A Fine Retribution

by Dewey Lambdin

  There were other letters from fellow officers, a sarcastic one from Geoffrey Westcott, a perennial bachelor too busy wenching to ever wed; Anthony Langlie, who had married his French ward, Sophie; and one from Rear-Admiral Thomas Charlton.

  “Hmm, Thom Charlton says he’s in London, between commissions,” Lewrie related, “and his mail just caught up with him. He’s staying at Nerot’s Hotel in Saint James’s, in Knight’s Street. I should write and invite him to dine with us,” further explaining how they had met in the Adriatic, what they had accomplished, and how Thomas Charlton had given one of his sons his first berth as a Midshipman in 1803.

  “But of course, darling,” Jessica agreed. “It would be grand to meet him.”

  “Hmm, something about a proposal he wants to discuss with me,” Lewrie read on aloud.

  “A proposal?” Jessica asked, swiping a loose lock of hair back under her mob-cap, with a quizzical brow up. “What sort of proposal?”

  “Don’t know,” Lewrie replied, “he doesn’t say. Maybe I should call on him at his lodgings, first, find out what he means, then invite him to dine.”

  “Something concerning the Navy, Alan? Oh, dear,” Jessica said, hugging her shawl closer round her.

  “It may be,” Lewrie said, feeling a frisson of excitement that it might pull him out of his forced retirement, even as he sensed his wife’s alarm, which he tried to calm. “Who knows? He might wish to ask if I know a promising fellow to be his Flag-Lieutenant or his Flag-Captain, if he’s gettin’ a new command. Or, he might ask how I managed t’raise all those rabbits and quail aboard my last ship, and how they fare at sea, ha ha!”

  He gave her a dis-arming smile and a shrug to reassure her, then could not help allowing his gaze to stray to where his great-cabin furnishing had stood in the parlour, but saw the new settee, matching chairs, and side-tables that Jessica had bought after they’d returned to London from their honeymoon. His old things, she’d complained, had reeked of salt, tar, gunpowder, and mildew, and hints of the orlop and rotting salt-meats too long in brine casks. All had been relegated to the servants’ flat above the un-used stables.

  “So, you might not be called back to sea anytime soon?” she asked, sounding a touch fearful.

  “I rather doubt it, my love,” Lewrie shrugged off, but at heart he wondered. If Charlton asked, would he actually leave his sweet wife and this happy life with her? As dear as he adored her, as loath as he was to be apart from her for even a single night, he feared that he might!

  BOOK THREE

  Fire is the test of gold; adversity, of strong men.

  —LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, “ON PROVIDENCE”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “My stars, Lewrie, I do believe that you must live inside some faery ring,” Rear-Admiral of the Blue Thomas Charlton exclaimed after they had settled down at a table at a coffee house a short walk from Nerot’s Hotel the next morning. “How many years since our time in the Adriatic, how long since we’ve seen each other, and you don’t look as if you’ve aged a single day!”

  “Ehm, clean livin’, early retirin’, and no drink?” Lewrie japed away the compliment. “You look fit and trim, I must say.”

  “Oh, tosh,” Charlton replied with a fake scowl.

  Did one picture a mental image of a typical English gentleman, Thom Charlton was your man. He had a long, rectangular head and face, a high brow, and a long nose, and features rather un-remarkable, with a head of hair which at one time had been thick and brown, but had gone completely salt-and-pepper, far beyond the faint brushes of grey along his temples that Lewrie recalled from their last meeting. He was still tall, slim, but substantial, a full three inches taller than Lewrie’s five feet nine. This morning, Charlton was dressed in civilian suitings; even when in uniform, unless he wore the medal, no one would have guessed that he was one of the “Trafalgar Captains”.

  They ordered coffee and brandy, stipulating that it should be hot, not the usual tepid found in most coffee houses, then caught up on their doings for a genial half-hour, with Charlton enquiring about Lewrie’s youngest son, Hugh, who had been in his first two years of service when Charlton had sailed his ship into the combined Franco-Spanish fleet.

  “Ah, the North coast of Spain,” Charlton said, “a grand place for the lad to be, right now. I’ve heard that our ships there are to be strongly re-enforced, and become a proper Admiral’s command.”

