The Friendly Sea (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 1)

by Andrew Wareham

  “In the true tradition of the sea, Captain Harris. The cartel sails tomorrow to Martinique, all of the prisoners you brought in on her, without exchange, in recognition of their comrades’ bravery. I have written a letter to the French authorities expressing my respect for those men.”

  “I am glad to hear that, sir. There is yet a place for decency in war.”

  That decency would not, however, prevent either from bankrupting every enemy merchant whose ships they could capture or warehouses they might burn.

  “Now, Captain Harris. Orders. I want you to shake-down with a convoy to Jamaica and then to cruise south to Trinidad and return up the island chain, looking in at every wharf, fishing village and port on the way. I doubt you will discover anything, but if there is any out-of-the-way occurrence, return immediately to inform me of it.”

  This hardly made sense to Frederick, but that was nothing new, it was the navy’s way to be obscure when it felt it had a secret to keep. All would be revealed, most likely by the lower deck grapevine which would know already in all probabilities exactly what any unexpected ‘occurrence’ was likely to be.

  “I shall send you to the Louisianas again after that, I expect, they having showed great profit to you once already. There is talk, though, of a convoy having left there recently.”

  Days later there came tell of the Glorious First of June, a protracted battle, it seemed, in which the French convoy escort was almost wholly destroyed, Black Dick Howe crippling a whole French fleet. Only much later was it noticed that the convoy of more than twenty thousand tons of foodstuffs had passed by virtually unhindered, almost all making port in starving Revolutionary France.

  For Frederick the victory went almost unnoticed – he had more important matters to deal with.

  There was the vital business of being read in on Magpie, his new first lieutenant having a wonderfully sonorous voice that conveyed a solemn, brooding menace to the admonitions to good behaviour contained in the document, making the ‘peril’ very real indeed. Introduction could be made then to his officers, only ‘his’ once he had been read in, his commission publicly announced on board.

  Fraser, the first and too old, thirty something, fifteen years passed as a lieutenant, half-pay between the wars, so ten years at sea as master’s mate and lieutenant – he might well be embittered by his failure to progress. Even if he was promoted now, rapidly to Master and Commander and then post, he would still never fly his flag at sea, age would certainly yellow him, leave him an admiral in name only. All the rest of his service would be clouded by this knowledge, unless he happened to be one of the unambitious, in which case he would be of small use to Frederick – he wanted a hungry man at his heels, not a complacent, easy-going soul.

  Jackman, Gleeson and Arkwright in line, suppressed smiles, hats lifted fully, no mere touching of the brim – Frederick suddenly realised how respectfully they were greeting him, the great man, their patron, he who would carry them up to the heights with him. He did not relish the responsibility, he found; he could not, would not, avoid it.

  The master, Munson, older than Fraser, only a slight paunch despite his forty years, very neatly turned out, keen and efficient seeming, confident in the best sense.

  Two quite horrible midshipmen – spots were allowed in the navy, but this was taking acne too far.

  “Midshipmen Horrocks and Puckett, sir”, Fraser announced, taking great care to enunciate clearly. Well, he knew what their nicknames were.

  Finally Fraser introduced the standing officers, solid, indistinguishable, tanned, four-square professional men, each with the same slightly quizzical expression as he surveyed the new young comet crossing Magpie’s firmament; the same mutual, unspoken message – ‘thee don’t frig with me, young master, and I’ll not frig with thee’.

  The surgeon and purser stood to one side, both dressed in black – red-cheeked country parsons, one might have said. Both would bear watching, neither was in a profession where benign naiveté was to be expected.

  A speech to the people? An extra rum issue? No! He had neither desire nor need to court popularity. They would know of him, and the dozen Athenes would tell them all about him – he had no need to introduce himself, and if they thought him hard at first sight, that would do no great harm.

  “Watchkeeping officers to my cabin, please. Will you introduce your mates, Mr Munson? Can they hold the deck whilst we confer?”

  “They are capable, sir.”

