HMS Prometheus (The Fighting Sail Series Book 8)

by Alaric Bond

  They had served together in two previous vessels, and considered themselves shipmates; a status that transcends many friendships formed on land. But both were also professional sea officers, and King's recent disobeying of orders aboard the captured coaster had strained their close relationship. In Caulfield's eyes, King had not only endangered himself, but the entire operation. And though they might be friends, he remained the first lieutenant; responsible for the discipline and conduct of all, be they officers or men. He might wish it differently, but could not allow personal feelings to alter such a stance.

  However, the intervening time had given him the chance to consider matters more carefully, and he now grudgingly accepted there may have been mitigating circumstances. Caulfield had never suffered a serious wound, and could not imagine how he might react to being crippled, or effectively banned from independent command. And King had been closely involved in planning part of the attack, while there was little doubt his experience in guiding the coaster past the hazards of the outer harbour had proved valuable, even pivotal, to the mission's eventual success. So it was that, after a period of apparent distance, Caulfield was now pleased to note the young man held no bad feelings, and appeared as happy to join in conversation as he was to receive him.

  “We should make Gib. in three days,” King said, the open smile as ever on his face. “Though I might wish it otherwise.”

  “Not lured by the delight of shore, Tom?” Caulfield asked lightly. The younger man turned so that they were both standing looking forward to where the recently holystoned decks were waiting to be dried by an early sun.

  “Oh, I never mind the odd night in town,” King admitted. “Though, with the French so primed to move, would prefer to be asea.”

  The first lieutenant nodded. The Mediterranean in winter was a very different place; more of its brand of particularly vicious storms could be expected and, although there were certainly worse stations, he might also think of better. But King was right, Prometheus was being forced away just when matters at Toulon were becoming interesting. They would doubtless bully and plead, but must expect to spend at least four weeks in repair; add another for their return, and it could be to a very different situation. All were convinced the French were on the verge of quitting harbour and, with Nelson's penchant for a loose blockade, were likely to do so undetected. Then there would be a chase to rival the last little jaunt that had ended at Aboukir Bay, with Prometheus doubtless arriving late, after the added complication of needing to find their own fleet, as well as that of the French.

  And if the enemy's departure was detected the outcome would be equally frustrating. It could only mean an immediate major action; maybe not so sizeable as what some were beginning to call the Battle of the Nile, but surely every bit as significant. Hardly a single British officer or seaman could consider any result other than another victory for Nelson, but that would be far harder to achieve with one of his best liners languishing in harbour.

  “They may not choose to leave in winter,” Caulfield said, partly in an effort to reassure himself. “Indeed, I should not be surprised if they were already back safe in their lair and battening down for Christmas.”

  King gave a wry grin. “Aye, 'tis possible,” he allowed. “Though we will be lucky to know of it before we rejoin the main force. Until then there is little for us to do but wait and worry.”

  * * *

  “Or you can volunteer for a merchant ship.” Cranston stated with unusual authority.

  “Can't see how that'll do much good,” Bleeden replied disparagingly. “From what I hears, deserters can end up scragged if they're not so very careful.”

  They had been discussing the various ways of raising money and Bleeden, usually an expert in such matters, was finding himself outflanked by his messmates

  “That's all you know,” Cranston told him. “Maybe in a home port but, once you get on a foreign station, they got to keep hold of every Englishman going. Besides, who said anything about running?”

  The former smuggler was now very much at a loss, and remained silent as the more worldly seaman continued.

  “You tells the master you're a free man, an' ask for a month's wages in advance, so as to provide for your kit. If the old man's short of a crew, he'll more'n likely agree. Then, as soon as he hands it over, you heads back to the ship, quick as anything.”

  “And then?” Bleeden asked cautiously.

  “Well, once you're safe on board you keeps your head down – and the money, of course.”

  “What if they follows?”

  “Oh they probably will,” Cranston confirmed. “And there's bound to be a right old blow up when the cove comes a lookin'. But the RN takes care of their own; no king's officer worth his salt is going to let a merchant man aboard, or lose a hand. And the master can't take legal action, as the debt would be under twenty pounds. You're home and dry!”

  * * *

  Robert Manning had asked to speak with him on a personal matter, which Banks considered bad news on several levels. Foremost, he never found the surgeon particularly easy company. As far as his medical competence was concerned, there were no complaints; Manning conducted himself well and, although coming from a relatively humble position, commanded respect from both officers and men. And Banks, who was after all a peer of the realm, did all he could to make the lesser feel comfortable, but somehow they failed to see eye to eye.

  There had been no major animosity to cause this; a few years back Banks might have enjoyed a brief affair with the woman who was to become Manning's wife, but that was long before the two of them were married, and surely all forgotten. But still the surgeon persisted in being awkward and ill at ease when in his presence and, despite serving several commissions together, there had never been any sign of a friendship developing.

