A Busy Season (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 8)

by Andrew Wareham

  Smith was captain; it would have been the height of discourtesy for Frederick to have given an order over his head.

  “Oh, yes, sorry, sir! Shoot!”

  The cavalry fell or jumped into cover behind the walls and the surviving horses ran.

  “Highly successful, Mr Smith. Course for Gibraltar, all in company.”

  Captain Murray had gone below immediately, was talking to the released prisoners.

  “All correct, sir. The gentleman here is the man we sought. He has been repeatedly flogged, I fear, but will recover, I think.”

  Frederick approached the young man and made his most formal bow – he was of an Imperial family and must be offered all of the forms of respect.

  “Captain Murray, would you inform the gentleman that we are on course to Gibraltar. If he prefers, we may make for Tetuan instead.”

  A brief conversation and the preference was expressed for Gibraltar, as being the more discreet; he did not know what the Emperor would wish him to do and so would wait for orders, if that was convenient.

  They made a direct course to Gibraltar, being able to point to the north in the westerly wind.

  The Levant Convoy was still in the harbour which made for interesting navigation around the anchor cables in the darkness, but Frederick wanted the young Imperial gentleman ashore and receiving medical attention as quickly as possible. He assumed that the Moroccan ruling family would be similar to the British and a damned nuisance for any serving officer; the best place for the young man was out of his hands.

  A place had been reserved for Harriet and the polacca and they brought the xebec in as well, tying up alongside Harriet and dwarfing her, being both longer and higher out of the water.

  Admiral Clerke had waited up all night, and had stayed sober, and was in a state of anxiety, fussing and flapping, as they arrived on the quayside.

  “You have been very quick, Sir Frederick. Were you able to release the young gentleman?”

  “He is here, sir. Rather badly beaten, but not, I think, in any danger.”

  “The doctor is awake and waiting in his hospital, Sir Frederick. We shall take the gentleman there immediately. The emissary from the Emperor is still here and will no doubt wish to speak with him. What have you here, sir, a prize as well?”

  “The xebec was berthed and in our way, sir. So we brought her off with us. Besides, Captain Murray found her provenance intriguing. He has gone aboard to see what may be interesting in her captain’s cabin. She may, it seems, be in disguise and working for the French interest.”

  The group of captives was assisted onto the quay and led away, the Admiral in anxious attendance. They made no acknowledgement of Frederick as they left, which he thought a fraction ill-mannered, but perhaps they were embarrassed to be rescued by infidels.

  Captain Murray appeared carrying a few sheets of paper and smiling happily.

  “Not a great deal, Sir Frederick, but instructions that imply that the French have ambitions to conquer their ally, Spain. The agents aboard the vessel are to assure their trading partners that France will not permit Spain to attack the Ottomans or the Moroccans or the Egyptians, and that France will be in a position to impose her will ‘very soon’. I shall send the documents to London, which should cause a degree of interest there!”

  The prisoners from the crew of the xebec were brought ashore and were conveyed to the prison cells rather than into the looser captivity afforded merchant seamen.

  “What is her cargo, Captain Murray?”

  “Brandy and wines by the barrel, Sir Frederick. There is a substantial trade in smuggled alcohol into the Muslim lands all around the Mediterranean – high prices paid as well, as is always the case for any banned substance!”

  “It will sell well in Gibraltar. A healthy prize, sir!" Frederick was quite pleased with the bonus added to the night's activities. "What will be done with the Moroccan gentleman?”

  “I do not know precisely. The Emperor will probably not wish his captivity to be generally known, because he will not wish to admit that there was a rescue performed by Franks in the absence of any Moroccan capability. He will be brought back very quietly, I suspect, with never a word said. The Empire has been much annoyed by this whole business, but they will be grateful, very quietly.”

  Admiral Clerke requested Frederick’s attendance two days later.

