"Mr Gentry, take command of the frigate... Where is Mr Gentry?"
"Here, sir... One moment while I get my breath back, sir... One of those bloody Spaniards kicked me in the balls as he ran, sir!"
"Unsporting of the man, Mr Gentry. All the same these Dagoes, you know."
Frederick fought for a straight face - no doubt the poor man was in some pain, but he was damned if he was going to annotate that wound in the margin of his report.
"We will be short-handed, Mr Gentry, but I am sure you will do your best, sir."
Gentry vomited over the side, turned back apologising, limped bow-legged to the wheel to take the captain's position.
"Mr Doolan, act as premier to Mr Gentry, if you please."
Two hours and the flotilla began to make sail, Harriet leading them to sea and Euripides hovering to take position at the rear, placed to swoop down on any who showed unwilling or resistant to order.
A series of small explosions on the headland signalled the destruction of the guns – wasteful, but it was impossible to prize them, to take them away. Dench and his party piled into the boats on the beach and pulled rapidly out from the shore.
"I recognise that anxiety, Mr Calver. There is a length of slowmatch burning into a magazine up on top of the hill and Mr Dench has no wish to be too close."
There was a very loud bang and a few rocks bounced down the cliffs to splash into the sea.
"Always very satisfactory for some reason, Mr Calver, the sight of a whole magazine going up. Signal Mr Dench to report aboard Euripides."
"Well, Mr Dench?"
"Cooks, sir. They woke before dawn to prepare the men's food and one of them came into the bushes and stumbled, shall we say, over one of my party!"
"That was a possibility I did not consider, Mr Dench. The army does tend to feed early, of course, having no decks to scrub first thing. Did you lose men?"
"None, sir. Nothing worse than a stubbed toe, sir."
"Very good. Take command of the smaller sloop, if you would be so good, sir. Send your master's mate across to me as well."
A few words with the young man and the discovery that he was a midshipman who had passed his board in the last year and could legitimately be promoted. Frederick had pushed the boundaries of discipline a long way in making Mr Iliffe and he had no wish to risk his career with a second breach of naval law.
"Take acting-command of Bluenose, sir, and we shall see what the Admiral says at Gibraltar."
Harriet had a lieutenant aboard who could step into Mr Porter's place with no need for an acting order; again, promotion or otherwise was a matter for Admiral Clerke.
What to recommend for Gentry?
He must be made after such a success and could be given the larger sloop - eighteen guns was a respectable command. Equally, he was less able than Lieutenant Porter. If Frederick was to work with the sloop, which might be possible, then he had rather not see Gentry in her. To promote him and then send him back to England to beg for a ship might be hard on him, but it would be easier for Frederick. A pity, but he would probably never be made Master and Commander at all except in compliment, and the half-pay would amount to some six shillings a day, which was not entirely to be sneezed at; many a man in England lived on far less than two pounds a week.
Frederick sat down with his clerk, Dunnett, to the tedious business of writing his report. At least the casualties were very low – two Marines killed on the larger sloop, three wounded on the smaller, four seamen with minor cuts and bruises. A remarkably low butcher’s bill. He sat back and reflected that he had planned the affair with a little more care than he normally took; for once he had not gone running hot-headed into a fight and the results had been worthwhile…
It might be possible, he supposed, to consider just what he had done and write up a set of possible orders for future use, so that he had a reference quickly to hand.
Annoying, being responsible took so much of the fun out of life.
Book Eight: The Duty
and Destiny Series
Chapter Three
The convoy anchored in the harbour at Gibraltar, three national ships prominent under British colours over Spanish. The telescopes in Algeciras, just across the bay, would soon be reporting the humiliation to the authorities in Madrid, adding to the file of Euripides’ depredations. The fishing boats could be expected to sweep closer inshore over the next two or three days, acting as spies as they always did. Fishermen were safe, were never to be touched, and the Gibraltarians sought information in the same way.
Admiral Clerke was delighted; the orders had not been his, but he was to make the report to the Admiralty, would take much of the glory. He wondered if he could argue that Sir Frederick had been posted to his station, that he was in part still under his command, sufficient to split the admiral’s eighth with Fortescue in Malta. He would test the water, he thought, with a comment in his official letter home; there would be a very respectable sum accruing to the admiral, depending on the cargoes in the convoy.
“A thirty-six gun frigate and two sloops, one of the largest size, Sir Frederick! They must be bought in, of course, but I can hardly officer or crew them from my establishment – they must go in to Portsmouth. They must be regunned as well, so Portsmouth is the place for them, which is a pity – the demand for small ships is so high I shall never see all three returned to me!”
Frederick agreed that it was a great shame, but there was no alternative; it solved the problem of the First Lieutenant very prettily.
“My Mr Gentry must take the frigate to Portsmouth, I should imagine, sir.”
“He must, I fear, Sir Frederick. I have no alternative but to deprive you of his services. I shall make him Master and Commander, in compliment, and he will then take his chances in Portsmouth. He has a little of influence in his background, I believe?”
“He has a hundred or two a year of his own, I know, sir. Whether he has naval backing, I do not know.”
