, for they do ‘ave their own armourer, like. For the seamen, I ‘as got four dozen stands of muskets wi’ iron ramrods, Sea Service, and sixty four pistols and four ‘undreds of cutlasses in their barrels, and ‘eads and ‘afts for sixty boarding axes. What I ain’t got, and wishes as I did ‘ave, be a half dozen of musketoons or fowling pieces or even they old blunderbusses what could fire a load of buckshot, which be unpleasant to receive at close quarters, sir.”
Britannia’s Son (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 4) Page 19