by Alaric Bond
“I am appointed acting lieutenant,” Franklin told him, a little stiffly. “And will be berthing here.”
“Mr Franklin, welcome!” It was an older voice and it came from a far smarter senior steward who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Franklin had noticed the man, but only in passing; apart from his immaculate uniform, there was little to distinguish him from the other servants. Now that he regarded him more closely though he detected an unusual air; a presence, almost, and the purposeful look in the clear blue eyes could not be ignored.
“I heard you were to join us, sir,” the steward continued, while surreptitiously bustling the boy out of the way. “And expect you will be taking Mr Carlton's cabin. It is cleared out and ready. My name is Kennedy, I have charge of all officers' domestic arrangements; if you would care to follow me?”
Franklin found himself being led into the wardroom proper. A large table sat lengthways down the main room, ending just before the mizzen mast, which was decorated with a sheet of highly polished copper laid about it. And light – a rare and valued commodity in any ship of war – streamed in through the massive stern windows, adding an extra gleam to the glistening plate that was already set out for the day's main meal. He paused to take it all in; the wardroom had a generous deckhead and was comfortably spacious, despite also containing two lines of cabins on either side, and it was to one of these that the steward led him. There was a small door and, reaching it, Kennedy stood politely to one side.
Franklin ducked in through the low entrance. It was undoubtedly a tiny room, no more than six feet by five, but the lack of space meant he need not share it with a cannon. There was a canvas basin, what some might generously call a locker and a hanging cot. Beneath was space for a sea chest on which he would be able to sit when at the narrow desk wedged into the opposite corner.
“I can have your dunnage brought up from the cockpit,” Kennedy, who had followed, suggested. “And appoint a marine to attend you.”
Franklin turned to the steward once more to thank him and was again struck by his presence. Kennedy emanated a rare sense of assurance: comfort almost. This might be nothing out of the ordinary; Franklin was totally unaccustomed to dealing with professional servants, but still the man seemed subtly different to most stewards.
He looked around once more when finally alone and allowed himself a private smile. In his two previous spells as acting lieutenant, Franklin had never been provided with such luxury. The first time was a shore posting, when he shared a barrack room with a fellow regulating officer, and the other aboard a frigate. On that occasion the second lieutenant, for whom he had been deputising, was taken ill, and retired to his cabin, forcing Franklin to remain berthed in the cockpit. But now, finally, he had achieved something few aboard a ship-of-war ever experienced. It wasn't his own personal servant, the elite atmosphere of a wardroom, or even knowing he was, once more, so very close to achieving the status of a commissioned officer. At any moment he may be sent back to join the boys for what he assumed would be the rest of his service life, but until that happened he had the luxury of his own private space. And for as long as he did, Franklin would be a happy man indeed.
Chapter Three
She had seen heavy action without a doubt, but even though Prometheus was forced to wait until the less damaged Canopus had been attended to, the Gibraltar dockyard was making good progress. With the aid of the sheer hulk, one lower mast and several less significant spars were already replaced and the riggers had exchanged much of her tattered cordage. In doing so they worked in close cooperation with Knolls, the boatswain. He was a standing officer; one who had been with the ship for most of his professional life and reserved the affection many gave to children or dogs for her and her alone. Knolls hoped to set the tophamper to rights within two weeks and, as far better materials were being used than those originally supplied at the last refit, he was especially enthusiastic in his work.
But other problems were not so easily solved. Prometheus' hull had been penetrated in several places although all, bar one, were above the waterline. The exception, made by a heavy French round shot, was a jagged hole by her main hold, just below the sail room. This was currently sealed by a fothered canvas patch until a more permanent repair could be effected. As soon as the rest of the hull was watertight, the ship would be partially careened, allowing the damage to be properly addressed.
The remaining work was more easily attended to. She was an old ship, made at a time when massive beams of English oak were not such a rarity, and her frame was uncommonly strong. By the nature of her construction any repair, though lengthy, was not exceedingly complicated, it being more a matter of tackling the defects in order, and replacing damaged timbers using as few scarphs as possible.
There were some individual items, such as parts of the galley stove and the forward capstan that needed new metalwork and this often entailed their actual manufacture. To that end a temporary blacksmith's shop had been set up on the mole, where teams of hefty men carried out their gruelling work under the broiling Mediterranean sun. Replacement sails were supplied from the ship herself, Prometheus having been fully provisioned and stored less than two months before the action, and the sailmaker's team were already making up those required from their spare canvas.
But, beneath the awnings, the splintered wood and what was a veritable army of shore workers, Prometheus remained a powerful warship in the eyes of her crew. She may have several empty ports, but the missing cannon would be replaced from Gibraltar's extensive armoury: soon they would have two full decks of thirty-two and eighteen pound long guns to play with once more. This formidable fire power would be augmented by heavy calibre carronades, nicknamed smashers by their servers, and when her Royal Marine force of considerably over one hundred officers and men were once more embarked, Prometheus would become a menacing opponent to any enemy, be they on land or at sea.
