A Sloop of War

by Philip K Allan

  ‘Where away?’ called Clay from the quarterdeck.

  ‘On the starboard bow, sir,’ came the reply. ‘A large island.’

  ‘Barbados to be sure,’ muttered O’Malley.

  ‘Doesn’t that mean other British warships?’ asked Sedgwick.

  ‘If we ever make it, like,’ said Evans. ‘Just keep rowing for now, till we got that Spanish bastard off our arse.’ The men settled back into the steady to and fro of rowing with a renewed purpose, in spite of their exhaustion. Barbados was in sight. At last there was now some end point to their torment, instead of this ceaseless rowing across an empty sea.

  ‘Sir, sir!’ came the sound of Midshipman Croft’s excited falsetto from the quarterdeck.

  ‘Ain’t that lad’s voice broke yet?’ muttered Evans.

  ‘Back on the old Mars one of the cooper’s mates was after being a eunuch we captured from the Turk,’ said O’Malley. ‘Massive fecker, so he was, but when he talked he squeaked like a mouse.’

  ‘The San Filipe, sir!’ continued Croft excitedly. ‘She has hauled her wind!’

  ‘Don’t break rhythm there!’ shouted Sutton, as the men all began to cheer.

  Clay watched as the San Filipe swung round in the early morning light and showed her long yellow and black sides, studded with her two rows of gun ports. She settled on her new course, and the two ships started to diverge. For the first time he saw her gilded stern, far more elaborate than any British warship. Glass windows flashed in the early morning sun, and he could see panels of scarlet and indigo, all framed by twining gold figures. Inside he felt the warm glow of triumph. That huge ship had finally been defeated by his stubborn little sloop, and her refusal to give up her flight. There had been a time when he had felt despair, when the chase had seemed hopeless, and their remorseless pursuer certain to overhaul them. He patted the oak stern rail with affection. They had fired no shots, no cutlasses had been swung, and yet this felt almost more like a victory than the cutting out of the Olivette. When the Spanish ship was a healthy distance away he turned from the rail.

  ‘Mr Croft,’ he called. ‘My complements to Mr Sutton, and the men can stop rowing now.’

  Chapter 7

  Bridgetown

  Outside the hull of the Rush the bright sun shone in the porcelain blue sky. The little silver waves of Carlisle Bay lapped once more against the side of the sloop as she rode to her sole remaining anchor. Her sides were strangely lofty. Relieved of the weight of her guns she rode lightly on her reflection, a wide band of olive green weed visible all around her waterline. On board a minimal anchor watch rested in what shade they could find, which allowed her exhausted crew and officers to sleep.

  But not all of her crew slept. Deep in her hold, a man knelt in the centre of a ring of hostile faces. His hands were tied behind his back, and a sailcloth bag hung loose over his head. The space would have been pitch black, were it not for the orange light of a small lantern placed in front of the hooded man. Light and shadow flickered against the barrels and stores that surrounded the group, and reflected back from the low beams above their heads.

  ‘You are all fucking bastards!’ came a muffled shout from the man in the centre of the ring. The voice was hot with indignant anger, but the men that surrounded him could also detect that beneath the bravado lay a strata of fear.

  ‘No, Hawke, you’re wrong there,’ said one of the figures in the ring, his voice calm and patient. ‘Bastards would have dropped you over the side one night, nice and quiet like, with a sore head and pockets full of grape shot.’

  ‘When I get out of here, I am going to have you,’ snarled Hawke’s muffled voice. ‘I am going to have you all.’ The figures in the ring laughed at that, no one bothering to respond to the threat.

  ‘Is this about that fucking monkey?’ said Hawke’s exasperated voice. ‘Is the sod giving you all one up the arse?’

  No one laughed at this. Instead one of the figures in the ring rose silently to his feet and walked towards the centre. He stood over the kneeling figure, drew back his fist and smashed it into the bag. With no chance to avoid the blow it crunched into Hawke’s unprotected face. He let out a howl of pain and then was quiet. His assailant returned to his place in the ring.

  ‘You’re going to go and see Pretty Boy Sutton,’ said the first voice. ‘You will do it later today, and you will tell him that you wants to transfer to another barky. You can choose which one. Is that clear?’

