by David O'Neil
On boarding Racer he reported to Captain Graham, passing over the orders he had been given on leaving Portsmouth.
Graham greeted him amiably. “You will have much to do tomorrow. My first Lieutenant is currently with a prize and you will be the senior until he returns. It will be good experience for you. I’m sure you will manage. I am pleased to have you aboard.” He put his hand on Martin’s shoulder and accompanied him to the door.
For Martin, almost eighteen now, having his own cabin on board ship was a luxury he had never really experienced under command of another. His detached duty in the West Indies, where he actually commanded the vessel did not really count, since it was a temporary situation as he had well known. Here—despite its small size—was his own space, a place where he could leave his own things, without worrying about losing them for a joke, or having them borrowed, and sometimes never returned. Also there was no one else here to bicker and fight with, a place in fact to call his own, for the length of this commission at least.
The ship was due to sail at noon. The bosun’s mate was newly appointed and not very bright. So it was with a sigh of relief when the shore boat came alongside with their newly appointed bosun on board. As he heaved his sea bag over the side and turned to salute the tall, acting First Lieutenant, a broad grin spread over his homely face. Carter, promoted bosun, was as happy to see Martin, as Martin was to see him.
“I thought you were going to buy an inn with your prize money,” Martin said
“I got my brother to do that. He can run it until the salt runs out of my blood. I found I had no sooner got home than I was ready to be off again.”
“Right, stow your gear. You are needed here, no mistake. I’ll inform the Captain you are here. We are due to sail shortly.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Carter called a seaman to take his bag below and went to speak with the bosun’s mate who was looking relieved to see him.
The voice of the Captain as he came on deck reminded him of his duties. He stepped forward to report the arrival of the new bosun, and the readiness of the ship for sea.
“You will please me by being my guest for dinner tonight, you also Midshipman…… Brown, is it not?”
“Indeed, sir, it is. Thank you, sir.”
Martin heard the hail “Anchors aweigh” called from foc’sle.
“Set the mainsail. Haul taut the headsails. Watch the helm there. Bring her round gently now. The ship came round onto her course for the harbor entrance. The anchor was brought home and lashed in position. With her sails drawing, the ship moved rapidly through the water, the Master called for the sails to be trimmed to his satisfaction. Finally all things being in order, Martin set course for their first destination, Port Mahon in Minorca.
That evening the Captain’s table was the scene of a merry party. In addition to Martin and young Brown, the ship’s Master, Jared Holmes, and the Doctor, William Abbot attended. The Master had been around the world during his career and had many a tale to tell. The Doctor said little but was polite, and listened with interest to the conversation around him.
At the end of the meal the Master excused himself to take a look at the course, and the set of the sails. The Doctor and Midshipman Brown followed soon after. Martin was waved back to his seat when he made to leave.
“Martin, I may call you Martin, here between us, may I not?”
“Of course, sir.”
“We have not had time to discuss the orders I have been given, since the time was short before our departure from Gibraltar. I would like to take some time to explain them now.
“First, do not expect to be relieved before this voyage is over. The man you are relieving has been detached for a reason. Happily we took a prize that is being convoyed to Falmouth and that gave me the excuse to remove him without damaging his career.”
Martin was watching him with a puzzled expression on his face. He made to say something but the Captain held his hand up to stop him. “It will become clear shortly.
“Our orders do not include joining the fleet here in the Mediterranean, or anywhere else at present. We will contact the fleet at Port Mahon, but we do not stay. Having dropped off messages there, we travel on to Naples, or the location of the King, wherever he may be. Based on what we learn on our travels, we will carry on to the region of Alexandria. There, we have reason to believe, there will be French ships about, because of the army they have in Egypt. Your knowledge of French will be needed, and we will have to make contact with agents in the area, as well as evade capture. Because we are a corvette with French lines, it is hoped that we will be able keep clear of trouble. I am afraid if we are found out, we will need all the speed we can make. It is another reason for parting with Lieutenant Fairbrother, my former First Lieutenant. I swear he was older than me, though he claimed to be younger. Enough to say I needed someone who can think on his feet.”
“I must say I am flattered, sir, at your faith in me.”
“Don’t be. I expect that you will reward my selection, since you have shown in your career so far the very qualities I am seeking.”
Graham smiled at Martin’s embarrassment. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect miracles, just your best efforts. So now off you go. What I have told you is between you and me, no one else.”
Martin stood up. “Thank you, sir. I will do my best to justify your faith in me.”
He left the cabin and went up on deck, happily feeling the cooler wind in his face after the rather stuffy air in the cabin.
They made good progress despite the indifferent weather. The second lieutenant, Will James, greeted Martin as he came on deck, shrugging into a waterproof. “What happened to the wine-dark seas Homer speaks of.” He waved at the grey waters through which they were making way.
“In the same place that the blond-haired warriors and the thousand ships are. In his imagination, or a long way from here.”
“You really think so, sir?”