But one difficulty still remained, and it was a substantial one. There were some materials in short supply; a few could be substituted, manufactured or even dispensed with, but nothing would solve Lieutenant Caulfield's eternal problem of the lack of manpower.
When she first left England, Prometheus' complement was short by about seventy trained hands. Good fortune later made up this deficit, but she had been in action several times since and, even without the losses sustained during the last two occasions, would normally be expected to require fresh men at such a stage in her commission.
In any vessel powered by the wind and subject to all forms of weather, hands could succumb to a number of debilitating injuries, ranging from broken limbs, rupture or the often deadly consequences of falling from a yard. When illnesses, disease and the ever present pox entered the equation, and the casualties added to her battle losses, Prometheus was judged to be just under one hundred able men light.
And it was a dilemma without any obvious solution. Trained seamen were as rare as fresh water on Gibraltar: the small supply of both being jealously guarded and only doled out under extreme duress. But if Prometheus were to sail again it would be to join Nelson. She would either be added to the Toulon blockade, or sent to the purple waters of the east, both places that offered very little chance of making up numbers. Caulfield glanced around the men currently gathered at the wardroom dining table: his two fit and fully commissioned lieutenants, Corbett and Lewis; Franklin, in what was clearly a borrowed uniform as well as Brehaut, the sailing master, and Marine Captain Reynolds. It was their regular Monday conference, but on that particular occasion there was only one item on the agenda.
“Would it be too extreme to raid a homebound India convoy?” Reynolds asked. As a military man, he alone could pose such a question, although Caulfield was in no mood to be gentle.
“It would be a foolish move indeed,” he told him, firmly. “In sight of Dover Castle maybe, but with still over a thousand miles to cover, our actions should not be tolerated and doubtless must evoke a reprimand from the Admiralty at the very least.”
&nbs
p; “There is no possibility from the shore?” This was from Lieutenant Corbett, a new man, but one Caulfield had taken to. And, as usual, it was a reasoned contribution.
“The captain is currently with the naval commissioner,” Caulfield answered. “It is hoped he may allow us a few men, but obviously that cannot be guaranteed. There were numbers to make up from Canopus, after all.”
“There were indeed,” Corbett confirmed with a smile. He had come under exchange from Canopus, and appeared remarkably happy to be free of her.
“And if he does not, shall we be able to function?” Brehaut this time, and Caulfield looked at the provisional watch bill once more before replying. It was in no way complete, several men posted still being on the wounded list, but served as an indication at least.
“I should say so, yes,” he conceded at last. “Though it would not be ideal, and further losses hard to bear.” That was the point; fortune had smiled upon them in the past but it was far more usual for a crew to deplete than increase. Within a few months they may find themselves seriously short of hands through nothing more than the expected erosion caused by being at sea. Should a serious case of ship fever strike, it would be a different story, and even a dose of mild influenza could bring trouble. But there was one ailment that Caulfield worried over most of all, and every day Prometheus lay in the dockyard's hands gave more opportunity for it to drain his manpower dramatically.
Known as Gibraltar fever, it was first recognised over ten years before. Since then the epidemic had been responsible for many thousands of deaths, including that of a previous governor and, in 1800, forced the postponement of Admiral Keith's planned attack on Cádiz. Measures had been taken to prevent what quickly became an endemic disease with improved ventilation being a feature of the fine new hospital, while fresh water and an adequate diet would soon be available to both civilians and the military. Any ship arriving from Spain or the Barbary coast was placed under strict quarantine, yet every year the ailment reappeared, and the preceding summer had been one of the worst. Such a comprehensive refit meant the bulk of Prometheus' men needed to be transferred ashore and were now cooped up in wooden huts within the military barracks. Should any of them become affected, the disease would spread like the proverbial wildfire, and Caulfield might find himself almost entirely without a crew.
And then, as he was well aware, his problems really would begin.
* * *
“I wished to speak to you first,” Manning told her, once they had quit the sick berth and returned to the dispensary.
“You wrote of his injuries being to the chest,” Kate said, ignoring what might have been a rare rebuke from her husband. “Why then the loss of an arm?”
Manning sighed. “His chest cavity did indeed cause my concern,” he admitted. “The entire area was extensively punctured and penetrated. It was a splinter wound: you are aware how they can present?”
She said nothing: they both knew only too well.
“We did all we could to keep the lesion clean, though it seemed hopeless, and damage is still to be seen.”
“But the arm.” Kate persisted.
“Yes, the arm,” Manning agreed. “I fear that was somewhat overlooked.”
She waited while he gathered his thoughts, although the pause continued for longer than was usual.
“What happened, Robert,” she asked at last. “Was it...”
“It were an oversight,” he interrupted harshly. “Indications of corruption became noticeable after about a week, and I thought them to be in the major lesion. There was a young girl assisting at the time, and we gave him every attention. The wound actually appeared healthy enough, but was drained and cauterised wherever putrefaction might lie; the usual practice: you will understand.”
She did: poor Tom must have gone through agonies, yet all Kate could do was nod in silent agreement.
“And it wasn't for a good while later that I realised it to be the arm that was affected all along.”
Robert was now close to tears. Leaning forward on the stool, he wrung his hands together but would not meet her eyes, and what she could see of his face was a picture of misery.
