A Sloop of War

by Philip K Allan

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Sutton, ‘and I have had a boatswain’s chair rigged for the convenience of Mr Macpherson.’

  ‘Splendid, gentlemen,’ said Clay. ‘Shall we go?’

  A short boat ride later the officers of the Rush were strolling through the streets of Vieux Fort in their best uniforms. Life had started to return to normal in the town. In the army cantonment the tents were being taken down, and the various piles of unused stores were being moved back to the beach to be returned to the waiting transporters. For the inhabitants life was beginning under their new masters. Fishing boats once more dotted the waters of Black Bay. Those that had fled to nearby plantations on the morning the British ships had arrived, now returned to see if their houses still stood and if any of their abandoned possessions remained.

  The officers left the town by the road that led towards the fortress. They meandered across the glacis in no particular hurry to reach their destination. Partly they set their pace to that of the battered Macpherson, and partly to enjoy the cool of the evening. The sun drifted down towards the western horizon, throwing long shadows across the grass, and turning the tall sugar loaf mountain behind the town pink. All around them were signs that the siege was over. Emptied gabions were stacked in piles, ready to be taken away, while parties of soldiers were busy filling in the trenches dug with such effort at the start of the siege. As they approached the fortress itself, the officers from the Agrius came up behind them.

  ‘Captain Clay, upon my word,’ said Captain Parker, shaking his hand, ‘and the victors from the Rush. Lieutenant Macpherson, I give you joy of your recovery. I cannot express how delighted I am to see you on your feet once more. You must surely be the most fortunate man alive!’

  ‘Can I name Midshipman Preston to you, sir,’ said Clay, drawing the teenager forward. ‘He was the officer in charge of the shore party that put up such a spirited resistance until they were rescued by Lieutenant Macpherson’s dashing counter attack.’

  ‘Delighted to meet you, young man,’ said Parker. ‘Well done, sir, well done.’

  Clay and Parker stepped away from the midshipman to allow the other officers of the Agrius to crowd around Preston and congratulate their former shipmate. Clay glanced across with a smile for the teenager, and noticed Windham hanging back from his fellow officers. He turned away to join Parker, and the two captains strolled along ahead of the others.

  ‘Now here is a splendid sight, Clay,’ enthused the captain, indicating the fortress when they reached the edge of the ditch and could look across the cobbled causeway which led to the main entrance. Fluttering in the breeze above the gate flew a large union flag in place of the French tricolour, while to both sides they could see the red-coated soldiers of the Shropshire regiment patrolling the walls.

  ‘A splendid sight indeed, sir,’ agreed Clay. ‘But look. Direct your gaze towards the stone work above the gate? Do you see the remains of the royal arms of France cut in the stone that some zealot has chiselled off?’

  ‘Well, that’s revolutions for you,’ said Parker. ‘Pray God we never see the like on our shores.’

  As they went through the gate, Clay noticed a pungent aroma, which reminded him of something he had heard earlier that day.

  ‘Colonel Gordon was telling me that when the fortress was handed over today, they discovered that the French had a secret weapon,’ he said.

  ‘Upon my word, did they really?’ said Parker. ‘Well, they are tricky blighters. What manner of secret weapon was that?’

  ‘Goats, sir,’ said Clay, keeping his face impassive.

  ‘Goats!’ exclaimed Parker. ‘What on earth can you mean, Clay?’

  ‘Apparently the sappers could not understand how the French had succeeded in keeping the glacis of their fortress devoid of any cover on a tropical island where everything grows so rapid,’ he explained. ‘The answer was found penned up inside the walls. They had a large herd of goats which are apparently the perfect creature both for eating troublesome plants while doubtless also supplying the garrison with ample milk and cheese.’