  ‘Like fuck I will,’ muttered Hawke. A fresh figure left the ring, and delivered another crashing blow.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ groaned the kneeling man. ‘He’s only a bleeding negro.’ A trickle of blood appeared from under the hood and made its glistening way down Hawke’s chest.

  ‘So are you going to do it?’ asked the first voice again. The hooded figure was silent, the shoulders shaking a little.

  ‘Let’s just end it here,’ said a fresh voice. ‘Pipe’s off the boat, Grunters are all in bed, even the Lobsters are asleep. No one will ever know who slit his throat.’

  ‘No, no!’ cried Hawke, the hooded head turned this way and that as his fear overcame his anger.

  ‘So will you do it?’ asked the remorseless first voice. The hooded head was still for a moment, and then bobbed in agreement. No one moved. The hold of the ship was almost as silent as a tomb. The only sound that could be heard was a slight dry guttering from the lantern and the muffled sound of Hawke weeping.

  *****

  Across the waters of the bay, in the great cabin of the Princess Charlotte, Clay was once more seated opposite Admiral Caldwell. The cabin was unchanged from when he had last been there. The panelling was painted in the same shade of dove grey. It was still Price with his white steward’s gloves who placed a glass of pale sherry by his side, and murmured something incomprehensible close to his ear. The same kindly brown eyes regarded him across the large desk.

  ‘So captain, you have discovered that the Dons are at war with us, I collect?’ said the admiral as he settled himself into his chair and took a sip from his own glass. ‘We only heard ourselves on Monday last. Of course they do make a curious pair of allies. On the one hand we have the new regicidal French republic and upon the other the most corrupt monarchy in all Europe.’ Caldwell shook his head in disbelief, his periwig wobbling with the gesture.

  ‘I had deduced war might have broken out, sir,’ said Clay, ‘when the San Filipe chased us from St Lucia practically into Carlisle Bay.’

  ‘Yes, I see you do look rather haggard once more,’ said Caldwell with a smile. ‘Upon my word, I am not sure if I have the ill fortune to only see you after sleepless nights, or if this is your natural condition, what?’ Clay laughed dutifully at his superior’s joke.

  ‘No matter, for I was planning to recall the Rush shortly in any case,’ said the admiral. ‘As you have doubtless noticed from the growing mass of shipping in the bay, our long awaited descent on St Lucia is in preparation. I expect General Abercromby and his soldiers to arrive from Jamaica any day soon. Now tell me, what have you been about?’

  ‘The blockade of Micoud has gone tolerably well, sir.’ began Clay. ‘The French have made little attempt to get any shipping in or out of the port. The exception being the Olivette. She was able to slip past us. Rather vexingly I found the Rush to be so encumbered by weed that even a brig loaded with a full cargo was able to give us courses, and yet still outpace us. However we sent in the boats to cut her out the night she arrived, before she was able to unload, so no harm was done.’

  ‘No harm indeed. She is a fine little prize, duly condemned by the prize court shortly after she arrived here, both ship and cargo,’ said Caldwell with satisfaction. ‘Pray continue, captain.’

  ‘The balance of our time on blockade was uneventful until yesterday, sir,’ said Clay, surprised to find his first encounter with the Spanish ship had been so recent. ‘We were approached by a strange sail that we identified as the Spanish seventy-four San Filipe. She came on in a most thr
eatening manner and was so superior in force that we were driven from our station. The wind was very light, under which conditions she was able to head reach on us. We deployed our sweeps, and started our water, but it wouldn’t answer, she was still the swifter ship. When she had closed to a position where she was able to open fire on us, I ordered the guns to be pitched over the side.’

  ‘By Jove! Are you saying that you threw all of your great guns into the sea?’ asked Caldwell, his eyes growing wide in disbelief.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Clay, ‘and when this dire expedient also failed to address our want of speed, I ordered all of our six pounder shot and most of our anchors to follow them. Once that was done, we were able to hold her just outside long cannon shot by rowing continuously for some twenty hours. It was only this morning, when we were within sight of Barbados, that the San Filipe at last gave up the chase.’

  ‘I shudder to think what the Navy Board will make of this profligacy, captain,’ said the admiral.