“I just didn't think to check,” he repeated pathetically. “Judy changed the dressings, but would not be expected to know the signs. It seemed obvious the infection must lie in the chest. I was so sure...”
“And it was gangrene?” Kate prompted.
Robert inclined his head as if in defeat. “The smallest of cuts that could have been attended to in an instant, were I not distracted by the larger damage elsewhere – were I paying sufficient attention...”
“You had other responsibilities,” she reminded him. “And he was surely not the only wounded man under your care.”
“But that is no excuse,” he replied, wretchedly. Then his eyes were finally raised to meet hers, but they held nothing but torment. “Tom is my friend; my best, were it to be known,” he confessed. “Yet I am to blame for the loss of his arm. What will he think of me when he discovers?”
* * *
“I fear experienced seamen are not so easy to find, Sir Richard,” Captain Otway, the naval commissioner for Gibraltar told Banks. “All the liners in the Med. Squadron are a hundred or so below their wartime complements; why only last week that youngster, Conn was pestering me for hands. Canopus might be carrying Rear Admiral Campbell to join Nelson, but even he was allowed the bare minimum.”
It was a light and airy room that overlooked the harbour; their seats were comfortable and Gordon Stewart, an old friend from his midshipman days, had joined them. But so important was the subject under discussion that Banks felt no inclination to relax; instead he knew himself to be tense, fractious and extremely vulnerable. However hard his officers may work, a ship without sufficient men can never be effective, and if he were to be denied even a few able hands the interview was liable to end in argument.
“But I can perhaps provide twenty.” Otway continued, grudgingly. “Some – most, I would hope – will be trained, but there shall inevitably be a few landsmen amongst them.”
At the naval commissioner's words, a wave of relief flowed down Banks' shoulders, and suddenly the late afternoon sunshine became pleasurable. Even ignoring the last point, twenty sound bodies would make a considerable difference. It was actually more than he had hoped for: but Banks was yet to relax fully, as much depended on the source of such a windfall.
“Would these be from the fleet?” he asked cautiously. Every captain had those amongst their crew they would prefer to see the back of, and an influx of cast-offs, likely to be trouble makers or other discontents, might not be the blessing it appeared.
“Nothing of the sort, Sir Richard; it would be wrong of me to foist any such rubbish upon you.” The elderly man huffed. “In the main they shall be John Company men, currently in barracks. The Earl of Essex came in a month back and needs attention from our dockyard; Prometheus and Canopus received priority, of course but, to my mind, a ship that cannot sail is in no need of a crew. Accordingly, I think we might borrow a number of her people to see you satisfied.”
That was good news indeed as far as he was concerned, although Banks could not help considering the merchant's master. Twenty men would likely account for a large proportion of his crew.
“That would not be the entire draft, Sir Richard,” Commander Stewart added. “We have a few regular Navy men available. Those that are to be discharged from the hospital.”
Stewart, a former shipmate, now acted as second to the commissioner. Banks wondered if his friend was pulling any strings on his behalf, and found he cared little either way. Twenty men was a fine number, and Prometheus would be a better ship because of them.
“From the naval hospital?” Banks asked. “I assume them to be sound?”
“Oh indeed,” Stewart hurried to assure him. “Most had Gib. fever, though a couple were suffering from typhus. As you know, once cured they can be considered immune from further attack, so should be doubly welcome.”
Banks was suitably relieved, although he did make a mental note to have Manning check the new hands carefully.
“I would it were more, Sir Richard,” Otway continued, his tone now slightly mollified. “The action you fought was much needed; should those liners have been allowed to dock in France it would have stretched what resources we have still further. Even if a Spanish port were chosen, we should have had to lose at least one third rate, probably more, to keep watch on them.”
Banks was about to reply when a double tap was heard at the outer door, and all three men turned to see a smartly uniformed lieutenant enter.
“Forgive the intrusion, gentleman,” he said, bowing his head slightly to Banks and Stewart. Then, to the naval commissioner: “The captain of the brig is with me now, sir. You wished to interview him; shall he wait outside?”
“No, Hoskins; ask him to join us.” Otway looked back as the lieutenant bustled out. “You will not mind, I am certain,” he told Banks. “The young fellow came in early this morning with a captured brig sent down from Toulon. More holes than a colander, by the looks of her. Seems they ran in with a corsair but made it away, which would appear to do the boy a deal of credit. No doubt there is a story to tell, and you may as well hear it.”
Banks had noticed a small, two masted vessel in the process of being secured when he rose at first light. She was in a far worse condition than Prometheus had been and indeed appeared barely afloat. Several deep holes marked her sides, two sails were fothered about the hull and a constant stream of clear water flowed from her scuppers. The door opened again, admitting a young, thin, fair-haired man who seemed slightly too long for his tattered midshipman's uniform.
“Acting Lieutenant Hunt,” Hoskins announced, and both were waved to chairs at the table.
“Very pleased to see your safe arrival, Mr Hunt,” Otway told him when they were settled. “Your command has certainly known better days; met with an enemy xebec, or so I hears?”