  “Yours, sir?” Lewrie asked with a sly grin. If it was given to Charlton, he might need an officer already familiar with the coast and its dangers.

  “Oh, no, I fear not, Lewrie,” Charlton said with another deprecating shrug and scowl. “In point of fact, the rumour round Admiralty is that it may be given to Rear-Admiral Sir Home Popham.”

  “Popham?” Lewrie gawped. “Good God, that idiot? Didn’t his reprimand over Buenos Aires mean anything? I was with him at Cape Town and Buenos Aires, and thank Christ I was able t’sail away before that turned t’shit.”

  “Ah, but unlike Lord Cochrane, say, Popham is a very cool and smooth fellow, glib as anything,” Charlton rejoined with a sly laugh, “and he’s made a point during his career to make friends, left, right, and centre. Popham is possessed of powerful patrons, too, all of whom can easily dismiss his … odder moments. He could be barking mad and hot on an expedition to the Moon, but he could convince one to not only sponsor it, but come along with him for the fun of it.

  “What’s Cochrane done since Aix Roads, after all?” Charlton went on. “Tossed over his naval career, taken his seat in Lord’s, and become a pest over his slighted honour, so much so that his patrons are embarrassed to speak up for him. No, Popham will succeed, I expect, because he needs to … in his usual ambitious way. He might even envision an invasion or two, to lure French troops away from Wellesley when he goes back into Spain in the Spring.”

  “Well, good luck to him, then,” Lewrie decided, “so long as he doesn’t bite off more than he can chew … again.”

  “Speaking of invasions…,” Charlton said, idly twiddling with his spoon. “Recall, I wrote of a proposal to discuss with you.”

  “Who do ye want crushed, sir?” Lewrie asked with a grin, which much amused the older man for a moment.

  “Ah, that’s the Lewrie I remember from the Adriatic,” Charlton mused. “And, the officer who raised so much Hell along the Andalusian coast a few years back.”

  “Well, not too much Hell, sir,” Lewrie countered, “with only one troop transport and two companies of soldiers. And, once we barely hit our stride, General Dalrymple at Gibraltar limited our usefulness, fearful that we might convince the Spanish t’stay allied with France, if we nipped ’em too sore. There were secret negotiations goin’ on, behind the scenes, to get ’em to switch sides, and when they did, and we could have done the same against the French, our little enterprise’d been put out of business.”

  “But what if such an enterprise could be put back together again, in a much larger way, Lewrie?” Charlton cagily asked. “We’ve already seen something like that in Italy, with at least a brigade of troops. Fought a battle against the French, bloodied their noses, then got off quite handily.”

  “Well, d’ye mean an actual, hold-the-ground invasion, sir, or a series of raids?” Lewrie wondered aloud, head cocked to one side with a frown on his face, “It’s one thing t’burn semaphore towers, scandalise gun batteries, or even take and blow up small forts, but it’s quite another thing to seize port towns and hold them long enough for a real army to follow up.”

  “Hmm, let’s say raids, in the beginning,” Charlton decided. “I recall the early days of the American Revolution, when I was a lowly Lieutenant round New York, and how cleverly General Howe used large barges to winkle Washington’s rag-tag army about. Howe managed to move from his camps on Staten Island cross the Hudson River to Manhattan, then cross the East River, cavalry, artillery, and all.”

  “A bit before my Midshipman days, sir,” Lewrie confessed, “and I only saw New York long afterwards, an
chored off Sandy Hook, or sent ashore for supplies after Yorktown, and rejoining my ship. I do remember the busy barge traffic, but, I also recall that the barges that you remember were flat-bottomed, slab-sided scows, totally useless in any offshore landings. Outside the Hudson or the East River, they’d turn turtle in a heartbeat. And, they were built to carry whole goods waggons and horse teams, like ferries, which is why Howe could move his whole army so quickly. I fear that we couldn’t get much more than infantry ashore, not without specially-designed rowing barges with bow ramps of some kind, but whenever I asked about such boats at any dockyard, everyone swore they were impossible.”

  “Hmm, how did you do it, then, even with only infantry?” Thom Charlton asked, stirring sugar into a fresh cup, and dribbling a dram of brandy into it from the half-pint flask.

