Book Eleven: The Duty
and Destiny Series
From the author of the acclaimed,
‘A Poor Man at the Gate’ Series
Andrew Wareham
Digital edition published in 2017 by
The Electronic Book Company
A New York Times Best-seller
Listed Publisher
www.theelectronicbookcompany.com
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This ebook contains detailed research material, combined with the author's own subjective opinions, which are open to debate. Any offence caused to persons either living or dead is purely unintentional. Factual references may include or present the author's own interpretation, based on research and study.
Deadly Shores
Copyright © 2017 by Andrew Wareham
All Rights Reserved
Contents:
Title Page
Copyright Page
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
By the Same Author
Introduction
Deadly Shores: Frederick’s squadron continues its perilous mission, sailing close to the Spanish coast as the Navy seeks to establish which regions of Spain are genuine allies in Britain’s war with France. They also aim to discover if Bonaparte’s army is being resupplied by sea, and to seize as prizes any ships that are carrying French war supplies.
Best read in series order
Author’s Note: I have written and punctuated Deadly Shores in a style reflecting English usage in novels of the Georgian period, when typically, sentences were much longer than they are in modern English. Editor’s Note: Andrew’s book was written, produced and edited in the UK where some of the spellings, punctuation and word usage vary slightly from U.S. English.
Book Eleven: The Duty
and Destiny Series
Chapter One
“You tell me that the Spanish are now allies, Sir Frederick?”
“Well, not necessarily as positively inclined as that, Sir Charles. It is perhaps more realistic to say that they are actively, their Navy at least, at war with France. They certainly came to my assistance and, importantly, exchanged salutes after our successful skirmish with the French.”
Vice-Admiral Sir Charles Cotton was not entirely certain he understood Frederick’s meaning. He knew what an enemy was, and he had a reasonable understanding of the nature of a friend, but he could not comprehend a beast that partook of neither or both states.
Sir Charles was an aging gentleman, old beyond his years and of an unhealthy habit of body besides, but he was not so much unintelligent as very determinedly set in his ways – he understood what he understood and was not to be learning new now. He was in the process of dealing with the Russian squadron in Lisbon and showing some craftiness in doing so, acting with sufficient guile to effectively neutralise them, as Frederick had been made aware. He expected, and much hoped, to succeed Collingwood in the Mediterranean when that remarkably able gentleman eventually lowered his flag and sailed for home, and it was thought that he would show within reason competent.
“It is important, you tell me, that we should engage in no hostilities with the Spanish in the immediate future, or at least until we receive orders from London.”
“That is correct, sir.”
Frederick had made that point thrice already, using simpler words each time.
“The Spanish sallied forth from Ferrol and took or destroyed five French of the line, including a one hundred gun ship?”
“They did indeed, sir. Not entirely without our assistance, but my two ships of the line would have been overwhelmed except they had come to our aid. Such being the case, Sir Charles, I offered no objection to their taking the five prizes into Ferrol.”
“The more especially, one gathers, because your small ships had set about the French convoy, with remarkable success, Sir Frederick.”
Frederick permitted himself a smile.
“They did indeed, Sir Charles. I am more than proud of my young men!”
Sir Charles stared across his quarterdeck railing at the taken convoy, rich in men and military stores and all to contribute to Frederick’s pocket.
“We would have been hard-pressed had that force arrived when the Portuguese court was still havering and wavering about its flight to the Brazils, Sir Frederick. The French have taken Lisbon now, but it is an empty triumph, particularly as the Russians are of small value to them.”
“I heard so, sir. A notable achievement, ensuring that they will not sail, sir.”
A little of flattery might, Frederick hoped, go a long way.
“What do you do now, Sir Frederick?”
“I must inform Gibraltar of all that has occurred, sir, confirming my initial brief message, and ensure that the word is passed to the Empire of Morocco – the Moors are too important to us to be left in the dark. I have sent despatches to the Admiralty by the fastest of my ships, sir.”
“Quite right, too. You would oblige me by carrying my reports to Gibraltar, Sir Frederick, and by passing word to the squadron off Cadiz.”
Admiral Cotton could not give Frederick a direct command, his squadron being under Admiralty orders, but most wise seamen were very friendly to an admiral’s request.
Frederick was unsure who commanded the Cadiz blockade; he knew only that the ships were part of the Mediterranean Fleet under Collingwood. He simply agreed that he would be delighted to be of use, not wishing to tread on any toes.
Admiral Cotton could not be happy that there was a strong squadron in his waters that was nonetheless not under his command. It might be wise to placate him, for he had many relatives in the Navy and in London and, while not himself a political being, his words would be heard in Downing Street, even if at second-hand.
