Deadly Shores (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 11)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Very, very profitable, one understands, Lord Turner. There are those who might consider certain of the Royal Dukes to be spendthrift, forever in need of funds. I shall say no more. Your letter to Sir Frederick might well expand upon that point.”

  “It will, my Lord. It is not impossible that certain rumours may spread in London, as you may appreciate, my Lord.”

  The First Lord had no concept of what Lord Turner might possibly be implying and certainly would say nothing on the topic of rumour, or on the disgusting matter of the enslavement and selling to the Moors of refugee girls and children.

  They parted satisfied with each other, and certain that the rumours would very quickly reach the ears of the King himself.

  The Admiralty sent cutters once or twice a month to Gibraltar, very fast little vessels under the command of favoured young officers and able often to make the run south at more than ten knots overall. Frederick received the letter from Lord Turner within two days of docking in Gibraltar.

  “Who is Lord Turner, Sir Iain? Do you know a Lord Turner? He certainly seems to know me.”

  Sir Iain looked up from his own mail, having first established that his wife was well.

  “Perhaps the letter itself might offer an explanation, sir.”

  Frederick perceived the wisdom of that comment and turned away from his study of the seal to open the missive.

  “Well I’m damned! It is Captain Murray – he has been made!”

  “Mr Russell said that was a strong probability, you will remember, sir, on discovering just who his lady was.”

  “So he did. Why Turner? Was not that his lady’s name? I am sure that it must imply something, you know, Sir Iain. I wish I knew what.”

  Sir Iain could not offer any suggestion, but he had little doubt that it was significant.

  “No change to be expected in our orders, but a reminder that it might well be seen as courteous to make our number with Lord Collingwood. Oh! You are to expect a formal notification of your translation to a baronetcy, Sir Iain – you will be a step up on me, in fact, for you will remain a knight as well! I am delighted for you, Sir Iain – very truly so!”

  “But what is there for you, sir?”

  “Nothing, of course, Sir Iain – I cannot be made a peer, not as a captain.”

  “I am not sure that is as it should be, sir… All is well at home, you will be glad to know… my lady is in the family way, she says!”

  Frederick had finished Lord Turner’s letter, could now turn to his own collection from Elisabeth. He had felt obliged to read the unknown peer’s missive first, in case it contained official business.

  “Here’s a thing for you, Sir Iain! The price of wheat has risen beyond one hundred shillings a quarter! After milling, you can say that will amount to two shillings to a pound of flour – what does this do to the price of a loaf of bread?”

  “A two-pound loaf cannot cost less than eighteen pence, Sir Frederick. It will not be the best of white bread, either.”

  “And a farm labourer earns perhaps two shillings a day, if he is lucky in his employer, for his six days a week.”

  Both realised this must mean that men working their twelve-hour days could still not feed their families on their wages; they must turn to the Poor Law to supplement their incomes.

  “The Rates that farmers pay will rise very high, Sir Frederick.”

  “So, many farmers will say they cannot make a living and will cut their wages.”

  “Which will push the Poor Law Rates even higher, sir!”

  Prior to the wars there had been a huge grain trade with the Germanies – closed now by Bonaparte and only partially replaced by wheat from America. More would come, but for the while the American farms simply produced too little to meet English demand in full.

  “I am told, Sir Frederick, that more wheat is grown in Ireland every year. That may help solve the problem.”

  “Something must, Sir Iain. Your lady in a promising condition, you say, sir? I am so glad for you! Charlotte will be very happy, I do not doubt!”

  “Captain on deck, sir!”

  Lieutenant Fox’ voice brought Sir Iain out of the cabin and back to duty; two minutes later Midshipman Quarles knocked upon the door and begged the Commodore’s pardon.

  “Captain thinks you must wish to see this sight, sir.”

  Frederick took up his hat, and slipped his arms into the coat that had suddenly appeared in Bosomtwi’s hands.

  “Formal dress, Bosomtwi?”

  “Can’t call court-martials in shirt sleeves, isn’t it, sir!”