  “Orders, Sir Frederick, from the Admiralty. You are to return to England at your convenience, it being noted that you have been injured while on duty. You will present yourself to the First Lord on arrival in England. I suspect that there is the intention to offer a command when you are fit. I am to find berths for your officers, including all of your young men, except that any who may be seen as followers will remain with you. The frigate Melpomene, 36, will call at the Rock en route for Bombay within the month, and she will have berths for a lieutenant and three midshipmen; I have it in mind to put your Mr Doolan and Midshipmen Watson, Cripps and Cripps aboard her.”

  “Three years or so on the Indian station will do them good, I would think, sir, and she is a good ship. Watson will find it easier to attain promotion overseas rather than in England; he has no family.”

  “That was my thought, Sir Frederick. What of Masson?”

  “He will never pass his board, sir. A berth on a privateer might make him money enough to leave the sea and find an occupation ashore; he might make a farmer.”

  “I will try, Sir Frederick. Young Cowen?”

  “He has it in him to do well, sir. A small ship, perhaps? He is one of those who will thrive on hard lying and wild work. Is there a place for a mid on Bluenose, perhaps?”

  “One can be made, Sir Frederick – these very small schooners have no laid down complement. For the warrants, no problem. There is always a need for skilled men. Lieutenant Wales remains to be dealt with, however.”

  “He is a very willing young man, sir, and should be looked after. He is too old ever to make a real career for himself at sea. The most that would happen would be promotion to master and commander and then half-pay with never a command; perhaps the offer of a place in the Dockyard would be welcome to him, sir. Promotion will come there, even if slowly, and he will be employed for life if needs be.”

  “I will speak to Captain Epworth. It is well possible that something could be arranged.”

  “Barber and Fitzpatrick are good men, sir. Both could be made.”

  “The sloops will be returning to my command, Sir Frederick. I shall look after them then. Is your Midshipman Kearton to return to England with you?”

  “I will speak with him, offer him the opportunity to stay here, if he wishes, as I suspect he might. If you could find him a place, sir, perhaps on Mr Dench’s sloop, I would be much obliged.”

  Admiral Clerke would do that, giving Dench permission to ship a mid above his complement if the need arose.

  “Then my responsibilities are over, sir. I shall look for passage to England.”

  “There are ships in the harbour now could serve you, Sir Frederick. The Combined Fleet is still in Cadiz and sailings are as normal as they can be at the moment. There is a wine ship from Madeira sails tomorrow, and I know she has cabins free. I spoke her master myself when she came in; he brought mail from the Island, from an acquaintance of mine.”

  “Then I shall go, sir, with my thanks for the efforts you have made for me.”

  The wine ships from Madeira were within reason fast and carried guns enough to be safe through the Western Approaches and its population of privateers. Frederick boarded that evening, leaving Kearton behind to pursue his career – the boy had decided that he liked the sea and much fancied the opportunities a sloop could offer.

  The privateering luggers out of Dunkirk, the most voracious of the breed, were quiet at the time, the Channel Fleet being particularly active in its patrols, chasing up indications of the expected invasion, and they made a quiet, uninterrupted passage to the Thames.

  “The last ten miles, Sir Frederick, and
the worst sailing!” The master of the wine ship had called all hands and had put two lookouts into the bows, port and starboard.

  The wind was in the south-west, as was most often the case, and the ship could make way, pointing up hard and slowly. There must have been a hundred craft within easy view of them, all taking advantage of the making tide and the not too unfavourable wind; each had a different leeway and made its tacks as the need came upon it. No two vessels were making the identical course at any given moment.

  “Three hours of this, Sir Frederick, and the chance of a collision any minute. I have the men ready to boom us off, as you see, but the prospects of disaster are high!”

  “Have you been hit before, sir?”

  “Twice in the last three years, Sir Frederick! Light touches no more, but the chance of calamity is always there.”

  They came through unscathed with no greater entertainment than the exchange of abuse at two fathoms distant with the youth at the tiller of a Thames barge; he was remarkably foul-mouthed for a boy and seemed to be displeased at the sight of Frederick and his uniform.

