"Well said, Sir Frederick!"
The court retired to consider their verdict and ease their bladders - three of the captains elderly men who had sat still for more than two hours.
Twenty minutes and the court resumed.
Frederick entered the room, took his place behind his sword, hilt turned towards him in symbolism of honourable acquittal. Logic had demanded that result; emotion in the dark nights had been a different matter.
The President of the Court made his obligatory speech - victory against the odds, another noble defence of Albion's Honour, more laurels for Frederick's crown - all predictable stuff but not unpleasant to hear. A mention as well of the excellent service reported of Euripides' officers; that would do none of them any harm, might give something to Blenkinsop immediately - he must speak with Admiral Clerke.
A final comment about the pleasure of returning a Sword of Honour to its proper place and the court rose.
Frederick was delayed by the captains who had sat on the court offering their individual congratulations but was able to reach the Admiral before he retired to 'a glass and a little snack of an afternoon' - which normally involved a good half bottle.
Captain Murray was in the Admiral's office.
Book Eight: The Duty
and Destiny Series
Chapter Five
"I only this moment heard the result, Sir Frederick, and was about to send Flags to find you, interrupting your triumph. Captain Murray has received news that will disturb us all."
Admiral Clerke could only imagine one way of celebrating good news, or deploring bad, and was surprised to discover Frederick still sober an hour after his acquittal. He put it down to the lingering effects of his burns – the poor fellow was still under the weather.
Murray had kept silent from courtesy – the Admiral must speak first in his own office – and assumed he had been authorised to explain just what his news was.
“The Empire, Sir Frederick - of Morocco, that is - finds itself moved to beg our assistance. This can only be a humiliation to them, and an annoyance as well, for upsetting some other, undisclosed scheme.”
Murray explained to Frederick, for the first time in any detail, that the Moors had informed them, admittedly too late to take action, of the Spanish plot to entrap him, thus putting the British under an obligation to them. He had been unwilling to give away information, even to Frederick, on the grounds that it might lead to questions to be avoided.
“Why? How are we indebted to them for a warning that came too late?”
“That is the way things happen in our world, Sir Frederick. The Moroccan people made us aware that they know an unsuspected amount about us – they voluntarily exposed themselves – appalling as that might sound to the uninitiated! In process they showed willing to aid us and we must reciprocate – there really is no choice, you know, we truly have to.”
Frederick still did not understand why, but he valued Captain Murray sufficiently that he knew he must not argue.
“’Better late than never’, one presumes, sir.”
Frederick’s habit of trotting out old saws as the wisdom of the ages never failed to irritate Murray, but he accepted that sailors had no actual education and so knew no better.
“Exactly so, Sir Frederick! They tried. They also had some other motivation, of course – their sole object was not merely to save you, worthy aim though that might be!”
“What object?”
“Unknown, Sir Frederick – I really cannot even hazard a guess. The Moors wanted something that we possess, or which they believe we have access to; of course, they might be incorrect in their assumptions – we are not omniscient and neither are we all-powerful. I suspect, myself, that it may have something to do with the Russians; Admiral Ushakov’s squadron has been taking an interest in the North African coast of late months. The Moroccans might want to know what their plans are. It is possible that the Russians are considering a colony, being unable to gain Malta or persuade the Ottoman to open the Straits to them; was they to take a harbour along the Tripolitanian coast then they would have an argument for free access from the Black Sea. Morocco would not want the Bear as a neighbour; Bonaparte might back Russian pretensions in order to lever the Tsar into alliance; Spain would support Russia on the grounds that the Orthodox are slightly more Christian than the Moors; Britain would oppose the whole business because the only nation permitted to upset the Mediterranean status quo is us. The Moroccans might think it necessary to negotiate with Stamboul, to offer them incentives to go to war with Russia, to forestall Ushakov's ambitions - and that would involve them in making concessions to the Turk which they would wish to avoid if at all possible, so they will be anxious to obtain the true word on Russian intentions."
“Oh!”
As ever, Captain Murray’s brief exposition of matters that seemed obvious to him had left Frederick slightly more puzzled.
“Be that as it may, a new matter has arisen and the Empire has come cap in hand to us. Having been forced to beg our aid they will be humiliated, and angry, if we refuse it. The Admiral agrees we must do our possible to meet their request – I almost said their demands.”
That Frederick could understand – his contact with the Empire had made it clear to him that the Moors regarded themselves as vastly superior in civilisation and in power to the English.
“We cannot afford another enemy in these waters, sir. The alliance with the Empire is necessary to us, or so I believe.”
“Exactly so, Sir Frederick. We must do all we can to keep the Moroccans pleased with us.”
Admiral Clerke might not have expressed himself so vehemently, but he had orders from London that said much the same, although in the veiled language of the politician.
“We must assist them, Sir Frederick. It is fortunate that you are in a position now to do so, being far our most senior man in these waters, and known as such to the Moors. I might have been forced to attempt to persuade the escort to the Levant Convoy to release a vessel to my needs, and that would probably have required the authority of the Governor, and disputes between the different departments in London for years thereafter relating to who had overstepped the bounds of what authority.”