  Frederick, forewarned, pasted his best disciplinary scowl to his face as he marched out of his cabin and then up the ladder to the quarterdeck.

  “Coming from the south-west, sir. From the shores of Barbary!”

  Frederick followed the pointing arm and saw his two errant brigs running down the wind, escorting no fewer than seven prizes of various size and rig. Behind them sailed a small convoy, including at least one Guineaman of a respectable size, six or perhaps seven hundred tons.

  Sir Iain clasped his hands behind his back, assumed an expression of courteous interest.

  “Intriguing prizes, sir. Xebec, sir, of two hundred tons; two half-galleys; three schooners of, I would say, Spanish construction of some sort; a tiny felucca as well. What have they been doing?”

  The master put his telescope down, turned, as was proper, to his captain.

  “Prizes are Union flag over something in green with a crescent moon, sir. Not the Moroccan flag, but some sort of Musulman thing, I doubt not.”

  Sir Iain raised an eyebrow to Frederick.

  “Captains of Nellie and Stour to report to Commodore.”

  The signal was flown; Frederick could imagine the consternation of the two lieutenants-in-command, who would not have expected to meet the squadron here. They would no doubt have been hoping to sit together to concoct their official reports at leisure in harbour. Now they would have to tell their tales face to face.

  The two lieutenants presented themselves before Frederick, looking, in his opinion, surprisingly confident.

  “Lieutenant Porteous, I presume you are senior, as captain of Nellie?”

  “No, sir. I have the larger brig but Mr Shifnall is in fact two years senior to me.”

  “Then, Mr Shifnall, I must beg you to make your report on your little cruise into African waters.”

  Despite his seniority, Shifnall was no more than twenty-five years of age; he swallowed nervously, his confidence that he must be found to have been correct in his actions rapidly evaporating. Sir Frederick had a reputation as an uncompromising gentleman in relation to discipline among his officers.

  “Sir! As ordered we escorted the Dutch prizes to Gibraltar, giving each watch two days ashore in recognition of their good conduct.”

  Sir Frederick had a reputation for generosity to the lower-deck – that might be a good point to make.

  “We sailed, sir, after a week or so, with no deserters, and I ordered our heads north. We made almost to Corunna when the wind turned foul, sir. Wind was backing, sir, a degree of northerly that made a series of tacks to the south-west necessary. We were driven almost to the Canaries, sir, before we could begin to make good a course north. Within the hour, we saw a sail to the southeast that transpired to be a small Guineaman, a snow, sir, that informed us that the vessels which had been in her company were thirty miles further south and under the pursuit of Barbary rovers. The snow had been separated from the other traders by fluky winds overnight, had seen the attackers and had made all sail to seek assistance. I chose to take us south, sir, to do what we could.”

  Frederick accepted that to have been the necessary action to take. Two brigs might have been able to do very little, but they were obliged to make an attempt.

  “Very good, Mr Shifnall. I believe you took the correct course. What happened next?”

  “There were two xebecs, sir, and the schooners and half-galleys that you see, the felucca hol
ding off in a scouting role, I believed. They were closing on the largest ship in the convoy – the only ship as such. She carries a pair of nine pound stern chasers and six a side of twelve-pound carronades, and has a gunner who was one of ours, sir. She was making very good practice, sir, and had brought down the foremast of one of the xebecs and had driven off the attempt to board of one of the half-galleys, so they later told me. The xebec with the mast down was their pendant ship, sir – a long green flag, sir.”

  “Very good. What did you do?”

