Their Lordships Request: A Harry Heron Adventure

by Patrick G Cox

  "Mister Bell," Captain Blackwood called, "We will exercise the upper battery after breakfast. The Frogs may be talking of peace, but I do not intend to allow our people to forget their drills. I do not expect this peace too last much longer than it takes Bonaparte to replace his losses and recruit new blood to his service. He is an ambitious man."

  "Aye, aye, sir," Thomas Bell touched his hat, "Our landsmen will need to learn their new trade I expect. I shall speak to the gunner and ensure they have the opportunity."

  -

  Chapter 5 — Accusations

  Major James Heron strode into the house on the shoulder of Scrabo, a bundle of letter packets in his hand and sought his wife. "My dear, we have letters from Harry." He handed over the largest package, adding, "By the size of the packet more than one and perhaps even some of his sketches of shipboard life."

  Mary, the Housemaid, sister to Ferghal, slipped into the sitting room and set down a tray, "Your tea, Ma'am, and a coffee for the Major."

  Mrs Heron smiled and said, "Thank you, Mary. I have letters from Harry so there will be news from Ferghal too. I shall share it with your mother later." She opened the package and carefully extracted the contents. Her husband was right. There were three letters and several sketches and she knew it would have cost Harry no small part of his meagre pay to send these. The letters were, as always, numbered, so she found the first and began to read eagerly. When she had done, she passed it to her husband, saying, "Now that the Peace is signed, it seems his ship is to be placed in reserve. Perhaps we will see him home again soon." She opened the next and began to read, then stopped, and checked the date. "Of all the infamous things," she exclaimed. "He has been transferred to another ship – the Spartan – and speaks of sailing for the Prison Colony at Botany Bay."

  "That will be an adventure for him," remarked her husband, still immersed in Harry's first. Then the import struck him. "Botany Bay do you say?"

  "The same," his wife replied. Reading further, she exclaimed, "And Ferghal goes with him. At least we may be easy on that score, but I am told that it is a dreadful place, barren and populated with savages and creatures unlike any we know."

  "Well he is not going to stay there, my dear." The Major smiled absently, "Unlike those they are no doubt escorting to that place." He frowned, "Six months ago there were several from this County condemned as poachers and rebels to be transported. I wonder if there are any of them among those on this voyage."

  "If there are it is unlikely Harry will encounter them I should think." His wife looked distressed. "Was not the Murphy boy among those condemned?"

  "You are right! I had forgot." The Major's frown deepened, "I will enquire as to his fate, but I doubt that Harry will encounter him and even if he does there is little he can – or should - do." He accepted the letter and began to read for himself as his wife began to read the third letter.

  Suddenly the Major exclaimed, "Of all the infamous things! There is a Raholp Barclay aboard the Spartan! And Harry's senior too. He shall have to tread warily as will Ferghal."

  "I am sure we may trust Harry on that score," his wife replied. "He is at least aware of the history and his Captain is from these parts and will know it too."

  "As you say. I know Robert Blackwood and I am sure he will permit no underhand dealing," the Major said. "I shall write, but it will be months ere it reaches him."

  ***

  The winds remained strong and adverse as the convoy beat its way to the south. Biscay was avoided, as the convoy made a long tack out into the Atlantic and when it again closed the coast it was south of Cape Tourinan on the Spanish coast. Even so the winds remained perverse until the fleet reached the latitude of Cadiz and then as suddenly, eased and became gentler giving the tired crew of Spartan an opportunity to dry their clothes and make good the myriad minor defects that developed in the long slog southwards.

  "Heron," Harry stiffened at the hectoring tone of Eamon Barclay, "Get that traitor of yours to clean my shirts. He's idle and needs a taste of the rope," he added viciously.

  "He is our Messman, I feel sure you can instruct him yourself," Harry replied coolly, his temper simmering at the calculated insult. "And I have no doubt that he performs his duties to everyone's satisfaction."

  Barclay laughed harshly, "Typical, always defending him. See to it my shirts get washed or it'll be the rigging for you my lad."

  Harry bit back a retort. Barclay was the Gunroom senior and he'd already suffered several watches tied to the rigging for his refusal to kowtow to the bully. Instead he said, "I'll speak to Ferghal."

  Any further conversation was cut off at that moment by the pipe and cries of, "All hands, all hands muster on deck."

  ***

  The sight that greeted them was one that, bare weeks before, would have required the ship's clearing for action. Bearing down upon them were two frigates flying the colours of the Spanish crown.

  Harry arrived on the quarterdeck to hear the Captain order, "Prepare to render passing honours, Mister Bell." He snapped his telescope shut and handed it to Kit Tanner adding, "They are preparing to do the same I see, we shall show them how it is done properly."

  The Master's Mates were already driving the men into action, sending some aloft to man rigging and spars and others to line the nettings. The Royal Marines formed a solid block of red and white on the quarterdeck with the band drawn up on the poop. Harry found himself detailed to take charge of the men controlling the halyard for the great ensign streaming proudly from the gaff as the Spanish ships closed on an opposite course, their spotless sails in sharp contrast to Spartan's own weathered canvas, the great red and gold ensigns on display.