  “They all have Protections, Sir Frederick, on the barges. The Navy cannot touch them and they make a point of targeting their officers, to amuse themselves.”

  “Understandable, of course, sir. But irritating. I presume they are necessary to the existence of London?”

  “Wheat from Suffolk and Norfolk; potatoes, turnips and cabbages from the whole East Coast; brewer’s barley from the northerly parts. All of these come down in the barges and London would starve without them. Thirty or more tons at a time and crewed by one man and a boy and so very cheap. They are, so they believe, the kings of the Thames, and must not be touched, not even by the Revenue.”

  There was nothing to be done, other than ignore the nasty young fellow’s lewd humour. Frederick turned a lofty shoulder to him, which merely provoked him to greater depths of rudeness.

  They came eventually to the wine merchant’s wharf and disembarked.

  “Bosomtwi, take rooms for overnight at the posting inn. Two four-horse shays for the morning early.”

  Bosomtwi, an old hand at surviving in London, whistled up a horse drawn cab and loaded baggage and men aboard. He was recognised at the inn, welcomed by name and rooms were made available, to the irritation of a pair of would-be guests turned away for the house being full.

  “Sir Frederick is in England again, Mr Bosomtwi? Has he brought more glory to our name, sir?”

  “Cutting up they Spanish around the Med, isn’t it, landlord. No convoys going to feed the fleet in Cadiz this last few months.”

  “Very good, sir! And you at his side, no doubt! Is Mr Ablett not with you, sir?”

  “Left the sea, landlord. His leg almost cut off him, isn’t it. Mr Kavanagh here is coxswain now, and Olsen is learning the trade. The Captain is at the Admiralty now, be here later.”

  “All will be ready, Mr Bosomtwi, as always.”

  The sailors were led away and the landlord turned back to the counter and the unknowns up from the country.

  “No, sir, I am sorry, sir. No rooms at all, sir.”

  “But… you had rooms for those fellows! And they had not booked! You said you were pleased to see them unexpectedly!”

  “Captain Sir Frederick Harris is a regular patron, sir, when he is in England. At this time, sir, I am sure we must all be proud of our sailors.”

  The country gentleman agreed, but he was not proud to the extent of giving up a room to them.

  “I shall send a boy to the Red Lion to see if they have anything, sir.”

  Frederick made his way to the Admiralty, gave his name to the porters, was taken into the waiting room and led to a large and comfortable chair by the small fire. A master and commander, who had been senior man in the room, stood and made his bow and scowled at a lieutenant who shifted in his turn. There was a shuffling among the seven men sat hopefully until all were accommodated correctly by seniority; a low mutter arose as Sir Frederick was identified to those who had never seen him. Three young men who had actually met him before nodded and bowed nervously; Frederick responded courteously, knowing that he should remember them but quite unable to.

  He consoled himself that they were present because they were unemployed, which suggested that they were not the best of officers and therefore were naturally forgettable people.

  He waited barely ten minutes before he was asked to enter the presence.

  Lord Barham, generally regarded as a stopgap in the chair, rose politely and exchanged greetings.

  He was an old man, well beyond his three score and ten, should have been put out to grass long since. In his day he had been a frigate captain and one of the best; following that he had been exceptional as a Controller of the Navy; now, he was worn and tired. Had he been a ship, Frederick reflected, he would have been sold out of the service for firewood.

  Frederick made his bow, and took the chair courteously offered; he made his greetings, speaking loud and clearly.

  “We have never met, Sir Frederick, but what I know of you, I like, sir. You have followers who was used to be slaves, I believe?”

  “Only one, my Lord. The two were killed when Euripides was recently lost. I have the task of returning to my estates tomorrow to inform their wives and children that I have failed their menfolk.”

  “You have my sympathy, Sir Frederick. That is a task we all must perform on occasion, and it never becomes easier, sir. I must say that Abolition of Slavery is now my prime interest, but I doubt I shall see it in my lifetime. An end to the Trade is the most I can expect, and that may well be attained within the next two or three years. With a little more fortune I may know of it before coming to the end of my natural days.”