“If you look at our knowledge of the history of the times, how could you believe anyone would go to war over a woman? We already know there were not one thousand ships to be had here in the Mediterranean. At the time, it was bronze-age I believe. There could be war over copper, or zinc, even iron, but there is no copper here. Further north perhaps, there where you would find blond haired men.”
“That never occurred to me, sir. But surely, I think I have read about the search for Troy in the Levant somewhere.”
“I also was taught that in my Greek lessons, but my own logic tells me that it is based on the nationality of the author rather than any consideration of geography. That’s enough of the history. What is our present position?”
“We are passing the Spanish port of Cartagena to port at about forty miles, our next landfall will be Formentera, the southernmost of the Balearic Islands tomorrow in the forenoon.”
“An inspired guess, Mr. James? Perhaps you would like to check the position on the chart and verify your forecast.”
As James hesitated, Martin said, “Now would be a good time, Mr. James. I believe the Captain will be joining us shortly.”
At this, Midshipman James jerked into action and ran below to check the chart.
“Really, Mr. Forest-Bowers. I do believe you are guilty of pulling Mr. James’s leg?”
Martin smiled as he turned to Captain Graham. “I do believe I am, sir.”
They contacted the fleet to the north of the island of Minorca. The despatches were passed over and the course renewed for Naples on the coast of Italy, via Cape Spartivento at the southern end of the island of Sardinia.
Twelve hours after parting from the flagship they encountered HMS Archer, a brig/sloop escorting two prizes to Gibraltar. She was able to confirm that the King of Naples was currently in Sicily, the French having already overrun Naples.
Accordingly, HMS Racer adjusted her course, now making for the closer port of Palermo. Archer also reported that there were French ships reported operating from Livorno in the Tyrrhenian Sea.
The
y parted company with the Gibraltar-bound brig and continued their progress to the south-east, to weather Cape Spartivento. They encountered the two French frigates the following day.
The report from the masthead identified them approaching from the north, Captain Graham, when called, looked long and carefully at the tiny rags of white that were appearing for longer and longer periods. He turned to Martin. “What do you think? Will they catch us, or not?”
Martin having made the same mental calculations said. “Do we want them to, or not? If we wish to evade them, then I suggest we crack on more canvas and see just how fast our ship is.” He looked his Captain directly in the eye, waiting.
Graham smiled, “I think this time, discretion. Let’s see how she flies.”
Martin cupped his hands and called, “All hands make sail. Set royals and skysails. Shake the reefs from the topgallants. Make her fly, Mr. James.”
The rush of feet on the deck ceased as the men flung themselves at the rigging, racing each other to get their sails set before the others. The white canvas snapped and bellied as the sails appeared like magic to the mast-heads. The ship heeled to the wind and seemed to leap forward with the pressure of the extra spread of canvas.
Captain Graham lifted his glass once more. With a satisfied grunt he handed it to Martin. “That should do it.” He said and returned to his cabin to finish the meal that was disturbed by the report of the French ships.
A watch was kept on the distant sail until they finally disappeared from the view of the masthead lookout.
The afternoon of the next day saw them shortening sail to enter Palermo harbor. The royal flag confirmed the presence of the King of Naples in the Sicilian capital. The guns fired the Royal salute in succession, as they passed the fortress at the harbor mouth.
They lay in the harbor of Palermo for two weeks, the court of the King providing a round of entertainments which the officers were invited to attend. The British Ambassador, Lord Hamilton, was a most affable man who ensured that there was no lack of company. Many of the ladies of the court, having been separated from their men by the skirmishes with the French army, were delighted to entertain the new arrivals. Thus at all the gatherings there was a varied assortment of these unattended ladies to greet in their turn. Fortunately the presence of two ships of the line, provided sufficient rivals to make the duties of the officers of Racer less taxing than might have been the case. When the time came for the ship to sail, there were several of the ladies sad to see them go. Though on the ship, there was a feeling of relief, for the present at least.
They had collected no less than three agents to carry to the Levant at the eastern end of the Mediterranean. The region was once the home of the Phoenicians, whose trading ships had operated throughout the civilised world in the west, from Jaffa to pre-Roman Britain, from the seas of the Baltic, to the Atlantic coasts of Northern Africa.
In more recent years the lands had been riven with warfare, the sects and tribes that lived there quarrelling still, following the vast expansion and disintegration of the Roman Empire. Now, with Napoleon’s armies deep into Egypt, the entire area was even more in turmoil.
For Martin, the feelings of guilt following their sojourn in Palermo, kept him in a restrained, introspective mood for some time. The attentions of the seventeen-year-old Contessa Di Bari had been exhausting to say the least. The lady in question had, despite her lack of years, an expertise and ingenuity in sexual athletics that astonished him and appalled him. Her seventy-year old husband, having married to produce an heir, had apparently left it to her to decide who would be the actual father.
Martin discovered that his own efforts followed the failure of several others to achieve this end. It had become a matter of curiosity in the court, and it must be said, of wager on the result of her efforts.
Mr. James approached Martin to take over the watch, with a wary eye for Martin’s mood. “Any problems for me to worry about, sir?” He asked tentatively.