  In his cabin, Bosomtwi quietly organising things as he felt best, enjoying the sudden vast increase in space available, the quarters in the Magpie, for the use of one man, as large as the wardroom of the Athene. Ablett was there as well, at a loss, wondering just what he should do, where he should be in harbour.

  “All well, Ablett?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank’ee, sir!”

  “My pleasure. Will you look after sword and pistols for me? Keep the sword sharp for when I remember it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ablett risked a grin. “Bose and me, sir, we’ll look after all you need, sir.”

  The three officers filed in, Jackman still with a light dressing across his cheek.

  “Gentlemen! We have a Jamaica convoy and then a pair of cruises – with luck. We shall be sole escort to Jamaica, so there will be nobody else to blame. We must use the convoy to establish our discipline – tight, but sensible – we are to be no Hermione, gentlemen.”

  Nods, mutters of agreement, Munson catching his eye.

  “Mr Munson?”

  “Hermione, sir. I hear tell she is missing on a cruise off the Main.”

  “I did not know that, Mr Munson, but it possibly explains our orders. We are to examine the ports from Trinidad to Antigua – now we know why.” Frederick turned to Fraser. “We are ready to sail, I believe, Mr Fraser, the Admiral tells me that stores are well up. Have the new men arrived on board?”

  “A dozen Athenes, sir, two of them the most enormous black men I have ever seen, not tall but two men across the shoulders.”

  “Good men, too, Mr Fraser, and very dangerous in a fight.”

  It was an unfortunate comment – Fraser had never been in action, felt the lack very keenly.

  “No matter – let us get ourselves together before anything else. Sail and gun drill above everything – I know those iron trucks on the guns cut up the decks something cruel, Mr Fraser, but shining white decks are not the most important thing on this ship, sir!”

  They nodded, gravely.

  “Standing orders, gentlemen, I shall write them out, of course, but will try to keep them short. Briefly, we shall greet dawn and dusk at quarters, a full sweep at dawn, the men at their posts, the cannon loaded and slow-match burning until the change is made from night to day routine. Captain is to be called for every sail that is sighted, at landfall, or for any change in wind or weather that means we cannot hold our course or lose visibility. Use your discretion, of course, but I had rather you erred on the side of caution – I will pledge myself never to abuse you for waking me.”

  Acknowledgements, wry acceptance from the older two of a young captain’s apprehensions, the Word of God for Jackman.

  “Now, gentlemen, training of your juniors, with a small wardroom a matter of vital importance – any of the youngsters could be sent off in a prize at any time, or left in charge of the ship while we four are off in the boats. We have two useful midshipmen, to my knowledge – the Admiral stretching a point to allow us four – what of the other two and your mates, Mr Munson?”

  The master would normally have more to do with the midshipmen’s training than any of the lieutenants, should see them at closer quarters, know them better.

  “Two years seatime, sir, brought ‘em out from Pompey, first voyagers. Horrocks ain’t fit to shovel, sir, nor never will be – if ‘e’s got a brain, then ‘e sits on it! Puckett will make a sea officer, sir, quite bright, but not too clever for ‘is own good; got ‘is navigation already, more or less, and is beginning to be a useful seaman. The men
like Puckett, too.”

  “That is always important, Mr Munson, the people have no time for fools or tyrants and they value good officers who lead them to victory, and seamen who ensure they do not drown except sometimes when it can’t be helped.”

  They considered that statement between them, maintained a discreet silence.

  “Rogers is senior of my mates, was never a midshipman, young petty officer who can read and write and who taught himself his logarithms – from a book! He wants to become a master, but I reckon he should aim ‘igher-like, being made ‘Acting’ and then confirmed in the rank whilst on foreign posting. Page, sir, ‘as passed for lieutenant, but Christ alone knows ‘ow! Captain Marston inherited ‘im when ‘e got made into Magpie, never could get rid of ‘im, ‘owever ‘ard ‘e tried. I’m sure Page is good for something, sir, but I’m buggered if I knows what, sir, begging your pardon, that is, sir.”