“I was sent to beat up the French outposts along the Spanish coast, sir, and to concentrate on the Mediterranean when once I had made a nuisance of myself on the Atlantic seaboard. It is my intent to proceed, as I have said, to Gibraltar and thence to head east, sir. If you have any desire to employ me on a specific task that is consonant with my orders, I shall, as goes without saying, be happy to oblige, but otherwise, I intend to see if there are hornets’ nests to stir up in the vicinity of Barcelona. I am told that the Catalans are a restive sort of folk and that it might not be too difficult to encourage them to rise against the French. It is worth examining the possibilities, I feel, sir.”
Sir Charles agreed – he had rather that Frederick, who he knew as a politically powerful figure, should be far distant. Sir Charles had ambitions towards a barony and feared that Frederick would snaffle the glory and the worldly promotions to himself, that seeming to be a habit of his.
The squadron parted, saluting the Vice-Admiral as was correct and receiving the proper guns for a Commodore.
“Wasteful of powder, Sir Iain, but necessary, I must imagine. How fortunate that we have so much in our magazines.”
The French convoy had included stores as well as the troops, as was natural. What was particularly pleasant was that they had a siege battery of six large guns and twenty-four of the French twelve-pounders, with supplies of powder a
nd ball as appropriate. A generous half of the powder had found its way into the hands of the six large ships of the squadron to serve as material for yet more live practice. The men worked so much better on their guns for the opportunity to make a loud bang after running them in and out repeatedly.
“Very useful, sir. A pity that we had to leave some aboard the captures, but we would never have succeeded in persuading the Admiralty that it had all been spoiled by sea water in the taking of the convoy.”
“A pity, as you say, Sir Iain, but we did rather well. If we pick up head money for the soldiers – and there is precedent – then we must be looking at a value of more than one hundred thousand on that convoy. Then there are the naval captures, which should be bought into the service at Gibraltar – a frigate and a pair of sloops will be very welcome, one must imagine, and they will add another twenty-five thousand to the pot.”
Frederick stood for one eighth of the prize-fund as Commodore; he was mildly irritated that being a Commodore of the First-Class, and thus not commanding his own ship, he was not in for a captain’s share as well. It was a quirk in the system, but he could hardly register a complaint as he was already in expectation of taking home more than fifteen thousand pounds.
Sir Iain had calculated his first share as being in the neighbourhood of three thousands, which translated as two hundred acres of best arable land, or a thousand of rough sheepwalk on the Purbecks. He rather thought that he might plump for the sheepwalk on this occasion – wool was quite high and there was always a sale for mutton. He would take advice when he settled at home at the end of the commission. There were the other prizes they had already taken in addition, he reminded himself. Together with his takings from earlier commissions he was now very comfortably circumstanced; he would definitely settle down to a few years of half-pay at the end of this excursion. He brought his mind back to business.
“Rather surprised that we did not see the brigs in company with Sir Charles, sir. They should have escorted the earlier prizes to Gibraltar and be returning by now.”
Frederick was not especially concerned – the young captains would no doubt have looked for adventure while they were free of his immediate command. They would possibly have made a few more minor captures on the coast; they might have bitten off more than they could chew and be twenty fathoms under. One chance said they had gained useful experience and had done damage to the enemy; the other deplored that a pair of insignificant small craft had been lost. Neither was of overwhelming importance, but the squadron would be better off for the company of the inshore vessels, so he hoped to see them again.
“We should hold within sight of land on our way south, Sir Iain. We may yet see the rascals!”
The blockaders off Cadiz had spoken to the little convoy on its way south to Gibraltar but had not sighted the brigs returning. They were not deeply interested in their possible fate but were glad to have an explanation of the puzzling doings in the great harbour.
“The inshore frigate reported just two days ago that there seemed to be a fight in the bay itself – quite possibly between the Spanish and the remaining French squadron. The forts appeared to be preventing the French from sailing, but they also fired on the frigate when it ventured to approach, though more by way of warning than any attempt to sink. The French are now huddled together just offshore of the wharves, as if they had been refused further use of the dockyard. They have guns enough to do great damage if they opened fire on the shore facilities, though they would no doubt be unable to break out past the forts, so it is by way of stalemate, I suspect Sir Frederick.”
The blockading squadron was little more than a token force – a pair of liners and a few smaller ships showing willing, all under the command of the senior captain, who was not perhaps the most adventurous of men. He had made no attempt to send one of the small craft inshore to speak with the fishing boats.
“We must assume the Spanish to be in a state of armed neutrality, Captain Hawker. London must be aware of the change of Spanish opinions and will, quite probably, take action to secure the alliance of some or all of the various Spanish factions. I do not doubt that at some point you will be joined by a larger squadron sent to take or destroy the French in Cadiz, and possibly elsewhere along the coast. That, however, is outside of my remit, sir. For the while, I must recommend you to offer such assistance as the Spanish may beg, and otherwise steer well clear of the mess inshore!”