“The ship is yours, Mr. James.” The words were calm, the tone even. William James decided to chance it. “Did you enjoy our stay in Palermo, sir?”
Martin looked at him sharply searching for some hint of innuendo. Detecting none he replied. “I really did, I suppose, a most educational period that I would rather not repeat too often. I seriously doubt my constitution could stand too much more of the pace of life there.”
“Well, I do have to say that entertainment on the scale we have enjoyed must become a trial.” The voice of Captain Graham interrupted the two officers as they stood beside the stern rail in the morning sunshine. Both turned to greet the Captain who had approached unseen.
“So, a beautiful morning, gentlemen. All the cobwebs blown away. I trust. Our passengers have designated a landing in the vicinity of Alexandria, if it is possible.”
“Who are these people, sir? Are we to meet?”
“They are, I understand, all trained agents of our Foreign Service: two gentlemen and a lady.”
“Lady?”
“Why, yes. A lady who sounds very French!” The Captain sounded surprised at this. But he carried on. “She is a person of quality, from what I observe, and quite pretty. That is according to Mr. Williams, who is, I understand, a connoisseur of beautiful women.”
Both the others laughed at the Captain’s comment, but each was curious to see the lady in question.
She appeared on deck later that day, and satisfied their curiosity. Mr. Williams certainly proved his credentials as connoisseur. The lady, when she appeared, stopped the work on deck instantly. Known only as Alouette, her name was neither given, nor requested, as her position as an agent might be compromised.
The lady in question approached the tall figure of Martin Forest-Bowers and spoke. Caught by surprise, Martin turned and faced the lady with an apology. “I beg your pardon, Madam. I did not quite hear you.”
“It was my fault, lieutenant. I asked if you could tell me where we are.”
“Of course, Madam. We are 150 miles off the coast of Egypt, closing the shore for a landing in the vicinity of Alexandria.” He looked around the horizon before indicating the location of their destination. “We should reach the rendezvous by tomorrow evening, if the wind holds.”
“Parfait,” She murmured almost under her breath.
Looking at her—without thinking—Martin said aloud, “Parfait. Vraiment.”
Alouette looked at him and realized what he said. She blushed, then, “You speak French also, M’siu Martin?”
“I confess I do, Madam.”
“Then, please. I am not madam. Duchesse on occasion, Mademoiselle on others. But here and now to you, sir, I am Alouette.” She gave a little curtsey and walked off down the deck to commiserate with one of her companions, who was not enjoying the sea voyage.
“Watch out for singed fingers there,, Mr. Bowers.” The dry voice of the Captain brought him out of his daydream with a start.
“That lady is dangerous!”
“How so sir?”
“Every man on this ship, including me, would happily take her to his bed. But I would wager that the only man to succeed would be the one she selected, for her own reasons, unlikely to be romantic. Ah,” he sighed. “So are we all made fools of by our imagination and ego.”
The Captain took a walk across the deck, and when he returned he said, “I hope you did not resent what I just said.” He looked Martin in the eye.
Martin blushed. “Sir, I bow to your superior wisdom and experience.”
“Exercise the guns, I think, Mr. Bowers.” The moment passed. The Captain was all business.
“Aye, aye, sir” Turning, Martin called the orders to exercise the guns. The rush of men to their positions soon cleared the cobwebs from his mind, and the serious business of ship handling became his focus once more.
The three agents were invited to share the meal with the Captain and Martin that evening. The presence of Alouette—the only one of the three in condition to accept the invitation—seemed
awkward to start with, but her easy manner and ready wit soon had both men entranced and relaxed to the extent that both were completely comfortable exchanging repartee with their guest.
The short twilight was over, darkness fell like a curtain over the sea. The lights of Alexandria were visible over the water ahead of the ship, as she ghosted closer to the shoal waters, off the Nile Delta.
The jolly boat had been swung out ready to launch, and the three agents were on deck with their baggage, ready to transfer to the hostile shore.
“Do the honors, please, Mr. Bowers. In and out as quickly as possible. I wish to leave this particular shore before the first blink of dawn.”
“Aye, sir.” Martin followed the three spies down into the boat and took his place at the helm. “Cast off. Give way port. Together now, port and starboard, handsomely there.”
The boat rode the waves, swooping down the face, and receiving spatters of spray as the bows rose to the next wave. It took five minutes to reach the point where the bowman jumped over into the shallows to haul the boat to the beach. Martin carried Alouette ashore while the others struggled with the luggage.
`Alouette thanked Martin prettily for his assistance, then ran over to join the other two beside the pile of luggage.
“Quietly now. Back in the boat.” Martin gathered his men and the boat pulled off the beach for the journey back to the ship. He turned as they left the small group standing there, and lifted his hand in farewell. Alouette noticed and waved back. Then they were gone.
Back alongside, they hooked on fore and aft. The boat was lifted out of the water and onto the deck, with the rowers still stowing the oars.
Chapter eleven
Beat to quarters
“What do you see there?” Captain Graham called to the masthead lookout.
“Two ships, sir, one ship rigged. The other, schooner rig. Both wearing French colors.