  “Crossed the damaged xebec’s bow, sir, very close. I had thought of boarding, but she was cram-packed full of men – there must have been two hundred a-waving of swords and spears and scimitars and such, sir. So, sir, we threw a pair of lanterns, together with a barrel of lamp oil, into the trailing mass of canvas from the foremast. It caught fire, sir, and then we gave a broadside of grape into the men who ran with buckets of water. The Moors seemed concerned to rescue rather than to attack any more, sir, sending boats all in a panic. We allowed the schooners to belly up to the xebec and send men aboard to fight the fire; then I ordered Mr Porteous to sink the boats the half-galleys sent across and to wait till the other xebec had loaded her boats a second time and then to board her, which he did in very quick time, sir. Then I held off the burning xebec’s quarter and fired grape as hard as I could into her. We took the small vessels, sir, they having too few men left to fight for more than a minute or two. The burning xebec sank, sir, and I fired ball into the boats and destroyed every last one, sir. No mercy to the Barbary pirates, sir. The Guineamen all held off at my signal, sir, and then lent us men for prize-crews. We released the slaves on the half-galleys, sir; many of them were seamen and could add their bodies to the prize-crews. Then we sailed north, sir.”

  Frederick regarded the lieutenant thoughtfully. It was not ordinary practice to shoot into men trying to rescue a ship from fire; it was even less the norm to sink boats fleeing a wreck. Against that, pirates – which the Barbary rovers certainly were – had no rights under the law; they were hostis humani generis, ‘enemies of the human race’.

  Frederick could imagine very few circumstances in which it might be called a crime to kill a Barbary corsair, and it was accepted practice to hang out of hand any mistakenly made prisoner. That said, fire was the greatest enemy of all, and one did not shoot at the men attempting to extinguish it; or not as a normal rule.

  “Do you know the provenance of these pirates, Lieutenant Shifnall?”

  “The slaves said they had sailed from Tripoli, sir, sent to attempt the Guineamen who were thought to be carrying gold dust, sir. So they heard it said.”

  They were not Moroccans, which was the important issue. The Empire of Morocco would not be too deeply concerned that vessels from Tripoli had been taken.

  “What of the xebec that sank? It would seem to have been of importance to the others of the flotilla.”

  “There was some sort of so-called holy man aboard, sir, so the galley slaves said. Some sort of idolatrous, devil-worshipping Mahometan, sir. Better dead, sir, than free to roam the seas enslaving honest Christian sailors.”

  Frederick suspected that the lieutenant was a faithful member of some Christian denomination, probably of the evangelical persuasion; a surprising number of sailors were.

  “No matter! I am a little surprised that you found winds to the south of Spain that were so wholly at variance to those we experienced in the north. Such things do happen, however – even if very rarely. You will appreciate that the merchantmen will make their number with the admiral and will undoubtedly inform him of all they saw. Provided their story agrees with yours, sir, then you will have my backing for all of your actions.”

  “Thank you, sir. Prizes to court here, sir?”

  “I presume they are no more than hulls. No cargo?”

  “None, sir. They had taken no prizes, sir.”

  “The schooners, have you inspected them? A small, fast runner would be of value to the squadron and I could request that one be bought in, if there should be a suitable craft.”

  “None have been well looked-after, sir, but they might be of use nonetheless.”

  “Inspect them and inform me of your findings, Lieutenant Shifnall. The half-galleys will fetch nothing, of course, but they might be given as a present to the Emperor of Morocco. The xebec will go at auction – not for very much, but a Rock merchant will find a use for her, almost of a certainty. The felucca may fetch ten pounds from a fisherman. Between them, probably sufficient to pay the fees of the Admiralty Court and put fifty pounds into the prize fund. They do make an imposing sight, however, clustered together in the harbour.”

  “No court-martial there, Sir Frederick.”

  “None, Sir Iain, but that man has too much of the butcher about him for my taste!”

  “And mine, sir. But his actions were not unlawful, however nasty they might have seemed.”

  “There are those who say that the best Moor is a dead one, but I cannot like his actions. I am glad that I was not present, for I might have been forced to take a very similar course, and I would not have liked myself afterwards.”

  Sir Iain nodded thoughtfully, then laughed.

  “Not a problem faced by Mr Shifnall, sir, for he seemed positively in love with himself!”

  “He did. One must admit that he performed his duty – even if I have the gravest of doubts about his storm and foul winds. I could make enquiry of the local merchants – some of them may have had bottoms at sea. But, I ask myself, might I not have done something very much the same, given the opportunity? No. Let it go, Sir Iain. If we lay hands on a schooner, who is to get her?”