Captain Hawker was junior to Frederick, but was not under his command and so was free to ignore his advice: Frederick could not give him orders. If, however, he chose to ignore Frederick then he might well be asked by the Admiralty why he had done so, particularly if anything of any sort, shape or description went wrong; he would make himself the perfect scapegoat. His own admiral might be very unhappy if he obeyed Frederick without seeking permission in his own chain of command, and the Cadiz blockade was part of the Mediterranean Fleet at that time and Admiral Collingwood was not a man to be slighted. It would be impossible to get word from Collingwood in less than a month, and that could easily become three.
Captain Hawker thought furiously and swore quietly.
‘Heads you win; tails I lose’, he muttered, almost audibly.
“Thank you for your kind advice, Sir Frederick. I shall bear it in mind and be guided by it while I await orders from the Commander-in-Chief of the Mediterranean Fleet.”
Frederick, happily aware of Hawker’s quandary, bowed his acknowledgement and took his leave.
“Why did you do that to Captain Hawker, Sir Frederick?”
Sir Iain was curious, knowing that Frederick could just as easily have given Hawker the information and left him to come to his own conclusions without giving any actual advice.
“Malice, Sir Iain – pure and simple! His family was related to that of the first lieutenant of the sloop Athene, to which I was appointed when I was made – before you joined us. The man himself died but not before falling out with the captain and by implication me, as I remained loyal. There was a small amount of noise made against me by that family after we returned from the Papues, you may remember – the cannibal business and claims that I gave the French prisoners to be eaten in exchange for an alliance with the Fuzzy-Wuzzies. Hawker’s family was related and he opened his mouth as well – or so I was told. Now I have left him in a cleft stick – if he does the correct thing, it is for following my advice; if he does the wrong thing, then he should have consulted his own admiral. A petty revenge, but sweet for being many years delayed!”
Sir Iain laughed; it was typical of the Navy, he thought.
Captain Murray arrived in Portsmouth aboard Nid Elven, slightly nauseous, Captain Freeman having taken Frederick’s words to heart. The orders had been to make the best possible speed to Portsmouth, not quite irrespective of risk, but certainly taking every opportunity to make the fastest run. Nid Elven had been built for northern waters, was a sturdy ship, set up to face storm and blizzard conditions, as strong almost as a whaler; consequently, Captain Freeman had been able to carry sail that would have over-pressed most small ships, rolling and pitching but making seven or even eight knots where most might have been proud of three or four.
“One thousand and one hundred nautical miles, Captain Murray, in one hundred and twenty hours, sir! Two hundred and twenty miles a day in winter conditions, sir, half a gale the least we faced! Few ships, I believe, would match that!”
Captain Murray knew the correct words to say.
“Few indeed, Captain Freeman; a remarkable achievement. I am most obliged to you, sir. Now, sir, you must carry Sir Frederick’s despatches to the Port Admiral while I make all haste to the Admiralty. What time of day is it, on land, that is?”
Captain Freeman very kindly explained that it was nearly half past two in the afternoon, and that it would be hard indeed to make further than Guildford that day.
“The post boys, sir, will not wish to risk their horses in the night hours. The roads are such that it is unwise indeed
to rush through the darkness.”
“The Night Mail can do it, Captain Freeman. Offer a sufficiency and so will a privately hired carriage!”
“Should you not at least make your number with the Port Admiral, sir?”
“I shall apologise at a later date. A boat, if you would be so kind.”
Goldfarb was ready, Captain Murray’s bags packed and at his side.
The captain’s barge delivered the three to the Steps and they parted, Captain Freeman trotting to the Port Admiral’s offices, knowing that he would be seen to be making haste, that the Admiral would be alerted and ready for him.
“Chaise and six horses, host! For the Admiralty with all speed.”
“Can’t do it, sir. Ain’t got a chaise in the yard what will harness up six horses, sir. If so be you are in a mortal hurry, sir, I can let you have a pair of riding horses apiece, sir, changing mounts every eight miles to get the most from ‘em.”
Captain Murray shook his head; the wounds of his flogging were not healed to the extent that he could ride any distance.
“Injured, sir, in the service of the King. I must take a coach. I must bring my news to the Admiralty without delay.”
“A great victory, sir?”
“A defeat for the Corsican Tyrant, certainly, host. The Spanish have turned against him, may well soon ally themselves with Old England, but we must tell government so that the right actions may be taken very quickly.”
The landlords of the posting-houses were important figures; in Portsmouth they were often held to be better informed than the Port Admiral himself. Even Captain Murray would not hold his secrets from them, except those that were truly important.
“Fifteen minutes, sir. You will take a pot of coffee? There will be a snap of sorts made up in a basket, sir, so that you need not delay on the road to eat. I will send a senior boy who will pass the message on at Petersfield, sir. Mr Butcher at the Green Man there will know to give you his best horses and boys and will himself pass the word further, sir.”
Deadly Shores (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 11) Page 1