  “Right, thank you, Mr Munson, that is a very clear exposition of the abilities of the four. Rogers should be given his chance – be sure he is ready for it, and, as well, look about for the man who will step up into his shoes, or Puckett’s.”

  “Hawse-hole wide open in the Magpie, sir?”

  “Just so, gentlemen – let good men know they will be rewarded in this ship, that a gentleman’s hat is sat waiting for any who wish to work for it. Talking of good men, I must see the purser now, I believe.”

  The spontaneous laughter from Fraser and Munson confirmed Frederick’s first suspicions.

  “Mr Hayes! Some of the men are dressed rather ragged, sir.”

  “Yes, sir,” the purser smiled confidentially at his young, inexperienced captain. “Awful careless with their clothes, sir, proper rascals, some of them. Need touching up a bit, oil of cat, sir – a couple of dozen and they’d learn to keep tidy, sir.”

  “Would they now? There is another way of achieving that end, Mr Hayes, and one that I prefer. A ragamuffin crew will never do on this station, sir, and we must keep our end up. An issue of slops to every man, sir, warm weather duck and sennit for hats, for I do not believe the men have had their proper clothing yet, though I have no doubt their pay tickets will contain the deduction for it!”

  The last was guesswork, but there was too much wool and heavy canvas on view for anything else to be the case.

  “Captain Marston …”

  “Is commanding the Charlotte, sir. I command the Magpie, and we have time enough before we sail for me to beg of the Admiral the services of a Dockyard clerk to audit your ledgers, sir.”

  “Yes, sir. Issue to be made tomorrow, sir. Forenoon.”

  “Good. I shall watch with interest. Food, now – there will be fruit, fresh vegetables, soft tack with the men’s dinners in port, Mr Hayes. In every port, without fail!”

  “But, sir, the cost …”

  “Some part I shall defray, myself. The rest you will cover. Magpie has an establishment of one hundred and two men, sir, yet through fever had only eighty or so aboard when she docked, now has about ninety.”

  “Ninety four souls, sir.”

  “And the captain, of course.”

  They exchanged tight smiles, Frederick happy to be soulless as far as Hayes was concerned. The purser had indented for rations in the proportion of nearly five for four and had undoubtedly sold on and pocketed the difference; any investigation must uncover this least subtle of frauds – the commonest of all – and a court martial would hang him for it, and break Captain Marston who had signed off his books, probably unknowing, certainly uncaring. Hayes would continue to sell off eight men’s rations, and would use the proceeds to buy the extras in port, as most pursers did whose captains cared.

  “The men will eat their rations, Mr Hayes, and as much besides as we may arrange. They will wear their proper clothes, light their candles in their lanthorns, drink their rum and smoke or chew their tobacco, all in the proper amounts, fifteen ounces in the pound, sir, as ever.”

  Every pound issued was an ounce short officially, to allow for spoilage and wastage.

  “While they are well looked after, I shall find better things to do than persecute you, Mr Hayes. But, Mr Hayes, if I so much as discover one man with a legitimated grievance, then I shall see you with your hands tied behind your back and a nightcap over your face. Do you understand me, sir?”

  Hayes understood, only too well – he had seen a couple of hangings, had no wish to play a central part in one. He knew Frederick had made a good sum in prize money during the year, was sure he would not be buyable, resigned himself to a period of unprofitable honesty – all things passed, eventually. He would still retire comfortably well off, one day, while the young hero went from risk to risk, battle to battle, in his pursuit of glory, more likely to find a lonely grave than an easy old age. He knew which course he preferred.

  A stream of interviews through that first day, essential to make his mark, to inform the whole crew that there was a new owner who had his own way of doing things, and that things would be done his way, like it or lump it!

  The boatswain came to discuss the rigging, with his little list of improvements that Captain Marston – who was an old-fashioned sort of man – had not countenanced. He was sent off with permission to implement those which could be set in place before sailing date, trotted away grinning happily and calling the best of the topmen to him. The sailmaker’s sole purpose seemed to be to lament that canvas was not what it was when he had been a boy; Fraser, coincidentally present, innocently enquired whether that was why the bolt of best winter-weight destined for the storm mizzentopsail had cut out so poorly, was austerely informed that mistakes happened in the best run of ships.