  Frederick glanced at the old, lined face, the sagging remnants of a large and fleshy man, decided he would lay no wagers on that chance.

  “One can but trust so, my Lord. The Trade is a great evil and it must be the aim of every true man to bring about its end as the first step to finally destroying the Institution.”

  “One can only applaud your words, Sir Frederick! Now, sir, to more direct business! How much were you hurt in the burning of Euripides, Sir Frederick?”

  “Some slight damage to the face, my Lord. I have been shaving only for this last fortnight, in fact. I have been little scarred on the cheek, it transpires, rather to my relief. Deeper burns to the chest and shoulders, but again, not massive; I was far luckier than many have been. A piece of burning cordage that fell across my shoulder and my people carrying me over the side and into the sea before the damage could be too great.”

  “You were fortunate, Sir Frederick. I trust you gave your thanks to the Lord.”

  “I am truly thankful, my Lord.”

  They left that issue unresolved.

  “All is at a stand at sea for the while, Sir Frederick, until the intentions of the Combined Fleet in Cadiz shall be resolved. I think we can say that if they do not sail before winter then they will be a hollow threat until the spring comes. I believe the Corsican adventurer, Bonaparte, is sending increasingly exigent orders and menaces to Admiral Villeneuve, demanding that he take action or resign his post. Our sources say that he has been advised that a pistol to his head might be the most acceptable intimation of his resignation! I believe he will sail, despite the unreadiness of his people, and will fall into Lord Nelson’s hands, and then all will be for the Lord God of Battles to determine.”

  It was a little too fatalistic for Frederick’s taste, and he had small faith in the Hand of God. The First Lord’s office was not the place to voice his doubts.

  “I will certainly expect Lord Nelson to be more than capable of meeting the challenge, my Lord. My prayers are with him, of course.”

  “It is the opinion of our people that invasion is no longer likely, Sir Frederick. Indeed, I believe it to be the case that French troops are already marching east, against Austria and probably Russia.”

  “Captain Murray suggested much the s
ame, my Lord. When last I spoke to him in Gibraltar he said that he expected the invasion to be delayed almost for a generation. He said that he thought Bonaparte would attempt Russia first and, having once taken her, would then build his wealth and manpower until he was irresistible. He made a compelling argument, I must say, my Lord.”

  “He is an able man, and will soon return to London, or so it is planned. Has he recovered from his injury?”

  “He has, my Lord. He is a strong man, far more than he looks. He seems a mild gentleman, schoolmasterly almost, but he is a true wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  “So I am told, Sir Frederick. He is a friend, I believe?”

  “He is, my Lord.”

  “I believe you are acquainted with the Member, Mr Russell?”

  “He too is a friend, my Lord.”

  “A man of many talents. He is to grace the Ministry, I believe. I suspect he will do very well. He is to assist the Secretary for War, though he himself is not the most martial of figures.”

  Frederick grinned, visualising Mr Russell in the guise of Mars.

  “He is an able man, my Lord, possessed of a keen intellect.”

  “He is, too.”

  The First Lord glanced at the clock, peered in fact, his sight not what it was.

  “I have it in mind, Sir Frederick, to send you to half-pay for the winter, with the first intention that you shall be despatched to Malta in the summer. You know the waters and have as much experience of the convoluted politics of that world as any man. A small but powerful squadron under your hand might do very well in either Eastern or Western Mediterranean. All depends on what the Spanish may do – and who knows the answer to that?”

  “I doubt the Spanish do, my Lord.”

  “Well said, sir. For the while, I presume you will be in England?”

  “Yes, my Lord, in Dorset or in Hampshire, except that if all goes well, I shall probably spend some time in London in the spring.”

  “As you should, Sir Frederick. I am sure you will be bidden to attend a Drawing Room or Levee at some time soon. I suspect that the Prince of Wales will wish to meet you again, to enrol you in the ranks of his friends, I doubt not. I need hardly say…”