  The band struck up an unfamiliar tune and Harry saw the leading ship's ensign begin to descend slowly. To the waiting seamen he said, "Dip the colours." Even as he said this, the first sharp bang of the gun salute crashed out from the bow, answered almost simultaneously by the boom of the Spaniard's gun. Faintly across the water he heard the sound of the Spanish band playing a tune he barely recognised as 'God save the King' as the ship's passed one another less than a cable apart.

  "Look at them, Thomas," Captain Blackwood said. "Neither has spent much time at sea recently I would wager. Their canvas is new. See? It shows harbour weathering and their gun crews are slow on the loading by the sound of their salute." He raised his hat in response to the frigate Captain's elaborate flourish as their quarterdecks passed adding as the great ensigns returned to the peak of the spanker gaff, "You may stand the men down and then I think it is time for a little more gun drill. I shall want the ship cleared for action in under ten minutes this time."

  Lieutenant Bell smiled, "I believe we may achieve that, sir." He saluted and turned away calling to the nearest Master's Mate. "Harrison. Stand the men down, then I shall want you to beat to quarters. I want the ship cleared for action in nine minutes but do not open the ports until I give the order to do so."

  "Aye, aye, sir." The Master's Mate raised his pipe to his lips and sounded the 'Stand down' then followed it with the bellowed order, the cry being taken up throughout the ship.

  Mister Bell watched as the men descended from the rigging or made to return to their previous tasks. The Spanish ships were still hull up as he nodded to the waiting Master's Mate, "Beat to Quarters!"

  The rattle of the drum sounded loudly enough on the Quarterdeck and was picked up as the other drummer boys began to beat their own tattoo on the decks below.

  ***

  Ferghal heard the drum and quickly stowed the shirts he had been carefully folding into a canvas hamper the Sailmaker had provided for the purpose of carrying the midshipmen's laundry. Carefully he stowed this in a safe place where they would not be soiled. Then he raced to the hold to receive the fittings, furnishings and other items struck below when the ship cleared the gundecks of everything not needed to fight the guns. He arrived even as the first items began arriving and when finally everything he and the other boys could stow had been pushed, pulled or
lashed into its place, ran with the others to collect his sand bucket and sand the deck around his guns. With this task complete he raced below again to collect the pair of wooden cartridge buckets he was required to bring to the guns he served.

  He reached his station at the Number eight gun just as the order was given, "Open ports and run out." He skidded to a halt and waited, out of the way of the recoil, as the gun crew hauled on the tackles and dragged the heavy gun up to the port.

  "Nine and a half minutes," wheezed the Fourth Lieutenant. "Not good enough, not good enough by a long way, you mark my words, we'll be doing this again and again until you fellows get it done in under nine."

  ***

  On the Quarterdeck Harry heard the First Lieutenant report to the Captain, "Nine and a half, sir. With your permission I shall get it under nine minutes now we have weather more conducive to drills."

  "Very well, Mister Bell, see that you do," Captain Blackwood acknowledged, "I know I may rely on you. Secure the guns and the ship; we will exercise again after dinner."

  ***

  Harry entered the Gunroom in time to hear Eamon Barclay say, "Someone's been in my sea chest! There's a purse gone from the Ditty box." He slammed the lid down and locked it, the clean shirts Ferghal had placed upon it not five minutes before, now scattered across the deck.

  Midshipman Peterson exclaimed, "I saw O'Connor at your chest – I know he's the thief."

  "How so?" Harry asked; his voice dangerously quiet. "He has neither a key to the chest nor the desire to enter it. Are those not the shirts you wanted cleaned? The one's you have now flung on the deck and soiled?"

  "What? How dare you defend him? He's a thief because I say so." Barclay retorted angrily. Seizing his dirk's scabbard he advanced on Harry. "I'll teach you to respect your elders and betters." He grabbed Harry and flung him onto the table, raising the scabbard to administer a beating. "I'll deal with you first and then see to O'Connor – the cat will make him know who his betters are."

  Harry braced himself for the beating, biting his lip as the first blow landed across his buttocks. The second made him gasp and the third brought his anger to cold fury. He was about to take action when the voice of the Second Lieutenant rang through the space, "Back to your old games, Mister Barclay?"

  The tone of Lieutenant Rae's voice was cold and dripping sarcasm. "I suggest you release Mister Heron immediately and explain yourself. You know the Captain's instructions regarding disputes in the Gunroom, why have you taken it upon yourself to disregard them?"

  Barclay released Harry and turned to face the Lieutenant, his attitude all conciliatory and his voice wheedling as he replied, "He was insubordinate, sir, and defended a thief against my charge."

  "What thief would that be? And what charge?"

  "O'Connor, sir. He was seen taking a purse from my chest."

  "That is a lie, sir," Harry interjected through gritted teeth. "Peterson said no more than that he had seen Ferghal at the chest – a reasonable enough thing since he was returning Mister Barclay's clean shirts – the same ones he has now soiled by flinging them on the deck in his accusations."

  "Well, Mister Peterson?"