Unsaid was that the inevitable result would have been the presentation of a scapegoat – Whitehall would, eventually, have fixed on a victim to blame – probably Vice-Admiral Clerke, who would then have disappeared onto the half-pay list, never to command again. It would not have been a political figure, one of their own, to be pilloried; it could not have been the Governor, who was of the Royalty; therefore a mere admiral would serve the purpose well, and there were plenty of them to hand, one admiral more or less was of minor significance in the great scheme of things.
“Indeed, Sir Frederick, your availability is providential, for you are so much the man for this job!”
“Of course, sir. I will be very happy to do my best.”
Frederick could not refuse. The alternative was to be sent home to England, without a ship, almost like a little boy being stood in the corner. Being instantly employed, within hours of the verdict of the court, must emphasize his virtue in the eyes of the Admiralty, even more so the politicians. Acquitted, employed, sent off on a mission of urgency and delicacy – what more could he ask for?
Captain Murray smiled his relief – he had been almost sure that Sir Frederick would come to his aid, but he might have wanted no more than to go home, tired of the sea.
“I am to accompany you, Sir Frederick. See, I am returned to active duty myself!”
He waved his left arm and disclosed a bright, shiny steel hook, obviously newly forged for him.
“I can already use it to perform some functions at my desk, Sir Frederick! I can now hold a ruler to make an underlining!”
It was so sorry a little triumph that Frederick came close to tears for him.
“A few weeks and you will do much more, I doubt not, Captain Murray. I am so pleased for you, sir!”
Th
e Admiral smiled and reminded them that the matter was urgent.
“Quite so, sir! To business, Sir Frederick. I was, this morning, barely three hours ago, contacted by a very senior gentleman from Morocco. Very senior indeed; one might suggest that he is a close lieutenant to the Emperor. His vessel is tied up in the harbour even now, a tartana, I believe to be called, small and far beneath his dignity, but to hand and very quick; that he should lower himself to such a conveyance shows the urgency of his need!”
Frederick was impressed – the tartana was little more than a fishing boat, single-masted, a pair of lateen sails, generally open or with a tiny cabin; it was not the conveyance of a dignitary of the Empire. A galley, with Christian slaves at the oars, would have been tactless, and evidently there was no larger sailing ship to hand.
“What is the emergency, Captain Murray?”
“The Spanish in Ceuta, one of their enclaves in Morocco, Sir Frederick. Their military made an expedition outside their borders, as they often do from motives of wickedness and trouble-making, and took a party of travellers and traders, a caravan, one might say. Included among them was a young man who is in fact a close cousin to the Emperor Slimane himself. The Spanish seem unaware of his identity but propose to hang him and several others within the week.”
“Unpleasant, cruel and very Spanish in its nature, Captain Murray. There does seem to be a willingness to slaughter in the Spanish national character, you know. Why are we involved? Would it not, on first thought, be a desirable outcome, as strengthening the Moors’ enmity of the Spanish?”
“That thought had occurred to me, of course. I think we can gain more from assisting the Moroccans, however. It is probable that once the outrage became known the bulk of the Moroccans would lump all Christians, all Franks, together, making no distinction between Spanish and British, Catholic and Protestant. The Barbary pirates would be unleashed upon the convoys, of a certainty.”
“Why do they hang the young man, by the way, sir?”
Admiral Clerke joined the discussion to say that he had not quite understood that either.
“Because they are not permitted to burn him, Sir Frederick. The priests are gaining strength again in Spain and are pressing for a return to the Inquisition of its old powers. They have more influence in Ceuta than on the mainland, being closer to the Mussulmen and therefore more frightened of them.”
“So, they propose to dispose of the poor fellow for no worse a crime than being born to Islam, sir?”
“Yes, that is correct, Sir Frederick. The priests do strongly urge that he should be burned instead, as giving him more time to repent and save his soul before actual death.”
Frederick’s recent brush with the flames left him unsympathetic to the argument.
“Is it all Papists or merely some Spanish sub-division of them who will butcher so casually, Captain Murray?”
“A very good question, Sir Frederick. One I find myself unable to answer simply. The bulk of Romanists seem not to be bloody-handed by habit, but some of their priests are very peculiar people.”
“Ah, well – it would have been interesting to know, there being a number of them in my crew. What are we to do for this poor young man? The Moors must believe that we can perform some action that they cannot… Which says, of course, an expedition from the sea. They have far more military strength than we can unleash, so it cannot be a land affair they have in mind.”
“Exactly, Sir Frederick. The young gentleman is, the envoy tells us, imprisoned in cells beneath an old fort which is now in the hands of a monastery of some sort. On the coast, not a mile from the fortifications of Ceuta, at or near a part called Tarajal. There is even a small wharf, though with what depth of water is unknown, but coasters do tie up there, with supplies of various sorts. Was a small, innocent-seeming vessel of a European configuration to appear then there would be little initial upset.”
“Today is Tuesday and we have only a few days, you say… Is Harriet brig in port, sir?”
The Admiral smiled – he had thought along the same lines.
“She is, Sir Frederick, most fortunately. She will be more convenient than a commandeered vessel, or Bluenose schooner.”