  *****

  The main hall of the fortress had been arranged with some style for the victory dinner. It was a large white washed room with a high ceiling, and a heavy table of tropical hard wood that ran down the centre. That had been laid with the finest silver and candles the fortress had to offer, and along each side sat the guests, the blue coats of the navy mixed among the more numerous scarlet of the army and marines. The commandant’s cellar had been plundered to supply considerable amounts of wine (of his sole remaining bottle of cognac there was no sign) and this contributed to the celebratory atmosphere. The commandant’s excellent chef had been persuaded to work with Captain Parker’s steward Lloyd, who had been leant to Colonel Gordon for the evening. Between them they had laboured to produce as fine a banquet as possible. Clay’s only contribution was that he had been asked to supply one of the Rush’s naval ensigns, and he was pleased to see that this was in the place of honour, crossed with the regimental colour of the Shropshire regiment and mounted on the wall above the table’s head.

  ‘I call that a very handsome gesture on the colonel’s part,’ he remarked to his neighbour, indicating the flags, ‘to give equal prominence to both services. It is only fair in this case, but is too seldom seen.’ Major Grafton followed his gaze.

  ‘I agree, captain,’ he said. ‘This siege may be held as a fine example of what combined arms can achieve. On which note I believe I have not properly thanked you for the prompt way in which you landed me and my staff when that fool of a captain ran aground on that damned sand bank.’

  ‘In fairness to the master of the Burford, the hazard was not set down on any of our charts, nor even on any of the French ones that were found in the fortress,’ explained Clay.

  ‘Hmm, well if you wish to defend the cove...’ muttered the major. ‘Still, I am very grateful. A glass of wine with you, sir?’ The two men raised their glasses and the candlelight flashed off them as they were drained.

  ‘Dashed good bishop, that,’ enthused Grafton as he summoned over an orderly to refill them.

  ‘Major, could you explain to me how the siege came to an end so abruptly after the French sortie was repulsed,’ asked Clay.

  ‘Interesting you should ask that,’ said the major. ‘You see, when I first had a parley with that slippery cove of theirs, they played it all superior. How the fortress was well defended with a large garrison, full with any manner of supplies and could hold out for all eternity. Turns out that was all gammon.’

  ‘Really?’ said Clay. ‘I thought they acquitted themselves tolerably well.’

  ‘Well that’s the problem with your siege,’ explained Grafton. ‘You never truly know how many men and supplies the buggers have behind the walls till you storm the place. They can move their men about, make a deal of noise. You would be surprised how a small garrison, if well handled, can puff themselves out. It seems the Frogs were bluffing all along. In truth the garrison was quite wanting in troops. So when they attacked the redoubt all bold and full of fight, they were committing pretty much all they had in regular soldiers.’

  ‘Ah, that explains a matter that was vexing me,’ said Clay. ‘When I discussed the attack with Lieutenant Macpherson, he spoke of his surprise that the French had left no troops on the fortress walls during their sortie. He thought that it was a mistake on their part, and it was the knowledge that he could approach the rear of their formation undetected that resolved him to make his attack in the open.’ Clay thought about the attack for a moment and something else occurred to him.

  ‘But tell me, major, why do you imagine that the French would hazard their whole garrison on a single sortie?’ he asked. ‘Does it not strike you as rather reckless and foolhardy?’

  ‘No, not foolhardy, but certainly desperate,’ said the infantry man. ‘But consider how close the sortie came to success. Imagine that your midshipman did not smoke what the French were about before the attack began and so did no
t load the guns with canister in time, or promptly send for help? Frogs would have overwhelmed the redoubt as easy as kiss my hand. Then they might have destroyed the redoubt, perhaps set it ablaze and spiked the guns. Or imagine that the third gun was not being hauled up at the time. No gun, no extra body of troops on hand to defend the redoubt. If either of those circumstances had been otherwise, the French sortie would have succeeded. The gallant marines would then have arrived to find the Frogs snug back behind their walls, and you and I would not be sat here busy pouring the commandant’s excellent claret down our gullets, what! Your good health, sir.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps we were fortunate indeed,’ mused Clay, and then he corrected himself. ‘No, that is not just. The presence of the third gun was pure chance, I grant you, but the actions of Mr Preston and his men, and Captain Webb, do not fall into that category. They did smoke the French plan, and performed their duty well.’