  "I ..," Peterson glanced at Barclay and then stared at the deck, "Heron is correct, sir, I saw O'Connor place the shirts on the chest. No more."

  "And you Mister Heron? How have you provoked Mister Barclay into this action?"

  "I know Ferghal did not steal anything from Mister Barclay, sir. He stands falsely accused." He glared at the now conciliatory Barclay, his buttocks painfully bruised by the blows and fuelling his defiance. "And I say any man that says he is a thief is a liar."

  Ferghal entered the Gunroom, his arms laden with the laundry of several other midshipmen, retrieved from its safe wrappings, and stopped as he saw the tableau. He had heard the voices and been told Harry was in some trouble. Now he found himself the centre of attention as the lieutenant asked, "O'Connor; what do you say to Mister Barclay's charge that you have stolen his purse?"

  "That I have not, sir." Ferghal frowned as he replied. "I have never seen the gentleman's purse. There was none among the things he ordered me to clean for him, sir. When I return them I place them on top of his chest, sir."

  "Then you can have no objection to the Boatswain searching your person or your duffle." Mister Rae held up a hand to cut off the protest from Harry and from Barclay. "Enough! Mister Billing, take O'Connor forward please and then search him and his duffle. Report to me here as soon as you have done so." He paused as the Boatswain, Ferghal and the almost unnoticed boy Danny left the Gunroom, before saying, "Now, Mister Barclay, describe the purse if you please, then be so kind as to open your chest and unstow its contents – you may have simply displaced it within."

  Reluctantly Barclay replied, "It is leather, sir, with a silver fastening and my initials embossed upon it. There were ten guineas and forty shillings with some small coin as well within it." He moved to his chest and fished for his keys, bending to unlock it.

  "I thought it might be." Lieutenant Rae nodded, his expression stern. He held out a hand to Midshipman Peterson and said, "You may now hand me the purse Mister Barclay gave you this morning when the ship was cleared for action." He frowned as Peterson looked frightened and confused, "I am neither blind nor stupid, sir. You know very well the purse I mean. Now hand it to me."

  Pale and clearly shaken, Peterson dived to his own chest, unlocked it and threw up the lid. He dipped his hand into it and held out the purse. "Here it is, sir."

  Accepting it, Lieutenant Rae weighed it in his hand as he looked at Barclay, his expression unreadable. "Leather, with a silver fastening and your initials embossed I think you said? Stolen by Boy O'Connor I think you declared? Mister Barclay, you have broken the Captain's express instruction there was to be no disciplining of any fellow midshipmen without the confirmation of a lieutenant. You have brought a false charge of theft against a seaman and now, no doubt, you expect me to support and uphold your authority? I will do no such thing, sir."

  "I must protest, sir," Barclay began.

  The lieutenant held up his hand. "You will report to me at eight bells in the afternoon watch. You will be fully and correctly turned out, and you will then explain yourself to the First Lieutenant who will, no doubt, be able to think of a suitable punishment. You, Mister Peterson, will make your way to the mizzen crosstrees, and remain there until eight bells in the second dog watch and you, Mister Heron, will report to the Sailing Master immediately. The Master has a number of charts needing correction and you will assist him in his work until it is completed." He glared at the three and then asked, "Well? Mister Peterson? Mister Heron? Must I add refusal to obey an order to my list of charges?"

  Harry was the first to move, exiting the opening in the screen just as the Boatswain returned with Ferghal. "Nothing found, sir," he said, his eyes fixed on the purse the lieutenant still held.

  Harry made his way stiffly to the Master's tiny cabin and knocked. "Mister Rae sent me."

  "Come in lad," the Master was a big and rather bluff man who seemed to fill most of the small space, "We'll go to the Chart Room and set to work."

  ***

  Harry was not privy to the outcome of Eamon Barclay's interview with Mister Bell, nor to a subsequent interview with the same officer and Midshipman Peterson. He did learn that both the accusation and Barclay's subsequent assault on his person was conveyed to the Boatswain by the boy Danny Gunn and thence to the Second by Mister Billing himself. The Second had, in fact, been at the fore end of the Lower Gundeck at the time and so arrived swiftly and timeously. That Barclay had been punished and given the severest warning as to his future conduct did permeate through the ship, reaching Ferghal long before it reached Harry. And when it was repeated to him, he had the wisdom to snap at the bearer of the news and warn him to hold his tongue and cease spreading gossip concerning an officer. But it was hard to hide the little glow of satisfaction he felt at the news.

  The bruises faded in due co
urse, but not the memory of the false accusation and the beating. Harry was not one to harbour grudges or to seek revenge, but he now treated Barclay with great circumspection, suspicion and caution, thankful their officers seemed to be taking pains to ensure there was little opportunity for them to be alone together or for Peterson to be in Barclay's company alone. He could not know Captain Blackwood himself was taking an interest in his and the other Midshipmen's activities and development.

  For his part Barclay was resentful and blamed Harry for the failure of what he saw as a legitimate attempt to stamp his authority on the Messmen, in particular on Ferghal, and to make the 'lower deck scum' respect him. "The Second had no business interfering in my disciplining that upstart Heron," he complained to Tom Bowles. "He has undermined my authority completely."