  And something of a personal nature was always likely to be difficult. Naval routine was one thing; even ignoring the Articles of War, Banks owned guidelines a plenty, both official and otherwise, that advised a captain of his formal duties. These ranged from Regulations and Instructions Relating to His Majesty's Service at Sea to a pamphlet, purportedly written by a serving sea officer, that gave a candid guide to phrasing reports and despatches. All contained solid advice and covered everything from quelling an impending mutiny to obtaining extra income through a variety of nefarious channels. Personal matters were given the proverbial wide berth, however, yet these were usually far harder to define and, certainly to Banks' mind, solve.

  In considering the matter that morning he had come to the conclusion that a formal interview, with him seated at his desk and the surgeon standing opposite, would probably not be the height of diplomacy. Instead he had asked David to place his favourite easy chair aft of the main cabin, with it facing the upholstered lockers that sat squarely under Prometheus' magnificent stern windows. The two could then relax in comfort while Manning, an awkward soul at the best of times, struggled through what he had to say.

  Banks hoped it was nothing more than switching the sick berth from the orlop to the upper deck. Mention had been made of the prospect in the past, and it might be accomplished easily enough during their forthcoming stay in harbour. But when the appointed time came, and Kate Manning appeared alongside her husband, he knew the subject was liable to be different, and that this would not be an easy interview.

  The couple appeared preoccupied, with Manning appearing even more uncomfortable than usual. And it was then, in what was for him a rare flash of insight, that Banks wondered if his previous relationship with Kate had anything to do with the surgeon's attitude.

  * * *

  “I believe we have a new gentleman joining us shortly,” Kennedy informed him in a whisper, before that evening's Bible study was due to start. Franklin nodded in acknowledgement and sat back in his chair. The regular meetings were growing in popularity, although Franklin felt this was hardly to be surprised at. Living so close to the elements and death itself, the average seaman was inclined to indulge in ei
ther superstition or religion. Under some blue light captains, guidance in the latter was compulsory, and could even be divided into differing branches of the Christian faith, however Franklin and Kennedy led far more general groups which were decidedly ecumenical, as they represented the only form of true religious instruction available aboard Prometheus.

  Still it was good to see the stewards' room filling up nicely, and a further member joining augured well for the future. As it was, the room held only those men who were off watch, and would be used again at eight bells for the remainder.

  But when the last man had apparently arrived, and the meeting was about to come to order, there were no new faces. Then a tentative tap was heard at the door; the room fell to a hush, and Franklin looked with interest as one of his own charges, the chubby midshipman, Carley, entered.

  “Mr Carley had attended his parish church since Christening,” the senior steward explained, as he led the shy young man to the front of the group. “He has a strong faith but, as with the rest of us, misses conventional divine worship, and the fellowship of fellow believers.”

  Franklin had been leading meetings for several weeks now, but still the acceptance shown by lower deck men impressed him. Although considered a midshipman by most, and called so out of courtesy, Carley was actually a mere volunteer, someone who drew the same pay and listing on the ship's books as an ordinary hand. And, as a first voyager, he had only a sketchy knowledge of his duties, and knew hardly any lore of the sea. Yet one day he was likely to walk the quarterdeck as a lieutenant and possibly a captain or admiral. Even now, in his uneducated state, he had the right to command Willis there, a seasoned foretop man, or Cousins; a regular Jack and old enough to be his father.

  But there was no sign of resentment or disapproval from any man present. This was just one more hungry soul; the lad had been sent to hear the word as well as strengthen their numbers and, however they might behave towards him whilst on duty, he was as welcome within their fellowship as any repentant sinner.

  * * *

  “Pregnant?” Banks cried, astonished. “How did that happen?”

  Kate Manning had to hold back a response that would have been unwise considering the circumstances. There could hardly be a greater contrast between Sir Richard Banks and her own Robert, yet both had reacted identically to Poppy's news, and she wondered briefly why it was that men so often behaved in a like manner.

  “We have a healthy, red-blooded crew, sir,” her husband suggested hesitantly.

  “We have indeed,” the captain agreed, a little more softly. He had not been looking forward to this conversation, but never expected it to take such a dramatic and embarrassing course. Now that it had though, he was determined to end matters as soon as possible. As captain of the ship, he had every right to do so, and was accustomed to having his own way. “Well, she will have to be put ashore immediately,” he said, with what was intended to be the air of finality.

  But at least one of his guests was not to be deterred. “Indeed?” Kate questioned. “Would that be the usual punishment for such a crime?”

  “Of course not,” Banks snapped, his face now burning slightly. “But you must see she cannot stay aboard. Prometheus is on active service: we are at war.”

  For a moment the two glared at each other with all differences in rank and gender, as well as any past affection, forgotten. Then the reasoned voice of Robert Manning was heard from far away and effectively broke the spell.

  “I think we may be jumping ahead of the problem rather,” he said, apologetically. “This would not seem to be a simple case of chance intimacy,” he caught his wife's eye and swiftly corrected himself. “Not that such things are always so casual, of course.”

  “What is your meaning?” Banks asked.

  “It would appear the young girl was forced.” Kate stated firmly. “And by a member of your crew: possibly more than one.”

  “And has she named the person or persons responsible?”

  “Not as yet,” Kate conceded. “I demand you hold an enquiry forthwith.”