  That prompted Lewrie to relate how it had been necessary to use sailors from the vast naval hospital at Gibraltar, separated from their ships by sickness or injuries, to supplement the few merchant sailors who manned the ships hired on by the Transport Board. He’d managed to round up six 29-foot rowing/sailing barges, a common Royal Navy pattern, with eight sailors and a coxswain to man each, and stand guard over their charges at the beach ’til the troops had accomplished their mission and returned to be borne back to the transport. The two companies of soldiers he’d been allotted, about one hundred twenty-five all told, would enter and leave the transport via anti-boarding nets slung over the ship’s side by the chain platforms of the fore, main, and mizen masts.

  “Troops from Light Companies are best,” Lewrie told Charlton, “they’re trained t’think on their feet better than soldiers from Line or Battalion Companies, even Grenadier Companies. And of course, I sent my fifty Marines ashore, too, with an equal number of armed sailors, to strengthen the raids. But, as I said, sir, everyone landed with only their muskets, hangers, bayonets, their cartridge boxes and a rucksack with gun tools and spare flints, and canteens. Any sort of artillery, even dis-mounted boat bow guns, were out of the question.”

  “Perhaps something bigger?” Charlton posed. “There are thirty-six-foot gunboats with bow platforms to bear twelve-pounder guns. If they could be obtained, and modified with some sort of wood ramp that could be shoved over the bows, perhaps a light six-pounder gun could be wheeled ashore.”

  “On Army field carriages with high wheels, though, sir,” Lewrie countered, “and what does one do about the caissons to carry the shot and powder charges? And how many men would be necessary to man-haul the guns? Even six-pounders of the old pattern weigh too much to get over a soft sand beach onto the rough ground behind the shore. And, there’s the problem of hoisting such heavy boats to be stored on the cross-deck beams, then hoisted off and put in the water before the soldiers could embark. We towed ours, at all times, else it took so long to prepare the troops to land that the enemy would be alerted to our presence and march an entire brigade against us, sittin’ on their arses above the beach and cheerin’ on the show.”

  “Hmm, there is that,” Charlton rather grumpily realised. “So, infantry only, and limited objectives, with standard barges.”

  “Unless some genius naval architect can come up with some sort of really big transport ships that can run up on the beach and open a set of bow doors, that’s the only way I can see it bein’ done, sir,” Lewrie assured him. “Now, how ye get ’em off again’s a puzzler.”

  “But, could we land a regiment, a battalion, at once?” Charlton wondered. “How many soldiers per each transport?”

  “Whoof, sir!” Lewrie exclaimed, sitting back in his chair in surprise. “What’s a battalion? Six, eight hundred men? They might start out nigh a thousand men in ten companies, but, after sickness, desertion, and wounds, a battalion might average six or eight hundred. To send a battalion overseas, the usual is about one hundred fifty troops per each transport ship, but, with room aboard required for the Navy sailors who’ll man the barges, and work the ships, I doubt if we could carry two companies aboard each, with water and rations enough for at least a month at a time. Hmm, an hundred and twenty soldiers, maybe one hundred and sixty? That’d take at least five transports, and…” He paused, drawing numbers with a finger on the table top, and trying to do sums in his head. “Boggles my poor mind, it does, sir. A rather ambitious enterprise, in all, which I doubt the Navy would invest in, or the Army would spare a whole battalion for. Sure to be an expensive thing, too, and a rather iffy … experiment.”

  “That is indeed true, Captain Lewrie,” Charlton said, obviously dis-appointed that there was not a quick solution to be had. “I still wish that you could, ah … toy with the idea, and write me up what you imagine would be needed. Dream big, sir, and do not let any worries about money, or the availability of soldiers or sailors, daunt you.”

  “Well, I suppose I could, sir,” Lewrie allowed, “after all, it’s not as if the Navy has much need of me any longer,” he added, letting his grievance see the light of day. “Is this proposal for something specific you have in mind, sir?”

  “No need for you, after your battle off Galicia? I’d have imagined Admiralty wouldn’t have allowed you a Dog Watch ashore before they gave you a fresh command!”