  ‘I would welcome any enquiry into the matter you might care to convene, sir,’ said Clay. ‘Naturally it would need to also look into the particulars behind why the Rush was sent to sea in such a lamentable condition that she was unable to avoid capture by any other means.’ Clay held his superior’s gaze, sure of his position.

  ‘Well, perhaps I may be able to smooth matters over with the Navy Board,’ he conceded at last. ‘I do have a certain amount of credit in that quarter. This does mean that the Rush will require something of a refit before she can put to sea once more.’ Caldwell rose from behind his desk, and paced up and down the cabin. The admiral seemed to brim with energy. Clay remembered from their first encounter that he had not managed to remain seated for the whole of that meeting either.

  ‘Replacing your anchors should not prove overly taxing,’ said Caldwell. ‘But I doubt if the dockyard will have as many as sixteen spare six pounder cannon.’ He pressed on to the quarter galley before turning on his heel and heading back towards Clay. Suddenly he halted in mid-stride. ‘What is your view of carronades?’ he asked. Clay thought for a moment.

  ‘We had them on the quarterdeck of the Agrius,’ he said. ‘They are powerful weapons, and they can be discharged rather more briskly than cannon, but they also have a very short range, sir. I would not want only carronades in my armament.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Caldwell. ‘Fact is I know that the dockyard have taken delivery of a batch of new twelve pounder carronades. They weigh much the same as the long six pounders you had committed to the deep. You could have a couple of long nines in the bows for range work, and a broadside of carronades. It would give the Rush quite a punch. Upon my word, it would come as decided shock for anyone unfortunate enough to come up close alongside you, what!’

  Clay had a moment of intuition as he realised the position he was now in. Although Caldwell as a vice-admiral was infinitely superior to a lowly commander, Clay was a commanding officer in his own right to be negotiated with regarding the armament of his ship, not to be simply ordered. He used his new found power at once to get what he wanted.

  ‘Will this refit of the Rush include a thorough careening of her bottom, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I believe that would be in order,’ replied the admiral.

  ‘I think the carronades will answer very well, sir,’ said Clay. ‘Thank you for making such a valuable suggestion.’

  ‘Good, that is resolved then,’ said Caldwell, returning to his seat behind the desk. ‘I will get matters in motion directly. The fact is, Clay, I need you and the Rush back at sea soon, especially as I now have a rogue Spanish ship of the line to worry about too. As I said, we will soon be mounting our attack on St Lucia, and I need you to play your part in it. I have in mind a role for you operating under Captain Parker’s command, now that the Agrius has at last finished her repairs. That was a shocking amount of damage she suffered in your battle with the Courageuse, don’t you know? The yard have had to practically rebuild her.’ The admiral took a sip of sherry and stared out of the stern window towards where the frigate swung at her moorings.

  ‘How long do you anticipate the refit of the Rush will take, sir,’ asked Clay.

  ‘Oh, I should say a good week,’ replied Caldwell. ‘Which I fear means that you and your officers will be unable to avoid receiving invitations to the Governor’s Ball on Saturday next. A ball, I ask you! Any one would think that war had never broken out, what!’

  *****

  ‘My thanks, Mr Croft,’ said Sutton, as he followed Jacob Linfield out of the Rush’s jollyboat and up the stone steps that led to the top of the quayside. Behind them lay the waters of the bay, now seeming to glow with its own amber light in the last rays of the dying sun. Ahead of them were the delights of a run ashore in Bridgetown.

  When they reached the top of the steps, the two men set off to stroll along the cobbled street that ran on top of the harbour wall. They had to weave their way through the early evening crowds. Residents taking the air greeted the two young officers politely, the men touching their hats, the women smiling from beneath their bonnets. The many hawkers raised the volume of their calls, hoping to supply them with tropical fruit, large fluted sea shells, sprays of dazzling feathers or small captive animals.

  ‘Where are you bound for this evening, Jacob,’ asked Sutton, pushing from his path an arm bearing a large parrot.

  ‘I sup tonight with Mr Bradshaw, an acquaintance of my father’s who now resides here in Bridgetown,’ replied Linfield. ‘But before that I thought I might venture out to Melverton to pay my respects to Mr Robertson.’ Sutton gave the surgeon a shrewd glance.