  ‘You have the truth of it, sir,’ said the major. ‘The lad is to be commended indeed.’ The two men turned in their chairs and looked down the table towards where Preston sat listening to the conversation around him. The major caught his eye, and the two officers raised their glass to the midshipman, who blushed in response.

  ‘I understand that you negotiated the truce, Major?’ asked Clay.

  ‘I had that honour, yes,’ said Grafton. ‘I speak tolerable French. My mother was a native of Geneva and spoke to me in that tongue from the cradle, so I have some facility with it. As a result, whenever a prisoner needs to be interrogated or a parley held Colonel Gordon will dispatch me to perform the task.’

  ‘Was it excessively difficult to negotiate?’ continued Clay.

  ‘Not in this case, no,’ said the soldier. ‘Most sieges tend to conclude in that manner. Once it is clear that the game is up, the defenders generally look for terms. It saves all the loss of life and treasure that would follow from pushing matters to a conclusion. For our part we save a fortune in shot and powder as well as having less of an inconvenient great hole in the outer wall of the fortress in need of repair as soon as we take possession of the place.’

  ‘Sea fights are not dissimilar,’ said Clay. ‘They generally end in one side striking their colours to the other. When matters have reached a point when the outcome is certain, there is no disgrace in yielding to save further bloodshed.’

  ‘Have you ever been obliged to strike, captain?’ asked the soldier. Clay had enough of a sailor’s superstition to place his fingers down on the wood of the table before replying.

  ‘Thankfully I have been spared that so far,’ he replied, ‘although I have come decidedly close, not more than a month ago.’

  ‘Is that so,’ said Grafton. ‘What were the particulars?’

  ‘When I first took command of the Rush she was quite inconvenienced by a prodigious amount of weed growing on her bottom which made her decidedly sluggish,’ explained Clay. ‘We had the ill fortune to fall in with a Spanish ship of the line in light airs, and found ourselves being overhauled. This all happened in the waters near here. Our position was quite perilous as you can imagine, faced by such a superior ship.’

  ‘What did you do?’ asked the major.

  ‘I negotiated no truce, you may be sure,’ said Clay. ‘There is no disgrace in flight from such an unequal battle. My problem was that my enemy had both overwhelming power and the faster ship.’ Clay paused to sip at his wine, and became aware that all at his end of the table were now listening to him.

  ‘How did you evade such a determined foe, Captain Clay?’ asked Colonel Gordon, from the head of the table.

  ‘I used every resource at my disposal to escape, sir,’ explained Clay. ‘We deployed our sweeps to supplement what deficient wind we had, and my people were obliged to row with them for almost a day and a night. We also lightened the ship by throwing everything heavy we could lay hands on overboard, including our water, guns and anchors. The Dons were quite relentless in their pursuit. It was only when Bridgetown and the masts of the rest of the squadron were in sight that they gave up the chase.’

  The story was met with a thunder of approval as the army officers drummed the table with their fists. When the noise had subsided, Colonel Gordon spoke up.

  ‘Well, captain, I give you joy of your victory. I also hope that this mighty ship of yours does not turn up uninvited to spoil our little party here!’

  ‘Amen to that,’ said Captain Parker, touching the wood of the table too as he did so.

  *****

  The dinner ended with the guests toasting the many contributors to the victory, in such a profusion of bumpers that most of those present became quite drunk. The majority of officers left the stuffy hall to enjoy the cool of the night on the ramparts of the fortress, many with the commandant’s best cigars still clamped between their teeth. Lieutenant Munro had insisted that Macpherson and Preston should walk him over the actual ground of their triumph, and some of the junior officers from the Shropshire regiment had gone with them. Charles Faulkner could hear their loud voices out on the fortress glacis below where he stood on the wall, and looking towards the noise he saw their lighted cigars dancing like fireflies in the warm air.

  ‘Well this is an agreeable surprise, Charles old boy,’ said Windham, coming up beside the purser. ‘I had begun to suspect you of avoiding your old acquaintance. Have you missed my society?’ Faulkner looked the younger man up and down before he replied.