“Very good, sir. I may have her, I presume? Do the Spanish know the importance of this young man? Will they be alert to attempts to rescue him?”
“The envoy thinks not. He is within reason certain they would use him as a hostage if they knew him.”
“That is sensible… What do we need? Have you any chart, or even a map, of this harbour?”
“Not a thing, Sir Frederick, more than the ordinary charts which show a flyspeck in a small bay.”
“Then we go in blind, which is a pity, but does encourage initiative, after all. I would like a party of Marines, sir, as many as can be stuffed below without suffering suffocation. Some extra seamen would be useful as well. Many years ago I made good use of grenadoes in a close fight; is it possible that there are such in the armoury here, sir?”
Admiral Clerke shook his head – he had never seen such things in his whole career.
“Unlikely, Sir Frederick, but I shall enquire.”
“Shells for that little French mortar on Harriet, sir?”
“No longer mounted, Sir Frederick. Her new captain did not approve of the object.”
“A pity, but not essential; other ships do very well without one.”
Admiral Clerke sent a message to Captain Thomas of the Marines, still in the barracks pending posting to a new ship; twenty minutes and they heard the cadence of boots in the stone corridor.
“We might wish to consider equipping the Marine party with soft shoes, Sir Frederick.”
“That would be to destroy them, Captain Murray! A Marine without his boots would be a sad, lost figure, bereft in a wilderness.”
Admiral Clerke nodded solemnly – one could not deprive a Marine of his boots, not if he was to retain his soul. He thought about that fortuitous comment, decided it might be quite witty; he must make it again, at one of his dinner parties, perhaps.
“Their boots make them different, Captain Murray. Without boots they would be no more than seamen in fancy jackets.”
Captain Thomas entered and made his salute, boots crashing; he signified that he was available for orders, turned naturally to his ex-captain.
“We must go to a small fort on the outskirts of Ceuta, Captain Thomas, there to rescue a captive Moor from the cells. He must be brought out alive, being a close relative of the Moroccan Emperor. He will have companions, less important than him, but also worth saving.”
“Yes, sir!”
“We shall sail in Harriet brig, to be unobtrusive, and shall tie up at a wharf outside the fort at twilight, tomorrow. We know nothing of the design of the fort, except that it is ancient, and must make a plan as we go. As many of your best men as can be fitted out of sight, Captain Thomas. Muskets, I presume, sir?”
“’Ancient’ suggests narrow passageways and stairs, sir. One must expect the cells to be underground. A pair of Sea Service pistols apiece, would be wise, and, as well, a tomahawk or boarding axe, if available. It would be useful to issue long knives, if such are to be found – fighting at close quarters the knife or hand axe is more effective than the bayonet, or so I have discovered on occasion.”
The Admiral could discover pistols and boarding axes but he was less sure of long knives.
“No matter, sir, though one or two would be rather useful, in case of sentries.”
“I believe my coxswain, Kavanagh, to be no stranger to knife work, Captain Thomas.”
“I had heard that rumour myself, sir.”
Frederick wished he had as well, rather than having been given an oblique warning by Ablett.
“I do not know exactly how many men you will be able to take aboard Harriet, Captain Thomas.”
“I shall discover this afternoon, sir, and shall then make a selection of those most suited to the task.”
Thomas left, giving the impression that
all was routine to a Marine – the taking of unknown forts on strange shores an everyday task.
“There is something about the Marines, Admiral, that makes me feel the merest amateur, a dabbler in seafaring rather than a true man of war.”
Clerke agreed, and called to his steward to bring wine.
“On the topic of weapons, Sir Frederick – would it be convenable for me to put a sharp on my hook?”
They stared at Murray in headshaking horror. Frederick found his voice.
“It would not be contrary to the Rules of War, sir, but many would find it, shall we say, enthusiastic!”
Murray seemed disappointed, but promised to be good. Frederick continued with his rudimentary plans.
“A deck cargo for Harriet, sir – or seeming so – tarpaulins of some sort to cover the guns, and a strip of canvas to cover the ports – painted brown and splashed with commercial dirt. All in careful disguise – the hands unwashed and unshaven – they will have two days of stubble already since Divisions on Sunday. A carronade could be useful, sir, tucked into the stern and to discourage pursuit along the wharf.”
The wine tray came, to Admiral Clerke’s relief – it had been a long time since his midday break. He offered the tray to his guests first, as he must, but his hand was shaking with eagerness as he took his own glass and swigged half of it down. He nodded, said that a twelve pound carronade would be placed aboard that afternoon.
“You know, gentlemen, it is in some ways far easier to be ignorant. We would otherwise have spent hours on planning!”
They applauded his stroke of wit, then saw from his expression that he had not intended to be humorous.
“Would a second vessel be useful, Sir Frederick? It occurs to me that the prize your man Watson brought in is in fact a Spanish carrier, and may have been intending to call in Ceuta. I have yet to read the report on her; in fact I do not know whether it has reached my desk.”
The Flag Lieutenant was called and was quite certain that he had seen the papers in question; it took him two minutes to locate them in the basket of work to be done.
A Busy Season (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 8) Page 13