“He will not starve, in any case. What of your other young men?”
“Mr Porter to the larger sloop, sir. A very efficient young man. Mr Dench could either take Harriet as a lieutenant or be made into the smaller sloop; there are arguments for both courses. Mr Dench has some little of interest in his background, sir.”
The admiral wanted to go back to sea, commanding his own small expedition to take a French or Spanish colony and make himself a peer. If Mr Dench had influence that could be pointed in his direction then so much the better.
“I shall make both gentlemen, Sir Frederick. I shall as well beg for officers to be sent out from England, for we shall be short of three lieutenants.”
They watched as the prisoners were marched ashore, taken to the barracks that would be the temporary quarters for the naval people. The Spanish were more inclined to be civilised than the French in the matter of exchanges and paroles. Their people would be repatriated within a very few days, exchanged for an equivalent number of British prisoners, with credit notes given if either party was short of bodies to actually hand over. There was an established convention for the exchanges – one post-captain to be the equal of twenty ordinary sailors, for example.
The merchant seamen would not be exchanged. It was normal, generally expected, for them simply to be released, sent home on a convenient cartel. Shipwrecks were not so uncommon and distressed mariners were not to be imprisoned, except by the barbarian French, and the process was extended to the men taken on prizes.
“More than four hundred of naval prisoners, Sir Frederick. No arguments about head-money there, sir! The count is simple, for once.”
“It does make a change, sir. Gun-money must also be paid on this occasion, which all adds to the total. I was a little surprised to be told, sir, that some of the cannon on both sloops bore English marks!”
“Nine-pounders and lesser bores, Sir Frederick – the barrels are none too heavy and can be shifted across a beach at night without too much difficulty. Damned smugglers! Traitors to a ma
n! English guns are the best-made in the world at the moment, the quality of the iron very high and the new manufacturies producing them in quantities, using steam-engines, very often. The same in the woollen industry, you know, Sir Frederick – they say that more than one half of French soldiers wear blue coats made in the Yorkshire mills!”
They sneered at the money-grubbers of the new England – men lacking honour or decency, motivated solely by profit. They should all be shot, they agreed.
“What of the convoy, Sir Frederick?”
“We hardly had the opportunity to do more than glance at the cargo manifests, sir. The merchantmen were all from the southern French ports, and carrying mostly rations and naval stores for the fleets in Spanish ports. Some small amounts of silks and brandies and suchlike, probably for senior officers and their families – maybe for Spanish grandees by way of sweeteners. Two of them are Atlantic brigs, and they are carrying muskets, powder and ball as well as crates of schnapps and mirrors and cast-iron wares, cooking pots and such.”
“Slave goods, Sir Frederick. Not themselves runners but supplying trade-goods to the Spanish and Portuguese and French trading concessions on the Slave Coast to buy in the stock to be sent to the Americas and the Sugar Islands. A nuisance, of course, for they interfere much with the British traders. They push up the price and set off local wars between the various suppliers of black prisoners to the barracoons. A very undesirable habit, for there will be complaints from the London merchants, demands that we send an expedition down to the Slave Coast, which we ain’t going to do, for lack of ships, men and the inclination just now.”
“The naval stores are of no great use to us, I suspect, sir. The sail cloth, I am told, is of a lower quality than we might like and the cordage not well walked; they will have to be sold to the merchant service. The paints and tars and turpentines and such are all very good – and mostly American, so I am told.”
“Run through the blockade, no doubt, Sir Frederick. Some amount is brought into the Danish ports of Norway and then sent by small coaster into the Baltic ports of North Germany, or so it is suspected. Much is thought to go direct from the Jonathans to the various neutrals of the Mediterranean, all under legitimate papers; then it is transhipped into France, in cargoes of twenty tons or less in coastal barges – all quite invisible.”
“I had heard that to be the case, sir, but one dares not touch neutrals – the Admiralty Courts are most unforgiving. The rations, sir, are of almost no value to us – foreign stuff, sir, such as our men will not eat.”
“The Moors will take it off our hands, Sir Frederick. They will eat this spaghetti and macaroni stuff without a word of complaint!”
They shook their heads in true English amaze, while counting up the profit it might make them.
“They will buy in the hulls as well, Sir Frederick. Moroccan trade is flourishing on the back of the war and they are short of coasters. They have complained, by the way, that we should have taken their Jews from them, with all of their money, but the Governor has explained that we were cruelly deceived, had accepted them as passengers in all innocence. The Moors know the Jews to be very wicked fellows and so are not at all surprised that they should have duped us, we being innocents in such matters; they have warned us to be on our guard against them in future, for they will cheat us most cruelly, so they say.”
“They have gone to London, I presume, sir.”
“All of them left on a well-escorted Indiaman a fortnight since. I am assured that they have kinfolk in England and will be able to settle there. They were most grateful and left very kind messages for you, by the way. The man Deptford is now in residence here as well, Captain Murray informs me.”
“A rather peculiar sort of gentleman, that one, sir… but Captain Murray has great hopes of him, he tells me.”