  “It seems I made the mistake of bein’ too successful, too lucky, for some people, sir,” Lewrie almost spat, though trying to make light of his situation. “I’m as in demand as smallpox, or the bloody flux.”

  “Well, I never heard the like!” Charlton primly replied, with as much outrage as he would allow himself in public. “That smells very much like the petty jealousy of small-minded men. Your patrons?”

  “You just may be the most influential of them, sir, among the few I have,” Lewrie confessed. “That’s why I asked whether this study was leading to something substantial.”

  “Well, I must admit that I am between active commissions myself at the moment,” Charlton told him, “but I’ve only been on half-pay for six weeks, and fully expect to be called back. To something substantial, as you put it? Not really, not yet, but…,” he said, lifting both hands as he shrugged. “If it does lead Admiralty, or Horse Guards, to consider the proposal feasible, you may of course rely on me to demand your services, Captain Lewrie. Who would know more about raiding, and landings from the sea, and assembling an … oh, what’s the term for it?”

  “Amphibious operations, sir?” Lewrie supplied.

  “Hah! Exactly!” Charlton exclaimed, slapping a hand on the top of the table. “‘Amphibious’ is the word … though a damned odd one.”

  “And how soon might you need it, sir?” Lewrie asked, feeling as if this might actually lead to something.

  “Oh, no real rush,” Charlton pooh-poohed, “take your time, and put a shiny buff on it, listing how many ships, barges, sailors, and soldiers you think best … how many Lieutenants, Mids, and such would be necessary to man the transports with Navy crews, and such.”

  “Right down to the extra fourty cartridges per man, and the two canteens needed, sir,” Lewrie promised, brightening. “By the way, sir, will Mistress Charlton be dining with us tonight?”

  “No, I fear not,” Charlton said, “she’s at our country place at Little Waltham, near Chelmsford, happily preparing a family Christmas, the likes of which we haven’t been able to celebrate in some time, with children home from their schools, and all. I do, however, look forward to meeting Dame Lewrie this evening. Some sort of artist, is she not?”

  “Quite successful at it, too,” Lewrie proudly told him. “If I include some diagrams and drawings of the details, I might prevail upon Jessica to help me in that regard. Shall we say seven this evening?”

  “Done, and done!” Admiral Charlton said with another firm slap of the table top.

  *   *   *

  Lewrie got home, yet again badly in need of a warm-up, shivering as Deavers took his things in the entry hall. A most unfamiliar sound came from the floor above; tinkling, laughing, a feminine shriek or two.

  “What the Devil’s that?” Lewrie
asked.

  “Oh, that’s your wife and her lady friends, sir,” Deavers told him. “They’re having themselves a ‘cat-lapping’. Tea, scones and such, and some sherry.”

  Bisquit came trotting down the hall to greet his master, closely followed by his wife’s cocker spaniel, both prancing about to welcome him home and get some attention, and Lewrie bent down to pet them and tease.

  “’Ey sent down fer some o’ yer American whisky, too, sir, then some o’ that ginger beer from Jamaica,” Tom Dasher imparted with a wink.

  “High and merry times,” Lewrie commented, feeling a bit irked. He had been looking forward to some warming and affectionate hugs in private, but the company in the drawing room precluded those; he felt proprietary about his limited stash of Kentucky whisky, which Jessica had sampled, once, and thought too powerful; and, lastly, once he had gotten the aforementioned hugs, he was aflame to snatch up paper, pen, and ink, to begin sketching out the proposal that Thomas Charlton had requested, but with company in the house, that was right out, too, and he would have to go abovestairs to make a brief appearance and partake in their silly civilian prattle. He heaved a put-upon sigh and began to trot upstairs, with the dogs at his heels.

  “Ah, you’re back, my dear!” Jessica gladly exclaimed, extending an arm to draw him to her as he entered the drawing room. “And how was your meeting with your Admiral Charlton?”

  “It was wonderful to see him, again, after all these years,” he replied, taking her hand and bending down to bestow a cheek kiss. “I told him to come by at seven for supper with us.”

  “Oh, good,” Jessica agreed, “not too late in the evening. And, does his wife come, too?”

  “In the country, preparing for Christmas, and a family reunion,” Lewrie told her. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said to Jessica’s guests, “having a good visit, are you?”