  “You will demand nothing of me,” Banks shot back. “Do I need to remind you of your position?” Embarrassment was quickly giving way to anger, although strangely the atmosphere in the great cabin now seemed a good deal easier as a consequence. “I alone am captain of this ship and will decide if there shall be an enquiry.”

  The natural authority in Banks' voice stunned Kate into silence, and he was able to continue uninterrupted.

  “Anyone suspected of committing such a crime will be arrested forthwith,” he said. “And must surely face court martial or some other trial. But, as the girl has not said who is responsible, I am unable to pursue the matter further.”

  “You must,” Kate countered. “It is your duty.”

  “Madam, you shall not tell me my duty.” Banks retorted. The very mention of the word caught him on a raw spot and raised the stakes still further. Had he been doing his duty in taking Prometheus too deeply into the enemy's harbour?

  “Any investigation shall, by its very nature, involve the majority of my lower deck,” he continued, “and will be disruptive in the extreme. If your servant does not wish to speak, that is her concern, but I do not intend to jeopardise the well-being of my people because of it.”

  “And what about justice?” the woman responded.

  “Justice?” he gave a brief laugh. “Do you believe you will get justice because my master at arms and his corporals start asking questions? Are you expecting whoever was responsible to simply own up, and take the charge? Or will there be gossip, supposition, and possibly far worse?” Banks sighed; this was well beyond his usual domain. In truth there was no better reason he could think of why an enquiry should not be held, although every instinct in his body rebelled against the idea. And he was equally determined no mere medic's wife was going to give him orders. Then, fortunately, her husband intervened once more.

  “Tell me, Kate,” the surgeon asked gently. “If Poppy has proved reluctant to talk to you, exactly how many on board are aware of her predicament?”

  She shook her head but said nothing.

  “I had guessed as much,” Manning replied. “That being the case, is it not simply better that she is put ashore? Provision can be made at the naval hospital if need be, and she will not be abandoned.”

  “I am not certain...” Kate began, but her voice faltered.

  “If she changes her mind and wishes to name the father, it may be reported at a later date.” Robert continued; he knew his wife and, more to the point, knew how close she was to breaking. “And if any element of force was involved, that can also be taken up, with the accused brought to trial.”

  There was a pause, and Banks found himself grateful to the surgeon for diffusing the situation. It had been a far harder meeting than he was expecting, and part of the difficulty stemmed from Mrs Manning's behaviour. She had changed dramatically from the woman he had taken a shine to all those years ago; her face was thinner, and the note of aggression that now regularly tainted her speech was not so apparent then. But as he looked at her in the harsh light of the stern windows, there remained a vestige of the girl he had once known who had stolen his heart. And he could also see she was upset; quite why the misadventures of some foolish wench had affected her so he had no idea, but suddenly felt reluctant to press the matter further.

  “You must see,” he said gently. “Whatever wrong has been committed, nothing will be served by stirring matters; the very reverse in fact. And how can I allow a pregnant woman to remain aboard a ship of war; especially one that may shortly see action?”

  “Then I shall go ashore with her,” Kate said stubbornly.

  “We still need a surgeon's mate,” Manning reminded her.

  “Then you can enquire for one at the naval hospital,” she replied. “Or promote a loblolly boy,” adding, “it has been done before, I believe,” with a significant look at her husband.

  “Perhaps you will allow me to decide that?” Ba
nks asked.

  “I consider you already have.” Kate's voice was firm again, and now also held a measure of authority. “Did you not say that you could not carry a pregnant woman into battle? If that be so, then I must certainly leave this ship as well.”

  * * *

  “Why ever did you not say before?” the surgeon hissed at his wife as they were shown out of the captain's quarters and on to the half deck.

  “That I am with child?” she replied in far more strident tones. “I did have a mind to do so, but was waiting to be certain.”

  Manning felt the blush rise to his cheeks, but continued, despite the looks of interest from two passing quartermaster's mates.

  “But this is surely something that should be shared,” he insisted. “And shared at the first instance.”

  “If so, I have clearly failed you,” she snapped back, with an obvious lack of regret.

  He went to say more, then decided to wait for the relative privacy of their own quarters. But even when they had reached the dispensary, and met the worried look of Poppy as she rose to meet them, Manning sensed there was hardly anything to add.

  The girl was reassured by Kate, who sent her off to collect water for laundry and they were left to speak as confidentially as was possible aboard a crowded wooden ship. But once the opportunity arrived, both became as tongue-tied as a couple of teenagers.

  “How long have you suspected?” Manning asked finally, and it was in the tones of a surgeon, not an expectant father.

  “About three weeks,” Kate replied. “And I would have spoken earlier, Robert – it is just with the failures we have experienced in the past, I didn't wish to tempt fate.”

  He nodded, knowing so well what she meant. In fact he understood her far better than she realised. He knew the brash, forthright façade hid a very different woman; the one he had married and still loved beyond reason. And she was going to be a mother; perhaps this time matters might go more smoothly, and they would be granted a family after all. But one thing was certain; she must also leave the ship at Gibraltar. And, all things considered, he found he was actually quite glad.