  ‘No, I have no objection to your society, Nicholas,’ he replied. ‘Although I will confess I do find your inclination to obsess about your uncle’s death can become tiresome.’

  ‘Not death, Charles,’ corrected Windham. ‘He was murdered.’

  ‘Yes, I know, by those ne’er do wells Lieutenant Sutton, or Commander Clay, or both,’ sighed the purser. He looked out into the night for a moment before turning back towards Windham. ‘Of late I have found myself making the comparison between men of our station and those of the middling sort that have had to make their own way in life, like those two. It can be quite revealing, Nicholas.’

  ‘Whatever can you mean, Charles?’ said Windham. ‘We were gentlemen from the cradle; they are only regarded as such in deference to their holding the King’s Commission.’

  ‘Indeed, that is my very point,’ said Faulkner. ‘Consider the advantages of birth and situation we had before we even took our first step. And what have we done with such blessings? Like you I am a younger son. My older brother’s station in life is clear as heir to the Faulkner estate, but what was I to do? The Church held no appeal for me, nor soldiering either. I have never had much ability on the hunting field. Small wonder that I cured my ennui at the gaming table, to the detriment of my poor family.’

  ‘At least you had the benefit of some choice in the matter,’ snorted Windham. ‘The Church would have suited me quite well, but oh no. Now, Nicholas, says my father, your cousin Jack has been killed on his ship in the Channel. It is your duty to the family to join the navy and so benefit from Uncle Percy’s generous preferment. No question of asking me whether I actually liked the bloody sea. And now my uncle is dead, killed by that bastard Sutton, and I am left to shift for myself.’ He kicked out viciously at a loose stone on the path beside them and it sailed into the dark. A few moments later it clattered in the ditch below them.

  ‘I know you despise Clay and Sutton, Nicholas, but I believe your opinion of them both to be wrong,’ resumed the purser. ‘Clay’s father died when he was but a boy. He was sent to sea at twelve because his mother could not keep both him and his sister. Sutton’s father yet lives, but is only a naval lieutenant himself, with little enough influence to help his boy.’

  ‘What of it?’ sneered Windham. ‘So they are lowly born men who have jumped up above their station?’

  ‘That was not my point, Nicholas,’ said Faulkner. ‘I now find myself admiring how they have improved their situations, especially when I consider the decline in my own position.’

  ‘Even though they are murders?’ s
aid Windham.

  ‘As to that I am most unsure,’ said the purser. ‘I have tried my best to provoke an indiscretion on their part, I truly have, but without success. Lieutenant Sutton is a thoroughly amiable shipmate with what I judge to be an honest character, and the captain is one of the best commanders I have served under. In truth I start to believe that this ship’s boy of yours may have made his dreadful allegation principally to gain favour with you.’

  ‘It’s not just the boy,’ said Windham. ‘His observations merely confirm what I already knew. I looked into their eyes, just after the deed was done, remember. I know what I saw.’

  ‘Well, be that as it may, I can do no more to satisfy you, Nicholas,’ said Faulkner. ‘You must pursue your dispute with these gentlemen without me.’

  ‘Well, this is all very vexing,’ said Windham. ‘I was under the impression we had an arrangement. You were resolved to find the compelling evidence that I need, and in return I would remain silent on the matter of your disreputable past.’

  ‘I gave no such undertaking,’ said Faulkner. ‘My actions were motivated by the mutual regard and admiration that exists between our two families. I have done as you asked, and that is an end of the matter.’

  ‘Not for me, Faulkner,’ hissed Windham. ‘There is very little regard or admiration on my part, you may be sure. Have a care. If that is truly your last word on this matter, I believe it may be time for me to have a little conversation with my old shipmate Alexander Clay, damn his eyes.’

  ‘You must do as you see fit,’ said the purser with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘I believe I saw him taking the air over by the gate. Now, if you will excuse me I will rejoin those who I do regard as my friends.’