Mr Deptford was unhappy in his new existence; he had imagined his activities and various incomes to be unknown to the English, had been relishing the thought of a pardon and freedom to roam in British domains and had instead met up with Captain Murray. Not being on the inside of the intelligence community, he had never heard of Captain Murray; now he wished he had never met him.
“Oh, Mr Deptford is a fine gentleman, Sir Frederick! He is the find of the year, sir – he has little arrangements with every buyer of information in the whole of the Mediterranean, including our Army people in London. He even has a direct link with the Vatican, something I have been attempting to uncover for years. I now know who he talks to, and from there it will be possible to discover which office, which Cardinal, has control of the Vatican’s people. Once knowing who it is, it will be possible to read some part of the correspondence in and out, which will be most useful, the Vatican being able to twist the arm of every Catholic in the world. Nothing is secret from the Holy See, and now we may access some of their knowledge!”
“What will we do with it, Captain Murray?”
“Not necessarily very much – if we take action we will be admitting that we knew what was about to happen, and then the source of our knowledge will inevitably be closed. But having the knowledge means we can plan – we know what they will not expect us to do, and then we can do it.”
“But the Vatican has no armies, so it is not an enemy, surely.”
“The Church wishes to keep in with Bonaparte and will be working closely with his people. Anything the Vatican knows will be available in Paris inside the week. They may not be an enemy, but they are far from being friendly. Ever since we dismissed a Catholic King they have had a down on us.”
“Apart from that, is Deptford of other use to us?”
“To you, certainly, Sir Frederick. The Spanish naval people seem to think you made them appear foolish in the Barcelona business. They sent three ships to finish you and ended up with one a burned-out wreck and a second having to be refloated after grounding at your hands. In addition, the one that was destroyed was a victim of their own guns, due, they say, to your deceptions. They are humiliated, and will want your blood in exchange, or so I should suspect. I have recommended that you should be sent away from the Spanish coast for a month or two while they calm down and come to think of other matters.”
“Where to, Captain Murray?”
“I do not know, Sir Frederick, because the order will come from the Admiralty and its nature will depend on the perceptions of London.”
What that might mean was a mystery to Frederick.
The mystery remained unsolved for weeks while a report was sent to the Admiralty and there was digested and acted upon.
For the while they sat and waited and listened happily to the first reports from the Prize Court. A paymaster arrived aboard and put money in the crew’s pockets, with the normal disastrous results for their health, and Mr Blenkinsop took shore leave as he could, returning pale-faced and trembling from his exertions; Frederick really thought he would have to have a little talk with the young man.
Word came of the whereabouts of the various fleets, delayed and not necessarily accurate. The French had broken out of Toulon and had reached Cadiz, it seemed, and then had disappeared into the west with some part of the Spanish force attached and Lord Nelson in hopeful pursuit. Where they had actually gone, and why, was unclear. There was fear in Gibraltar that the whole business was no more than a ruse, a ploy by Bonaparte to clear the Mediterranean Fleet out of the Middle Sea so that he could pursue his obsession with Egypt and India, or perhaps arrange a great assault on the Rock itself so that the British could never return.
Euripides’ mooring was changed so that her broadside could cover the harbour mouth and part of her crew was put into the sailing gunboats that were the main sea-borne defence of the Rock.
The gunboats were small, fast and carried a single gun; they could point up far closer than any square-rigged ship and expected to be able to sit on the stern of any line-of-battleship that attempted to assault the harbour. Two or three gunboats together at little more than musket shot, variously armed with thirty-two or twenty-four
pound long guns, could expect to first destroy a ship’s steering and then send balls the length of her gundeck. One of the boats had a sixty-eight pound carronade, capable of opening up the hull even of one of the Spanish four-deckers.
The Spanish knew of the gunboats – they could see everything in the harbour from Algeciras – and took pains to keep well out to sea from the Rock. The boats were too small, too agile to be destroyed easily and could slow any invader sufficiently to allow the land batteries to finish her with heated shot from the big guns. It was felt, however, that the French might not be convinced, might force their allies into an assault in the hours of darkness, so the extra seamen were put aboard the boats to allow them to patrol night and day unbroken.
A cutter arrived under a mass of sail, a very proud young lieutenant announcing that he had averaged twelve knots; he had the despatches and passengers as well.
Admiral Clerke called for Frederick’s attendance at his office.
“A lieutenant and a midshipman for you, Sir Frederick, the boy known to your family, it would seem. Both have been sent aboard Euripides, and your people have been recalled from the boats. I really do not know that they were needed at all, but it amused the Governor, and that is always useful.”
Frederick smiled his assent – there was nothing he wished more, he implied, than to keep the Governor happy.
“You are to take a cruise along the Slave Coast, Sir Frederick, to ascertain, I quote, 'the nature of the Spanish and French presence'. What that means, I am damned if I know, but I would strongly advise you to hold offshore and attempt no landings. If you can identify any settlements or forts that are in the hands of the French or Spanish, well and good! If you can take or sink some of their ships, even better! If, as I expect, you cannot find them at all, then come back and say so and we can stop wasting our time down on the Fever Coast.”
Frederick grimaced and nodded – there was nothing useful to say.
A Busy Season (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 8) Page 7