  ‘And doubtless to Miss Emma as well?’ he asked.

  ‘Eh, well naturally if she is there,’ he answered, his face colouring. Sutton chuckled to himself. He masked the side of his mouth with the flat of one hand.

  ‘Fear not, Mr Linfield,’ whispered Sutton. ‘Your secret is safe in my hands.’

  ‘I assure you there is no secret,’ said Linfield. ‘I do admire Miss Emma’s character, but there is no understanding between us. The summit of my ambition was to remind her that when we last dinned at Melverton she made a very handsome offer to take me riding and show me a little of the island. I was hoping to take advantage of her invitation tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, I wish you every success in your design,’ said Sutton. ‘Pray give my regards to Mr Robertson and do try and resist the temptation to engage his daughters for all of the dances on Saturday.’

  ‘Oh, as for that I am but an indifferent dancer,’ replied the surgeon. ‘But what of you, Mr Sutton? What are your plans for tonight?’

  ‘I dine with Lieutenant Munro of the marines, who you will have met when we wetted the captain’s swab. I served with him aboard the Agrius,’ replied Sutton. ‘In fact, if I am not mistaken that is his scarlet jacket over there.’ Sutton waved his hat in the air, catching the attention of the Irishman, at the cost of generating some alarm among the exotic birds on a nearby stall.

  ‘John, top of the evening to you,’ said Munro as he strode up and clasped his friend’s hand. ‘And Mr Linfield too, if I am not mistaken. What a pleasant surprise. Will you be joining us, sir?’

  ‘Alas no, Mr Munro,’ replied Linfield. ‘I have a previous engagement, so I will leave you gentlemen to your revels.’

  ‘My loss, I am sure,’ said the marine. ‘Before you depart, I must caution you to prepare yourself for a busy day with the mercury ointment tomorrow. I have just witnessed a number of the Rush’s crew heading towards one of the town’s more notorious bawdy houses in a most determined fashion. Sean O’Malley and Sam Evans were leading the charge.’

  ‘I thank you for the intelligence, Mr Munro,’ sighed Linfield. ‘And now I really must go. Good evening to you both.’

  The two friends watched the surgeon disappear down the street, before turning to each other.

  ‘So where shall we go, William?’ Sutton asked. ‘I take it that while I have been away fighting our country’s enemie
s, you have not spent your months here wholly in idleness while waiting for the repair of the Agrius to be completed. Are you at least able to recommend a satisfactory place for us to dine?’

  ‘Quite so, my dear Mr Sutton,’ replied Munro. ‘Rest assured I am no truant. After extensive research, at no small cost to myself, I can tell you that we have a table arranged at the Crown. It has decidedly the best wine to be had on Barbados, on account of the landlord having some connections with a French wine merchant in Martinique. It is said on moonless nights, in spite of the vigilance of the excise men, the odd barrel has been landed in a little cove around yonder headland. Shall we go there for a jug of bishop?’

  ‘With all my heart, William,’ said Sutton, linking arms with his friend as they set off up a side street.

  The Crown proved to be a little way back from the harbour, in the district of Weymouth. As the two officers walked, Sutton gave the Irishman an account of the Rush’s various actions since they had last been together.

  ‘And how has it been to serve under Captain Clay?’ asked William.

  ‘Do you know, I find it perfectly agreeable,’ said Sutton. ‘We have served together so long, I now find that like a long married couple we are quite accustomed to each other’s ways. He makes a very good commanding officer, and I believe we may yet turn the Rush into a tolerably efficient little ship…. What the devil is the matter, William?’

  As Sutton had been talking, he had noticed that the Irishman’s attention had been caught by something past his shoulder. As he turned to follow his gaze, Munro pulled him back behind the corner of a house.

  ‘Direct your attention towards that tavern across the street,’ he hissed. ‘Do you see Lieutenant Windham is seated by the window, having a most animated conversation with another gentleman?’

  ‘Why yes, so I do,’ said Sutton, peering in the direction Munro was pointing. ‘In fact the other gentlemen is our purser, Mr Faulkner. That is interesting. I had no knowledge of them being acquainted. But why all this subterfuge? Why should we not greet them openly?’