  “Midshipman Dalby, sir, as master’s mate in command. A forty or fifty ton schooner armed with almost nothing – ideal experience for a boy.”

  “I agree.”

  The Guineamen sought audience of Admiral Ball and informed him of all that had happened, detailing the action and expressing their not unalloyed sense of gratitude to the two brigs. The Admiral begged the favour of audience with Sir Frederick.

  “The Guineamen are all experienced sailors, in the nature of things, Sir Frederick. You do not take a ship down to those coasts except you are very well respected in the trade. The largest of the flotilla is in the ownership of a merchant not unknown to me – a Mr Mathers, who is an Alderman of the City of London, both rich and well-connected in the political line. She is laden with a rich cargo, her captain informed me; not only the normal Grains of Paradise and palm oil and elephants’ teeth but, uncommonly, a very large consignment of gold dust, brought down to the coast by pre-arrangement. Word of that had evidently leaked out – probably from the north of the lands, which are Mahometan - and reaching Tripoli, it would seem. The captain told me that he calculated the worth of his cargo to be well in excess of two hundred thousand pounds!”

  Frederick whistled – that was no small sum.

  “They habitually sail together now – have done since the war became hot again. The French have made more than one attempt to send a frigate down to the Guinea Coast, mainly to protect French slave-traders, but also hopefully to pick up a merchantman or two, and the Barbary pirates have become increasingly bold. The pirates are more concerned to attack Americans than our ships, thinking the Jonathans to be weak at sea and so a safer target. All that the Americans gained in their war against Barbary has been lost and they are rapidly being driven out of the waters where the pirates roam. The English Guineamen are sure that in the increasing absence of Americans, they will become targets. Needless to say, they are pleased that the Navy came to their rescue on this occasion.”

  That seemed good to Frederick. No doubt they would express their pleasure in London – which was always well received by the Admiralty.

  “That said, Sir Frederick, they were more than a little upset by the means employed by your brigs in achieving their victory over the admittedly savage foe. It would seem that your people first set fire to a crippled xebec and then bo
mbarded the rescuers trying to extinguish the fire and rescue the crew when it became clear the xebec was lost. Add to that, the boats launched by the burning ship were all sunk by your brigs, and then, Sir Frederick, the smaller brig swept through the swimmers, making target practice with pistol and musket and even dangling ropes into the water and then stabbing with boarding pikes at those who climbed them.”

  “That was not mentioned in Lieutenant Shifnall’s report, sir.”

  “That does not surprise me, Sir Frederick. I would be inclined to remain silent on such matters myself.”

  “I very much hope that no boats made their escape, sir. I would prefer there to be no eye-witnesses to that particular atrocity. We may be sure that the Guineamen will not send a despatch to the Emperor of Morocco or the Dey of Tripoli to inform them of the fate of their people. That action must be kept secret, sir, if it possibly can be.”

  Admiral Ball called for wine and they took a glass while they contemplated the possibilities for embarrassment arising from Lieutenant Shifnall’s over-enthusiasm.

  “I think it might be wiser to remove Mr Shifnall from the scene, sir. We cannot disavow him, for he has won a signal victory. I think he really should go, sir, as far as possible – but I am loath to lose the services of an inshore brig.”

  “A six-gun brig, Sir Frederick – at most, the command of a lieutenant…”

  Frederick could not immediately see the relevance of that comment; he took a sip of his wine and congratulated the Admiral on its quality, thinking as fast as he was able.

  “Oh yes, I see, sir. Was he to receive the promotion his victory had earned him, then he could no longer remain in command of Stour brig. I have no use for a master and commander, so he must go home to seek employment. I much trust you have no place for him, sir.”

  “He will leave on the next convoy, to discover in London that there are three of his rank for every sloop available. He will disappear onto half-pay, assured that his name will be borne in mind – which it will be, for I shall send a discreet and private letter to the First Lord outlining his actions and our mutual desire that he be employed, if ever, far distant from these waters, perhaps on escort to the Greenland Fishery where the ice may temper his incendiary zeal.”