  “And more often in the worst, Sails,” Fraser riposted.

  “Is the sail usable?” Frederick asked. Sails did not reply.

  “Cut it down to a topgallant in the winter suit, Sailmaker. Mr Fraser will supervise.”

  They waited till the outraged sailmaker had left the cabin before commenting.

  “What is the story, Mr Fraser? Should he be replaced, dismissed the ship?”

  “No, sir – he had a squabble with the boatswain, was bitter angry and careless in his work. I doubt it will happen again.”

  “Your decision, sir. Watch him, and if you change your mind, I shall support you fully.”

  Right or wrong, Fraser had to be made into a strong premier, and that meant he must be backed publicly and unquestioningly until he was fully happy in his own performance.

  The carpenter came to beg for timber and spare spars, was sent off unsatisfied – there was none in the yard, and such little as arrived would be picked over by the frigates first. The cooper wanted just one willing lad as a mate, which was possible, Fraser thought, and the surgeon announced that the stay in English Harbour – renowned for a specially intractable clap – was depleting his stock of venereals at an alarming rate, was quite graphic – revoltingly so - in his description of the miseries this could cause.

  “We must, I think, Mr Fraser, find funds for the surgeon’s needs – a visit to the Admiral, I fear.”

  Fraser agreed, was pleased that he did not have to be the man to inform the Admiral that the crew was so poxed-up as to require extra medicines, that the nation’s funds must be disbursed on the chancres of the incontinent. It was not particularly unusual, not that rare a request, but always embarrassing to make, always thoroughly enjoyed by a sanctimonious flag-officer, and there was no other sort.

  “The gunner has not chosen to make a report, I see.”

  “Mr Andrews has taken to his cot, sir, feels rather unwell.”

  “I was told that the poor man was of enfeebled constitution – I shall beg the Admiral to invalid him out when I see him. One of the frigates is sure to have a gunner’s mate ready to make his step, warrants for gunners are not that often available. Would you speak to Andrews, please, you knowing him over the last two years, and explain that it is for his own good that he should go ashore – he might be able to make his way to Faversham, in K
ent, or to Waltham Abbey, when he gets back to England, the powder mills there often have employment for men who know the trade.”

  “Yes, sir – I understand that they often have vacancies there, due to the vagaries of the trade and the odd mishaps that can occur when you are dealing with gunpowder by the ton.”

  “Quite so, Mr Fraser – the greater the need, therefore, for the nation’s good, for skilled men to work there.”

  “I shall tell him in person, sir,” Fraser said, leaving with the nearest to a smile his melancholy face could bear.

  The gunner was at the door in five minutes.

  “Why, Mr Andrews, I had not expected to see you, sir! I would not have disturbed you from your bed of sickness.”

  A welter of half-sentences – misunderstanding, talking a caulk, indigestion, slight indisposition, the East Indies, you know, sir.

  They discussed the guns: twenty iron nine pounders, the shorter-barrelled broadside pieces, all new on this commission, less than three years old, straight bored, uncorroded, touch holes good for another ten years, as clean a set of great guns as any captain could hope to see. Four carronades – nasty things, but useful in their place and in good order. One brass nine pounder chase gun, bought special by the captain before Mr Marston, his personal gun and left aboard when he died, none of the crew having thought to mention to the executors that the gun was his; accurate to three parts of a mile, a very pretty piece indeed. Four two pound swivels and six of one pound, normally shipped two to each of the tops and four to the quarterdeck railing, or set as boat guns when occasion arose. There was a good supply of cartridge, the magazine was dry, Andrews’ mates reasonably bright and reliable – the gunner had no complaints, all in all, except for his health, and he never mentioned that.

  The gunner took himself away, rubbing his belly and wincing occasionally in an attitude of noble, uncomplaining suffering; the surgeon opened him up when he dropped dead six months later, was amazed to discover an ulcer that had finally perforated.